Scylla

Deep in the crevices of the Earthen flight, perhaps closer to the shores and sharing between the Arcane and Plague regions, a dark, watery abyss lays dormant, hidden away from folk of the average. It conceals secrets of grand expense, emanating eerily from the entrance like a lustrous siren calling forth. In its space of mystery lays a world of green, complimenting the calmest ocean one could ever dream to see. Sunlight pierces through the thinnest fissures in the earthy ceiling, glistening on the still waters below, vines and moss of all kinds dangling gently under the roof.
It may be quiet and peaceful, yes, but it is what lurks farther down the quiescent sanctuary that wards foreigners away. Among the small creatures alive inside, someone else dwells silently, slumbering frequently, only awaking to rise and eat or check for intruders before drifting back asleep. A Sandsurge, far from home. She was hatched inside the cave, alone, built with the magic of Earth, despite her egg being somewhere else beforehand. It was. . .discarded, thrown into the forgotten world of what she calls home presently. Things had happened to her whilst in the safety of the thick shells, slowly changing her physicality.
She was given gills, an affinity for aqua, bones unnatural to her breed, protruding out of her skin, looking a bit decayed herself. Her colors had slowly morphed to resemble camouflage in the swampy waters, easily hiding herself whenever necessary. Her diet had differed as well, preferring seafoods and fish instead of bugs or regular meat.
However, this isn’t always the case, and sometimes when it seems scarce, intruders of her home are all that’s able for her. . .

One night, ambient as always, she reared her head up, awake at such an odd hour. The fishy Sandsurge was patrolling for a little while before resuming her sleep, keeping her sensitive eyes on alert for even the slightest hint of movement around her. She learned how to stay still, even more stagnant than a statue for long periods of time, unblinking unless she deemed it required.
Being alone, she keeps to herself, and while she doesn’t speak aloud to only her, she certainly thinks louder than her voice.
. . .I wonder. . .where have all the mortals gone. . .it seems that they recently have figured out I don’t wish to be disturbed. . . .How wonderful. . .although, that could become a problem in itself. . . .The serpents and fish that roam in my waters are beginning to become sparse again. . .and I cannot wait a whole other season for them to replenish again. . . .
She rose her head higher, up to her head resting on the cracked edge. Looking ahead, she could tell night had made its presence for, perhaps, the last couple of hours? No one was around, to her luck, and she could smell a large body of water nearby, to her luck. Hesitantly, she lifted her eel-slick arms out and took hold of the edge, pulling herself out of her quiet pool. Water slipped off her sleek figure, dripping onto the dry-ish grounds where moss or grass wasn’t present closest. Her limbs felt heavy, being on land for possibly the first time. The Ancient drake struggled to keep herself upright, swaying from side to side, trying to gain better balance. After a couple minutes, she was finally able to stay up correctly, shaking herself before heading out into the cold dark.

read the rest of Scylla and Wyrm’s story here
written by GubYub