Oh jeez... so much lore.
So much. Dear lore'd.
(ba dum tss)
My progens in-lore are adopted siblings; the random progen Farallon is the captain of my (rather nautical-themed) lair's "crew". She is their protector, their defender, and the only one who knows the entire story about what happened to her brother. She was a Tundra to begin with, and became a Guardian - reborn into the sea, one might say.
(And I gotta say, getting her random colors to work together was the proudest moment...)
Her brother, my custom progen Tethyan, is a central character... The entire reason they settled in the Leviathan Trench was because he believed he was being called there by the Tidelord. He would spend days, weeks away, following the singing voice he heard in his sleep, trying to find his flight's god - but
whatever was calling, the Tidelord it was
not.
Tethyan was born a Fae. When another member of the flight began to experiment with samples drawn up from the depths, when they as a whole began to get a bit too close to wakening whatever terrible slumbering
thing was singing in its sleep, Tethyan did -something- to lull it back to its rest. It was roused by their curiosity and opened one bleary eye, and he dove headfirst into the Trench to quell it, and was not seen again.
Some time later, an Undertide would rise from that Trench. Or something that looked like one, at least. It would not speak, did not seem to understand when spoken to, though it responded sometimes to song. It coiled itself around their watchtower, and rests there now. Farallon visits it sometimes. She recognizes her brother, whatever he has become.
The rest of the crew does not. Why would they ever assume this great, silent beast with too many teeth was their tiny, curious, harmless Tethyan? And besides, Tethyan
did come back! See? See, he's right there! Marched right into the clan one day like nothing had ever happened!
(The first six-digit I ever bought was a fae with inverted primary/secondary colors from him - I had to make that lore-relevant!)
And... sure, perhaps when this one speaks it is slowly, and quietly, and only ever in words they have heard him say before. Perhaps he was azure-colored with caribbean wings before, they remember - and now he is quite the other way around. But otherwise, he is the same. Even if he avoids his sister at every turn. Surely this
must be him.
The Undertide of the watchtower keeps both eyes open. One on his sister, and one on the
changeling. The beloved captain-queen of this oasis in the depths, and this ancient thing of wrong colors and incomprehensible motives.
He knows better than to blink, and lose track of either.
