Moeras

The air is thick with hazy green smog indicative of centuries of industrialization and environmental degradation. The muddy terrain bubbles, pops and sinks with the slightest shift of weight. Even the trees bend and twist in lazy resignation, as if the quest to reach above the toxicity towards precious oxygen had been abandonned long ago, exchanged for the claustrophic comfort of the humidity below. How had he wound up here, in this post-apocalyptic nuclear wasteland of a continent? It seemed only moments ago he was on the sunny, languid coast of Elderidge. The pale gray canine pulled himself up (no small feat when struggling to break free from the grasp of this strange, sticky earth) and stretched. Mud clung to his fur in tangled clumps, but by this point he was too intrigued to consider personal aesthetics. Overwhelmed momentarily by the bleak landscape ahead, Arakaio spun around, as if expecting to be met by sandy shores and blue sky; no dice. He was surrounded only by the seemingly endless, murky, swamp.

Fascinating.

He spoke under his breath, then lowered his head and trotted slowly into the fog, each step labored and heavy. Moeras. Of all places, Moeras? His mind ran wild with speculations, theories, possible explanations - some of which where beyond the realms of the farfetched. His pace quickened as the ground beneath his feet steadily grew more solid. Fortunately, Arakaio was no stranger to the island, having spent much of his youth here in an attempt to break away from the stresses and obligations of the more urban existence he had known in Woestern, prior to the collapse of the technological society of the not-so-distant past.To his left was a small flickering light, barely visible through the fog, one of few remaining reminders of the enormous industrial complex this island used to be home to. He paused briefly, used one oversized paw to pull down the tattered bandana tied around his neck and tucked his nose beneath it, a makeshift defense against the overwhelming presence of ambiguous and potentially dangerous chemicals in the air, and plunged ahead.

Hours passed as the canine walked on through the sticky heat that clung to his matted, muddy fur. It weighed him down from the inside out in the same way a cold wind can chill you to the bone. Until, at last, the swamp waters became rock and the air thinned. Moeras at its best still left little to desire - the coast offered no sunny shoreline, only the edges of moderately steep cliffs and the lingering stench of the smoky chemical fires that, by now, had become an integral part of the islands' character. Arakaio returned the bandana to its usual place and for a moment just stopped. The oxygen was precious, rejuvenating. It renewed his spirits, offered salvation to his aching lungs, and reminded him of the islands one and only appeal - the silence. Even with all of its countless downfalls, Moeras had its own strange, but sweet, siren song.

Adopt

requests. closed
trades. closed

no wings until i create a template for them.
link back and do not use in the bc, ag, or off-neo.

to do list:
/~0_reilly
Examples!

Jaluery

Phayble

Zuvq

adoptables of me

new design

old design
note: many of Arakaio's adoptables were lost when he was transferred to this account, these are the only ones that I have been able to salvage thus far.

views since 5 may 2009