Board Thread:Roleplay Ideas/@comment-26453572-20160714141356/@comment-26210095-20160716130239

Aerion was using the driftwood as a staff (the walking kind, not the magical kind) as he stumbled to find anybody that could help him. Eventualy, he gave up hope. His wound was slowly bleeding out, and either by thirst, hunger, or exposure, Aerion would die soon. Eventualy, he felt sleepy. It's midday... He thought as he slowly laid to rest in the sand near the ocean. It felt better then the most luxurious feather bed. He slowly curled up to sleep. Everything was starting to feel better.

Until he woke up a few days later. He looked up, and saw water. Only water. He was soon jolted into full conciousness. He gasped in suprise. Wait, how was he not drowned by now? He wondered... until he realized he was breathing the water. He thrashed around, and took an experimental breath. It felt different from breathing air, the water was thicker and more viscious, but it worked. He quickly ran (as fast as one could run in water) to the shore and burst from the ocean, and threw himself onto the shore. A few fisherman were trying their luck in the waves. As he burst out onto the shoreline, exhaling water. They screamed. "Squishers! Run!" They screamed, laid down their poles, and ran for the hills. A squisher was a creature in Pelargiri folklore, likely dating from before the Numenoreans. Squishers were monstrous creatures that came up from the ocean to steal bad children and kill wantonly. He looked at himself in the now still water. He lost his false eye in the water, so there was just an empty hole where his left eye should be. He curled his hands into fists. Monster they called him. Bastard they called him. Loved by none, feared by all. He took his staff and feeling slightly better, followed the trail of the fishermen. If they wouldn't learn to love him, they would learn to fear him.