Survey
Courageous - Resilient - Vicious
Pet Information
Pet Name: Survey
Owner: Red
Theme / Type: Nocturnal Kratork
Born: July 4, 2014
Gender: Male
Mood: Mad
Battle Portal Stats
Hit Points: 15 / 15
Strength: 20
Defense: 0
Speed: 15
Intellect: 10
Misticpower: 1
Battles Won: 0
Battles Lost: 0
| Attached Weapons | |
Books Read
Books Read: None
Exotic Foods Eaten
Foods Eaten: 0/1254 [ View Foods ]
Pet Profile
His heart beat quickly, tutututu, and he slapped the cool air with his striped wings, but he felt more boy than bird. The connection is already fraying, Lucas realized, with a jolt that nearly sent him into a rocky arch jutting from the ocean, he is fighting me, and I've only had him for a moment.
Adjusting his wings so he might catch the sea breeze, Lucas wound through three rocky fingers reaching up from the watery depths. He dove under a flock of Ducklett, his wings level with the surface of the ocean, his eyes watching for prey. Whenever he found this Wingull's body, open sea surrounded him, so it was impossible to know quite where he was. The structures jutting from the water looked familiar, however. All the maps I've read, and not one helps me a lark.
The Wingull thrashed within him, trying to arrogate his body. Get out, a voice that wasn't his screamed, outoutoutoutout. Lucas felt his gizzard contract and release as he rose on a vent of air. It was a strange feeling, but not much dissimilar from the feeling a stomach bug brought. I must feed, his own voice said. The thought of fresh meat overtook him, memories that did not belong to him flooding his mind, and it was suddenly hard to keep his mind on flying. He ceased trying. The air stilled about him, jarred by the repose. And then it was pressing against his feathers with a smooth soft chill.
He dropped like a stone, his streamlined body slicing through air and spray and salt. The voice that was not his screeched at him, his stomach roiled, and water splashed him cold and hard in the face. He tucked his wings and swam, eyes closed against the salty ocean. There was no sound but for the riffling of an Elektrik through the blue. Soft waves caught his feathers, and he knew his prey was near.
His gizzard clenched again, and he breached, sucking in a breath. Blinking, he glimpsed a man-fish on the horizon, its sails billowing in the wind. They feed, too, he thought, when he saw a large net pulled from the depths. They were approaching him. He ducked below, and they were gone.
The Elektrik sensed him. The beat of its heart thread through the water, going at a crescendo. Its fear was palpable, an iron ball about its waist. It was not long before Lucas had it in his bill. He breached another time, beating his wings like the men beat their drums aboard their fish, boom boom boom. He circled, going higher and higher and higher with each pull of his wings, water falling like rain from his feathers.
The Elektrik went down his throat writhing when he leveled out ten meters above the sea, sending shivers of tension through him. Warmth spread through his chest. His first thought was that his prey had bitten him as it went down, but the pain did not feel so sharp as that.
He felt blood matted on his feathers, not realizing it was his until a second thrum sounded. Foreign feathers sprouted from his own, and pain took him as quickly and sharply as he had taken Elektrik. The Wingull within him was still harping, ouuuuuuut, but it morphed into an undulating wail. The throbbing in his gizzard returned, and he blinked. His wings grew heavy, and it was then the Wingull knew he was scared. An iron ball, he thought, dropping. A wooden deck came up to kiss his side, though its lips were splintery and hard as they ran along his feathers.
"Ain't one of 'em," a gruff voice said, when he had stopped sliding. A man, Lucas knew. "I told you it weren't."
Something wet splattered in his eye, and he felt a boot at his side. The drums beat about him, instructing the fish to flail its fins about. His wings ached when he tried to lift them, and his head was a leaden ball. "Good meat, I say," the other man said, kneeling." Don't matter any if it was holdin' a scrap o' paper." The Wingull thrashed when a cold hand pressed into his side. "Feisty little bastard."
The first man chuckled. "Get that arrow out of it, and might be we'll down another before evenin'. I ain't had a whole Wingull in living memory."
Let me be, Lucas thought, before the arrow's shaft ripped through him. A Wingull screamed, though it was impossible to know exactly which one. Another thrum sounded, and all was silent.
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