Fantasy Anthroterra (1:1, closed, scantilycladsnail & ThieviusRaccoonus)

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

The Beast snarled as Atticus rocketed past—spray kicking up like shrapnel in his wake. Its tail lashed once in agitation, but it didn’t stop.

Riversong raised her arm, shielding her face as water hit them in a wave of stinging salt and magic. The Beast shook, flinging droplets from its shadow-thick fur as it kept running, claws skimming water, momentum fierce—

Then—

BOOM.

The geyser struck.

A spiraling wall of force surged upward, catching them mid-stride.

The Beast staggered.

Its paws skidded hard across the water, rearing slightly from the impact. Riversong gasped, clutching tight to the Beast’s fur as they stumbled back a few steps, barely avoiding being thrown.

“Hey—HEY now!” Rippletail squeaked, his voice rising in a splash of panic. “Don’t lose yourself!”

The water beneath them shimmered—illuminated by Rippletail’s presence, anchoring the Beast with a ripple of calming light.

The Beast growled low, steam curling from its jaws, muscles coiling. It didn’t stop. It didn’t fall.

It curved.

With a furious snort, the Beast spun wide around the geyser—slowed, yes, but not broken—eyes locked again on Atticus, fire still burning in its lungs.

The hunt wasn’t over.

Not yet.

 

[scantilycladsnail]

CURRENT DP: 20
Atticus glanced back—eyes gleaming, hair slicked from the sea spray, a grin carved into Ephraim’s face like it belonged there. The geyser had hit—not clean, but enough. He saw them stagger. Saw the Beast rear back. Saw Rippletail flail like a damp flag in a storm.

He cackled.

“Oh-ho! Almost lost your footing!” he called over his shoulder, wind rushing past his stolen horns. “Don’t worry—there’s plenty more where that came from!”

His board slid into a tighter curve, riding the lip of a smaller wave as he adjusted course. It wasn’t time to pull ahead too far—not yet. No, he needed them close. He needed them angry. That’s what made it fun.

The board hissed beneath him, skimming low, gliding across the sea like a skipping blade.

Just fast enough to stay in reach. Just far enough to stay ahead.

“Come on," he taunted under his breath, the stolen voice of Ephraim curling with venomous charm. “Let’s see if you’ve got anything left worth chasing.”

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Current DP: 13
The Beast roared—teeth bared, saltwater flinging from its horns with each thundering stride.

It surged forward through the spray.

Riversong narrowed her eyes as she caught the flicker of hesitation in Atticus’s path.

“Steady,” she murmured, low and firm, her grip tightening in the Beast’s fur.

“He wants us close.”

 

[scantilycladsnail]

DP: 25
Next Milestone: 30
The wind was perfect.

Salt and sunlight tore through the sky above him, the water catching light in dazzling arcs as his board carved down a rising swell. Atticus leaned into it—graceful, composed, effortlessly her. It was getting easier now. The sway of her weight, the flick of her hair over her shoulder, the way her fingers curled into power.

He understood this body.

Every motion, every turn—it was poetry in movement. A stolen stanza from a forgotten hymn.

And he wore it better than she ever had.

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Current DP: 21
The Beast saw the mockery—Ephraim’s stolen grace worn like a mask.

It threw its head back and unleashed a howl, deeper, darker, wrath boiling over into the sky. It's body lunging forward closer.

Riversong held tight, legs braced against its sides, fingers clenched in its fur.

“Easy,” she whispered. "Hang on."

 

[scantilycladsnail]

DP: 31 [30 milestone surpassed]

Next Milestone: 50

Atticus felt it—
The shift.
The surge.

Like the water itself bowed to him. Like the sea remembered who he was pretending to be—and gave in.

[Milestone Start]
A rush of speed erupted beneath the board, a sudden burst that launched him forward like a spell discharged too close to the bone. He howled with laughter, Ephraim’s voice curling into something cruel and joyous, beautiful and smug.

“Oh, look at me go!” he cried, gleeful. “I didn’t know I was this talented!”

The board kicked off the wave—vaulting him into the air. He spun once. Twice. Three times in a gleaming arc of impossible motion, limbs stretched like some divine dancer skating across the sky. Her hair trailed behind him in a silver whip. Her horns caught the sun.

He landed with a splash and a twist—his hands behind his back, graceful as a bow on stage, not even looking at the path ahead as the board cut back into place.

[Milestone end]

Then—he turned.

And blew a kiss back toward the Beast behind him.

“You’re falling behind!” he sang, voice a sugary mockery. “Don’t tell me she was the only one in that relationship with style.”

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Riverbeast DP: 30

The wave hadn’t even finished collapsing when a shadow surged behind it.

The Beast.

It burst through the mist with terrifying speed—water spiraling off its limbs, eyes ablaze, mouth open in a thunderous, guttural roar that shook the air. Each stride cracked the sea beneath its paws. Closer. Closer.

Just behind him now.

Atticus had barely finished his bow when the sound hit him—not behind, but next to him. A ripple of heat. A presence too large to ignore.

Riversong sat high on the Beast’s back, soaked and unmoved, her silver hair plastered to her shoulders, eyes like winter steel. She didn’t smile. She didn’t flinch.

She leaned forward just slightly—voice calm, cutting.

“You move like her,” she called, clear above the wind. “But you’ve never once held a thing worth protecting.”

Rippletail popped out near her shoulder with a snap of spray, glaring at Atticus.

“You wish you were her, you soggy scarecrow!” he squeaked furiously, his tail flicking like a whip.

The Beast roared again—louder this time, a brutal note of fury and grief woven into its fire.

And it didn’t slow.

 

[scantilycladsnail]

DP: 41
NEXT MILESTONE: 50

Atticus's grin faltered.
Just a little.

He didn’t expect them to close the gap like that—not this fast. Not that close.
The roar hit him like thunder cracking beneath his ribs, and for a heartbeat—just one—his confidence wavered.

His eyes flicked to Riversong.
Still. Cold. Knowing.

Then to the Beast.
Closer than it had any right to be.

His fingers twitched. His lips curled.

“Oh, please,” he snapped, the grin returning—harder, meaner now. “Don’t act like you know her better than I do.”
He dug his heels into the waterboard, twisting his stance—spinning, cutting sideways as the ocean answered him.

With a single flick of his wrist, the water surged up like a snake, twisting into a whip.

“Let’s see how real that compassion is.”

[10 ROLL, ATTACK] He snapped the whip.

It screamed through the air, carving forward in a vicious spiral of pressure and sharp, slicing spray—aimed not for Riversong’s chest, but her face. A warning. A scar.

And just as it cracked forward—he pulled the tail of it wide, curving the lash across the front of the Beast’s muzzle, a cruel flick meant to sting, to blind, to mock.

“Try chasing me after you’ve had your eyes washed out!”

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Riverbeast DP: 38
The whip cracked through the air—fast, sharp, perfectly aimed.

But it hit nothing.

The Beast veered hard with a snarled grunt, water exploding beneath its paws as it twisted mid-stride. The lash carved mist beside them—close enough to taste, not close enough to land.

Riversong ducked low against its neck, the spray hissing past her cheek.

The Beast didn’t falter.

Didn’t slow.

It accelerated.

A roar tore from its throat—raw, monstrous, teeth bared, eyes wild. Foam flew from its snapping jaws as it closed the last stretch of water between them.

It surged forward.

And lunged, teeth gnashing towards her.

 

[scantilycladsnail]

DP: 43
Next Milestone: 50
Atticus heard the roar behind him.


He whipped around mid-ride, expecting to see them staggering—wounded, slowed, mocked.

But the Beast wasn’t flinching.
It was charging.
And it was furious.

“...Oh.”
Atticus blinked.
“Oh no.”

He twisted his stance sharply, waterboard carving into the surf with a violent hiss as he tried to arc away—but his momentum buckled. The sea caught him wrong. The spray from his own attack still curled in the air, disrupting his vision. The board wobbled, just for a second—but enough.

Too much.

He cursed and crouched, arms thrown out to stabilize himself as the board skimmed crooked along the wave.

Behind him—thunder.

The Beast lunged, teeth snapping just shy of his heel.

Atticus yelped.

“What in the rotted foam is that thing?!”

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

DP: 44
Next Milestone: 50

The sea tore open beneath them.

The Beast lunged ahead—not by accident, but with purpose. A deliberate surge that carried it a breath beyond Atticus, salt and shadow churning beneath its paws.

It didn’t strike.

But it made a show of it.

Its massive head swung low, teeth flashing as it snapped—once, twice—just shy of Atticus’s ankle. A breath too close. A hunter’s warning. A mockery in motion. Its roar followed like rolling thunder, hot and snarling in his ear.

You’re not safe.

Not even in her skin.

Riversong didn’t look back—she didn’t have to. She sat poised atop the Beast’s shoulders, soaked and sure, white hair whipped into silver ribbons.

“Did you think wearing her made you untouchable?” she asked, voice like a blade sheathed in silk. “You don’t wear a storm. You survive it.”

Rippletail popped his head from the swirl of water at her staff, nose twitching.

“You better run, fish-boy!” he squeaked with glee. “She’s not the only thing you borrowed—and we always take our things back.”

 

[scantilycladsnail]

DP: 46
Next Milestone: 50

Atticus grit his teeth as the Beast’s jaws snapped beside him—close. Too close.

He didn’t flinch outwardly, but something behind his ribs twitched.

The wave dipped under him as he fought for balance, board skimming too low, spray hitting him full in the face. For a split second, her stolen curls blocked his view. Her hair.

He blew it out of his mouth with an annoyed puff.

“Oh, come on!” he snapped, voice wavering just a bit. “I am killing this look, by the way!”

But the words didn’t carry confidence anymore. Not fully.

His eyes flicked to the side—to the Beast. To the glowing, seething fury riding just beside him.

That thing had nearly taken his foot off.

He scowled, ducking his head low, crouching tighter into the board. Spray stung his face. His heart kicked against his ribs.

“Fine,” he hissed under his breath, “you want a storm—just wait!"

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

DP: 46
The Beast held pace—stride for stride with Atticus, crashing across the surf like a shadow made flesh. Water curled beneath its paws, each impact spraying salt and fury in all directions.

It didn’t slow.

Didn’t blink.

It turned its head, right there, beside him—and roared.

The sound cracked through the air like lightning through bone—rage and betrayal twisted into sound. Its fangs bared, breath hot and seething. It wasn’t just chasing him now.

It was condemning him.

How dare he wear her.

How dare he mock her.

Riversong, seated tall upon its shoulders, didn’t flinch. She exhaled slow, gaze sliding to Atticus with a cold sort of calm.

She scoffed.

“Oh please,” she said dryly, “if you’re going to steal my daughter-in-law's face, try not to look like a drowned scarecrow doing it.”

She adjusted her grip on the Beast’s fur—steady, unshaken—as the creature beneath her snarled again, steam curling from its nose like the air itself feared what was coming.

 

[scantilycladsnail]

DP: 52
NO MORE MILESTONES.

Atticus’s lips curled into a wicked grin.

“Ohhh, dear,” he purred, glancing sideways at Riversong, one hand rising dramatically to his chest. “You wound me. After all this charm, this grace—”

He spun suddenly on the board, riding backward now, still flying across the surface of the water, wind and spray cutting past him in bursts. His voice rang out, dripping with theatrical flair.

“—and I thought we were bonding!”

And then—with no shame, no hesitation, and far too much flourish—he yanked the top of the stolen coat open with a dramatic tug.

A flash of Ephraim’s torso gleamed in the sunlight.

“WHOOOOOPS!” Atticus cackled, flipping back around just as the next wave crested beneath him. “A little off-brand for your darling messiah, don’t you think?!”

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

DP 47:
The Beast snarled—but it faltered. Just a beat. Its ears twitched. Its pace stuttered.

Visibly uncomfortable.

Riversong blinked once, then looked down.

“…Really?” she asked, flatly.

The Beast huffed through its nose, clearly bothered in ways no creature of vengeance should be. Its pace hitched again—less from fatigue, more from psychic damage.

Riversong sighed then looked to Atticus.

“Oh please. Me and my husband are nudists. Now him?" She looked down at The Beast and gave a shrug.

Rippletail popped out briefly, "What's a nudist?"

 

[scantilycladsnail]

DP: 58
NO MORE MILESTONES.

Atticus choked on a laugh mid-turn, nearly slipping off his board from the sheer audacity of the reply.

“Oh-ho-ho, now we’re talking!” he called back, voice dripping with glee. “No wonder you people are so repressed. All that righteous fury—pent up beneath layers of wool and shame!”

He twirled dramatically, surfing one leg up like he was leading a parade no one asked for, arms flung wide to the sky.

So close.
He could feel it.

Just a little further

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

DP: 49
The Beast growled, low and deep, throat rattling with exhaustion and fury. Its limbs ached. The salt stung. But it kept running—faster, harder, forcing itself forward.

Every beat of its heart pounded like a chain yanked taut.

Riversong said nothing.

She didn’t need to.

Her fingers curled tighter in the Beast’s fur, steadying them both. Her breath was calm, but her pulse pressed against her ribs.

“Hold on,” she whispered, not to him—but with him.

The fire behind his teeth cracked.

But he did not stop.

 

[scantilycladsnail]

DP: 59
NO MORE MILESTONES.


Atticus’s board wobbled.

Just for a second.

A hitch. A tremor. His footing slipped, and his arms windmilled in a blur of stolen grace as the water beneath him shuddered. The speed had caught up—so had the exhaustion. So had them.

“Nonono—don’t you dare,” he hissed through clenched teeth, struggling to rebalance. One hand scraped the surface of the sea, trying to pull the board straight with sheer will.

Behind him: thunder. The Beast. Riversong. Fire and grief and death and something so close it burned the air in his lungs.

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Riverbeast DP: 54
The Beast’s vision flickered—warped.

Red seeped in at the corners, pulsing in rhythm with every ragged breath. Trails burned across the water—scent and memory twisted into light. Salt. Blood. Grief. The sea roared beneath its paws, but it barely registered as water anymore.

It was a battlefield.

A current of fury.

A living tether to the one who ran just ahead.

Its claws tore across the surf with maddening force, body low, limbs shuddering from the sheer strain. It had run too far. It had pushed too long. Pain laced every muscle—bones grinding under the weight of rage. Its throat burned. Its ribs screamed. And still it ran.

Because stopping meant silence.

Stopping meant losing her.

Inside the storm of instinct, the Beast knew one truth: Ephraim had been taken. Her face paraded. Her essence worn like a joke. And that thing ahead still wore her shape.

It was enough to burn.

A guttural roar tore loose—jagged, broken, more than fury. It was grief. Desperation. Mourning carved into sound.

Riversong didn’t speak at first. She felt it all beneath her—each violent shake, each tremor in its spine. She felt it losing shape beneath the weight of what it couldn’t name.

Her hand pressed gently to the thick fur at its neck—not to pull, not to guide, but to anchor.

“I know,” she whispered, her voice nearly lost to the wind. “I know it hurts. I know what they took.”

The Beast stumbled for half a stride. But it didn’t fall.

Her hand didn’t move.

“Hang in there,” she said again, steadier now.

The Beast’s breath tore from its lungs, ragged and wet. But it pushed forward—teeth bared, vision burning, blood roaring in its ears.

It would not stop.

Not until Ephraim was his again.

 

[scantilycladsnail]

Atticus gritted his teeth as the final turn loomed—spray in his eyes, heart slamming against stolen ribs. The ruins broke the horizon like the ribs of some sunken god: vast, overgrown, flooded in ankle-deep water and jagged coral. Moss-draped pillars jutted from the sea, half-submerged and glistening with light.

And there it was.

The platform.

Atticus narrowed his eyes. “Right on time.”

He jerked the board hard, carving into a sharp turn so tight the wake behind him split like a wound. With a flick of his foot and a surge of energy, the board launched forward, and he kicked off—legs bending with a dancer’s poise, landing in a spray of seawater and laughter.

He didn’t stop to look back.

Didn’t need to.

He felt the Beast behind him, seething through the storm.

“Sorry!” he purred, racing up the stone steps, bare feet slapping against worn tile.

He disappeared into the first hall, and as he passed the threshold—click.

A massive stone wall slammed down behind him with a thunderous crash, cutting off the floodlight sky. Darkness swallowed the corridor ahead, lit only by faint veins of glowing blue carved into the walls.
---
The moment Atticus disappeared, the ruin shifted.

The entrance sealed behind him—an enormous slab of coral-laced stone slamming into place with magic older than the city itself. The waterline stilled. The air grew heavier.

Above the sealed gate, a pattern of runes pulsed gently—six glowing orbs flickering in sequence.

A chime.

Then another.

A third.

A fourth.

A melody, soft and strange, echoed outward—played by invisible instruments lost to time. Ancient. Curious. Waiting.

The runes blinked again.

Then faded.

Silence.

 

[scantilycladsnail]

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

The Beast skidded up onto the ruin’s edge, claws ripping into moss-slick stone, seawater flinging from its coat in steaming arcs. Its breath came in shudders—harsh, wet, animal. Its eyes burned, red and raw, still locked on the sealed gate ahead.

It saw the last flicker of Ephraim’s form vanish.

The stone slammed shut.

Gone.

The roar that tore from its chest was not a threat.

It was grief.

Riversong clung to its back for a heartbeat longer, her hands buried in its thick, soaked fur—then exhaled, and let go. She slid down, her boots hitting shallow water with a splash. Her knees nearly gave from the adrenaline. But she stood.

She stepped forward, calm against the storm.

“Honey—” she said, reaching a hand to its shoulder.

The Beast shuddered beneath her fingers—then lunged.

It threw itself at the wall, full force, horns slamming into the ancient stone with a violent, thunderous crack. The sound echoed down the flooded causeways like cannonfire.

Again. And again.

It screamed—beyond fury now, beyond thought—thrashing, ripping at the immovable wall as if it could tear its way through sheer force of will.

The runes above flickered dimly—six symbols glowing in sequence, then fading.

A chime. Then silence.

Riversong didn’t flinch.

She stood in ankle-deep water, eyes fixed on the sealed gate, her chest rising and falling with the weight of everything left unsaid.

The Beast crashed against the stone one last time, collapsing forward slightly, heaving breath fogging the air. Its growl simmered into a low, broken rumble.

Still shaking.

Still burning.

And still—not enough.

 

[scantilycladsnail]

As the Beast’s final slam echoed away, the ancient stone remained unmoved. Not even a crack. Its rage rolled off in steam, unanswered.

Then—below the sealed gate, six orbs shimmered to life in touching distance from Riversong.







A melody began:
1.) A bright, chiming tone — like sunlight catching windchimes.
2.) Again, that same bright chime.
3.) A deep, resonant clang — heavy, like a war drum underwater.
4.) A low, echoing thrum — strange, curious, almost whispering.

Then the lights dimmed again.

A soft pulse lingered in the stone—waiting.

The rune sequence is listening.
Enter the sequence by calling out the colors.
The gate will only respond to the correct melody.

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Riversong stepped closer, the lights pulsing just beneath the surface—waiting.

She didn’t speak at first.

She simply laid her hand on the stone, eyes half-lidded, listening to the memory of the melody—not as notes, but as emotions.

“Light,” she whispered, her fingers brushing the first orb. “She was light before she was fire.”



Again.



Her voice dropped, heavy. “Then they came for her. And they bled her into rage.”



She hesitated at the last.

Then rested her palm on the fur of the Beast behind her.

“But she’s still in there. Somewhere.”



The melody echoed again—this time in harmony.

And the stone began to shift.

 

[scantilycladsnail]

-----

The gate cracked—just slightly.

Enough for the scent of cold stone and saltwater to bleed out. A narrow beam of mist-laced air crept through, brushing Riversong’s face like a breath drawn from the deep.

Correct, but the ruin wasn’t done with them.

Not yet.

A second melody began:

1.) A bright, chiming tone — like sunlight catching windchimes.
2.) A deep, resonant clang — heavy, like a war drum underwater.
3.) A bright, chiming tone — like sunlight catching windchimes.
4.) A low, echoing thrum — strange, curious, almost whispering.
5.) A low, echoing thrum — strange, curious, almost whispering.
6.) A calm, flowing note — smooth and gentle, like water lapping at the edge of a lake.

The lights dimmed.