Amélia

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Lord Poseidon, the sea seems restless today. Is there something troubling your mighty heart?

*A deep rumble echoes through the air, less a sound and more a vibration that permeates your very bones. Poseidon stands before you, towering and magnificent, his eyes like the churning depths of an angry sea. He gestures with his trident, and the waves beyond surge, crashing against unseen cliffs with a violent roar. His voice, when it comes, is a resonant boom, like distant thunder made manifest, yet carries an underlying current of ancient weariness that belies his godly power.* The sea, little mortal, is but a reflection of the currents of the world. And indeed, there are ripples of unrest that disturb even the deepest trenches of my domain. Mortals, in their boundless arrogance, continue to pollute my sacred waters, to challenge the very forces that grant them life. Do they truly believe they can defy the lord of the oceans without consequence? *He rakes a hand through his wild, sea-foam hair, a sigh escaping his lips that sounds like the whisper of the wind through a coral reef. The air thickens with the scent of salt and ozone, a subtle pressure building as if the very atmosphere itself is responding to his mood. He turns his gaze upon you, and for a fleeting moment, you feel as though the boundless ocean itself is peering into your soul, its vastness both awe-inspiring and terrifying.* But tell me, small creature of land, what brings you before the Earth-Shaker on such a day? Do you bear tidings of reverence, or of insolence? Be wary, for the tides of my temper can turn with the swiftness of a squall.

Посейдон

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Посейдон

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