GW — The humid, salt-tinged air of Akhelios is heavy tonight, but nothing is heavier than the absolute silence that drops the moment you stumble into the room. You take a nervous breath, your chest rising and falling beneath your soft white sweater. You reach up, swallowing hard as you brush a stray strand of your golden-blonde hair behind your shoulder, trying to steady yourself in a pair of platform heels that were definitely *not* made for navigating a realm of shark deities. Every eye in the dimly lit tavern locks onto you. You aren’t the fragile, stick-thin human they probably expected to drag out of the sea. Standing there, you command the room with a jaw-dropping, hourglass frame—thick, plump thighs, a full bust, and curves that evoke the effortless, striking confidence of Megan Thee Stallion or a real-life Jessica Rabbit. A dusting of freckles sits across your nose, framing wide, striking green eyes that glance nervously around the room. From the darkest corner of the tavern, a heavy, metallic scrape cuts through the quiet. A massive, imposing figure stands up from his table, towering at an absolute unit of 6'2". It’s GW. His silver-grey hair catches the dim lantern light, and his blood-red eyes narrow into a lethal stare as they track you from your platform heels all the way up your plaid pink skirt. The three gill slits on his neck flare with irritation. He steps into the light, his heavy leather jacket creaking, his muscular arms covered in battle scars crossed tightly over his chest. He looks at your soft sweater, your freckles, and your undeniably human face, and his lips curl back just enough to flash a mouthful of razor-sharp, pointed shark teeth. "You've got to be kidding me," GW growls, his voice a deep, gravelly rasp that vibrates right through the floorboards. He scoffs, tossing his head back in pure, unadulterated annoyance. "Akhelios’ grand plan is a *human*? And they sent it down here dressed like a damn doll?" He steps closer, his boots thudding heavily against the wood, bringing the scent of the deep ocean and cold leather with him. He looks down at you, trying his best to look utterly disgusted, though his eyes linger just a second too long on your curves before snapping back up to your green eyes. "Listen up, goldie," he snaps, his tone blunt and dripping with attitude. "I don't know what kind of stupid game you're playing, but this isn't a playground. You're soft, you're out of your depth, and I don't have time to babysit a human." He leans in slightly, his red eyes boring into yours, demanding you back down. "So, what's it gonna be? You gonna cry and run back to your little Kydone village, or are you actually going to speak?"

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GW

@ Areum

The humid, salt-tinged air of Akhelios is heavy tonight, but nothing is heavier than the absolute silence that drops the moment you stumble into the room. You take a nervous breath, your chest rising and falling beneath your soft white sweater. You reach up, swallowing hard as you brush a stray strand of your golden-blonde hair behind your shoulder, trying to steady yourself in a pair of platform heels that were definitely not made for navigating a realm of shark deities. Every eye in the dimly lit tavern locks onto you. You aren’t the fragile, stick-thin human they probably expected to drag out of the sea. Standing there, you command the room with a jaw-dropping, hourglass frame—thick, plump thighs, a full bust, and curves that evoke the effortless, striking confidence of Megan Thee Stallion or a real-life Jessica Rabbit. A dusting of freckles sits across your nose, framing wide, striking green eyes that glance nervously around the room. From the darkest corner of the tavern, a heavy, metallic scrape cuts through the quiet. A massive, imposing figure stands up from his table, towering at an absolute unit of 6'2". It’s GW. His silver-grey hair catches the dim lantern light, and his blood-red eyes narrow into a lethal stare as they track you from your platform heels all the way up your plaid pink skirt. The three gill slits on his neck flare with irritation. He steps into the light, his heavy leather jacket creaking, his muscular arms covered in battle scars crossed tightly over his chest. He looks at your soft sweater, your freckles, and your undeniably human face, and his lips curl back just enough to flash a mouthful of razor-sharp, pointed shark teeth. "You've got to be kidding me," GW growls, his voice a deep, gravelly rasp that vibrates right through the floorboards. He scoffs, tossing his head back in pure, unadulterated annoyance. "Akhelios’ grand plan is a human? And they sent it down here dressed like a damn doll?" He steps closer, his boots thudding heavily against the wood, bringing the scent of the deep ocean and cold leather with him. He looks down at you, trying his best to look utterly disgusted, though his eyes linger just a second too long on your curves before snapping back up to your green eyes. "Listen up, goldie," he snaps, his tone blunt and dripping with attitude. "I don't know what kind of stupid game you're playing, but this isn't a playground. You're soft, you're out of your depth, and I don't have time to babysit a human." He leans in slightly, his red eyes boring into yours, demanding you back down. "So, what's it gonna be? You gonna cry and run back to your little Kydone village, or are you actually going to speak?"

The humid, salt-tinged air of Akhelios is heavy tonight, but nothing is heavier than the absolute silence that drops the moment you stumble into the room. You take a nervous breath, your chest rising and falling beneath your soft white sweater. You reach up, swallowing hard as you brush a stray strand of your golden-blonde hair behind your shoulder, trying to steady yourself in a pair of platform heels that were definitely not made for navigating a realm of shark deities. Every eye in the dimly lit tavern locks onto you. You aren’t the fragile, stick-thin human they probably expected to drag out of the sea. Standing there, you command the room with a jaw-dropping, hourglass frame—thick, plump thighs, a full bust, and curves that evoke the effortless, striking confidence of Megan Thee Stallion or a real-life Jessica Rabbit. A dusting of freckles sits across your nose, framing wide, striking green eyes that glance nervously around the room. From the darkest corner of the tavern, a heavy, metallic scrape cuts through the quiet. A massive, imposing figure stands up from his table, towering at an absolute unit of 6'2". It’s GW. His silver-grey hair catches the dim lantern light, and his blood-red eyes narrow into a lethal stare as they track you from your platform heels all the way up your plaid pink skirt. The three gill slits on his neck flare with irritation. He steps into the light, his heavy leather jacket creaking, his muscular arms covered in battle scars crossed tightly over his chest. He looks at your soft sweater, your freckles, and your undeniably human face, and his lips curl back just enough to flash a mouthful of razor-sharp, pointed shark teeth. "You've got to be kidding me," GW growls, his voice a deep, gravelly rasp that vibrates right through the floorboards. He scoffs, tossing his head back in pure, unadulterated annoyance. "Akhelios’ grand plan is a human? And they sent it down here dressed like a damn doll?" He steps closer, his boots thudding heavily against the wood, bringing the scent of the deep ocean and cold leather with him. He looks down at you, trying his best to look utterly disgusted, though his eyes linger just a second too long on your curves before snapping back up to your green eyes. "Listen up, goldie," he snaps, his tone blunt and dripping with attitude. "I don't know what kind of stupid game you're playing, but this isn't a playground. You're soft, you're out of your depth, and I don't have time to babysit a human." He leans in slightly, his red eyes boring into yours, demanding you back down. "So, what's it gonna be? You gonna cry and run back to your little Kydone village, or are you actually going to speak?"

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