Lets hollow our bones

Cave Oysters.

This is why I wanted to make a FooFan lore server okay, I’ve had such a flow of ideas since talking to all the wonderful people there! And this particular idea stemmed from a discussion surrounding how old Food Souls are - and we realised that, mate, oysters have been around for literally forever.

So I thought; oh my god what if. What if our Oyster who we see in canon is a relatively modern Oyster, and what if his ancestors are still around. There are only a few of them left - due to humans hunting them for the pearls the whole line is capable of growing - but they’re all so, so old. Their skin is rough and greyed, which is useful for blending in to the dark and rocky habitats they prefer. Living in near total darkness in cave systems for thousands upon thousands of years has completely negated their eyes, but the rest of their senses are sharpened, and should you enter even the mouth of their den, they’ll know you’re there.

But don’t be alarmed! Don’t scream, don’t run when you shine your torch around and find its light reflected in a dozen pairs of milky eyes, be still. They’re old and slow, and will most likely just want to find out what or who has stumbled into their cave, they’re docile enough, but as a human you shouldn’t do anything that might antagonise them, they haven’t forgotten why they retreated to the caves in the first place.

As they creep closer to you, you start to see more illuminated by the light of your torch, how they look nothing like the Oyster Souls you know, save for the eyes, and the pale hair. You can see that their bodies - covered in shell like armour and barnacles - shimmer with pearls, and you find yourself wondering why all the Oyster Souls back on the surface are only capable of growing pearls inside their bodies. You’re ignorant as to the history of the line - of course - how are you to know that the line has evolved to hide the the treasures they produce for fear of being hunted, but these ancient creatures surrounding you don’t need to hide them anymore, the catacomb-like structure of the caves has served them well.

Soon enough, they’ll realise that you’re human, but luckily for you they’ll also be able to smell your fear, and deduce that you do not want to start a fight. Perhaps it would be best to let sleeping dogs lie, and so they slink back into the cave, but you remain still for quite a while after they have gone, convinced that the rocks around you are still moving. Do you believe your eyes or not? It’s way too dark down here.

@stardomyx I hope you like this eldritch mollusk.

Oyster brings an ocean storm wherever he goes; his skin sparks with lightning and his voice booms thunder. A distant rumble heralds his anger and discomfort. On the rare incidents when he deigns to let you touch him (usually to grab his hand and drag him away from a fight that can’t be won), you realise that his skin is cold and smooth, even in the dry heat of summer. In idle moments, he’s always fidgeting, twitching, picking at himself as if his very skin doesn’t fit quite right on that long, thin body of his. His teeth are too white, to startling, perhaps there’s too many of them, but that thought never lingers long. You accept the sights, the sounds, the bad attitude; because honestly? It’s tame compared to some others.

…

But sometimes… you notice more. In battle, when the moment feels dire, you feel the air crackle and the sky darken, and something vast drapes itself over the battlefield, flooding your lungs, pushing against your eyes and your mind is filled to the brim with an awe-inspiring cold. Your throat feels tight, it’s hard to breathe, but through the salty haze of a feeling beyond fear, your eyes find Oyster, standing strong and proud against a reeling Fallen Angel that had previously been slavering over him. His eyes are a blank, gleaming white, are they even eyes anymore? as his body crackles with a blinding light and the ferocious winds of a tempest howl around him, tearing at your hair and clothes, but you can’t tear your eyes away from the sight of what had to be some ancient force of nature. The air ripples with some ancient, unknown strength, and you swear, you can see something, but it’s so far beyond comprehension that you’re not even sure it exists.

You see Oyster open his mouth, and layers upon layers of sharp, glistening fangs within, but it’s his voice that shakes you to your core and snatches your heart away.

“DON’T TOUCH ME.”

It’s loud. So thunderously loud that you don’t even hear it anymore, but your ears aren’t the ones blown to bits. The sound tears the Fallen apart, stripping layers of flesh like a stripping paint, layer by layer as it shrieks, skin to fat to muscle to sinew to organs to bones, until there’s nothing left but a pool of red-soaked mud.

And then it’s all over, as quickly as it began. You’re soaked, of course, and the rest of the team is still groaning in pain and wincing at bruises, but you’re alive, and that’s what matters.

No one says anything, even as Oyster unblinkingly stares at you with eyes still glazed in white and there’s not a single blemish in the blue sky above, and he’s the only one not drowned in seawater (you’re fifty miles from the nearest coastline). Once again, his skin looks too tight on his limbs, he’s twitching and wringing his thin fingers together in knots. Thunder grumbles from unseen clouds.

What do you say? Do ask what the fuck you just saw? Do you jump to accusations? Do you fall to the ground and scream?