#odd god

wormwood's just out here to have a good time and occasionally flip the bird to 'pure' angels. he's vibing, making friends and eating good food and trying not to end up caught by the government again. he's entirely unproblematic if you're not a supernatural criminal and he's down to help you if you're not being a dick to him.

// ur not wrong

emerges from the bayou waters like something from a fairytale.

// he's the answer to ur prayers

// i love (1) bayou prince

achilles is still only a baby eldritch (and a half breed) so he's not in possession of a great many powers yet. the horror hasn't developed, there's no spine tingling fear when you look at him, only a brief shiver that's over and done with in the space of a second. he has no mind scrambling voice, just a heavy cajun accent, dripping with french and cut down words. there's a strong connection to the bayou within him, both from his mother and from his father settling there all those year ago. he's a genius loci of the place, a guardian spirit of the swamp, his home among the spanish moss draped cypress trees and gator invested waters. the waters listen to him, the trees and reeds bend for him, alligator hulking form behind him like scaled knights beside the seated king. tentacles are still present, inky like his hair and coiling from back and shoulders when prompted. the locals are used to seeing them, no longer bat an eye at the being helping them pull in their nets or snagging children from waters too deep for them to handle. his father thinks the bayou will claim him completely, that her sway will over-ride that of the deep void and crown him her king over the blackness of home never seen, only felt.

if you take him out of his shell there's very little of humanity about him if any at all. he's stands at about 10ft when he's at his full height, but his tail allows him to slouch much lower, the lack of a rigid spine makes him supple and flexible. there's exposed bones for a ribcage and that's where the similarities stop. there's spanish moss growing in the exposed cavity of his chest and spider lilies clinging to the bones, each one marked with runes no longer spoken on this earth. black tentacles writhe from his back and his lower body is like that of a powerful snake, oil spill dark in colour all sinuous movement and coiling, curling, catching. arms are over long, bony and raggedy, four in total, claws curved sharp but touch so tender as he snags children from the waters to stop them drowning. head that of alligator skull, no flesh, just the void sitting dark in throat and mother of pearl glow in the hollows of his eye sockets. he's draped in robes of finest silk, of black and gold and crown of moss and bone mark him as bayou's darling, this odd god that the locals pray to.