Series: Storm Hawks
Character Age: 16
Canon: In the world of Atmos, isolated mountain tops known as Terras are surrounded by extreme drops and a lot of sky, and protected from the forces of evil - also known as the Best Villain Ever, Master Cyclonis, and her bumbling henchmen - by groups of warriors known collectively as the Sky Knights. One of these groups is the Storm Hawks, once the most legendary and well-loved team in all of Atmos. After a crushing defeat, the Storm Hawks vanished from the skies...until, years later, a group of teenagers got hold of the wreckage of their famous carrier ship the Condor, decided they would be the new and improved Storm Hawks, and took to the skies in search of fame, fortune and justice.
Stork is the pilot of the Condor, and quite possibly the most unlikely member of Aerrow's trusted team of Storm Hawks. He's a brilliant inventor and scientific mastermind, very often the voice of reason for the rest of his team, and also a totally paranoid hypochondriac. If there's danger, Stork's sure everyone is going to die (and will deliver the news with very dramatic...pauses). If there's a incredibly rare and exceedingly deadly disease, Stork knows for certain that he has it. Whenever the team sets out on a mission, Stork's the one who stays in the Condor and mutters dire predictions about their certain doom. And his own, of course.
If any of you can still hear me, which I very much doubt, I'd just like to point out that I told you this mission was...doomed. This is not a fertile, peaceful land...this is our grave. There is a reason it's known as Terra F-U Die. All we can do now is hope that our deaths will be swift and painless.
...but of course, they won't be. Do you even know what lies in the depths of the swamp? Take a look around you. All the denizens of this place have already been infected with brain-sucking parasitic worms, their life slowly...drained out of them. And still they wander the night, crying out...their hypnotic voices luring in new victims for the worms...don't drink the water. It's where their life cycle begins. Have you ever seen someone who's ingested a brain-sucking parasitic worm larvae? It's not pretty. And that's only the start of the horrors.
The birds are talking to me. It's the first sign of the deadly swamp fever, thinking you hear birds talking to you. Soothing you with their litany. 'I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings great pleasure in the company of the right partner...' And all the time the rashes are creeping unnoticed up your body, your limbs are turning numb...and then they start to itch...you'll die in agony only hours later. Despite the best efforts of pre-eminent scientists...there is no cure. Only death. Gradual, excruciatingly painful death. And always the voices of the birds...in your final deliriums they call 'Nevermore! Nevermore! Nevermore!', and you know...you know that any last faint hope...is gone.
Even if you survive all of that - and very few do - there's the quicksand. Or perhaps I should say...slow, torturous, agonizing death-sand. You're doomed from the very moment you set foot on it. The forces required to extract your body are...immense. No one has ever done it, not even with five ships trying at full blast to pull them out. Perhaps the heat of the engines merely...angered the sand. Oh yes, it's sentient. It feeds on bony tissue. Listen...you can hear it even from here. Homph...gomph...that's the sound it makes when it's hungry. It's always...very hungry. We are its favorite delicacy. Most of the time, all it can catch is frogs.
Did I mention the fateful call of the dreaded swamp frogs?
We're all going to die.
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