Ankyra Sound why do we care about the rumors baby

Kjalarr's dreams had been restless, and he did not deign to linger within the communal den of The Grotto. The viking made his way further, into one of it's tunnels, towards the ceremonial chambers. He had never asked what they were for — what ceremonies had happened here. All that Kjalarr knew was that it had been some time since they'd been put to use. Not for the first time he was curious, but there'd always been something more pressing that to sate his own curiosity and thus he had never taken the few moments to inquire about it. He did not know about the pack that had claimed the Sound before Saltwinter, not who they were or what they had stood for. Nor did he know about the upset between his birth pack and the Sound's first pack.

There was a feel of sacrosanct to the chambers — noted when Kjalarr had first taken to exploring them by his lonesome. He did not intend to linger long. There were patrols to be run, caches to be filled; but he enjoyed the reflective properties of the chamber's pool, how it appeared as if it were illuminated, casting moving light upon the cavern roof and thought that a few minutes stolen to himself wasn't going to hurt anything.

caiaphas was guiltily aware of the ceremonial chamber's inactivity, and as of late, she had not kept with the nereides faith. she had always been an outlier of their creed, and having been cut distinctly from a different cloth it was oftentimes hard for her to engage in their sacrosanct customs. while sacrifices and witchcraft had been a source of curios and excitement for the siren queen, the chambers were now ghastly and empty -- and often times the hollowed walls reminded her starkly of kevlyn's absence.

and now lusca's, and lycaon's, and wylla's and ingram's. like kevlyn, her children had been stolen from her once again. she hated the cur, she cursed her -- and if she ever saw lusca again the blood would flow unbidden.. hers or lusca's, it didn't matter.

she was surprised to find kjalarr in the chambers, and as she pulled into the open enclave she did not hide her approach. she looked about to the grime-ridden ceiling, sensing the enormity of the world around her. "it's a strange place, isn't it?" she queried, finding herself stopping before him. "almost seems unnatural for a wolf to be here."

The sound of approach was not hidden, and Kjalarr's ears perked as he partially turned, struggling for a moment to find her shape in the shadows though he knew immediately who had joined him from her scent alone. A low greeting rumbled in the Viking's throat though he did not translate the wolfish noise into words. This was not his first time visiting these chambers — no the first time he'd had one of “the” dreams. Not of Ragnar but as if he had possessed his father's body in Valhalla. It had been strange and exciting all at the same time, and it had been a while since he'd had one. He didn't know what they meant — those dreams — without the proper teachings of a Seer he probably never would. Though Kjalarr was unaware of the chamber's true purpose he enjoyed this place. It had a surreal feeling to it, mystical, even and inexplicably the viking was drawn to it. Because it felt sacred he did not visit it often, not wanting to disturb it's aura with his prolonged and frequent presence.

“I like it,” Kjalarr admitted his previous thoughts aloud to Caiaphas at her inquiry. “even if it is strange.” He couldn't help the grin that tugged slowly at his lips as he spoke it. “What were they used for in your old pack? What kind of ceremonies were held here?” The only ceremonies he knew of were the ones Thistle had told him that Ragnar had conducted in the name of his faith and gods; and while Kjalarr considered himself a Viking he was not as committed to the faith as his father before him. He believed in the Gods and the Norns and the Æsir plenty but his father's rituals were left untouched by his son who couldn't help but think he was better off not attempting it because he didn't even know how to properly hold them anyway. His gaze settled upon his coywolf queen as he awaited her response, a curious rise to his brow.

he liked it. caiaphas let a smile indulge her usually strained features, trailing her gaze over the spire-ridden roof of the chamber. she liked it too, in a way -- but it was a dark and terrible way.

"not so good things." she answered honestly, for she had no reason to lie to kjalarr. "i am the last surviving member of a pack called the nereides. they worshiped the sea, and their faith came a terrible cost." she drew her gaze back to her scarred comrade. "sacrifices." she delivered the statement unflinchingly, for it had been she to commit them. "there is lots of life still left in this room, and lots of blood in which to drown it." she commented darkly. she was not outwardly suspicious, but she had every reason to believe that the crimes of her iniquity had been given form in that dark and forgotten room.

last post for me, feel free to PP. <3

At her dark words, Kjalarr glimpsed around them, studying. Yet, her dark words and the shift of atmosphere in the chambers did not frighten him. Neither did the term “sacrifices”. Vikings themselves offered sacrifices to their Gods, though Kjalarr had yet to practice that. Besides, it couldn't be too much worse than eating beasts of your own species. It wasn't like he was innocent or any sort of angel. He wasn't perturbed. Kjalarr was quiet, contemplative for a few moments before his gaze slipped back to Caiaphas and the two talked for a while yet before eventually their conversation came to a natural close and they parted: Kjalarr headed to the borders to run his patrols, realizing how little he truly knew of his mysterious Queen and deciding that such was simply apart of her charm to him.