was thinking we needed an updated one <3
she was never far from the altar; it consumed her waking hours when she was not patrolling. and she had ceased hunting for herself the past several days; a few bites here and there from something hurriedly grabbed out of a cache fueled the priestess' frenzy. the morning before she had woken to a shaking of her limbs, and the frequency of the seizings had stirred her to begin preparations.
it was not a grisly task, nor one that moved relmyna's heart beyond a brief ache for her daughters. she had not yet become aware of her life's length; for a year the woman had endured, and the mother might yet see fit to give her more. for now, however, blackfeather filled her awareness, its thrumming heartbeat calling to her own.
melonii she was not, but the shadowdown of voices unseen spoke in her dreams, and the ravens had come again. it was from them she had departed this evening, and in her ruff a single jet wingfeather dangled, framing the ruined side of her muzzle. it was not a decoration, relmyna decided; a gift, from the avian creatures who had come to earn her fealty simply by dint of their existence.
the altar loomed ahead, and wintersbane near to it; the priestess heard the clip of his teeth as he groomed the earth alongside the sacred place. perhaps this was his worship: to be in service. silently relmyna settled herself at the edge of the treeline to watch, to pray, to lift her eyes to the cold air and its secrets stretching in blue-black expanse above them.
no need to match the length of this. i was super inspired and as a result i wrote you a novel, haha.
the ravens hold a significance to those more familiar with their ways than the tundrian, he knows and though he has never spared the birds more than an errant thought here and there he admittedly finds it rather fascinating that the largest of the bunch that inhabit their home gifted her with it. is that a sign from their gods, wintersbane wondered? or did the largest raven find her an ethereal sight as the man before her did? the gamma lets out a contemplative hum with a soft smile as his gaze touches the feather once more as it flutters along her flesh as the dark priestess looks towards the canopy.
"i'm glad she's pleased with me," wintersbane replies with relief, shoulders steeling and chest rising to use his silver-blue mane to protect him from the brief icy wind that rushes around them. "i was nervous that i upset her by not praying the day we first met." but as a man that spent most of his time being selfish it didn't seem right to pray for anything when he had no one else to pray for. holy words, he personally feels, should not be for himself. if he is to pray it should be for someone else who needs it more than he; it should be an act of selflessness.
a laugh leaves the listener's lips, a low sound that wintersbane finds rather pleasing; made more so by the fact that it was jovial, borne earnestly followed by her mouthing to him that the night mother listened to them even now.
the jovial moment turned serious with a quickness that wintersbane found a bit disarming. the listener mouths of change, danger and monsters that are drawn to the woods because of it's magic. change wasn't necessarily a bad thing but as he assumed the change she spoke of was linked with the danger and monsters it stirs something in wintersbane's breast; the studious and purposeful stoking of a fire. defiance, determination, and a ferocious protectiveness of a place and wolves that have come to mean something to him in a very short amount of time.
with moonspear he'd been rather indifferent about it all; about the pack and even to an extent his ex-girlfriend. maybe, wintersbane considers, it's because he's always belonged here. "they will have to get through me first." his words are a rough rasp; a promise. a promise to her and to the daedra that he knows now are listening. the thought of battle does not scare him; he's a beast built and born for war; it runs through wintersbane's veins just as thoroughly as cunning ran through arturo's own veins ( and though he spurns the the idea of being anything like arturo he has inherited traits from the gangster too ). the gamma is the product of generations of battle-born soturi and he does not shy away from the prospect of danger. it unnerves him, yes, shown only in the bristle of hackles along his spine. he's finally found happiness and looks to the future with bright, hopeful eyes ( settling down, starting a family of his own as just a few of the top things on his list ) and the prophecy of having it threatened by the vague dangers and monsters she mentions does not, admittedly, sit well with him.
it comes with the territory, he thinks. there are always obstacles in life, this wintersbane is no stranger to. the reputation of blackfeather woods is so twisted and dark and drives fear into the hearts of many to the point that wintersbane ponders the consideration that such fear might cause wolves or packs that feel threatened to lash out in desperation. fear was a powerful motivator, yes, but it could also inspire bravery and courage. a cornered animal might be terrified but that only meant it was going to lash out and fight harder. which reminded him...
"i met a male a while ago; tried to recruit him. he told me that a woman named liri had warned him to stay away from us." wintersbane conveys to the listener with a soft rumble in his throat. wolves speaking ill of the woods might stoke that fear but it was also extremely bad for business. "he might not have been a good fit for us in the end but it troubles me that the rumors are costing us potential recruits before we've even had the chance to recruit." and, that was an issue from what wintersbane remembered. they'd been on the brink of extermination when he'd joined their ranks. he's contemplated finding this woman, having held onto her name for as long as he had; but he has yet to attempt to seek her out. what would he say? he is no leader and it's not his place to judge whether to address the ill-reputed rumors borne of past leadership or not to.
the tundrian looks to the dark priestess for guidance now, on whether he should pursue or cease and desist and let such concerns for the dark council to handle as they saw fit.
i tried tho cuz your posts are always fantastic and worth it <3
his eyes held her, the motions of his body easy beneath his heavy pelt. from where had he come? some northern beast; some thrall carved from cold stone and dark ice. and yet there was warmth here, in the glances of his eyes. firmly he pledged to shed blood for the wood, and it settled some part of relmyna she had not realized was in flux. a whisper; wind brushing the feather along her cheek once more. the priestess was here to listen while the tundra warrior spoke, but as she listened, a sensation of gratitude for his presence in blackfeather swam up.
the minute movements of his form were of interest to her, if for no other reason than it gave her brief bits of data about who he was as an individual. she understands there are many ways to worship, the listener murmured silently, seeking to reassure wintersbane. after all, had he not come to provide service to the altar? and this was their second meeting here. what work was that than the hand of an unseen god?
relmyna, liasion for the daedric deities as she might be, was still a woman. therefore she was not impervious to how the nightglow had played along the ripple of sharp guard hairs, nor the cold look in his eye: the expression of a guardian as he gave to her his stony word, a promise she heard as the man had meant it. as if delayed, the flush at his earlier smile came now; she was annoyed with herself, with the quickening cadence of her heart and the blood beating warm beneath her winter-thickening pelage, with the way she could not quell these things within her.
he is just a man, the listener hissed at the unbecoming, girlish bauble of feeling. how many men had looked upon her? how many had found her wanting? or considered her desirable? it was a misread, relmyna decided, finding solace in the thought: some loneliness flaring in her soul had projected a subconscious want, and the nuance of wintersbane's gaze was not what she had thought it to be.
insisting upon this firmly to herself — and he was young, larger than her but with a peaking of youth that had long left her own body — the listener at last steeled her own shameful cravings and was able to look upon his countenance with only a small sensation moving low in her awareness, a roil she could not control but would not indulge.
intrigued, touched that he had gone out into the wild and attempted to bring back wolves for blackfeather, relmyna's scarred lips curved in a smile. the gods lead worthy joiners here. they brought you, she added in spite of herself, wanting to retract the words but letting her gaze settle upon his stormblue eyes once more.
he had turned to her for instruction; she saw fit to give it, and did so in a moment's time. we are not known for our diplomacy, and rumours will spread. i feel to combat this, blackfeather must be more visible, that our wolves not always keep to the shadows.
our name will be known. and now relmyna made no attempt to glance from wintersbane; against the mortal edict of their kind their gazes vied. this liri is of no account; our numbers have grown in spite of her. it is perhaps time that blackfeather inspired fear once again.
♥
while his words of the failed recruitment attempt are colored lightly with his disappointment at his failure ( and that might have been the first attempt and fail but was far from his last ); the dark priestess meant to reassure him. her words
do reassure him and his lips quirk into a small smile that his genuine in it's formation. it tugs at his facial muscles without his consent, equal parts humble and flattered. a sharp contrast to the vanity and arrogance that he also feels. a compliment from the listener, as a woman of his interest, a mouthpiece for the deadra, and a leader
is humbling. wintersbane doesn't seek to take advantage of all things in his life and for those ( perhaps rare ) things that humble him, he is grateful.
"i try to be worthy." he admits, but not because he seeks her reassurance. he admits his thoughts aloud because he's not quite sure he's
there yet; but there is confidence that he would be, at some point. she believes he is despite that he still lingers in trepidation. he is his own worst critic.
while the tundrian worries over it, relmyna doesn't seem disheartened. her words cause inspiration to bloom in his chest as her eyes bore into his. she speaks of inspiring fear in the wilds and he ponders her words. he's held onto his own personal belief that fear was hard to control. press too close to a cornered animal and it would attack with blind paranoia and panic. but if it's done right ....well he hasn't seen it done right yet; but he doesn't doubt that if executed correctly it would be a powerful weapon. he doesn't tell her aloud that he'll help in any way that he can — it was implied by his previous pledge, he feels. it goes without saying. instead, he gives a sage nod, wordlessly communicating that he both understands and agrees.
"where do we start?" he asks, finally breaking his silence, despite that it was comfortable. ...if there is a limit to wintersbane's ambition it has yet to be found.
the dark priestess speaks of the melonii's ...and that they must be reunited. it doesn't take wintersbane long to realize that she speaks of vaati and damien. the two dark masters that have been mysteriously missing from blackfeather woods since his return. wintersbane is glad that vaati is gone — though the likelihood of being recognized is extremely slim to none the tundrian doesn't care for the silver and sand clad boy and it'd been fairly mutual last time they'd been in one another's presence and damien ...well he hadn't known the man well enough to form much of an opinion on him. he thinks the woods is better off without them but he didn't dare say this out loud to relmyna who appeared to house a very different opinion.
what if it does? it seems to be doing alright at present,
wintersbane questions and points out his deduction. he doesn't understand what's so special about that family that everyone thinks that this place will perish without them. it's current state ( growing and relatively peaceful ) is a testament to kove and relmyna's own success with the place. and if they don't want to return?
he inquires next, mostly out of curiosity. is this what the gods tell her? that there is no other family line worthy? is there no other family capable or worthy of the magick of this place? of leading?
the tundrian puts voice to his inner question, unsure if he was asking relmyna or mephala. that seemed like a waste of potential to him, placing all of their cards in one family and one family alone.
i apologize if that's forward or out of line.
the gamma seeks understanding but he realizes that perhaps he should seek it without so much questioning of the daedra. especially as they've been so good to him. forgiving. blessing him with sight of them. he diverts his gaze from her for a moment, as if he waits to feel the sting of anger from some unseen force. if the gods are upset that he questions he does not feel it and thus looks back to her once more. what should we sacrifice?
wintersbane zeroes in on her suggestion, eager to soothe any upset he might've caused, eager to appease and comply to sithis, mephala and relmyna's wishes.
it occurs to wintersbane that he is, perhaps, being too liberal with his questions. she explains that the melonii line built blackfeather woods ...and in a way he kind of understands but also he does not. change was not always a bad thing. kingdoms changed reigning families all the time, but he does not say this. he's already been too unmindful of his words. putting all their cards on a family that is clearly divided, that shows no intentions of reuniting seems foolish to him. it was like believing that him and mallaidh could ever reconcile. no matter how their meetings started out they always seemed to end in the same way: with tragedy. the most recent one being the worst thus far.
she is idealistic and it makes him adore her even more, despite the sadness that her concrete belief stirs in his breast. she is confident and he admires it, but he knows from his own experiences that a family divided might not ever be able to mend that broken bridge.
sometimes,
he speaks, breaking his silence, voice turning solemn as he offers her a preview into himself, dispelling a tiny fraction of the mystery he's kept.
we cannot repair such bridges no matter how hard we try. sometimes those differences run too deep and when a divided family stands too far apart all they can do is hurt one another.
maybe the melonii's would be different but ...their continued division would suggest that they're not.
perhaps the gods will favor the melonii reunion.
he offers for placation. he does not mean to question, nor step upon her belief, only offer his perspective from his own experiences despite that she hadn't asked him for it.
287 words
let's fade this and have another :D
he offered comfort, but relmyna would not take it. he knew nothing of it all, and nor did she know the enormity of her own lore. they were broken, they were sundered; she did not stop to consider that the wood fared well, and it was only she who suffered, only she was was beginning to slip beneath the loss and horror and sorrow that had marked all her years, both remembered and unrecognizable.
relmyna turned away from him, her gaze fixed to the earth; there was little to say or to mention. there were no words that would chase the cobwebs from a heart grown more thick with dust over time, nothing to quell her inner chaos. wintersbane looked at her so — she wished to dash that from his eyes, replace it with the disgust she felt for herself, day to day, her hours edged in loathing.
perhaps he would go now. perhaps he would not come back.
absolutely! teeny, tiny wrap up post for archival. <3
she turns away from them and the tundrian diverts his own gaze. he does not attempt to speak again, letting the silence settle between them. but he does not leave. he stays and returns to his original task at hand, pulling another weed from the ground with his teeth.
49 words