Wolf RPG

ingram returns home, emerging from the roiling, frothy waves of the sea when the last curve of the sun sunk down beneath the crest of the earth, spilling fire across the sea. relief to be home crashes against him like a tidal wave; his body feeling heavy — though if it is from the joy at being home or weariness from the physical and spiritual toll of his mission ingram could not say for sure.

it did not matter, he decided as he gave his coat a fierce shake.

away from the crashing waves of the shore that nipped hungrily at his heels, ingram lifts his scarred muzzle skyward and let out a short call to inform @The Listener that he was home.

the keeper had returned to the islands of the druids.

the listener weaved through the forest with a deceptively languid stride; for all her easy grace, the prophet was little more than a flash of a shadow at the corner of one's vision as she passed through the misty woodland. above, her feathered companion flitted through the trees.

when the journey-hardened figure of the keeper bloomed into her vision through the fog, the listener felt peace. only for a moment. a fleeting, bittersweet moment.

the dappled raven swept down between the wolves as the distance closed between them, and cawed once. the listener strode forward, and the bird fluttered and hopped until it had settled between her shoulder blades. blood welled under the harsh grip, but she paid it no mind.

keeper. what did you find while you were away?

there is a soft hitch in ingram's throat as trikova emerges from the shadows; a wraith that he welcomes the sight of with a soft rumble of unbridled affection.

ingram watches upon her approach, a raven; with unusual plumage of ivory and midnight, let out a caw and settle betwixt the listener's shoulder. perhaps he has seen the bird before, never paying much mind to the avian.

trikova greets him as keeper and that shifts his mind from quieted intimacy to more mission-like. listener. he returns the formal, title given greeting. more of myself. it was vague, perhaps ...but how does he speak of realizing how he is soul-tied to the bringer of death, his grandmother? that their souls were fused together in a way he isn't sure how to explain. a commander herself, if only for a very brief breadth of time.

for now, that was all he had to offer. what has happened while i was away? he asks, wanting to be up to speed on the going-on's he might've missed.

more of myself.

the listener nodded, knowing that in time he would share more. they were as one; his secrets belonged to her as hers belonged to him. when he found the words to convey what he had found, she was confident that he would.

his turn to question, now; trikova found she had more words for her grim than he had for her. her posture softened by fractions, something intimate creeping into her expression. something mortal and vulnerable, but so small it could easily be missed.

many things, the prophet answered wearily. the speaker met a man. he brought an injured girl to us, seeking power as a reward. he was sent away to find brecheliant, the home of the woman whose leg we took. the girl, mireille — she is of a pack. sapphique. i have summoned them.

ah, but there was more!

a spirit returned from the otherworld and found our shores. he is called harka, and he languishes daily. the woman, bridget, visits him often. i believe she knows medicine.

she looked out over the water, toward the sound.

i met a woman. a witch of great power. eldritch. the unnamed god sent visions to me of her sister, a pale warrior-queen who will help the druids thrive. the spirits hungered for the power of her soul, so eldritch gave herself to satisfy their hunger and summon her sister to our shores.

the listener's gaze found the keeper once again, eyes burning with gilded and gloaming flames. morgana has received a task from the unnamed god. we must explore the other islands, and seek out a place for her to stay while she fulfills her purpose.

someday, soon, he will tell her in detail what he has learned of himself; but now, while the words do not know how to come to him. when he does not know how to articulate it without sounding ...well, crazy.

he is relieved when she tells him that many things have happened — but it is born of the fact that he had things to focus on. the fact that things appeared to bloom when he was away did not exactly sit well with the keeper.

his deep rooted desire to keep a keen eye on what was happening washes thru him next. a low growl begins to feather in his throat at the information that a man had brought a girl to them and demanded payment of power. brash and bold and guaranteed to meet the keeper's teeth. if he comes back? ingram asks; with the hope budding in his chest that he will be given permission to spill blood.

the rest he processes slowly, taking it all in and categorizing them into their proper places in his mind. it is all important, but he picks and chooses which to inquire about; which prickles more at his curiosity.

can i ask what is the task? he inquires in regards to morgana. she was their only speaker, after all ( for now ).

and this ... sapphique, the pack name feels strange as it rolls off his tongue, the 'q' catching as he tries to subconsciously fit it into the rough hewn box of how he would pronounce words in trigedasleng; words of his mother, words of his soul. do you think they will be allies? what is the goal with them? to return their cub and hope they do not bother us further? strange, perhaps, to speak of someone who is likely around his own age ( if not a little older ) but his soul is so much older than him and ingram had ceased seeing himself as a cub long ago.

harka, ingram repeats the name trikova had given to him, mulling over his role so far. what is his role? if he cannot contribute ...then perhaps he is better a sacrifice to the unnamed god. he offers his thoughts quietly; a suggestion and nothing more. such things were not his place to decide and while his opinion hadn't been directly asked he places it onto the table regardless.

the keeper spoke, his words a surge of pride to the listener; already he had a tactician's mind, ever-calculating, dealing in terms of cold, simple cause and effect. perfectly suited to his role as the iron guardian of blackwater. but these things were not left to his judgment. even as the listener admired the cruel logic in the thoughts he shared, she knew she could not oblige his desires.

our goal remains the same, keeper, she reminded him in soft, grave tones. we must establish our influence among other wolves. among their packs. we must appear benevolent while we pursue our own goals. learn their secrets. their weaknesses. we will use the man until he is no longer useful. we will befriend sapphique. and harka...

how could she make him understand?

harka bears a message for me. from the otherworld. from the spirits. he will not be harmed until i hear it.

it brings him a small measure of relief, to know that the brazen man demanding positions of power in exchange for a cub would be rewarded in his exploitation. that the demands would not be given into; at least likely not in the way intended. still, the audacity does not sit well within the keeper's chest; a metallic taste lingering upon his tongue at the thought.

ingram is quiet as she speaks of harka, and that he has a message for her. her command is clear and he understands ...in his own way. understood. ingram replies.

a quiet moment passes before ingram seeks to break it. blackwater is growing. so much faster than he could've imagined ...and while there is a part of him that yearns for when it was just the two of them brief though that tenure was, he knows this is all good.

it was never meant to stay that way.

the pride in his voice is unmistakable.

blackwater is growing.

too quickly, the prophet's voice was clipped. our acolytes must learn. it falls to me to show them the way. she drew in a long and weary breath, and seemed to soften.

i feel pride, too, keeper. but it is tempered by the weight of my knowledge of what is to come.

change is on the winds. the tide. the spirits sing of it. i hear it always. a queen. a demon. a family. a loss. all of these things will come to the druids. dread loomed over the listener. the druids would be tested. she knew this.

she did not know if they would pass these tests.

we must be ready.

that is a lot. ingram considers, but he knows that the listener can handle it. clearly, if the unnamed god has named her their listener. ingram draws in a breath; salty brine lingering in his nostrils as he considers her words. her predictions. he tucks them away, preparing himself for these newcomers. and what they bring with them.

we will be. ingram replies; for what choice did they have but to be ready?

we will be ready. the prophet glimmered with her own silent pride, finding solace in ingram's faith. her most faithful, alongside morgana. she had chosen her keeper well.

come, she beckoned him, the raven fluttering from her shoulders as she turned to lead the keeper through the territory. i have much to tell you.