Neverwinter Forest unseelie

the listener led @Morgana on a winding path through the dense collection of trees, light winking through leaves in patches that illuminated bits and pieces of midnight fur as they walked. the sunlight set morgana alight in silver flame where her hackles were stained in moon colors. the listener, ever a shadow even under the brightest sun.

it was @Ingram II the pair sought. it was time to formally introduce them, and discuss all that had transpired while the listener traversed the otherworld. ever a quiet and prideful creature, the listener would not call for their grim; instead they tracked him by scent through neverwinter forest, certain he would not have strayed far.

he hunts; chasing a wily raccoon through the thick underbrush of the forest of neverwinter, his focus zeroed in on his quarry like that of a sniper: patient and calculating. his teeth find their purchase and his prey goes still with a satisfying breaking of bones. it is a quick death, but only because while ingram is not a merciful creature by any means he is not so cruel as to let prey suffer.

his prize ( meager as it was ) clutched betwixt his jaws, his path soon crosses with his shadow's and the stranger at her side as the pair seek him.

seaglass gaze sweeps over the stranger; weary of her as he is of all strangers. he places the raccoon's corpse at his paws, salmon colored tongue swiping across his jowls to clean bits of carrion and blood. it helps to ease the familiar bubble of food aggression that begins to creep its way into his chest despite that he meant the raccoon as a gift meal in stead of for himself.

the behavior never corrected resisted against his attempts to assuage and temper it.

so ingram focuses his attention upon his shadow and the stranger, gaze and expression expectant.

a faceless boy’s scent clung to damp dirt and fallen leaves and gnarled bark of this forest. it was simply an afterthought to morgana. mephala’s listener was her focus. The boy was barely an afterthought until she stood before him with eyes of judgement.

then, tonelessly, she spoke. what do you call this one? and turned her half lidded gaze to the shadow.

the dark beasts slid wordlessly from the trees to greet ingram in silence. the listener pressed ahead of morgana, their presence bleeding into their grim's personal space for mere moments, brief and intimate as a kiss. they circled round the pair once, mindful of the bloodied raccoon ingram carried and reminded of their first meeting.

ingram, the listener announced, eyes on morgana, then ingram. morgana.

at the other woman's lack of address to him, ingram feels his chest puff slightly in thinly veiled agitation. she spoke to trikova as if ingram was not even there ...requesting his name. trikova supplies it and ingram makes an attempt to temper the worst of his prideful emotions stinging by the stranger's — morgana, as trikova had introduced her as — assumed dismissal to him.

seaglass gaze studies morgana, wondering what role she fills ...or hopes to fulfill in their trio ( reluctant as he is to think of it as as such ). but he does not ask. instead, he bites his tongue because he trusts trikova without question and assumes ( right or wrong ) that their roles and what was forming here would be revealed sooner or later. he shifts his weight and shuffles the raccoon's corpse slightly with his left paw, debating with himself.

whether he wished to offer it or bury it — though if they would linger here long enough for it to be worth making a cache, ingram wasn't sure.

how did you come to know each other? ingram inquires softly then, breaking his silence in the hopes of sating his own curiosity as it spikes despite his minuet desire to let the information come to him in it's own time. patience, it seemed, was just another virtue he lacked.

ingram, she hummed thoughtfully to herself.

once again she turned and eyed the boy up and down. he was dressed in silver and gray. their hues shifted subtly across his body. his face, sliced by unknown beasts, held eyes of sea green. they were strange. foreign.

morgana felt a disconnect between her and this young man. she glanced down at the kill he fiddled with with mild disinterest before returning his gaze again.

a deity led me to them. she felt no desire to delve into details with this boy. we have been connected for quite some time.

and you, ingram? was there something that led you to the listener?

the listener allowed their acolytes to commune for a moment, basking in the cool touch of spirit-wisps at their shoulders and collecting all that they meant to say within their mind.

mini post in lieu of a skip

ingram listens to morgana's words, of how a deity led her to trikova ...and the wording makes him wonder if it is the same god that trikova believes in; but he does not pry apart their ...connection to one another despite that jealousy as it rears its ugly, monstrous head within ingram's chest goads him to.

how long exactly was for some time? he wants to demand to know but does not.

trikova appears to trust her and that must be enough for ingram.

he isn't so sure that it is but his trust in trikova is unwavering and so he must let it be; especially as he cannot tell if his jealousy at thinking that this woman knows trikova better than him ( though his shadow is still something of a mystery to him ) that has given roots to his mistrust.

or perhaps it was the idea of sharing her ...as it had been when alduin had been apart of their trio —

she found me many months ago. whatever inner turmoil ingram faces, he knows he will have to sort through it in his own time; and along the way try not to let it cloud his judgements, though it was easier said than done. he had a habit of distrusting on instinct and given his desire to become a master warrior/guardian wasn't so sure that habit needed adjusting.

ah, i see. morgana closed her eyes and nodded. then, to herself, she muttered, you’ve come across their path by chance.

she opened her eyes. a corner of her mouth tugged into a small smile. be grateful, boy. you are now a part of something extraordinary.

ingram, first companion, the listener told morgana softly, half-chiding; it was an inherited title for the last remnant of the listener's original chosen companions, but no less truthful for that fact. alduin had disappeared; thus, ingram was the first, and would be respected wherever the name of the listener was revered.

ah, but respect was such a petty mortal concept in the face of the journey of souls that faced them now.

we leave tomorrow. find end of land, the prophet looked between her followers, proud and thrumming with a dark kindling of mad hope for the future; the spark of a possibility that perhaps all would proceed smoothly, and soon she would see the faces of god in all their glory.

you will know no peace in this life, listener.

peace... no, that was not for her.

the listener sought the secrets of the universe, and all the chaos inherent to them.

ingram is quiet when morgana tells him to be grateful, that he was part of something extraordinary. though, even would he have had something to say on the matter it was not needed as the listener spoke on his behalf, informing morgana that he was the first companion. it was strictly true but alduin had disappeared rather quickly after ingram had joined them and thus was cast aside by ingram who ...hadn't been sad the other boy'd departed.

though this was largely due to his own jealousy at the time.

the listener speaks again, that tomorrow would begin their journey to the end of land.

comfortable in his silence, ingram offers her a firm nod; non-verbally communicating that he understood, that he was with her, that he'd be ready.

ingram. their first companion.

morgana wondered how long he followed her path. how much did he know about her? the questions were swiftly dismissed by one thought.
not as much as i.

she turned to their listener as they spoke, and her smile grew wider.

we are ready, she said as she watched the boy nod from the corner of her eye.

the listener looked upon their followers for long moments, silent. their loyalty, their acceptance... these things, the prophet would cherish always. these things, they would remember when the unnamed god's touch turned scathing.

they could not forget their curse, even here.

long after her acolytes had retired, the listener roamed the winding paths between the trees. listening.