Blackfeather Woods her face it bloomed like a sweet flower [m]

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: blood & gore. @Wintersbane, if/when you have time!<3 located at NIGHTCALLER TEMPLE

there was a fierce man who had come to live within blackfeather. relmyna had not yet met the creature, had glanced him only in passing, but now she would draw him out. tilting her voice into a low howl, the listener lengthened her stride into a trot that carried her through the tangled shadows to the altar.
a live rabbit she carried with her, and when she had arrived, relmyna pinned its ears to the ground beneath her forepaws, delivering a gashing bite to its throat. the animal kicked wildly, pelting her with droplets of its own blood, but the woman was unmoved. face and chestfur now bespattered in crimson, she dropped the wretched thing into the altar's cauldron, where it writhed weakly, surrounded by a growing pool of dark scarlet. 
wine for you, dark mother

♥ vague about some things b/c recruitment/joining thread is on-going. :-)

there is something that wintersbane observes within himself ....a familiarity with the dark woods that he'd thought he'd forgotten. he remembers the paths: the long, the short. he remembers the way through the tunnels. it ...perturbs him but he often tucks that creep of cold shiver that threatens to crawl along the flesh of his spine at bay. when he thought of returning it, his mind had crafted an illusion of what it might be. he would feel smug that he looks nothing like the small cream puff nyx had taken beneath her wing; would silently gloat and bask in the revels of his private glory. smugness and glory avoided him. he feels ...curious. curious about the child that lured him back, curious about all that had transpired since he'd last been there. curious about what he'd rebelliously defied as a child, about how he will acclimate himself into their ranks this time and how long he might last.

gone were nyx, vaati, neo (aries) ...and numerous others. though, wintersbane is not remiss to know that vaati is gone. despite that the rivalry and dislike of the older boy'd been formed as children it remains rooted deeply within the tundrian's bones. he will never like the silvered and sand dappled boy. sometimes, roots ran too deep to be excavated ...and even severed from the tree as a whole they still remain. suppressed by the earth that covers them but wholly defiant. glacial gaze takes note of different things. landmarks, paths that look untrodden, paths that look well worn, et cetera as he prowls through the woods when a call rises for him.

he does not recognize the voice that summons him but nevertheless makes his way towards it. it draws him deeper into the territory. he shrugs into the grotto. the woman — undoubtedly the owner of the voice — stands near the alter. he'd never been to this place ...before. nyx had kept him on a relatively tight leash and there'd been places he'd been forbidden to go. glacial eyes take it in with a quick, assessing sweep before it flickers to the writhing rabbit laying in the bowl-like crevice, it's lifeblood pooling around it as it dies slowly. the tundrian's gaze shifts then and falls back upon his summoner. her pelage is a mixture of pale, soft moonbeams, and a starless night. for a moment the soturi deliberates whether he should speak ...or wait to be spoken to. there is an energy about this place that bids him to still his tongue and keep to silence. no doubt she has heard his approach. previously, he might not've bid the temple the same respect he does now ...but after lotte came to him in his dreams he questions a lot of his previous notions about numerous things.

the glissade of windfall in the trees brought to her the scent of the northerner, the sound of his tread. and yet the priestess kept her eyes trained upon the altar; her turquoise gaze closed and she lifted her chin, pointing scarred muzzle toward the starflecked sky. for blackfeather, mother, the listener urged, mind trailing for the sound of the goddess' voice, the hiss of her serpentine companion. 
but while relmyna felt their presence within her, they would not speak unless she was alone. presently she opened her eyes, steadying herself for a moment with a glimpse toward the round moon, and then looked toward the man she had called. he was a shadow-ash layering of deeper hues, his proud ruff leonine and smoke-silver. pale-footed, his eyes the colour of ice along a frozen peninsula, he gazed toward her calmly.
with her she had brought the scapula of a wolf, from the littering of bones in the cave she had first met ramsay. across the ground toward the man did relmyna now move this, and motioned toward the altar. her seafoam stare rested implacably upon him — she had no words to offer. 
but now was not the time for words. relmyna knew nothing of this man, save that he belonged to the wood and was hale of form. tonight she worked spellcraft beneath the moon, and wished to test him for nothing more than her own curiosity. the wood was in need of those who walked in the brotherhood, and the thin wolfess wanted to miss no opportunity for such things.
while her gaze was cool, relmyna's features were soft; this was not something of which the man must be wary. there was no wrong action he could take with no word to guide him.

this does not feel, to him, like a place of words except that of prayers he does not know. the irony of this is not lost upon him. he had once so vocally scorned the very gods whose altar he stands near. if they are real, however, he is not cast out of their sacrosanct lands. he is not set ablaze for his word crimes so long ago, nor is he infected with plague as he might've assumed to have happened. his roaming gaze, curious and cautious all at once falls back to the ebony and ivory woman whom moves a fragment of bone towards him and wordlessly gestures to the altar she stands before. his gaze flickers from her, to the bone she offers him, and then to the altar. she offers him no instructions and his first few steps into the temple's clearing are tentative, but he draws closer to the bone and when it is within his reach he plucks it from the earth, cradling it gingerly between his jaws. he looks to her once more before he pads closer to the altar and places it in the pool of crimson blood created by her sacrifice. wintersbane isn't sure if it's 'right' but it's what first came to him to do with the bone she offered him. he takes a step back then and his gaze moves towards and settles upon her once more.

the man heeded; together they watched the rapidly cooling scarlet creep around the edges of the offering. bone for blood, relmyna whispered silently to her companion, but for once she does not wonder if she can communicate, if he can read her lips.
autumn was sweeping down upon them, and winter. and somewhere beyond the reaches of the old forest lay damien she suspected, awaiting the moment to strike. neither she nor kove were young, and while she had faith in the northerner's strength, the former dark master had hale wolves at his side.
the listener served the forest of its leadership, but vaati's words in regards to kove had left her chilled. her eyelids fluttered; a tic along the side of her mouth twitched a moment before she let out her breath. now i call mephala, she mouthed to the man attending her rite.
the moon rose, and its glow fell upon the temple's cauldron. relmyna saw it stir, looked upon the blood now licking the edges of its prison, and closed her eyes, for the mother was near. if blackfeather must fall, i entreat you to protect kove apaata. he has served faithfully, she murmured within her own mind.
the woman was not one for long prayers; a handful of words did as well as any snippet of poetry. presently, she glanced to wintersbane, wishing to judge her reaction for himself.

the woman does not speak ...or, rather, she does not give voice to them. they are silent but she mouths them. he has very little to no practice at reading lips, admittedly, but he picks out the words 'bone' and 'blood' luu and veri. or perhaps it is what he thinks she silently mouths to him because it is what they have combined in the cauldron. her next set of mouthed words were lost upon the tundrian, and as she lets out her breath he is left to idly wonder if she cannot speak or if it is just this temple that bids her to speak in silence.

his gaze moves from his companion then to take in the temple once more as the moon basks it in it's sweetened silvery beams. a shiver slithers it's way down his spine and his maned chest puffs ever-so-slightly. it is not a shiver of chill nor fright ...just a feeling of energy that he can't rightly explain. perhaps, he tries to reason with himself, that it is just the ambiance of the temple. while the woman beside him prays his glacial gaze takes it all in again, touching upon their offering and then the shadows where the moon's rays do not cast light upon.

he has no prayers to make, still isn't quite sure he believes necessarily. his gaze slowly makes it's way back to the woman at his side, giving a soft start to realize her gaze was upon him. wintersbane studies her in return as he waits for what is next in her ritual. he's never attended one before, invited or otherwise and he is left to stew in quietly in his curiosity and intrigue over all of it: the ritual, this temple and the unexplained energy he feels radiating from every inch of this sacrosanct place.

the mother was here; she walked in this very place, and relmyna drew a breath of delight, to know her prayer had been answered once more. her companion's reaction did not go unnoticed; the priestess flashed a knowing grin at him and turned back to the altar. she is here.
when it was all said and spoken of, the patchwork wolfess intended to inform him of who she spoke. for now, relmyna drew a small packet of nightshade from alongside her paw and deposited it upon the scapula. the dried blossoms floated upon the blood and she glanced to the moon-ruffed man again. the bite of a serpent, for sithis.
again relmyna closed her eyes; again she paused to breathe and lift her muzzle into the zephyrs upon the air of blackfeather. i wish to protect our home with magick, she mouthed to the northerner, though her gaze this time remained upon the gathered offerings. she knew she must speak slowly, move her lips with exaggerated effect: it was a small price to pay for the knowledge that wintersbane was reverent in this place.

the air feels different now, heavier like he is trying to breathe through a thick fog. and yet, he does not suffocate. a secondary shiver slithers it's way along his spine, skin crawling in a silent thrill. wintersbane focuses on the energy pulsing around them, in this sacrosanct place. the woman mouths 'she is here'. he only heard small tidbits when he'd been in these woods as a cub ...nyx hadn't been overly forthcoming with things. but even if she would have been would he have listened? it was doubtful. his younger incarnation had been rebellious to his very core. wintersbane is older now and wiser ...but he thinks she means the dark mother. his perception of the world around him has shifted and shifted again ...just as it shifts now. like his vivid dream of lotte ...he feels the same sense of wonder, the same draw and curiosity that he feels now. he is content to not seek answers in the moment: just feel and watch and listen.

she mouths more words but he pays more attention to the dried blossoms she deposits on the bone. he recognizes them as a poison of some sort but their exact name is lost to him. perhaps someone told him at one point ...but as long as he recognized it as poison he the name didn't truly matter. he watches her lips as she speaks once more, discerning the words that she takes the time to exaggerate and pronounce despite that she remains silent. wintersbane gives a firm nod to communicate that he understands what she's said to him for he does not wish to break the barrier of silence that holds between them. as long as she is patient with him there is no need to shatter the ambience that surrounds them like a holy veil.

as he has thus far, wintersbane looks to her for guidance on what happens next.

the spirits moved roundabout them, and relmyna found herself drawn to the sussuration of their voices upon the wind. she had not been long for serving the mother and the dark one with fire-tipped tongue; yet what she knew of her life had been devoted, even unto the vessel of her body. had she not brought forth new daughters of melonii blood, new heirs by their birthright to the throne of blackfeather? why now would she ever question her own devotion to the gods that walked in raven-studded darkness? it was with this resolution she moved, for kove would know the palm of god upon him if his listener had anything to do with it.
the man at her side remained silent, and she too was grateful for the lack of words between them. softly she began a low croon, a quiet ribbon of sound that wended slowly beneath the pressure of unseen tongues in the air. for a moment relmnyna wondered if her companion worshipped any deities of his own, for his silvered presence was reverent in a way she had not expected. it was with new eyes that the priestess glanced to wintersbane. what will you ask of the mother this hour? came her soft mouthing — he had been a witness and a testament to her rite, and she saw no reason to exclude him from its power.

wintersbane had been a godless beast. if the gangster and nightingale queen had worshipped any they had never spoken of them to him. and during his first time within these ranks as a wild, lost boy plucked straight from the tales of neverland itself he had scoffed at the idea of gods, had called hiding behind them cowardly. but he was a growing boy who had so much to prove. he wanted to be the biggest, the baddest and rejected anything that would truly help him to belong ...though nyx had kept much from him, and neo too, he assumed. they were not true heirs of blackfeather and he believed that he hadn't belonged and never would. perhaps it was true, perhaps even now as an adult with more knowledge and experience behind him he would never truly belong. yet, his mother's death had elevated her to something of a deity figure to him. the tundrian doesn't worship her, per say, but he seeks to carry on the legacy she left in her wake, to honor her by his future children and ensure they knew and revered that they were descendants of the nightingale queen.

she mouths to him in regards to what he would ask of the mother ( at least he's fairly sure it's what she wordlessly communicated with him; he's getting a bit better at lip reading he thinks ). he draws a blank. what is he meant to ask a goddess? is there a right or wrong desire? was it right to ask anything when he hinders on that precarious knife's edge of believing and skepticism ( although he leans more towards believing )? he gives a silent shake of his head once to communicate to his companion that he has nothing he'd like to ask of her. not today, anyway. today, he is content to be a witness to what has turned out to be quite extraordinary. it'll leave him with a lot of things to consider and that is gift enough wintersbane feels.

she did not expect him to answer; he declined politely, and she gave a knowing smile to him. perhaps it was too much; after all, he had newly come to blackfeather. her eyes closed; she did not mouth the prayer of blessing she sought, preferring the words to resonate within her mind. if she had been godless before, relmyna did not know it. sheogorath had made her a thrall and given her purpose in pursuit of his own works for the gods; she had been a part of them for some time, and they of her.
and now that she had come awake — the priestess saw only goodly things before her, and knew she had been blessed not only for her piety, but her loyalty to the melonii family and to the land itself. wintersbane captured her intrigue; relmyna reached toward him with only her consciousness, seeking to trace what mental outline of him she had. 
it was not detailed, however; the man was a stoic and impassive beast. releasing her breath, relmyna unfurled her words into the void and stepped back from the altar with an expression of finality settling over her accented face. thank you, she murmured soundlessly to her silver-ruffed companion. that he had attended her with solemnity and reverence pleased relmyna, and she wondered at his usefulness to the dark brotherhood.

wintersbane isn't entirely sure because he's never attended a religious rite or anything of the sort before today but he feels like it's drawing to a close. he shifts his weight and stares back at the offerings. a strange combination of things but as he understood it the gods of the wolves of blackfeather are strange and dark beings. his face is sent in an expression of contemplation and unbidden curiosity ...about the deities he'd written off so very long ago, about what they could come to mean to him in given time. he thought'd he'd been following astara to his enemies but none of the wolves here currently are enemy to him.

he inhales deeply and lets it out, his glacial gaze flickering back to the listener just in time to catch her soundless murmur that looked like gratitude. though words bubble and burn at the tip of the tundrian's tongue he bids them to stay unspoken. though he does not know if there are any rules here at this altar it still seems wrong to break the silence that has existed peacefully between them. instead of a verbal response, the tundrian gives her a firm nod of his head communicating 'you're welcome' ...though he feels as if he should be thanking her for shifting his perspective. as he was quickly learning, the world was a much larger and more interesting place when approached with an open mind.

though he thinks he might be alright to leave he lingers, waiting to see if she has anything else she needs of him, waiting for a dismissal ( because he does not want to be rude ) before he would make his departure.

gods could be fickle things, but not the gods of blackfeather. since her belief had become conscious, relmyna had been granted a great gift in her abilities to communicate, in her children, in the way that blackfeather had strengthened, her own ascent to the dark brotherhood, and leadership. and all of this had been surrounded by her fervent and unshaking worship. it was hard not to credit the deities of the dark weald, and so she would not take that from them.
wintersbane, relmyna decided, was of great worth to the wood. hale, fine of form, and conscious of the magick within blackfeather. a smile brightened her gaze; she dipped her muzzle to him in a respectful bow for the time he had spent with her at the altar, a gesture that he was free to depart. there was no doubt within relmyna that had she need of the moon-touched man again, he would attend her with the same humble alacrity.

thank you for the thread! ♥

though his time spent in these woods was slim as a child he was familiar with the title of listener. she certainly fit the what he'd conjure in his mind if someone were to mention a dark priestess. there is something intriguing about her ability to create an atmosphere, to summon deities to her without using her voice. it fuels his curiosity. about the deities of these woods. about her, made even more so at the respectful bow she offers him. the tundrian finds that most curious of all because he's done nothing ( as far as he can see ) to deserve it. still, for the sake of being gracious he accepts it and returns it with a dip of his own head before he turns and exits the way he came, heading towards the borders to patrol and reflect.