godkiller; bleeding golden ichor
745 Posts
Ooc — delaney
Warrior
Seer
Offline
ingram looks upon the broken peak of the sleeping dragon with a focus settling into the seaglass blue-green of his gaze. a haunting sense of familiarity causing his breaths to unfurl from betwixt his lips in small writhing plumes of steam to come short and hollow.
— terrible tremors. the unbalancing of steps as the earth beneath rumbles and quakes like a fury driven titan; hungry and looking to devour. a fleeting, spider webbing memory of terror and hatred and the beginning of the end.
or what had felt like it.
ingram gives a slow blink and then another; the thousand yard stare easing from his gaze. instead, soft confusion furrows his brow. only to settle moments later.
the awakening.
wanlida. wanheda. eske, no — blodreina.
a name mentioned to him perhaps once by praimfaya when he was still a doe-eyed child just learning to hear, to walk, to speak.
it needles into him now; persistent in its clinging.
the chill of the air settles into his lungs; helping to clear the haze in his mind. like his grandmother before him, ingram was born of and for war; the obsessive urge to protect what is his and chase out any who threaten it runs as thickly through his veins just as his blood does.
indomitable. ruthless. all of these things he will be for her: trikova. for them: the druids of blackwater.
a last lingering glance is offered towards the slumbering dragon peak before he continues on; ready to be finished with this mission so he could return home.
— terrible tremors. the unbalancing of steps as the earth beneath rumbles and quakes like a fury driven titan; hungry and looking to devour. a fleeting, spider webbing memory of terror and hatred and the beginning of the end.
or what had felt like it.
ingram gives a slow blink and then another; the thousand yard stare easing from his gaze. instead, soft confusion furrows his brow. only to settle moments later.
the awakening.
wanlida. wanheda. eske, no — blodreina.
a name mentioned to him perhaps once by praimfaya when he was still a doe-eyed child just learning to hear, to walk, to speak.
it needles into him now; persistent in its clinging.
the chill of the air settles into his lungs; helping to clear the haze in his mind. like his grandmother before him, ingram was born of and for war; the obsessive urge to protect what is his and chase out any who threaten it runs as thickly through his veins just as his blood does.
indomitable. ruthless. all of these things he will be for her: trikova. for them: the druids of blackwater.
a last lingering glance is offered towards the slumbering dragon peak before he continues on; ready to be finished with this mission so he could return home.
magick, seeing the dead, threadbone reading & 'godhood' is to be taken purely with a grain of salt and are written to be creations of ingram's imagination and religious faith.
sold my soul for a cigarette
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