Blackwater Islands imperial

like the changing tides of the ocean which the listener so often found herself lost in watching, the unnamed god swept chaotic life over blackwater in waves. high tide was upon them; lives rested at the listener's paws, their fates hanging off her every word. blackwater was changing, growing — and now more than ever, the listener would need an inner circle. wolves with knowledge, skills.

@Ingram was the first and most trusted of these advisors, a warden's spirit clad in ironbound loyalty, but this was not enough. while the listener was forged in the realm of lies and shadows and creeping silent death, the keeper belonged to war. his power would be found in the shedding of blood, the cries of battle, the violent death throes of an enemy defeated. and while morgana would serve as a suitable mentor for those violent deeds best done in the dark, the speaker could not instruct ingram in the ways of war.

these thoughts hung heavy over the listener as she stepped away from the hollow tree in search of ingram, ending her vigil over @Bridget for the moment. grim, the prophet called softly to the keeper, whose back was turned to her as he kept watch over the shores and guarded against any danger.

powerplaying those tagged, message me if anything needs changing <3

sneaky sneaks this @ work

though being surrounded by ocean brings with it a sense of unease — for he is landborn — it also brings with it a sense of false security. they had made it to these islands surely others curious or unknowing of their claim would too. so, he patrols the sand, letting the frothing heavy tides wash away his pawprints as he goes.

grim.

he turns to face trikova as she makes her presence known, a soft rumble of affection lingering in his throat; passing out of his lips in her name, trikova.

the prophet dreaded the words even as they passed her lips. my keeper, it is time for your first journey away from blackwater, she spoke softly, her words meant only for him. you must learn the ways of war, things that cannot be taught by morgana or rasha. you will seek a mentor.

but he could not part for so long without returning, and the listener felt his journey would be difficult.

you will return to me when the moon disappears from the sky, and rest here for a time. then you will leave again, and do this until you have learned what you must.

to leave —

ingram wants to scowl at the words as if they personally offended him. it does not surprise him: this was a condition of his role as keeper. he had hoped it would not be so soon though. regardless of his personal upset at leaving her and blackwater so soon, he will do as she bid him. he gives a solemn nod of his head. though protest bubbles like lava seething beneath a volcano he knows he cannot. still, knowing it his duty does not change the fact that he is weary to leave her and blackwater.

not for long, though. this knowledge brings him some small measure of relief.

yes, listener. he replies to her, using her title; for in this moment she is not his trikova but his listener and she has given him command.

a question then; almost childlike as he asks —

when will i know i have learned what i must? or was it not for him to know but her?

the keeper took this burden upon his shoulders with unspoken discontent. the druids were wild creatures, fiercely loyal and wary of the world — the keeper more than any of them, perhaps. it pained the prophet to send him away.

he seemed to waver, then; uncertain in the rawness of the moment.

you will know, the listener assured her keeper, eager to fan the flames that would forge him into the iron guardian the druids needed. this knowledge is in your soul. you only need to wake it.

you will know —

ingram gives a soft nod of his head; contemplating her assurances in the silence he is most accustomed to. according to trikova, it was already in his soul ...it just required awakening.

to ingram, this makes sense.

hadn't he thought on more than one occasion that his spirit ( soul ) was that of a commander of the past? that he was the product of his bloodline: born a vessel and filled with the desire for battle that might not've belonged to him otherwise?

it was the spirit of the past commander that occupied his body that he would have to awaken. though thoughts of poking that potential bear awake brought with it some high levels of uncertainty within ingram. still, he would do it.

less because of the unnamed god ( for he still struggled with the blind faith thing ) and more because trikova had asked it of him.

ok.

the prophet laid a kiss upon her keeper's brow, and sent him away to prepare for his journey. he would need rest and food, and perhaps time to contemplate what lay ahead. his journey would be daunting, she knew.

strength was always forged in flame.

fading so we can focus on our more current threads <3