Blackwater Islands our love is like water

outside, a storm brewed in the sky.

within the walls of the fey chamber, magick shimmered in the air.

a golden wolf lay upon the flat rock at the center of the chamber. faint sunlight filtered through the dual entrance, shrouding her in a pale misty haze. pale flowers and silvered berries were strewn around her. before her, the skyrock.

@Bridget was ready.

@Rasha, a dark silhouette spoke from a shaded corner of the cavern. the figure detached itself from the shadows with smooth steps forward as she spoke.

in the same instant, the sun-limned figure of a wolf with storm-grey fur and eyes of ice stepped into the cave. rasha had been watching for some time. the listener beckoned her forward now, expression full of hunger.

she drew close, voice a melodic whisper as she crooned to rasha, mouth at her ear. my stormborn. your time has come.

a flash of light filled the cave. the world outside began to thunder as the spirits roused.

the listener beckoned to a pile of pale berries at her feet. eldritch berries, she called them.

eat them. then you will summon the druids.

please allow bridget and rasha to post first. after that, this thread will be open to @Morgana @Ingram @Nyra @Xynos @War @Alduin @Tulok

She wasn't sure why she was here, or why they'd had her climb upon this rock. It was difficult enough with one leg missing, but with the laced rabbit addling her senses, she'd barely managed it. Now she lay where she was silently, transfixed by the sunlight that moved in spots on the wall opposite.

Her body was too heavy right now for her to have any interest in getting up, and their voices were like background murmurs. She didn't care to listen.

Feel free to powerplay Bridget however you wish! I can jump in again if something happens to justify it, otherwise I'm definitely skippable <3

The ashen male feels a pull. An indistinguishable tick in his brain to move further into the island. It makes him wild with wonder, drawing him further in a way that seems almost instinctual. He just has a feeling — keep going that way, turn here, turn there. And he does. With a heavy head level with bulking shoulders, the hellhound moves forth. Surely his brother would be right behind him. For Alduin doesn’t speak and hardly alerts him of his moving presence. He would notice. He would follow if he’s curious enough. Perhaps he has the same pull too. 

Yet, as he goes, not only does the presence of the island itself overwhelm him, but the entity that’s walks beside him.

Yesss, Alduin. You feel it, don’t you? Banesteppe hisses deeply to his right. That’s it, go towards the pull. Allow it to drive you. You will see what happens then. But will it benefit you, my young reaper. Will it? He hums the cryptic nonsense into his ears and for once Alduin listens to his every word. 

Onward he moves. In the direction his senses tell him to go. It deposits him in a cave, where he locks onto the form of a three legged wolf. He has no interest in them and effortlessly and languidly moves past them. Only to find who he’s looking for — the shadow. Her slim form is standing above another unfamiliar face. 

The scent of a storm brews in the air, not long before rain begins to fall. Something malicious is afoot and his spine prickles at the sensations and energy that swim around him. 

A familiar hand touches his nape, but the beast already knows who it is — Banesteppe. For once the touch grounds him from the unfamiliar because this ghostly figure beside him is familiar. It shifts through his fur and tugs. Making Alduin focus on him more, but never taking his eyes off of the mysterious scene before him.

You will participate, cursed one. Perhaps it will break your mind even more. And then, Alduin, you will be mine.

The words are just as malicious as his tone, but Alduin soaks them up as he watches. Eyes never leaving the mismatched of the Listener’s. 

If he loses his mind, then so be it.

the longer she spent with the druids, the less rasha felt real. it seemed she had been watching for hours. when the listener called to her, she moved from her hiding place in a trance. the ethereal atmosphere made the rhythm of her footsteps a lulling motion.

her addled mind made the words garbled to her, but she must have understood them on some subconscious level, for she obeyed. she ate the berries obediently, and when that was done she tipped her head back and called for the druids to gather in the fey chamber.

Alike Alduin in a way, the powerhouse heard the call and came prowling, taking turns and twists and skulking until she finally came upon the ritual-grounds, the fey chamber. 

Nyra stopped off to Alduin's flank, watching and awaiting The Listener's instructions. The two females already there with the voidspun child seemed to be under the influence of something, though Nyra wasn't sure what it was. 
Maybe herbs of some sort? 
The Warmaiden hmmed softly and took a few steps forward, watching what was happening.

at rasha's call, ingram arrives to the gathering; though he was not the first. his gaze falls upon trikova first, lingering there a beat longer before it moves towards bridget and then rasha. the air is sickeningly sweet, cloying from whatever fruits the two women had clearly ingested.

his gaze moves to nyra and alduin then but does not linger upon them as they buddy up.

the keeper moves so he is close to the listener: yearning to take his position at her side, but not wishing to interrupt whatever ritual spell was being spun.

Attempting to have an open mind simply because The Listener and promised her help, Tulok answered the call. He found himself in a chamber made of stone. Light seemed to center on the unknown female atop a rock. Another woman moved from the shadows, she was directed to eat the berries that were piled on the ground at their feet. They sweet smell stung his nostrils.

For now he remained somewhere in the back, his gaze watching his brother while periodically moving to the scene in front of them. He was curious what would happen.

she lingers above the fey chamber within her den. it’s a moments time to herself. to watch her belly as she always does here. to inspect and pray. and nothing shows, as the day before and the day before the last. so on.

mounting thoughts and worry are muted by the ghostly call. morgana, brought to reality and life by this, hurries out the den.

her quick pace slows before she enters. she walks through the crowd with eerie grace. casts half-lidded, judgmental glances at the new wolves who’d gathered into this chamber. their eyes were fixed on the listener.

melena. dear child of hers. a small smile appeared at the sight of them.

she stood tall at their side, looked upon her with pride. then to bridget, to rasha, with a contained thrill.

one by one, the druids answered the call. wolves with dark and wild fur, wolves with jagged scars and cold eyes, wolves who brought with them the scents of sea and night and fresh-spilled blood. they filled the cave, inky waters thrashing at their legs as they looked upon the scene.

the prophet stood before them all, silent and regal. her stormborn sank bellydown at her dark feet, trembling, but the listener had eyes only for her followers.

speaker. when the time comes, you will return to the fey chamber, her gaze turned to ingram. keeper. you will lead the druids to the shore.

it was time.

druids, her voice rose as she addressed them, the echoing chamber lifting her tones to match the thundering of the sky above. a harsh cacophony reared up behind her echoed words, the sharp telltale chorus of rain battering stone. icy winds shrieked past the chamber's dual mouth. we are here to bind our new acolytes to us, to forge an oath in blood and magick. we are here to seek the future of the druids. we are here to witness the glory of the unnamed god.

step forward and take an eldritch berry from the altar, the prophet intoned. consume it, and hear my words.

and when they had each obeyed her, and the listener herself had partaken of the fruit, she went on.

in the realm of mortals, the otherworld is only a distant thought, she looked upon each of the hardened and skeptical wolves who had gathered before her. a myth, or merely inconsequential. we have grown too accustomed to false gods and false promises. but the unnamed god will not be ignored.

our god demands tribute. blood and secrets. passion and lies. chaos, her gaze swept over the crowd once more, a pregnant pause separating her words. our lives. our deaths. everything.

and in return, the druids will have power above all others.

the prophet stepped forward amid the echoed shriek and thunder of the world outside. she caught the eye of morgana and ingram with a gesture to follow her lead, and lifted her muzzle to the sky.

spiritsong poured from her mouth like choking ink. the haunting melody of wolfkind cast in rich, dark shades of devotion. a hymn to the unnamed god. the voices of the keeper and the speaker rose with hers, the gift of wolves guiding their song. time turned warm and liquid within the cave, languid beneath the frantic thrum of the storm outside.

after a time, she allowed her own song to fade, her inner circle left to carry on without her.

the stormborn shook fiercely beneath the druids' dark echoing hymn. her eyes were wide and unseeing, her breath fast and uneven. the song had taken hold of her. even as the listener's dark muzzle sought the flesh beneath her forelimb, probing, she did not stir.

the listener moved as if in a dream. wolfsong droned around them. rain clashed against stone. blood filled her mouth, sticky and warm on her muzzle. the wolf beneath her convulsed once, gasping, and she felt it against her teeth. the keeper's voice seemed to block out the speaker. a bone cracked between her teeth. it was the speaker's voice she heard, now. the rain, the thunder the waves the wind all of it

everything, everything...

the prophet rose clutching something glistening, something red.

rasha lay gasping. dying so slowly. so softly.

the black-robed figure of the listener descended upon her acolytes with blood dripping from her maw, pouring, steaming. each one she blessed. each one she anointed. sticky red upon their muzzles, upon their foreheads. the prophet turned then, and her eyes found the woman draped in gold and stretched upon the altar.

with reverent fervency she tended the woman, pressing the sacred scarlet gift to her lips. rasha has given a gift to you, the listener whispered coarsely. take it, and become a druid.

but tonight was not for bridget. the skyrock glimmered from its place at the altar's head. the listener took it, and turned to her dying stormborn once again.

a new fel energy saw rasha risen. she stood swaying, dripping blood.

her eyes were wild and unseeing.

stormborn. it is time. give yourself to the unnamed god, the listener thundered over the rising din of the storm. rasha would not last long. the listener swept close to press the skyrock into the yawning wound at her flank, and drew away to call the song to a halt.

the singing stopped.

rasha nodded once. under the pelting rain, under the shaking booms of thunder, the stormborn ran; a silver streak, a falling star racing to her cold fate. the listener shimmered with pride as she called to her followers. she loomed far beyond her own body.

druids! with me!

through dark stone arches, into thrashing black waters, under icy rain from a booming sky.

across wet sands and thin grass and over craggy cliffside terrain, the wolves ran. the steady drumbeat of their paws against the earth became a song.

they followed the pale figure of the stormborn. beyond her, the earth fell away to a sheer drop and churning black waves. she came to it quickly, came to the edge of it and flew over in a great flurry of blood and pale fur and

suddenly, starkly

she was gone.

the listener stopped at cliff's edge, tossed her wild dark head back, and howled. she turned to the druids, looked upon each of them. then to the sea, to her god, she gave her body.

and she was gone, too.

powerplay with permission for most of this. the parts i left vague to allow player autonomy include bridget's reaction to her part, which participants followed the listener, and which ones joined in the ending howl. pm me to request any changes <3

new round(s) will now be led by ingram. @torvi, if you don't mind posting a follow-up thread and tagging those who follow ingram, i would greatly appreciate it <333

the berries are hallucinogenic with side effects of lethargy, dehydration, and headaches.

and one last note, the listener did not remove rasha's heart or anything like that (:

I rolled a 1 >:)

last for me <3

Bridget's awareness was shifting, and the spots before her began to twist into other shapes as the berries truly began to take effect. She was locked in place, caught within her mind, in a landscape suddenly occupied by shadowy figures that were formless and inky black.

When the howl sounded, it cut through, enough to make her jerk her head upwards. But she couldn't join in. Her voice was caught as the shadows began to converge towards her, moving with unnatural speed and seemingly made of sharp edges. They'd tear her apart.

On the stone slab, her eyes rolled back and she stiffened, reacting to the dream and the scent of blood in the air. In her mind, the blood was hers.... no. It was Teya's.

In an instant, the scene was transformed to pure nightmare. Her friend was a shape on the ground, bleeding out, and the shadows were all around them. With a fury born of desperation, Bridget lunged to fight them, but she was not moving correctly. It was as if the shapes themselves had caught her and were holding her back, dragging her down.

She bent her head to tear into one and tasted blood on her lips. Real blood. In the dream, she couldn't tell the difference. Her body outside of the dream snarled and jerked as she snapped at what the Listener offered, taking it instinctively while her mind fought demons.

The nightmare would continue to shift, drawing her deeper and deeper, while the druids continued their ceremony elsewhere. Eventually it would slip from waking nightmare to sleep, seamlessly, but before she would occasionally regain control of her limbs, scattering dried herbs and berries to the floor of the cavern.

speaker.

an ear turns to the listener. the task given to her was kept locked within her mind. kept safe for whenever her time comes.

right now, however, is a time meant shared between them all.

druids.
the listener’s voice reverberates through the cave. down its halls. out into the world — their world — to meet the thunderous skies.

acolytes.
she watched them all step forth one by one. she watched each of them pluck the fruit from the alter. and only after being certain each and every one of them swallowed their share, fulfilled the roles laid out for them, did she take one for herself.

morgana returned to her place next to the listener. melena. her dear melena. brought to her in her past life. just a baby she was then.
now she was a prophet. a true leader. listener of the daedra.

not daedra. morgana inhaled sharply. only one god. the unnamed god. and they demanded blood.

she released her held, quivering breath. her eyes met the listener as she did so, and she stepped forward to join their song.

listener, speaker, keeper. their voices filled the room. morgana could feel the powerful hum coursing through her bones, her chest, out her mouth. she sung louder. tilted her head back further until she felt it may fall from her shoulders.

she felt the song. she smelt blood. blood! it’s endless. she sees the deep crimson and black without looking. the golden woman’s snarls and clashing teeth vibrate through her skull.

the listener, a sharp pulsating blot in her eye, calls for the song to end. their jaws are closed, but noise still flows through ears as she stares down at the sea of red. at bridget’s bloody maw. at rasha’s opened flesh.

she rose, the stormborn, from the dead it felt. though torn and draining of life, she obeyed the listener. she ran out the chamber. to the god.

such a devoted woman. the thought was dull within the back of morgana’s roaring mind. witnessing it gave her gave her a rush. desperation to please this god gripped her heart. morgana was the first to follow the listener.

her wide, dark pupils were fixed upon the red that stained the earth they ran upon. only rising as rasha flung herself from the cliff. the listener followed her.

her heart thrummed in her chest.

rasha. listener. melena.
dear melena. so devout to the god.
she wished to be like them. so devout.
praised by god.

speaker. the voice of her dreamwalker, her child, rang in her ears.

i must. i must r-return. chambers.

she stumbled back along the bloody path.

last post for me <3

Tulok listened intently as The Listener spoke instructions to the speaker and keeper. For now, they made no sense, and maybe they weren't supposed to yet.

Then she turned to them and called out, demanding the demon's attention. Tonight would be a test of his strength, both mental and physical; he knew this as The Listener spoke of blood and magick, of oaths and an unnamed god.

She instructed the druids to consume one of the eldritch berries from the altar. He knew this was the turning point. He could seal his fate with the druids and their god, or he could resist. 

Not sure what guided his actions, Tulok stepped forward and slowly took one of the berries into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. It was sweet, and he hated it, but it was only fleeting. 

The Listener sang out, followed by those most trusted. When she stopped, she turned her attention to the wolf laying on the ground beneath her. She nudged her. Then he smelled blood; it made his heart race and his own blood surge through his veins. The Listener moved from wolf to wolf until she stood before him. He remained still as she painted his muzzle and forehead with blood. He watched her move back to the altar as the edges of his vision brightened and blurred. 

When his vision cleared, his mother sat beside him. He looked to her with admiration and she smiled knowingly at him. Blood stained her muzzle and head, as well. He had so many questions for her, the first being how she was here. But then the singing stopped and the storm was so loud, he thought it might come bursting through the stone ceiling of the cave. His mother turned to look ahead, and he followed. 

And when The Listener summoned them to follow, his mother got to her feet and sprinted off; he followed. 

They ran across wet, heavy sand and slippery rock until they stopped on the edge of a cliff. The sea raged angrily below them, like it demanded something from them and was growing impatient to receive it. The bleeding woman disappeared over the edge. 

The Listener called out to the sea, and he added his own deep voice to the chorus. She looked to them, and then disappeared off the cliff, too. He went to move forward so that he could search the waters below, but his mother stopped him with a shake of her head. 

So he waited, turning to the keeper as he called to them.

sorry if i missed anything!

Nyra listened intently as the Listener addressed them all, speaking of blood, magick, sacrifice, in return for power above all.

Power.

When directed, the Warmaiden stepped forward and took a singular Eldritch berry from the altar and stepped back again, swallowing the berry and waiting more direction.

Soon, the smell of blood, and howling, song. Nyra lifted her voice to the masses around her, loud, booming, ethereal.
A wardrum jn siren tones.

She stopped singing when they were told, and accepted the dressing of blood upon her head and wherever else the Listener placed it.

By now, Nyra was hallucinating the vivid otherworld, seeing spirits and her fellow druids in bright colors and voidspun shadows. As the dying altar-girl ran, Nyra followed The Listener as they all followed the nightspun unchild. 

The sacrifice jumped into the sea.

The Listener drew them all to halt, where Nyra added her song once again to the numbers before the Listener followed their sacrifice over the cliff.

Nyra almost made to follow, when a daemon of the otherworld stopped her, incarnate of her own subconscious mind. 

Orders then fell to Ingram, where Nyra would direct her attention once they were all addressed.

Xynos' exit.

There an unknown feeling that swept over him. 

She who they called The Listener spoke much of gods, sin, and sacrifice. 

Blood had drenched her muzzle and the voice she used was piercing to his ears.

For once in his life, Xynos found himself consumed with fear. Yes, he had once swore to kill for Nyra — but now? Now she walked of the path drawn by this- this witch. She had completely given away the fierce soul of leadership that he had once admired. The Nyra he knew was gone.. so why should he stay and give his life to a complete stranger?

He wouldn't.

As the many did as the shadowed woman commanded, the man turned, swept through the crowd, and fled from the cavern. No word of departure would be given to Nyra. She was too lost in her new world and now he would have to find a new one for himself.

Alduin watches as chaos unfolds in front of him. Singing begins, but Alduin’s muzzle is clamped tight. The ever present figure of Banesteppe moves next to him, resting an odd hand to his nape and smoothing it down his spine and ribs. Alduin doesn’t move an inch. That is until he’s told to eat one of the berries. 

He eyes it with dark wonder and watches as the others do as they’re told. He reluctantly moves forth and gathers one onto his palette. He’s gentle with it, swallowing it in one gulp — no chewing. He doesn’t want whatever effects the berry will bestow upon him to take over that quickly. 

Despite his internal questioning to the faith shown, he keeps silent and participates. Waits along with the others and watches intently as the listener gathers coppery blood into her maw from their sacrifice. Wine red eyes follows her dark form as she elegantly drapes blood over everyone’s muzzles. Only when she gets to him he doesn’t let his skepticism show. Not that he doubts her — he doesn’t — he’s always cautious though. His upbringing has resulted in both making him reckless and making him more cautious. He firmly believes he cannot die now though. Unless it’s by Banesteppe’s hand of course. 

So he lowers his head and allows the blood to be smeared over his face. Eyes never leaving her form he watches as she moves onto the next. His eyes wander to the others — Morgana left, excusing herself oddly. And that tall eared wolf is gone too, he’d watched him slink out of the area just out of his peripheral. He scoffs internally. There’s no room for the weak in this world.

All of a sudden they’re being summoned and everyone’s running. Alduin doesn’t strain to keep up, he gallops alongside everyone. Bloody orbs stuck on their sacrifice, bleeding across the sands and forests. Bleeding for the listener and her unnamed god. How interesting. He wonders if he’d be bleeding for her too. 

Only a few seconds later they make it to a cliff, and without hesitation, their sacrifice leaps off and into the churning, wild waves of the ocean. Alduin’s head tilts a pinch as he watches the listener go off right after her. Her dark form disappears from his sight and he merely stands there. Breathing heavy from the run he laps a dark tongue over his bloody muzzle. He doesn’t even satisfy his burning curiosity to gaze over the edge. He only accepts. If she’s gone. Then she’s gone. It’s that simple.

it does not take long for the eldritch berry to take affect; and though the it is different than his initiation, the hazy forms of the commanders of the past line up like freezing apparitions, fitting into the spaces between the to-be-initiated; pale eyes of the dead watching the ritual. at his unclaimed side, one apparition lingers; wanlida.

his spirit.

for a moment, as his seaglass gaze darts 'round at the visions the eldritch berry had summoned to him; ingram struggles to concentrate.

but the blood and the words of trikova call him back; tethering him to the realm of the physical.

affection for her and pride blossom like a violent bruise beneath his chest.

she speaks to him, then, and he gives a firm nod. sha, he croons in trigedasleng, though perhaps his verbal acknowledgement had not been needed.

they leapt: at first, rasha ...and then the listener. trikova.

ingram's heart leaps in his chest; resisting every and all urge within him to follow her right over. he was her keeper ...the iron guardian — but he must trust that the unnamed god would protect her. he turns from the cliff and the keeper's attention is drawn by the shademan who takes his exit, fleeing.

that would be dealt with; later. the ritual had yet to reach its conclusion. morgana had her task, and ingram had his.