Wheeling Gull Isle all hail king neptune

The woman was a wolf covered in oil; slippery, clinging, bringing nothing but noxious gas and a promise of ill-tidings. But for others, she would pose as a sheep. Make martyrs of them. In her name. Or, not her name, as it so turned out.

So you know me, then, Wanheda responded, circling the other and drawing nearer. She had no idea what the word meant, what the name was, but the reverent whisper of it was more than enough for Tiamat to steal it as she would steal many things. The others spirit filled the soul-sucker, who clung to these things as a leech would a persons flesh. Tiamat was parasitic in every regard; a glutton who would have others serve her. What could she do for them? Well, kill them, of course. Offer them the freedom they could not know they dreamed of (as dreams were so frequently forgotten). Life was a collar, morals the damned leash that tugged and choked and suffocated.

Particles of sand wedged beneath her toes siphoned outward as the stream trickled through the spaces between. Tiamat herself lapped at a rock, to further express her sentiment that despite being dead, not much has changed. In death I am free. Unfettered by mortal expectation and law. You have found me--I would have you join me in this death. My gift to you, for your keen eye, your preternatural knowing. Would you join me?