Blackwater Islands You go back there when you’re done

Alduin walks beside her, looking massive compared to her much smaller stature. His head is level with bulky shoulders and a straight back. His pelt shifts as he moves, muscles contracting and expanding beneath a silvery brindle coat. It’s begun to curl and wave due to the salty ocean that seems ever prevalent on his body. And even though his eyes look distant (they usually do) he stills pays close attention to The Listener.

She speaks of learning the ways of the Druid. His brows furrow some, not necessarily in distain, but he knew he’d have to. Next, she informs the hellhound of the creed. They seem easy enough but the wild part of the striped furred beast has an issue listening to mostly anyone besides the one’s he knows deserve his listening ear. And her unnamed god. That will also be interesting. He’s not religious, but he’s become more so due to the fact that he has a literal demon attached to him. Is Banesteppe a god? Maybe. Maybe not. Alduin has no idea. 

She does say one thing that catches his interest,

I will not ask you to answer to any but me. I only ask that you live by these tenets.

His auds shift and his head tilts slightly in her direction. His eyes meet her own for a few seconds before his gazing forward again. A low, contemplating hum sound from his throat — it’s a temping offer.

“Then I listen to your word. And nothing but your word.” He settles the deal with his own husky tone, a sense of finally filtering into it.

Only the entire time they’ve been walking Alduin has been absentmindedly wondering where their destination is leading to. His shadow seems to be leading him somewhere with hidden intent. Languid and confident she walks, but to where she doesn’t disclose yet.

That is until they reach some type of alter. Bloody orbs skate over the miscellaneous objects — mostly stones and rocks. Then, in the middle, he finds an interesting array of bones and that curious little stone — the skyrock, she says — he remembers her carrying when they first met. She still has it even after all this time. He wonders about its significance to the Raven pelted woman.

His face stays stony and expressionless as he looks upon her collection. A slightest interest could be found swirling within wine red eyes though. She leads him closer, shoulders bumping from the narrow pathway, at the same time her voice sounds in his ears. Her voice is the only noise he hears and he hones in on it. 

My curse. My gift. My connection to the unnamed god. It came to me from the heavens on a great wind. Do you remember it?

Though he listens closely, his eyes never leave the alter. A dark presence seems to accompany him here and for the first time he cannot tell if it is Banesteppe. Until it’s confirmed…

Cursed One, Banesteppe whispers in his ear just as easily as the Listener does. Why do you follow her? What do you have to gain? Why not end her misery and present her body to her false prophet? He questions almost whimsically. As if he couldn’t fathom the idea of Alduin doing such a thing.

His hackles prickle and raise at the feeling that overcomes his mind and body when Banesteppe interacts with him. It isn’t enough to distract him though. Truly Alduin is silent for a solid thirty seconds before answering her question.

“I do.” He confirms back, voice raspy and deep as he gazes upon the heavenly stone. A pause brings silence back to them once more. “This is your curse.” He states uselessly. 

A small stone — so insignificant compared to Alduin’s castle (Banesteppe’s castle), but just as deadly it seems. He wonder who or what she sees. He wonders if she can see Banesteppe. He wonders if Banesteppe is even real half the time.

The hellhound flicks a deep, purple tongue out to rasp over scarred, whiskered lips. He cannot stop staring and the hair along his spine has risen slightly — he’s getting chills. So much so his brows pinch in the middle. The dark energy surrounds him, but he assumes it’s Banesteppe. When his ire strikes he’s quite deadly. He will not speak anymore until the listeners speaks back and his eyes never leave the stone or the alter. His gaze is stuck there curiously, almost suspiciously. 

Something darker must be at play.