Blackwater Islands blur

The Saint had been traveling a lot to ease his mind — though really it did nothing such. Sure he met a few interesting strangers, many that caught his eyes, it did nothing to cease the incessant thoughts drifting through his skull with problematic ease. 

All thoughts regarding Banesteppe. 

Who really is he? What really is he? And, most importantly, what has the ghost fiend done to capture Alduin’s attention so? Recently it has been different. Much different from before. He doesn’t hate the sound of the alien man’s voice as much — it no longer sounds like sandpaper to his ears. He no longer hates looking at him — though he still doesn’t search for him. 

What has he done to get the hellhound so…pliant with his company? Alduin has wondered that exact thing endlessly the last few weeks. And now that he thinks about it, he assumes the wandering and traveling have made it worse. For Banesteppe is his only company until he runs into some stranger. They do not follow him as Banesteppe does — the satisfaction is temporary. The distraction is temporary.

So tonight is no different. With his fur still wet from having crossed onto the mainland not long ago, his thick pelt is damp — salty and curling at the ends. He hadn’t been staying put well on the islands — he craves the travel. He’s restless. 

The Listener catches him at a good time — he was just about to leave again. 

He hears her footsteps move behind him in the dead of night. He stops, craning his face back towards the noise with cupped ears. Only to see the very woman he hasn’t spoken directly to in some time. His devotion has not dwindled, but Banesteppe has been greedy for his attention as of late. So he meets her eyes as she speaks his name. He doesn’t move an inch.

Alduin, I have a task for you. And perhaps hope for your future, as well.

A task she says. Briefly, he anticipates what it may be. His skills have not been properly put to use in some time. He is but a ghost in the shadows, blending in with the night and hiding during the day.

So he hums casually. It’s more of a noise of acknowledgment as he finally moves. His legs unlock and his large, heavy set paws move him towards her in a predatory way. He has changed some both mentally and physically. Different from what he was a few months ago, soon to be at his adult weight — ripe with thick, heavy muscle. 

His steps are lumbering, heavy in the sand as he prowls towards her, only stopping when he is close. Probably too close for comfort for most wolves. He does it with confidence though — not one ounce of hesitation resides in his body. A body that feels cold and lifeless, yet still pumps blood. A body that does not feel his own, but he knows is. An empty husk forced to walk the plains of this earth for one sole purpose.

To reap.

And this shows in the bloody depths of his eyes. They seem dead and emotionless, but a spark of interest hides within the swirling, dangerous pools of crimson. “I am interested, Shadow.” He rumbles out in that rasping voice deep with base. “Give it to me.”