Wheeling Gull Isle all hail king neptune

The storm had passed and day broke, but the world remained bleak and colorless.

The churning waters had fallen into a peaceful quiet, and Tiamat woke to foam crawling between her toes. One eye parted to observe the nondescript morning, and shortly after the other followed. A lazy yawn was how she greeted the hour, a string of saliva stretching to a thin sliver until her jaws slammed shut to make an appreciable sound. Spittle clung to the margins of her lips as she rose to a stand, staring into the horizon broken by the island.

Tiamat glanced back for an instant, noting the state of the Cape she stood. Before returning to the potential corpse that might await her, she inspected the dry land behind her for a moment. The storm had not gone inland, but traveled on the fringes of the shoreline. It was past the inlets that the ocean fed by now. Which meant some time had passed.

The corpse would not yet stink of the fate that befell it, though. And the body, she thought, might not even be there, if the ocean swept upon the lone patch of land. The thing would likely have became shark-bate after all, she imagined, the shadow of a smirk pressed upon the corner of her lip. But she sobered up and prolonged her days activity no longer, trotting into the water and paddling through the smooth waters at as fast a clip she could manage. Tiamat knew what lurked in the deep. She was an adept swimmer, but no match for the things that lurked around her, beneath or beside her.

Tiamat shook her waterlogged body that had been weightless in the water but heavy, again, on land. The island looked to be in a good state. But before exploring it, and finding out the others fate, she combed the shoreline for things the waves had tossed from its depths. Nothing significant. Inedible jellyfish that would still sting. Stingrays. Many fish danced in the shallows, ripe for the taking... and she heard the noxious bark of seal, or one of its brethren. Perhaps they had taken shelter here.

As she neared the woodwork, Tiamat looked for a distinct line upon it that would reveal to her if it had emerged from water. None that she could note. Interesting. But then who would better tell her than the certainly there--or not there--body of her vellein? Scullion, she had said. Tiamat had half a thought to have the wolf she would host do the beachcombing for her... but if the other had survived this, well, in essence it was due to her own gracious hospitality, was it not? She deserved more than a mere scullion for her good deed.

But Tiamat did not howl for the other. She moved through the foreign territory, wondering if she would discover the other within it.

She’d taken to search for shelter but she didn’t beat the rain.  It came pouring down on her all at once, making it difficult to see in front of her.  She makes attempt to find thick areas of foliage, running from tree trunk to large plant to another tree.  Her fur is waterlogged within minutes, though, and it’s cold.  The wind is harsh against her fur, and strong, but she can’t find the caves.

Failure creeps upon her.

A tree had fallen well before the storm, recreating the damaged landscape.  The earth had attempted to scab over the defeat.  It’s the perfect shelter for the small wolf.  She alters her path and fits herself snuggly in the hallowed out drunk.  It’s dark and musky and there’s a bad smell of mold and rot.  

Tuulikki isn’t sure how long an hour is but she’s absolutely sure it isn’t as long as the storm rages on.  

The girl falls asleep when things begin to die down, but doesn’t offer any signs it’ll finish raining any time soon.  But when she does wake, it’s humid and thick and she struggles to get in a real breath that’s not like swallowed damp cotton balls.  

She shimmies out of the log, shakes out her fur, and takes a few minutes to gather herself and wake her mind up.  Water flings from her coat when she shakes.  Her Komentaja must be looking for her by now and she’s not sure how long the storm has been over.  Tuulikki’s feet hit the ground and ran out in one direction, hoping to find the coast for an anchor.  

The sun is bright when she breaks the tree line, sand flying up around her as she lands on unsteady ground.  There’s no sign of any real damage, a few washed up sea creatures, but no sign of the other wolf.  The island is large enough that she need not panic and she enjoy the cool wind that blows through her fur, feeling a slight bite penetrating through.  She inhales a long breath before she releases her song, searching.

Alive.

The howl tore past the quiet breath of wind, prematurely ending her hunt. A sand-encrusted lobe flicked, and she turned toward the way the sound came. So, the other had survived after all, had she? Not for long. Not if she had her way. Tiamat could only hope for this, having little patience with those whose ideas did not match her own. Nevermind the fact that she potentially sent the other to her death in keeping her here. The other was alive as it stood, after all.

Tiamat is soon upon the other, and gives her some measure of space. A revolted look blooms upon her face after a hearty sniff. The greyscale woman is sure the other knows why, but in case she did not, "You stink like the newly-dead," Tiamat became thoughtful at that, and withdraws somewhat; it is difficult to make her sharp, angled features soft, but she attempts to do so. "But it is clear in seeing you that you have lived through the night... Quite unlike me," here her eyes grow sharp, interested; Tiamat is a well-practiced woman in her craft of deception. She would have to be, to get by for so long on her lonesome. She feigns bitterness. "I had hoped to receive you here this day dead. The living don't often stay for long. Fear of mortality, and all of that." Tiamat snorted disdainfully. Of course, it wasn't for want of company that Tiamat thought of creating what she would. She was a hell-raiser before she was anything else, including a social recluse.

Once her call has been made, Tuulikki feels the weariness settle into her bones. Her sleep was far from peaceful and the space she’d been tucked into was rather cramped.  Now, she sits back and closes her eyes to gather herself.  She calls for her energy to be restored before she and Komentaja are reunited once more.  The win blows across the island, caring the cool air from shore to shore and bringing the other woman’s scent with it.  Musk and humidity fill her nose but there is something unmistakable about the wolf.

The greyscale matriarch stands several feet away, giving her space, but the crease in her features made her own shrink back.  The statement only proves what the expression gave away.  Tuulikki takes a breath to steady herself.  Her throat aches for drinkable water but it hadn’t been something she’d sought for between finding shelter during the storm and seeking out Komentaja.  There is disappointment in the other’s words where Tuulikki expected to be praise and it is her turn to scrunch her features in confusion.

Quite unlike me.

“I do not understand,” she offers, licking at her dry lips.  One paw lifts off the ground like she’s going to take a few steps forward and close the distance.  Tuulikki keeps herself back, though, and tries to listen to the words over again in her mind. “You said I would survive,” she finally adds, ears falling back on her head.  

The others words were met with a thoughtful headtilt. Do you think I forgot what I said? came her swift rebuke, although if she were to be honest--which she rarely was--then she would have admitted that the other had been right. Still, Tiamat clarified, pleased with her previous word choice in this instance. How very clever you are, she had to commend herself, before she drew nearer to the scaly-lipped stranger. I hoped. I knew you would live. Of course I did. I, above all other dead beings, have a talent in knowing these things. Tiamat sought to swell her chest with pride, though scarcely increased in size at all. She was legs and narrow chest, hips, hips. Long muzzle, and ears that were wolfish as opposed to the longer lobes that betrayed to any who knew the others blood what ran within. Tiamat, however, did not know. What she saw was a long-eared wolf, unattractive and awkward. Surely easy to manipulate for her strangeness. Tiamat would accommodate her, so long as it suited her. Surely there was more good than harm (for herself) in that.

Tiamat paused, deflating as she moved forward. You look thirsty. Let me lead you to freshwater. And allow me to explain. Tiamat drifted away, moving with an incoming breeze; the movement itself suggested she was one with the wind, which somehow suited her declarations (she liked to think). There was nothing truly supernatural to Tiamat; the gangly she-wolf was far from special. But it was this she played on, relied on, even. So many had preconceived notions of the dead. Tiamat aspired to tell the "truth". At least her own version (as ever).

Komentaja reprimands her and Tuulikki lowers her head though the woman’s explanation doesn’t offer much in the way of making sense.  She's at least given the chance to understand with the promise of fresh water.  Her eyes narrow and she turns with a slight shrug, letting the wolf lead her to where she could parch her thirst.  She didn’t want to think she’d been led astray and that her mission, her Rauha Sydamen, but she can’t help but feel the pull she’d made the wrong decision.

Tiamat felt the others reservation. It was up to her to manicure the sharp edges of it, to put the other into a shape she much preferred. It made others easier to deal with, and Tiamat wasn't one who enjoyed difficult things. In fact, she avoided them. They were the true pain in her life, the only pain she could legitimately feel.

So Tiamat moved with the other toward fresh-water, searching herself for it. Perhaps it would be easier to find with the fallen water... but given they were for the most part on an island of sand, she doubted it that the task would be an easy one at all. Either way it mattered not; she searched on behalf of the other, not herself. And she could drag this out as long as necessary. Tiamat would fall into the habit of saving the other if it meant good things for her at the end of their interaction. Who could tell, at this point?

She let the silence settle between them, and broke it when there was greenery to be found on the island. Her tail swayed behind her. I know what you thought when you first saw me. It is the same thing that all think. And why should you, or any, think differently? I look alive. Act alive. I bleed and feed like the living. Tiamat shrugged as she continued onward, ducking beneath errant, large leaves that came into their path. But I am dead. I could not tell you if it was the bear that ended me, or the ocean that took me into her arms. I awoke and nothing was different. But I tell you, everything had changed. I received a clarity I had not been given before. And I was told things. By who, it was not revealed. But I am to live in purgatory. Be a guide to those who waste their lives and give them Their Purpose. I guide the dead. And I can guide the living, if they would open their ears, their hearts, and their minds to the grand idea of it. Tiamat pauses to look the other over, knowing they have already walked a long way. Tiamat hoped that exhaustion might work its way into the mind of her tawny companion. That this exhaustion would serve her, would have the other nodding her head in acceptance.

Tiamat stretched forward and went on, ushering the other onward with an, We're almost there, before again ducking through and beneath a thorny obstruction that offered room for only narrow creatures to make their way through. Her ear tilted forward and the tiny sound of a stream could be heard... and better yet, the smell of freshwater. That was good to know. So, Tiamat continued. The trouble with the living is that they are in the habit of denying things that are right in front of them. Lust. Love. Sorrow. Death. The truth, especially if it is unattractive. They would rather a lie. Tiamat could see, now, the water falling from a wall of greenery, fresh from where it fell even to the point where it would land--in a deep pool, and falling into a small, thin, shallow stream. Water. But unaware to how parched she was--unable to feel the pain--for the moment Tiamat did not partake herself.

While her thoughts may have swayed in their devotion for the grey woman, Tuulikki’s footsteps hold steadfast.  She keeps alongside the other, trying to focus on something that is not her thirst. It does not make for easy travel, already fatigued. The saltwater dries her out.  The last time she’d had something fresh to drink had been earlier the day before when she left the river’s edge and dared into the ocean on the sandbar.  She’d be well on her way in travel if she hadn’t been intercepted but, perhaps, the spirit is right in front of her.

The idea Komentaja is dead doesn’t faze the little wolf.  The spirits have guided her to the coast.  It is not farfetched they guided her to Komentaja. Tuulikki had been assured when she left for her destination that she would know what she is looking for when she finds it.  Shed been unwavering wanting to follow the woman, pulled to her with some force she couldn’t explain when she had other things far more important on her mind.  

“You are dead,” Tuulikki observes.  Of course.

Little wind does not offer anything else until they get where they are going, quiet, dragging her feet beneath her.  If only she  can stop for a short time, her feet might stop burning, but as if on cue, Komentaja ushers her forward with hope.  Her nose doesn’t catch the scent of fresh water and she’s pulled temporarily but the other speaking.  It is more she doesn’t quite understand, trying to grasp her mind around the last day.  Tuulikki has spoken to spirits; they have spoken back, but to see one in such a vision that she were almost lifelike?

Tuulikki shakes her head and she suddenly hears the rush of water falling from high up.  Her mouth is too dry to even offer salivating with excitement and all she wants to do is rush forward and drink everything in front of her.  She hesitates, expecting the other to go forward, but the realization sets in and she takes a few steps forward until the ground beneath her dampens, soaking between her toes.  She lowers her head and drinks, lapping at the water until she feels she might expel it all at once.  It takes a moment to gather herself, straightening her shoulders and lifting her head a little to look back at the smokey figure; a whisper in the wind.

“Olen tullut kuolema.”  Tuhoaja maailmoista.

With a sharp inhale, she nods her head toward the other:  “Wanheda.”

"i am become death," "destroyer of worlds," & "commander of death"

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?

So you know me, then.

Tuulikki tenses with the declaration.  It is unusual for a wolf so young to be so close to a spirit, especially one as powerful as the wanheda.  She feels the air being sucked from her lungs as if the other were pulling it in the circle she creates around the smaller wolf.  It would explain the need to leave Kotiin with her mission, to find her peace elsewhere, if she were to follow a wanheda.  The other knows she can see the spirit, knows she has the connection, and Tuulikki listens to her without doubt.

She’s presented a gift.  Her mouth runs dry again and she attempts to swallow, resisting the urge to look back to the water.  Tuulikki considers it for a moment; something isn’t quite right with the offer and she can’t help but wonder how long the other has been in the position of power and where the heda might be.  

“No,” the girl tells her, confident in her decision. Wanheda underestimates the little wind. “You need a priestess.  Not everyone believe, Wanheda, not everyone will see or hear you.”  

Tuulikki lifts a paw to take a step back but she remains in the same spot, going as far as forcing her paw back to the ground and remain steadfast in her decision.  Tuulikki didn’t have the experience as someone that might typically take it but clearly she’s special enough to have this interaction.  Her survival had been predicted but she isn’t a minion.  She isn’t just a follower.  If she could keep the spirit in her presence this long, she’s convinced she’s something much more important.  

“I am your vessel to the living.”  

She takes in a sharp breath, watching how the other reacts to her proposition.

Tiamat cants her head, displeased with the response given. But she mulls over the completed response for a time; she would look to be in repose, were her eyes not darkened with the storm of thoughts she is assailed with. They are no burden but prove to be something for her to utilize, and she then narrows her eyes. All will see and hear me, as they will see and hear all of those that wish to join me in what I seek to bring here, as I have brought to others. She had a reputation, this Wanheda, presumably. And as all villains were wont to do, she would play on the fact that she was simply misunderstood in her drive. She was as good as her opposite force. One could not exist without the other. There was a point to this. There was a point to everything.

(Tiamat had no point in doing what she did, however. This was simply good fun! Her own spirit thrived on these hellish ideas she brought to life, set into motion.)

Sniffing prudely, as though remembering the offensive odor the other carried, the silver wolf looked away and continued on with her speech. But it is clear she is warming to the idea, and looks back to the other, her soured expression melting to nothingness. Though I think you must wield a sharp mind. You must mean the very words I have said before. That others would prefer lies, than truth. That they do not have an open mind, or heart, for Who and What I am. Tiamat nodded. To have someone living... well, it could be beneficial, she supposed.

And I am in need of a Priestess. If you wish to serve me this way, you may. Do you know what is required, as a Priestess to me? She squinted, and conjured the ideas, but waited to see what the other might think, first. Better to build on that, if she could gain more.

Tuulikki frowns as Wanheda  explains all well see and hear the Wanheda, making her own look of the woman not as special as she’d originally thought.  If all could see, she doesn’t have a higher power of being she originally thought.  The other must be much more powerful than she originally thought, much older than she really expected.  The reign of wanheda is a long one, and power simply gains through each passing soul they take.  The taste of disappointment lingers in the back of her throat that her teachings have been wrong, her superiors have been wrong, but, whom better to learn from than the very meaning of death herself?  She could return to her former home with firsthand knowledge they’ve only dreamed about having.

“Yes.”  There’s a pregnant pause, Tuulikki holds her breath for a moment, looking out to the fresh water. It is only so full because of the storm.  She yearns to take another drink.  Serving as a priestess for the death hadn’t been in her teachings.  She is closer to the earth and growth and the living.

Heda.

The girl pushes the word from her mind, letting her gaze return to the smoke wolf.  If she were to be a heda to this, she knew she had a ways to go.  To lure someone to the fate of a wanheda, she had to connect to them with a livelihood no amount of death could mimic.  “I must bring you a sacrifice in exchange to keep my life,” she tells her, sure she already knows this information.  She’d been headed toward death the entire time and if Wanheda wants to spare her, she must offer  something in return.  

Yes, she hummed, agreeing. For now, others would be permitted upon her island, so long as it meant their joining her, be it as a worshiper or as a fellow dead being. The tip of her tail curled, and her ears cupped 'round as she shook out her joints. And food, as well. I do not usually permit others in my company without the gift of fresh flesh, if they live. Her eyes darkened at this, though whether it was due to a cloud looming overhead or simply due to her newfound vexation at the thought it did not appear immediately certain.

Go now, then. I am not a patient woman. I will be here, for the while. The Stormlands, the name seemed appropriate. You will become a true Priestess of this place when you show me your worth as one. What can you make of nonbelievers? And can you shepherd those who do, and teach them what must be taught? The impish Tiamat tried her hand at looking regal, but perhaps looked more malicious and mocking than she ought to. In feeling the dour expression, Tiamat tried to adjust her expression into one of idle complacency, as though she could accept the idea that the other could, that there might be hope held in her for the other.

Tiamat drifted away; she did not wait for a rejoinder, or a retort. In not wanting to be questioned, she would slip away before she allowed it. The dead had all the time in the world, but very little for things they deemed suddenly trivial nonsense.