Blackwater Islands blur

the listener sought her executioner in the dead of night, searching first the whispering copse, then the druids' grove if her efforts bore no fruit. she knew by scent that he would be here this night; unlike many druids, he preferred to range far from blackwater. the prophet might have preferred otherwise, but the necessity of his scouting was not lost on her. for his role, he required knowledge of the lands.

@Alduin, she spoke when she came to him, eyes glimmering gold and indigo under the moonlight. i have a task for you. and perhaps hope for your future, as well.

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.”

her executioner had changed; grown into himself. his sharp edges had hardened, his gait predatory and slinking despite the sheer mass of his figure. the prophet graced him with a touch, simmering with a dark heat unlike anything which had existed between them so far. since that night with ingram, something had awoken within her. a desire which had slept through her youth, only to awaken as she stood at the cusp of maturity.

and now she desired her executioner.

i want you to hunt for me, nearly a purr as she sought to press closer, to wind around his bulk with her own slender frame. but first...

The hellhound sees today like any other. Another day of wandering and killing anything he can get his teeth on. His hunger is insatiable — unmatched. It is one of the only things he thinks about. Banesteppe does not help these cravings — he encourages it. Has Alduin sinking his teeth into anything that has a pulse. He’s killing for sport at this point, he doesn’t eat over half the things he kills.

Again, today is no different— except it is.

There’s something different regarding his listener. Perhaps it’s because he hasn’t spoken to her recently. Still, he can’t quite put his finger on it and it shows in the way he squints his eyes at her as she practically purrs out her request. 

She wants him to hunt for her. 

Hunt what? Does it matter? He’d track down and kill whatever she wanted him to.

But first… She purrs. Just as smooth as her first words, yet still different. Her deep black fur shimmers in the light of the moon as she shifts herself against him. He doesn’t tense, rather he remains calm and cool. Even as the spots she brushes across become hot and burning — even as that spark of desire light in his chest. That type of desire hasn’t been entertained in quite some time. It used to be constant when he was around the shadow, yet nowadays, he seems too numb to feel anything. 

So Alduin would tilt his head in her direction. There’s a certain type of interest in his eyes. The desire for lust and death are the same in his eyes, so he peers down to her much smaller form.

“But first…?” He parrots slowly, voice almost teasing yet dry in his usual rumbling tone.

the prophet's own dark energy bled into the air, an infection quickly spreading to her executioner. the spirits hummed and whispered all 'round.

our god demands worship, a velvet murmur coiling through the dark. in blood and fear... and in flesh; pleasure. there is magick in it, my executioner.

teeth to skin, sinking; soft like a flaw in the armor of her blood knight. he was only mortal. only a man. sinew and bone; hot veins and frantic heart.

first, i will be your quarry.

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