October 25, 2016, 07:49 AM
he who must not be named
after meeting with the man, father of rannoch, deirdre had taken to the woods and moved well beyond them, to the line of sand and sea donnelaith kept. the night was young, and overhead the clouds hung low. the promise of a storm was in the air, so thick was the scent that it could be tasted. as she lingered in her distress, her emerald eyes turned toward the depths and a peel of thunder sounded off.
and then she prayed!
she prayed to the Fair Folk and the Old Ones both, and she prayed to those that her beloved might pray to, too, when seeking guidance. she cast her circle and felt the protection of the elements snap to life around her as she spoke:
iad a chosaint!deirdre looked to the heavens, looked to the sea, and spoke reverently, adoringly:
le do thoil, iad a chosaint ó aon olc a d'fhéadfadh a befall iad,her voice was humble and she bowed, and then deirdre fell into thanking them, her voice melodic and a comfort in its repitition. thank you, thank you, thank you--please, please!
she did not notice the ocean before her giving shape to something unknown and terrible. deirdre had forgotten, again, of prices that must be paid.
![[Image: BCay9TG.png]](http://i.imgur.com/BCay9TG.png)
in oceans deep. my faith will stand
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it came from the deep.
a swell of oil-slick darkness, ambiguous, malignant. it grew and grew, until it was more than just a black mark on the sea's edge; it became an impenetrable shape, lurching towards the witch-woman with a twisting, reptilian sneer. there was no telling where it began and where it ended, nor where the sea held it, for it was the sea. a leg peeled away from its soggy body, and another, and had anyone watched they would've sworn they saw a swarm of them.
it came for her.
jaundiced eyes erupted from the dark, bore into her, and the hellish thing pulled free of the ocean and collapsed by her feet — although not for long — it snapped the air with crooked teeth and, panting, sobbed a pitious, furious note like that of a death rattle.
this was the birth of something foul.
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it came from the deep.
a swell of oil-slick darkness, ambiguous, malignant. it grew and grew, until it was more than just a black mark on the sea's edge; it became an impenetrable shape, lurching towards the witch-woman with a twisting, reptilian sneer. there was no telling where it began and where it ended, nor where the sea held it, for it was the sea. a leg peeled away from its soggy body, and another, and had anyone watched they would've sworn they saw a swarm of them.
it came for her.
jaundiced eyes erupted from the dark, bore into her, and the hellish thing pulled free of the ocean and collapsed by her feet — although not for long — it snapped the air with crooked teeth and, panting, sobbed a pitious, furious note like that of a death rattle.
this was the birth of something foul.
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October 25, 2016, 04:02 PM
the sea thrust from its embrace something it had swallowed whole long ago, only to spit out, back to earth, now.
had deirdre not observed the whole thing perhaps she, a believer, would have denied the claim--but there, here, It was. while others might see the creature as revolting, deirdre fretted and worried over It; It scuttled closer, and deirdre swept that way, as the seafoam that gently lapped at the beings feet to comfort It would.
the furious note It released was that of great sorrow and loneliness to deirdre, who had, in her saddest days, sang a similar note--but she failed to notice the differences, and the deadly dissonance within it.
her muzzle hovered over its oily furs, saltlicked and seaweed-laden, and she let out a patient whine. she was not sure what tongue he might understand, but all beasts understood the language of heart, even those without one would know that aid was being offered, if it would only be enabled to be received.
had deirdre not observed the whole thing perhaps she, a believer, would have denied the claim--but there, here, It was. while others might see the creature as revolting, deirdre fretted and worried over It; It scuttled closer, and deirdre swept that way, as the seafoam that gently lapped at the beings feet to comfort It would.
the furious note It released was that of great sorrow and loneliness to deirdre, who had, in her saddest days, sang a similar note--but she failed to notice the differences, and the deadly dissonance within it.
her muzzle hovered over its oily furs, saltlicked and seaweed-laden, and she let out a patient whine. she was not sure what tongue he might understand, but all beasts understood the language of heart, even those without one would know that aid was being offered, if it would only be enabled to be received.
in oceans deep. my faith will stand
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the thing which lay before the witch, the mass of black netted in weeds and stinking of brine, did not know what was happening. it should have been worm-eaten by now; perhaps this was why it despaired so? to be sleeping one moment, held within the sea's frigid embrace, and then to be brought forth - not by their own will, but by the will of an unseen power — it was filled with rage, this thing.
a rage that suddenly quelled when its beady eyes took in the sight of a living, breathing, angelic thing.
deirdre. the catalyst. a spirit, flitting around the monster with such worry and care — he bleated, bellowed, cried and called for her. there was an absence within the dark thing's mind, a nagging feeling, telling him this was not right - he was not right - there was something missing - but the void-like beast saw her, and like a parasite, would latch upon all that she was to fill that emptiness.
his cries grew weaker as she tended to him. whether this was a sign of weakness or a sign of imminent death, it was hard to tell. the creature's flesh was unnaturally cold. its fur - for yes, it had fur, short and dense and ugly for all the caked sand and detritus - looked to be pooling around its heavy-set figure as the autumn winds coursed over it.
but those eyes. they bore into deirdre, watched her every move, did not blink! the creature could not get enough of her.
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the thing which lay before the witch, the mass of black netted in weeds and stinking of brine, did not know what was happening. it should have been worm-eaten by now; perhaps this was why it despaired so? to be sleeping one moment, held within the sea's frigid embrace, and then to be brought forth - not by their own will, but by the will of an unseen power — it was filled with rage, this thing.
a rage that suddenly quelled when its beady eyes took in the sight of a living, breathing, angelic thing.
deirdre. the catalyst. a spirit, flitting around the monster with such worry and care — he bleated, bellowed, cried and called for her. there was an absence within the dark thing's mind, a nagging feeling, telling him this was not right - he was not right - there was something missing - but the void-like beast saw her, and like a parasite, would latch upon all that she was to fill that emptiness.
his cries grew weaker as she tended to him. whether this was a sign of weakness or a sign of imminent death, it was hard to tell. the creature's flesh was unnaturally cold. its fur - for yes, it had fur, short and dense and ugly for all the caked sand and detritus - looked to be pooling around its heavy-set figure as the autumn winds coursed over it.
but those eyes. they bore into deirdre, watched her every move, did not blink! the creature could not get enough of her.
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October 25, 2016, 04:29 PM
It quieted upon her gentle and ginger touch. the heavy weight within her soul was lifted; the darkness before her looked to be what she had called for, and It must have been that, to have come in tandem with the thunder as It had! and It had come from the sea, blessed Thing of skellige's domain: It must be good.
deirdre spoke to it:
still as death, the beast was, but she knew It lived. she knew that to be true, as surely as she knew herself to be alive and before It. the warmth Its eyes cast told her so, and so intent was its glare, terribly familiar, that even when she was not looking to the fiery shade it was evident it was not the stare of Death.
deirdre felt a restlessness to get It away from the cold, but she wondered if the ocean was a comfort. could It walk? would It move with her to the forest? a coaxing nudge was offered to the creature of Beyond.
deirdre spoke to it:
a fhios agam cén fáth go bhfuil tú ag teacht: skellige agus rannoch a chosaint, mar a d'iarr mé. i go raibh maith agat,
still as death, the beast was, but she knew It lived. she knew that to be true, as surely as she knew herself to be alive and before It. the warmth Its eyes cast told her so, and so intent was its glare, terribly familiar, that even when she was not looking to the fiery shade it was evident it was not the stare of Death.
deirdre felt a restlessness to get It away from the cold, but she wondered if the ocean was a comfort. could It walk? would It move with her to the forest? a coaxing nudge was offered to the creature of Beyond.
in oceans deep. my faith will stand
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the angel spoke a tongue of old, an ancient sounding mess, and were it not for the sussuration of the ocean around him and the loathsome chill that had befallen his flesh vessel, the creature may have heard her and understood.
he groaned and rose up on his legs, of which there were four, not four hundred as one might expect from the dark of him, and he stumbled closer to her; he fell and connected to her lithe body, smearing it, tainting it as he would taint so much in this place, and slouched back upon the rocks and shells around him.
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the angel spoke a tongue of old, an ancient sounding mess, and were it not for the sussuration of the ocean around him and the loathsome chill that had befallen his flesh vessel, the creature may have heard her and understood.
he groaned and rose up on his legs, of which there were four, not four hundred as one might expect from the dark of him, and he stumbled closer to her; he fell and connected to her lithe body, smearing it, tainting it as he would taint so much in this place, and slouched back upon the rocks and shells around him.
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November 04, 2016, 03:41 PM
deirdre would come to repeat the words again and again to the seawolf, but she saw in this moment he was not well. as he slumped forward, deirdre sought to support him further with her weight. she was patient, and if he could not yet move, she would wait until he could! she hummed him a song that went well with the lapping of the sea, ancient and without name or lyric, that had comforted her as a cub--that had helped her sleep, even when she knew the nightmares of teeth and blood would come. those days were long gone, but the song always brought her to feel at peace.
in oceans deep. my faith will stand
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