Ravenshook Cliffs I found myself staring at you

Tagging @Wintersbane

One would think his aimless wandering would become tiring, yet he does not tire. He is barren in knowledge when it comes to these new lands and so in these moments God is his only companion. Not that he needs too much company anyhow. 

Still, as he trots up to the rigid cliff side, icy hues watch the ocean waves crash against the rocks below. Eroding and crumbling they go off into the raging ocean. 

For no particular reason he decides to pray. Bowing his lower body as his muscles shift beneath his silvery pelt beautifully. He lowers his obscenely handsome face down beside his paws, and tucking a strong chin to his chest. Pink lips release a sigh and his voice booms loud enough for the raging ocean to hear his words of prayer.

“Oh most glorious and gracious Lord, who dwellest in heaven, but behold are all things below: Look down, we beseech thee, and hear us, calling out of the depth of misery, and out the jaws of this death, which is ready now to swallow us up.” The tides crash against the already crumbling rocks dramatically. “Save, Lord, or else we perish. The living shall praise thee or be swallowed — or be crushed by your mighty tides!”

He lowers his voice and his eye flick open to stare at the ocean below him. “Give me the gift of life for now and forever, or crush me within the vastness of blue. My faith is secure and unwavering oh God.” A short pause on bated breath. “Amen.”

the ivory man stands out in stark contrast against the dreary backdrop of the cliffs, wintersbane observes. overhead, ravens perch upon the rocks, some lazily riding the seabreeze; beady black eyes studying the approach of the saltking. not that the cliffs necessarily offer the hale tundrian much camouflage; but at least he does not stick out like a sore thumb ( except in winter when the snow does nothing for him ). it is the words, a prayer wintersbane deduces, that causes a small smirk to tug at the edges of his lips.

prayer brings back memories of when he was once religious, giving himself to the daedric princes of the woods. it feels like another lifetime ago and his faith in them has taken a sharp decline. it was a nice idle fantasy — nothing more. wintersbane gives a chuff to announce his presence when the man finishes his loud prayer. you’re a religious man? wintersbane draws, when he is close enough to speak without shouting, but sure to keep distance between them all the same. his tone suggests his words are a statement rather than a question.

that he was religious, was obvious enough.

word count: 194

A voice doesn’t necessarily interrupt him, but it does put at halt in his praise to his god. For a moment, O’Mally wonders if he’s just straight up fucking deaf for not hearing the other approach, but for now he blames it on his being distracted by prayer. 

He stands from his downright position and turns eerily slow to face this beastly man. He’s quite astonished when his glacial orbs land on his pelt, eyes soaking up the beautiful colors saturated into his fur. Though it is not of the holy, pure white like his own, it is beautiful in its own way. Even though his eyes take over this man’s form, it is important not to get the morbid astonishment confused with lust, for O’Mally is a man of god no — matter how tempting something might be. 

“I am.” He hums with a small smile. He is unafraid to approach this navy tinted male. So he does. Pink paw pads thump softly against the ground as he approaches. If allowed, stopping within a fair meter or so away from the other. Being only a few inches shorter, he still has to tilt his extraordinarily handsome face up to meet his eyes almost the same color as his own. 

“Are you?” His reverence asks back, the slightest cock of his head as those blue eyes peer up to Winterbane’s own.

were it not for the dark nose and the blue hue of the ivory man’s eyes, wintersbane might’ve mistaken him for an albino — like one of the medics that tended to him when he washed up on some foreign shore half dead ( he has a particular talent for avoiding the grim reaper just barely, apparently ). he draws nearer and so long as the stranger does not invade his personal space, wintersbane remains like the stone he is carved from: stoic; unyielding.

the affirmation wasn’t really needed but wintersbane tucks it away all the same, though he’s unsure what to do with it. he has no interest for deities and religions …not anymore. his faith died with relmyna; lain to rest with her bones at the alter of the daedric gods now dead to him.

i was, wintersbane draws on a breath. once.

word count: 143

The handsome face of the male before him twists in hard interest as the larger male mentions that he too was religious once. O’Mally isn’t a sexual man, but he is often sexualized for his unbelievably proportionate and stereotypically attractive features. So in this moment he even dares to come closer to the other male. The barest hint of a smile on his maw and half lidded eyes would even convince most that the Priest is interested in this bearish, rugged man. Yet the only thing he’s truly interested in is his one and only love — God.

At blue meets blue, O’Mally hums as if Wintersbane is an enigma to be looked into — a puzzle to be solved. “And why is that?” 

if any interested looks or easily misconstrued looks were sent wintersbane’s way by the ivory man; wintersbane doesn’t notice. interest hardly concerns him in lieu of losing the two women he held most precious. the apparent lack of space, however, the tundrian does notice and his lips curl back in a show of warning: no closer. they are strangers and wintersbane is more like to attack first and ask questions later when someone uninvited invades his personal space. primal instinct before diplomacy; he’s been too near death too many times to tolerate it.

because the gods are dead, wintersbane deadpans; unflinchingly. unapologetically. or perhaps they never existed at all. in the end, it was the same result, wasn’t it? regardless of whether the stranger agreed or not, didn’t really matter. wintersbane has no desire to be converted or listen to some religious monologue about how wrong he was.

a brief glimpse is given to the raven that circles overhead; ears fluttering back as it lets out a loud caw; before his attention zeroes back in on the ivory stranger. i’m wintersbane, he offers his name. saltking of ironclan. we claim the bay just west of here. he gestures his muzzle in it’s general direction, wondering, religion aside ( and really wintersbane didn’t care if his wolves were religious he just didn’t want to be bothered by attempts at conversion ), if there was a potential recruit to be found in the stranger.

word count: 240

At the subtle but not so subtle bearing of teeth and the harsh words that meet his rounded ears, O’Mally’s own auds flick slightly. His smile widens, but his expression is one of indifference. He’s easily and languidly turning to walk a few paces away from him a light chortle on his lips as well. “Nothing wrong with that.” He comments to his rather sacrilegious confession of not having a faith. 

So as he turns his back on this stranger he too looks up to the black bird above. How ominous, yet beautiful. He doesn’t let it captivate his attention for long before he’s eyeing down the other in his company. “Nice to meet you Wintersbane. O’Mally Valentine. I’m new to these lands and wish to join you if you’d allow me.”

wintersbane is surprised but makes an effort to conceal it from his visage as the ivory man remarks that ‘there was nothing wrong with that’. despite how the tundrian had his reasons not to believe in anything divine the acceptance of one who is so religious that they pray to the sea ( or so this was how it looked to wintersbane upon first glimpse ) he expects to be sold some religious monologue about how he was wrong. nevertheless, the tundrian appreciates the lack of it all the same.

perhaps his perception of zealously religious folk was wrong.

it wasn’t the first time he was wrong and surely it wouldn’t be the last.

o’mally, the stranger introduces himself as and then launches, perhaps unexpectedly to wintersbane who is used to being asked numerous questions about ironclan before wolves would consider it ( he expects as much ), into the fact that he was new to these lands and that he’d like to join them.

for a moment, wintersbane considers asking if he wanted to know anything about ironclan first and then decides not to. surely, if the o’mally was curious the questions would come up in due time. or, perhaps they wouldn’t; perhaps it was his god’s path for him and he would not question it. wintersbane had been like that once, with mephala whispering in his ear, the dreadfather’s stale, rotting breath always upon the back of his neck.

welcome to the clan, o’mally. wintersbane says with a charming grin. at any rate, they weren’t in a position to turn down recruits and wintersbane wasn’t so greedy as to look a gift horse in its mouth.

word count: 274

We can archive around here if ya want ;D

O’Mally side eyes the bigger of the two. It’s a playful look and his smile shows it. Yet his gaze only lasts a few seconds as he allows it to drift back out to sea. 

“I’m honored, Wintersbane.” He hums easily. His voice even and confident as he watches the rushing tides crash violently against rocks. 

He is rather excited to be a part of them. To see what it’s like to live a pack life for he can hardly remember his own. Or now that he thinks about it, he didn’t even have one. Especially being raised by a single human. Either way, he wants to see what will become of his own future, molded by those around him.

come, the saltking draws to his newest recruit, gesturing with a sweep of his muzzle westward. let me show you to your new home. they weren’t terribly far from the bay, and what o’mally did once wintersbane showed him where they were located was up to him. normally, this was the point where the tundrain would offer a tour but as they were located outside proximity to the bay ironclan claimed the best he could offer in the here and now was a guided way to the bay.

with that said, wintersbane takes the lead, offering up idle conversation that could easily give way to silence if his newest subordinate preferred it.

word count: 112