Sleepy Fox Hollow we devoured the gods
Loner
godkiller; bleeding golden ichor
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Ooc — delaney
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All Welcome 
part ii; set a few hours after this. tags for reference!

worripa had not meant to venture quite so far from @The Shadow's side ...but he now knows the reason for it. it stains his teeth crimson; the metallic taste of blood flooding his tongue, pain white hot as it travels along the severed nerves of his muzzle. wanheda'd put up a good fight but she'd been weak and he'd been hellbent on revenge.

so young to be so angry, so cruel...

to commit matricide

kinkiller.

and yet, there is no regret ...only the steely resolve that it was done and he could never again go back to his family. a glimpse is given towards the overcast heavens, and worripa pauses at a stream that cuts through the sleepy fox hollow. the stream itself is small, insignificant but offers enough water for him to attempt to wash the congealed and dried blood face and out of his mouth where the taste lingers; unwanted.

magick, threadbone reading & 'godhood' is to be taken purely with a grain of salt and are written to be creations of ingram's imagination and religious faith.
sold my soul for a cigarette
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one companion ripped from their side; the other, astray. the shadow refused to lose both of her chosen in one fell swoop, and so when @Alduin's trail ended in blood and clumps of scattered dark fur, she set off in pursuit of her ash-wraith. the skyrock lay hidden in northstar vale, forgotten for the moment but much further than she had ever left it. with each step taken from their temporary home, the heaviness grew in the shadow's chest, but they paid it no mind. the gunmetal boy's trail was still fresh, and it would not be lost.
and so the shadow found the war reaper by the water's edge, shrouded in fog and shedding his sins in the rippling blackness. death hung around him like a veil, his scent tinged with wolfblood, his own flesh torn. the unchild crooned a soft, melodic greeting, and swept to his side in the slow manner of a rolling storm on the horizon. she said nothing; no words were needed.
casually swooping all your threads whoops no ragrets. power play of alduin w/ permission <3
Loner
godkiller; bleeding golden ichor
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the fresh wounds smart against the icy chill of the water as it flows 'round him as if he were no more than a obstruction in it's path. he laps it down in quick gulps but it does not entirely erase the taste of praimfaya's blood...or the war wounds she left him with. his sins would always be on display, now; and like his people he would wear them with pride. death marks. three was surely suitable a number for killing the commander.

would she have been strong and healthy, it might've been his body left to decay near that boulder in arrow lake ...but it was not to be so.

despite that matricide sits heavy in his bones, he thinks he has found peace. peace with her death. peace with the part he played in it. worripa's mind follows only the path left by the sting of his wounds; wondering how he might treat them ...how long they would take to heal.

so focused on those questions that buzzed around like a wasp of nagging hornets, he does not hear the footsteps that approach him. instead, he is made aware by the soft croon of the shadow as she sweeps to his side. a rough rumble of greeting is given, cut short with a sharp inhale as it pulls at tender flesh.

magick, threadbone reading & 'godhood' is to be taken purely with a grain of salt and are written to be creations of ingram's imagination and religious faith.
sold my soul for a cigarette
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he was wounded, her stone-carved warrior boy, but the shadow did not despair for him. he did not carry with him the air of one defeated, nor the cracked-glass psyche of the horrors she knew so well. what had transpired when he left her had not taken his spirit from him, she sensed; rather, he had been baptized, tempered in blood as the shadow had been at merrick's side. the spirits flitted and whirled around him like flies courting the fallen. the shadow beckoned for her companion to leave the water, return to her side. her stomach was taut with hunger, and she was eager to see the extent of the destruction he had wrought. you kill? she inquired, and then: we eat?
Loner
godkiller; bleeding golden ichor
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tentatively, worripa's tongue drawls across his jowls — instinctively mindful of his flesh tears — to collect stray droplets of water ...of which there were more than usual. no doubt, the split of flesh would take some getting used to but he does not waste much thought on it. cannot, when she says 'you kill' and 'we eat'.

ja, a breath. i killed. he affirms gruffly, the first words he's ever spoken to her; a confession of murder but not with remorse.

but to eat her? could the flesh of his mother give him life again ...ensuring that he and his shadow survive? to let her rot or to let her be desecrated by other predators who would not bury her bones after seemed a waste.

hunger was a strange thing. it takes hold with cold, clammy and demanding claws. you would eat wolf? he asks; tone muted. curious; without judgement.

magick, threadbone reading & 'godhood' is to be taken purely with a grain of salt and are written to be creations of ingram's imagination and religious faith.
sold my soul for a cigarette
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the question posed puzzled the shadow; did it matter whether their prey shared their physical form? lesser creatures did not gain status simply by mimicking their superiors. eat meat, she clarified, watching the boy carefully. he seemed to understand — but in the end, he held reservations that the shadow lacked, and so the pair sought a different meal to share. the demotion from trio to duo weighed heavily on the shadow, but soon she put it aside, at the behest of the whispering spirits all around. there was no time to linger on that which had been lost; time and fate waited for none.