Blackwater Islands let my bones be split apart
Loner
godkiller; bleeding golden ichor
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#1
All Welcome 
ingram prowls the shores of blackwater's main island like a soldier tasked with guarding the gates of the castle beyond. there is a simple sort of monotony to the task that ingram enjoys. as of late, plenty of strangers have washed up on their shores: spit out as rejects of the sea among the froth covered jetsam and flotsam.

the morning is all-but clear with a few scattered clouds, half crescent moon guiding him along the heightened tide. pieces of seashell scatters along the recede of each tide and ingram pauses for a moment to investigate, wondering if any of them might be useful to add to his small reading bones collection.

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
"YOU WAKE UP IN THE DARK AND HEAR THE SCREAMING OF THE LAMBS..."
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#2
Im sorry I had to steal because Alduin is a drama queen and the tea between these two is intoxicating ;)

The sky is clear, but Alduin’s head is not. Rather it swims with frustrating thoughts of many kinds. From his mission, to his curse, to many other subjects — most of which are useless and anxiety inducing. Then, of course there’s Banesteppe, the entity that follows Alduin with a chain lead around his neck — and Banesteppe is the one that holds the leash. 

So Alduin walks along the edge of the coast just as Ingram does, except Alduin has no idea the younger male is just right around the curved bank of the coast. He merely saunters along. His head in its usual place even with his shoulders as he goes. He stalks — prowls — rather than walks. Though his pace is languid and casual, lumbering even, he’s always on the look out for anything unusual.

And he spies someone unusual after a few paces of walking. It’s ocean eyes, the young pup (though not much younger than Alduin) that has a soft spot for the Listener. And maybe Alduin does too, but he refuses to convey it so freely — so publicly — as he does. No, he keeps up his brooding, angry visage for all to see no matter who it is. For he is not gentle, he is not sweet or caring, and most definitely he is an emotionless, angry, stubborn bastard. 

These feelings carry onto Ingram, except he has no soft spot for him. Rather, his opinion of him is as cold as ice. A challenge. A rival. A rival for what? Well, Alduin has recently begun to understand why he hates him. Jealousy and testosterone. That’s gotta be it. And he thrives for his Shadows affections. He wants to be the only one to get them. He’s greedy and angry, what does anyone expect of him?

So when Alduin sees him, his natural scowl deepens some. Blood red eyes hone in on the other man, but he doesn’t change his direction. No, he wants to test him. Fuck with him.

“If it isn’t ocean eyes with the soft heart.” He goads in that rasping, husky voice of his. He doesn’t bother keeping the distasteful tone from his voice. He doesn’t care if others hate him. Ingram is no different.
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Loner
godkiller; bleeding golden ichor
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alduin, the keeper soon becomes aware of the strange patterned boy's steps; stalking towards him. ingram does not want to peer up from his shell hunt, but the annoying nickname coupled with the scathing tone that ingram thinks he hears ( or perhaps projects ) ; prickles at his nerves. perhaps it is the particular season that inflates ingram's need for dominance despite not being able to contribute ...but with alduin's sudden return to blackwater ingram understands that it is more.

he'd never hid his affections from trikova; but it had taken alduin's presence to make ingram see just how deep they ran.

how he harbored a fear; an annoying insecurity that trikova would turn from him in favor of alduin; in any and all form of the word.

he was the son of commanders and he would be no one's second best.

a stoic glimpse is offered alduin, aware the other boy was attempting to goad him. what do you want, alduin? demands the iron guardian, scarred muzzle lifting slightly. he had no time, nor patience for boyish scraps and name-calling.

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
"YOU WAKE UP IN THE DARK AND HEAR THE SCREAMING OF THE LAMBS..."
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Alduin’s bloody gaze never leaves the others eyes, he even raises his head some — both signs of his own need for dominance over the over. Usually Alduin doesn’t mince words — he’s not good at that — but he has a few things to say to this boy.

Plus, he sees the way he looks back to the brindled beast. It seems their hatred is mutual. Good. Alduin doesn’t shield his hatred one bit, rather it’s easily conveyed in his eyes like an upcoming storm. The way Alduin desires to rip into his flesh is irreparable. Nothing would save him from his fate below the hellhound — metaphorically and physically. For Alduin believes he is above him, not matter the rank he holds. 

So when he speaks and asks the brindled boy what he wants he’d huff out a breath through his nose. “I want to get something very clear with you.” He’d say, low and dangerously.

So the cursed boy would slink towards him, nothing but hatred and the lust for blood reflecting in those dark eyes. If allowed, and if the other doesn’t back down, he would come to stand right in front of him. Probably too close for comfort.

He’d stare him dead in the eyes then. “You are below me in every way, no matter your rank.” Comes that rasping rumble. His words are intentionally hateful, tone just as much so as well. He wants to see how easy it is to piss him off. “The Shadow sees it too.” He knows that’d be a sore spot. And then ever so slowly, he says his next words. “You don’t have a chance.”
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Loner
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ingram's toes dig into the pliable, wet sand underfoot as alduin stalks closer and speaks as if he is above him. he isn't. that is not how their hierarchy works — he is above all except the listener herself; despite that both of them answered only to her. but how long until he is tired of subjugating himself to her? ingram cannot help but wonder; seaglass meeting bloodred without flinching.

the killer of commanders, of his own mother might feel some sort of insecurity when it comes to trikova and the fact that he cannot read how she feels about him, if she returns the depth of his feelings for her ...but that doesn't mean he sees alduin as a threat.

not to himself, at least.

to the listener? to blackwater? surely.

already, he shows it in the disrespect of ingram's rank as keeper.

for ingram, it was never about rank. he truly didn't care where he was placed in the hierarchy. he only wanted to serve ...and love ( even if it was from afar ) trikova. and he wanted to do these things in peace without a traitor lording himself above everyone and everything. how did the unnamed god feel about that? oh, how ingram desired to consult his bones! —

a low grunt is given. ah, yes. that is why i am her iron guardian, her keeper in this life and beyond it. truly, alduin needed smacked down a few pegs but ingram's greatest defense that he was sticking to — despite the deliberate dig at his insecurities needling beneath his flesh — was not giving into the attempts to rouse him.

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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#6
tension rippled in the air even from afar; a voice guided the listener, low and simmering with promised violence. a voice she knew well. alduin the saint.

you are below me in every way.

intrigued, the prophet slipped through the shadows to observe the muted clash of wills. she saw ingram, burning with a silent fire of his own. they stood near enough to embrace, near enough to tear into one another.

the shadow sees it too.

you don't have a chance.

tell me, alduin, the prophet drawled as she stepped from the shadows, languid and dangerously expectant. what is it i see? you speak as if you know, as if you are my eyes rather than my executioner; so enlighten me.
"YOU WAKE UP IN THE DARK AND HEAR THE SCREAMING OF THE LAMBS..."
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#7
All the man does is grunt back, not taking his bait, but he knows the words will fester in his mind. Alduin knows his hate for him will only grow stronger and that is what Alduin wants. Eventually, when he actually becomes a man in body and in soul, he will challenge the hellhound back. It seems he won’t be doing that any time soon though, he is still too soft. 

So Alduin would tease him with a low scoff. “No words? Of course not.”

Only the Shadow’s voice is filling the air and Alduin’s bloody, venomous gaze flicks over to her. His mouth tenses in the beginning of a smile as he listens to her. Surely, Ingram is taking satisfaction in Alduin being caught red handed, but Alduin is not worried one bit. The Shadow has misconstrued the scene Alduin has set — the words he speaks. 

A rumbling laugh rolls from his dark, scarred lips. “I do not speak for you shadow, I merely use your name to get under his skin.” He shifts his gaze to the younger man, wretched amusement swirling in his eyes. “Obviously it works.”

He would move to circle Ingram then, eyes dark and his stance as confident as it was before. Uncaring of the Shadow’s intense gaze on him. He would try and nip the other at his hocks before veering a few feet away, unless the other retaliated. It’s clear he is not a nice man, the Listener would know this by now and Ingram would learn the hard way.

“He is weak.” Alduin would rumble slowly, uncaringly rude with his words because that is how he sees him. Emotions make one weak and Alduin is no such thing.
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Loner
godkiller; bleeding golden ichor
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#8
if ingram was less of a man because he did not sink to the level of the brindled man, well then: so be it. the goading might needle beneath his skin: working, as alduin boasts to the listener as she appears on the scene.

he has no use for petty insults; and little tolerance for them besides, keeping himself in check because the unnamed god commands it of him. he is the keeper; such quarrels were not meant to rile him. if his feathers are ruffled; if his insecurities picked apart and lay bare before alduin and trikova: then so be it.

there is a part of ingram that wants to retaliate: but that would be giving alduin what he wants. the druids would crumble from within quickly if they fought among their own ranks.

a low warning growl rumbles in ingram's throat as alduin circles him snapping at his hock. ingram's lips curl back from his teeth; the loud 'click' of them as the gnash together as alduin purrs his responses to the listener. to ingram's trikova, calling him weak.

still, the keeper maintains his iron armor, ignoring the needled at chinks as best he could.

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