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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    [private]  could i use you as a makeshift gauge
    #1
    [MATURE] tag also bc death and murder 


    I V A R
    i'll use you as a makeshift gauge
    of how much to give and how much to take
    The sun rises, signaling the end of another night of hunting. Ivar has been finished for hours, sleeping away the exertion in one of the many underwater caves. This one is high enough that low tide leaves it dry, and it is the absence of water that finally wakes the kelpie. Grumbling beneath his breath about the displeasure of dry scales, the piebald slips back into the deep water, emerging from the shallow cave and into the brightness of midmorning with blinking golden eyes.


    Behind him, in the darkness of the cave, someone else falls into the water.

    Her death is recent – just before he’d fallen asleep – and perhaps the current will pull her roan body toward a white-sand beach. She had given him a good son (though Ivar can’t be bothered to remember where Varick might be or to care if he will mourn his mother). Ivar certainly doesn’t mourn her, but he does miss the vapid look in her previously bright eyes. That’s easy enough to replace though, the kelpie reminds himself; the world is full of willing women.

    Beneath the clear water, the piebald creature spins upside down, the sunlight seeping through the water and warming the pale length of his scaled – and full – belly. He’ll probably sleep another few hours like this, and then find another, better place to nap until dusk. Such is the pattern of days for the sapphire kelpie. Beachmaster, the little nereid had called him. Already half-sleep, Ivar smiles at the thought, and decides that his quarry for the next night will be that pink nereid, or at least one of her many sisters and cousins.


    and i'll use you as a warning sign
    that if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind


    this is basically just an IC “Ivar murdered Chryseis and maybe her body will wash up somewhere on Ischia?” post.
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