Whispers in the night

How he loathed Summer.

He hated how weary it made him feel, how drowsy and unproductive he felt. How the sun burned into his fur and impaired his vision. Though he was indeed a Pirate; typically built for the warmer climate, his family hailed from lands far away. A land of always Winter.

Alas, he was far from that life now. Now he had little to no following. Yet still the title of Captain. Yet he was not just that, he was a Father... to a boy that wanted nothing to do with him. He had pondered upon this much as of late-how he could try to be... better. But also his time would soon come. Though spritely and full of life, Leviathan was not getting any younger, before he knew it, soon the infamous grey hairs would show and his body creak.

It was a daunting prospect that even he feared.

The night soon fell, draping Sussex into darkness. This was when The Captain rose, usually he would find himself in the Tavern and stumble out in the early hours of the morn', yet not this night. Tonight he wanted to feel the cool waves upon his paws, he wanted to feel sorry for himself and stare at the stars.

So there he was, The Pirate Captain; glaring at the endless waves as they crashed upon the black sands, flexing and digging his toes betwixt the coarse grains. He took a moment to bask within the moonlight, savouring the relief of cool winds that blew in from the coast.

She wondered if this could, indeed, be him. When she was little, the nursemaids would tell her stories of pirates. Well, the new nursemaids would tell stories of pirates -- until they learned rather quickly, and harshly, that she and Elias were not fans of tales of pirates. Even still, the stories and verses lingered in her mind like an annoying jingle stuck in one's head -- A devious bastard cloaked in coal, with eyes the jewels of the very sea, and his heart a very, lonely hole, the last thing you may ever see. The foolish young women always swore the truth in their tales -- but she and Elias always called bullshit. They wanted true tales, and so when she would demand stories of the great rebellion, they were met often with looks of discomfort. Now that was a truthful look. A genuine feeling. Not some wives' tale of an infamous captain of the sea. Even still, he did seem to match the description from the lore. Reason enough to approach him, she figured. “Is your heart a very lonely hole?” she asked with her gently rasping voice, a sound akin to the wisp of the sea, quiet water against rough stones. The young girl came from behind, approaching so that she stood near him and stared out at the gloomy sea just as he did. The wind whipped at her wayward strands of long fur as she turned her slender muzzle toward him, taking in this Sea King with the palest of eyes.

ART ➤Safiru CODE ➤ twisty

Leviathan was by no means a spiritual man. He did not seek to worship a higher power, for he believed himself to be the maker of his own fate. Yet there was something so tranquil, so... peaceful about the setting. The gentle lap of the waves sprawling ever closer to his large, dark paws. The way the moonlight held him in a soft, tender grip. The way the breezy sea air ruffled his smooth fur. This, indeed was perhaps his true calling; a man of ice worshipping the sea.


“Is your heart a very lonely hole?" With the loudness, rattling thoughts within his mind he did not hear the soft shifts in sands behind him. It was as if he was graced by the moon, a wrath draped in the purest white and marked by ebon'. Who's voice whispered a raspy, yet almost ethereal tone. Dark ears twitched as he inhaled the humid, salty sea air in a long drawl of breath. The corners of his lips twitched into a faint, feigned smirk. "Perhaps," He began to ponder, allowing his breath to whisper into the dark night.

What an odd greeting. Others would deem to mock him, belittle his already fragile ego... or simply prove bland and tasteless, by muttering a polite "hello", yet not this one."Someone once told me that all great and precious things are lonely, he turned his head slowly peer at the stranger. Icy brows partly furrowed over blazing icy eyes. She was slender, almost gangly. Yet there was an elegance in her stance; her ghostly features. "and to live alone is the fate of all great souls." He did not understand such folly back then, but perhaps now he did.

Banshee

From within the thick layer of heat that distorts the horizon, a white wolf appears, her cheeks streaked with tears. She does not yet see you, yet her wails send chills racing down your spine.It is difficult to tell if she is real... and perhaps it is best to leave her to her grief.


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