18+ selective "The Terror" RP Blog for the Tuunbaq. Side blog. Follows from @tatteredxsails Rules/About
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18+ selective "The Terror" RP Blog for the Tuunbaq. Side blog. Follows from @tatteredxsails Rules/About
18+ selective "The Terror" RP Blog for the Tuunbaq. Side blog. Follows from @tatteredxsails Rules/About
18+ selective "The Terror" RP Blog for the Tuunbaq. Side blog. Follows from @teachthekraken
Rules → About → Ask
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It had to come out, of course it did. The other man was so close... close enough that his spirit ignited in brilliant color against the bitter white of the snow that glowed even in the darkness of the night.
Fitzjames' hand was warm through the fabrics that clung to the shell that the spirit wore. It could... it could be air, it could be the foam of the sea. It could walk like a man.
And it could do what it had been made for, what it had been woven and sung into existence to do.
Skin and bone shifted beneath Fitzjames' hand, the fabric of Templeton's jacket splitting open as his spine and ribs began to twist.
Ed and Lorraine certainly weren't strangers to people offering up artifacts that they believed to be haunted or cursed. In fact, they sometimes encouraged such inquiries and urged people to come forth if they truly felt that something sinister or evil had possessed either their person or an item. However, this often came with a fair share of instances in which there wasn't a single sign of possession.
In most object related cases, it went one of three ways. It turned out to be a fan who just wanted a way to connect with them, someone who really was convinced that what they had in their possession was cursed, and those that did indeed have a cursed item. Unfortunately for the paranormal duo, it was often a small portion that leaned towards the latter. Yet, despite such experiences, they always took the time to listen to those that came to them, even if they did tend to ask a plethora of questions.
"Is... is this the Warrens?" the woman's wavering voice came over the receiver. She clutched the phone to the side of her face, sniffling. Her voice seemed to be barely above a whisper, "We need help. I was told...I was told that you help."
The temperature in the room around Lorraine seemed to slowly start dropping, the woman's sniffling voice on the other end of the line sounding more and more distant.
❛ please don’t leave me. ❜ ( From delusional Jopson :D ) @tooxldtorememxer
Meme. I said I was going to reply twice
The woman paused, her hand resting on the doorframe. She hadn't realized that the patient had been awake when she had stepped in to do her rounds. It wasn't unusual for the ill to mistake a nurse for someone else and to call out to them as if they were friend or family. Normally, she would move on. The patient was unlikely to remember having called out. And if they did, it would likely be in the way that one remembered a dream.
But there was something profoundly sad about the way the man made that plea. She frowned to herself and puffed through her nose before she turned back around.
Silna lifted his hand in hers as she stood next to the bed, giving it a comforting squeeze. Her voice was soft, just above a whisper, "You're not alone."
She knew what it felt like to be alone. She was so far away from her home and her people. Loneliness was a pain that no medicine could ward off, something that could easily become an aching pit. Loneliness could make illness worse.
❛ please don’t leave me. ❜ ( From delusional Jopson :D )
Meme. I had to do it. He's just misunderstood!!
* * * *
The stones were already singing in the deserted camp, whispering back and forth about the lives that had been lost there. Some of the spirits lingered, clinging to the memories of pain and illness. Clinging to... absence.
They had nowhere to go. They didn't know how to follow the paths laid out to other worlds, what lights to follow and what deep pools of darkness to avoid.
Inevitably, they would remain there, caught up in the cycle of what had happened to them. Some of them would find peace with it and would learn to use their voices to soothe others that were facing the same or similar fates. Others would simply grow hungry and mean in the cold, and would be no different from the tearing and remorseless wind.
Stone grit beneath the hand-like paws of the tuurngaq that had plagued the expedition. It moved through the tents slowly, watching the thin shimmers of souls that darted away from it when they were aware of their capability to do so... and feasting on those that weren't. It was a mercy that they had no knowledge of, an end to the bitter continuation of time. It would carry them with it, find a place to put them until they could continue on and rejoin the world.
A flicker of life caught its attention and it initially approached at a prowl, predator's shoulders rising above the slope of its head and neck. But there was no need to stalk this man. He was already near enough to death that his breath shimmered in the air in front of him, weaving stories of loss and want. Abandonment.
The creature stopped beside the man, watching his breath and rumbling low in its chest. It dropped itself on the stones with the casual ease of a housecat beside an injured mouse and reached out to idly touch the dying man.
“He created a barren land for with what intention?” he questioned. “Something else has taken over, it is no longer a place for Him. It has a new master,” he meant the Tuunbaq. A creature he avoided like the plague because for what reason did he have to seek it? Silna was the one who controlled it but it was still its land, not theirs, and he had no reason to venture into it again. Only in groups when scavenging old abandoned camps, the hunting was done outside the territory and he had learned quickly where the border was at.
His eyes lingered at the mouth of the tent for a few moments before he looked away and into his lap. On his lap lay his old hat. at one of the scavenger hunts, he had found it in Terror camp. As lost and abandoned as the camp itself had been. Empty and hollow. It was the only thing he had left and it served no other purpose than sentiment. But he still kept it and he wore it every day. “I know,” was his response. But he would stubbornly hold onto his belief for as long as he could.
“They should not be,” he signed and slowly looked up again, unsure if she had seen it or not. They should be in Hweeaven, not stuck in a place like this. Sure, he still held out hope that one or two might have survived, that they may be with another group than theirs, but as time went on he’d started to lose hope about seeing any of them again. “I hope they are not,” his eyes flicked to the mouth again before he looked back down. He hoped they weren’t trapped. He felt the familiar surge of guilt make its way through his body and he swallowed thickly. He’d thought he’d known what guilt felt like, but it had been nothing like the kind that gave him nightmares at times.
Silna's brows went down and her nose wrinkled slightly at that. Normally, she would give the man more time to speak -- words were to be respected when they were made, regardless of the speaker. The validity of those words... that could be debatable. "Aagaa," there were words that she could speak without her tongue, and no was one of them. She puffed through her nose and gestured when he seemed to finish.
You say the land is barren when you have meat in your mouth. Just because you do not see plenty does not mean it is not there. You came here, brought by the winds in your boats or wood and metal. You did not respect this place. Did not listen. Killed. Consumed souls, with no respect. No traditions to safe guard against what is due to them.
She knew that he meant tuurngaq when he spoke of a 'new master'. She knew how afraid of it he was. And he was right to be.
You are surprised when the land, the people, the beasts protect themselves? Collect what is due? There is no master. There is life. Balance. The way of things.
He signed that he hoped his friends were not there -- and she puffed through her nose in annoyance as he denied her his gaze. Silna reached out to tap his knee to get him to look at her again.
It is a lonely and sad thing, if they are not here. Stop this. Listen to them. Take comfort in them.
The woman made another gesture at the doorway, and the whispering breeze outside.
What a sad thing, to think they abandoned you.
I’m curious, so…
Reblog this if you write characters from season 1 of The Terror!
Put your character(s) in the tags.
With the travels of this world, he had learned that his own faith sometimes made little sense to others. And some were almost perfectly reflected images of it, and yet, there were things that didn’t align. The faiths and beliefs of this part of the world were unknown to him and even with it explained simply enough that a child would understand he was still uncertain and knew he was missing a lot.
The way he had been raised and taught, well, it made him believe in the superiority of his own kind and beliefs. It had turned out that what he had been living with, was reinforced tunnel vision and slowly but surely that was being pulled away. It had all started when they brought Silna on board the ship that long ago, and it continued every day and soon his eyes might actually be open. Maybe someday, he would be able to explain the views of his religion and his God properly and not so haphazardly.
His eyebrows rose a little in surprise at her question but then a puff of hair left him, like a chuckle, a bit strangled but he smiled. an amused look on his face as he shook his head slowly from side to side. “No,” he mouthed. he knew it wasn’t the same word she used, but it was the same gesture. “I was,” he continued with his hands. “Everyone was sick. But now I am not. I am well now,” his head tilted a little and his eyes filled with mirth before he reached out to poke her side playfully. “Didn’t know you ever cared about me like that, no need to worry about me,” he teased before he turned more serious again. The feelings that ran through him for Silna these days were not the same as they had been on the ship, or before Hickey had tried to murder him. They were more platonic than romantic.
“We are all dying. Some faster than others, but we are all going to die and go to meet our maker. No matter where we believe that is,” he shrugged lightly. A near kiss with death and he had come to accept it. Life could end at any moment, natural or unnatural.
Silna watched his face. The raise of his brows, the upward tilt of his lips -- these things read as a silent affirmative. She watched him closely as he continued, though her gaze dropped down to his hand when he reached out to poke her in the side.
Again, she waited until he was done speaking and reassuring her that he wasn't dying right that instant. If he wasn't dying, then there had to be some other reason that he was worrying about the presence of his god.
She swatted his hand away, though the gesture was more familial, more playful, than annoyed. She waved off his words and shaped her own.
If your God is everywhere but here, then he is not everywhere. You are here. I am here. The seal is here. The land, is here. It all will continue to be here. Even your friends, they are here. You can hear them.
She tapped her ear, the gestured over her shoulder towards the mouth of the tent. The stones outside were whistling.
Irving had understood rather quickly that his idea of gods and holy spirits was not the same as one of these people. He'd had it explained to him, in some simple turns, about the souls and the rebirths and even though he’d just had a basic grip of the language at that point he had sort of pieced it together. He’d been confused when they’d first said souls, plural, and not soul, but it had made sense in a way as it had been more explained. Although he could not say that he agreed and had he been his previous self he might have tried to reinforce his own ideologies on them. But he hadn’t, he had just accepted that he would be different from this point. Different, but not disrespectful. They had saved his life, after all.
So when Silna told him that God was there he let out a small huff and a gentle smile but averted his eyes to the seal fat in his hands. God would provide his subject, that was true, but it wasn’t the same here. He sighed softly and took a bite of the fatty substance and let his eyes track the dancing flame of the fire in front of him as he slowly chewed it.
He carefully put it down, balanced on a piece of cloth on his leg and turned to look at her before he ‘spoke’ again. ”The seal is not my God,” he signed. “But I am grateful to it,” by allowing itself to be caught again, the spirit of the seal had provided them with food, blubber and fur. And as nasty as it was to chew on the fat, it did help to ease his throat. Though he was certain it could not heal the full damage that had been done to him, at least he didn’t have to be in much pain or discomfort.
“My God is up there,” he signed and pointed upwards and turned his head to look up for a few moments. there was nothing there, of course, only the inside of the tent protecting them from the wind and cold at the moment. “He is everywhere but here. Some on the ships called it Hell, some called it purgatory,” he didn’t exactly know how to sign hell or purgatory so instead, he called it ‘bad under’ and 'the cleansing land before heaven’ and just hoped it made some kind of sense to her. With another deep breath, he looked down for a moment before he slowly signed. “I don’t know what to call it,” he then took another piece of the fat and shuddered a little as he swallowed. Yeah, it truly was not his favourite.
The bit of fat was, of course, not literally a piece of divinity. The seal herself had not been "a god" -- but that did not mean that she had not carried a soul within her, or that she was not a part of that divine. She was one of Sedna's many fingers, severed and sent off into the dark of the sea. She was herself, just as she was every seal. They were fortunate to have caught her and to be able to use her body to feed and heal theirs.
Silna followed his gaze upwards when he pointed, then brought her eyes back down to watch him. She gave his words space and attention, allowing him to work his way through them. She gave him the same attention she would give to anyone else trying to speak, even if she didn't understand the concepts he was trying to convey. 'Heaven' was not something that she knew, and she instead took the shapes he made with his hands to mean the sky.
It made sense, that these men would find their highest reverence in the cold, hungry, emptiness of the sky. They took, without regard for the arniniit of anything else around them. They tore apart and ate souls and were surprised when there were repercussions.
When the land of the sky was not frozen and starved, it was... safe. Comfortable, in the way that boring days could be comfortable. That did seem to be the kind of comfort these men sought, from what she had observed while around them. Mundanity and repetition. Play, for the little children and the people who died in such a way that they should be afforded the opportunity to play like children.
Under... there was warmth and shelter from the elements. Plenty of food. Nothing to want for.
And of course, there were exceptions... He could be speaking of the year's rest of spirits in Qudlivun, with the shining silver of the moon. And he could be speaking of Adlivun and the year's long company Anguta and his pinching fingers.
She waited until she was certain he was done speaking to ask:
Are you dying?
Send ☠ to see my muse kill somebody.
Or send ‘Death’ if you can’t see the symbol.
&. 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.
( an assortment of short and angsty dialogue prompts. feel free to change and edit as you seem fit. )
❛ i didn’t know where else to go. ❜
❛ i’ll never be that me again. ❜
❛ you can still be good. ❜
❛ i thought you’d be here. ❜
❛ don’t act like you know me. ❜
❛ because i care about you, okay? ❜
❛ it wasn’t supposed to end like this. ❜
❛ i was scared. i thought you had lost your way. ❜
❛ am i supposed to just let you go? ❜
❛ you deserve better than me. ❜
❛ don’t make me do this. ❜
❛ i’m not who you think i am. ❜
❛ you don’t mean that. ❜
❛ please just hold me. ❜
❛ i don’t want to understand, i want you to stay. ❜
❛ and why should i care? ❜
❛ you look awful. ❜
❛ i can’t do this without you. ❜
❛ don’t let me lose you too. ❜
❛ for what it’s worth, i really am sorry. ❜
❛ it’s not your fault. ❜
❛ i don’t know who i am anymore. ❜
❛ is this the part where you kick me out? ❜
❛ don’t we deserve to be happy? ❜
❛ promise me you’ll still be here when i wake up. ❜
❛ you can’t save everyone. ❜
❛ it was a nightmare, that’s all. ❜
❛ it’s just a scratch, don’t worry. ❜
❛ you know me better than i know myself. ❜
❛ don’t go where i can’t follow. ❜
❛ you’re better off without me. ❜
❛ we all die alone. ❜
❛ people get hurt if they get too close to me. ❜
❛ i hate what i’ve become. ❜
❛ i’m not going anywhere. ❜
❛ is there anything i can do to help? ❜
❛ i don’t even recognize you anymore. ❜
❛ who did this to you? ❜
❛ please don’t leave me. ❜
❛ oh, now you care? ❜
❛ don’t come any closer! ❜
❛ i missed you so much. ❜
❛ you don’t have to say anything. ❜
❛ do you want me to leave? ❜
❛ why are you avoiding me? ❜
❛ you could have died, you know. ❜
❛ i wish you were here. ❜
❛ you’re not alone. i’m staying right here. ❜
❛ i can be your family. ❜
❛ of course i’m here. where else would i be? ❜
❛ we just can’t seem to get it right, huh? ❜
❛ don’t look at me like that. ❜
❛ don’t push me away again. ❜
❛ this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. ❜
❛ you’re leaving already? ❜
❛ this was a mistake. ❜
❛ can’t sleep? ❜
the terror // 1.01 “go for broke”
Spirit Bear Possessing a Man’s Soul, David Ruben Piqtoukun, 1982
@tooxldtorememxer sent a meme: ❛ god isn’t here. god doesn’t even know about this place. ❜ (survival au) * * * * * *
Silna stilled her hands when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye, and lifted her head to watch Irving's hands. She stared for a moment, a slight wrinkle forming on the bridge of her nose as her brows lowered in a silent 'no'.
She set her uluk aside and wiped her hands of blood and fat, taking her time and letting Irving sit with his words and thoughts. The seal, before she'd communicate with him. The animal had been generously fatted. There would be food, of course, but what she had busied herself in preparing in that moment would be used as medicine. After a moment's pause, she gathered some of the fat in her fingers and flipped a piece of skin over the rest to protect it from any dirt or dust.
The fat was good for the throat. Good for the body, overall. He needed it.
The words he had used didn't make sense to her. It wasn't that she didn't understand how he spoke with his hands. No, it was the sentiment. God isn't here. God doesn't even know about this place.
God is there. She formed the words with her hands, and pointed at the seal fat she'd handed him.
She was entirely ignorant of the God that Irving felt the absence of. When his hands formed the sign 'God', her mind did not go to the Heavens or holy words spoken within a building of stone and sweat. Her mind went to the deep waters, and the squirming separated fingers of an ancient spirit. It went to the warmth of a fire and the flickering shape of a woman's tattooed face beyond the flames, working her hands over the same hides that they all did.
Tuunbaq trying to put pants on so he can chill with the cold boys.