10-22-2019, 09:32 AM
For the most part, Ivar has ignored the nereids. He knows they’ve taken over the main island and that they’ve got some sort of women-centric society, but little more than that. After Isobell had joined him on his north eastern island, ther had been a vacuum of power in Ischia, and the nereids and their kin had filled it. Better them than the Brotherhood, he has always thought. The kelpie’s not been especially successful at luring them north, but enough have born him appropriately aquatic children that he has at least a minor interest in keeping them around.
The sound of a summons reaches him where he drifts out in the sea. At first, he is not more inclined to answer it than any other day, at least until he recalls the time of year. It is easy to forget when autumn happens here in the tropics, but the idea of a gathering of women is too alluring to resists, and he drifts closer to the distant shore.
There’s a rather alarming number of men present – three – and Ivar scowls in their general direction. One smells strongly of Adria, and Ivar glances at the coral nereid, his golden eyes displeased. She’d really chosen steak over seafood?
Well, there is no accounting for taste, Ivar supposes.
”Do you live here?” He asks the black stallion pointedly, but his eyes flick to the dapple and the silvery bay as well. His question is rhetorical; Ivar has lived in this sea for a decade, and they smell of other lands. There is clearly tension in the air. Ivar had arrived just as the horned male had said something about coercion and retaliation. He doesn’t actually care what had been said, only that he’s already disappointed that what he’d hoped would be an estrogen-fest is instead full of sharp glares and far too many other men.
He looks over the others gathered. Adria (whom he smiles at brightly in memory of her attempt to minimize his possession of his island and eventual acceptance), to a par of nereids – one purple, one pearl – and then a pretty little dapple mare he thinks might look quite nice on his island. None of his own women are here – which is good; they know their place – and though he glances once more with displeasure at the assembled men, he supposes that at least this summons has made him aware of three new potential conquests.
The sound of a summons reaches him where he drifts out in the sea. At first, he is not more inclined to answer it than any other day, at least until he recalls the time of year. It is easy to forget when autumn happens here in the tropics, but the idea of a gathering of women is too alluring to resists, and he drifts closer to the distant shore.
There’s a rather alarming number of men present – three – and Ivar scowls in their general direction. One smells strongly of Adria, and Ivar glances at the coral nereid, his golden eyes displeased. She’d really chosen steak over seafood?
Well, there is no accounting for taste, Ivar supposes.
”Do you live here?” He asks the black stallion pointedly, but his eyes flick to the dapple and the silvery bay as well. His question is rhetorical; Ivar has lived in this sea for a decade, and they smell of other lands. There is clearly tension in the air. Ivar had arrived just as the horned male had said something about coercion and retaliation. He doesn’t actually care what had been said, only that he’s already disappointed that what he’d hoped would be an estrogen-fest is instead full of sharp glares and far too many other men.
He looks over the others gathered. Adria (whom he smiles at brightly in memory of her attempt to minimize his possession of his island and eventual acceptance), to a par of nereids – one purple, one pearl – and then a pretty little dapple mare he thinks might look quite nice on his island. None of his own women are here – which is good; they know their place – and though he glances once more with displeasure at the assembled men, he supposes that at least this summons has made him aware of three new potential conquests.