Like many others who’ve lived through death and destruction at festivals, Wessex is wary. Could be a trap. Could be nothing. Could be the Old Gods up to some shit, or even the Voice, whose shown a predilection for public moves.
And maybe, just maybe, it could be a good way to gain some information. With Loki in tow as another set of eyes, Wessex teleports herself to Meadowreach and then finds a place between a couple of stalls that seems to be out of the public eye. There, the demigod goes to work on herself, wrinkling and mottling her skin with age marks, working diligently over the entirety of her body. Her hair goes grey and grows loose and lanky, oily. Her nails yellow and appear brittle, chipped, her feet absolutely filthy. There are a couple of ‘healing’ sores on her hand that hint at other problems, and maybe, just maybe, the reason for her to remain covered.
Which, she is. Covered in a dirtied shadow cloak, scarf wrapped around her head, coming up to cover her mouth and chapped lips. She is a part of festival life, hobbling along with a makeshift cane, listening and shaking a rattling can towards any who might appear to be in a generous mood.
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Wessex has disguised herself as an old beggar for now and is wearing her Shadow cloak.
And maybe, just maybe, it could be a good way to gain some information. With Loki in tow as another set of eyes, Wessex teleports herself to Meadowreach and then finds a place between a couple of stalls that seems to be out of the public eye. There, the demigod goes to work on herself, wrinkling and mottling her skin with age marks, working diligently over the entirety of her body. Her hair goes grey and grows loose and lanky, oily. Her nails yellow and appear brittle, chipped, her feet absolutely filthy. There are a couple of ‘healing’ sores on her hand that hint at other problems, and maybe, just maybe, the reason for her to remain covered.
Which, she is. Covered in a dirtied shadow cloak, scarf wrapped around her head, coming up to cover her mouth and chapped lips. She is a part of festival life, hobbling along with a makeshift cane, listening and shaking a rattling can towards any who might appear to be in a generous mood.
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Wessex has disguised herself as an old beggar for now and is wearing her Shadow cloak.
The Wraith
the bright
the thing in the night
the bright
the thing in the night
Wessex
