Sing to me, I am not doing well
Getting tired of my own words
It was a pilgrimage, of a sort. The time it took to travel from Torchline to the Climb and from the crust down into the burrows left ample amounts of time to think. While normally this wasn't a good thing, Maea had some soul searching to do when it came to the goddess and her lack of appreciation for chaos. On the one hand, she found it upsetting and hair-raising that blood and death and destruction took such a prominent role in the worship of Dygra. On the other, there was an undercurrent of regret whispering in the back of her mind; despite being one among other Ancients, she felt very alone. Odd, uptight - far from the skillful sailor that could stay on her feet in the currents of raging entropy she had hoped to be. Her desire for change clashed with a deeply rooted belief in right and wrong, and it had driven a wedge between herself and those who might have been the makings of a family. Her own fault, no doubt; she just wasn't able to stop caring enough to turn a blind eye. Getting tired of my own words
She lingered in the Cathedral for a long time, seated on a block of obsidian and staring into the darkness. Not for the first time did she appreciate the irony in her becoming a child of chaos. Looking back, it had followed in her wake long before she lost her life the first time. She didn't even have to go out of her way to make a mess - apparently breathing and being herself was quite enough. So perhaps it was alright if she didn't fully embrace the carnivore within? There were plenty of other things to upset, break, unbalance, alter... Things she had a natural talent for, whether she liked it or not. And change wasn't inherently a bad thing. After a firestorm, something new always grew from the ashes. What she wouldn't give, to be powerful like that one day. All rage and inferno, erupting when and where she wished, sparing on a whim while incinerating what got in the way.
Rather than a monster, Maea wouldn't mind becoming a force. And in the end, she wouldn't mind exploring what other aspects came with being Ancient.
Having reached that conclusion, Maea got up and approached the shrine. Puncturing the skin of her wrist with a sharp fang, she let blood dribble into the bowl for a while, until the bottom was covered in crimson.
"Dark lady," Maea breathed, stomach aflutter with anticipation and dread at the thought of communicating with the goddess again, "may I ask a boon? Your priestess, Charlie, was using a very clever trick last we met, teleporting around with some ease. It seemed both practical and fun - is that an ability I might be able to obtain? I am more than willing to work for it, if you will allow me to."
Maea is asking for a quest to obtain the Dart ancient ability.
Sing to me, cause I can't hear myself
through the loudness of my own hurts
through the loudness of my own hurts
base inspired by Odd <3
