My Precious

“Good girl,” Wessex cooes, before taking the large blade and scabbard off Roana’s hip. She does so in a strangely gentle manner, knowing a good blade when she sees it. Its particular properties are unknown to her, but there is something special about it, maybe it tingles a little bit in her hands, or it’s just an inkling - for there aren’t many blades like this in Caido. Wessex would know, she’s fought tooth and nail for every serious weapon she’s ever had. They’re a commodity in this vicious world. Whether or not her victim sees her is debatable. Maybe she sees the shock of blonde hair, her pale skin, the flapping of a cloak with its hood down. Wessex doesn’t linger once she’s got the claymore in her hands, turning quickly on her toes and springing up to the rooftops from whence she came. If there was any doubt Wessex is an Ascended… there shouldn’t be any more. But her voice? Her voice is undeniable, recognizable even in its whispered hissing. It might invade Roana’s dreams for weeks to come. But hey, at least her brats are safe, right? WESSEX She whispered back, I am the storm

Roana
[fin!]