like scar said, be prepared

If Wessex is being honest, she much prefers the Voice’s projection to the shell on top of the Spire, the case of flesh that once held her. The blonde woman has killed a lot of things in her lifetime, dressed meat, been drenched in blood and is well aware of how bodily functions can go terribly wrong. But that thing in the top, it was borderline revolting. Wessex is as loyal as the come, there’s no swaying her mind when it comes to her maker, but for fucks sake, she should be allowed a preference on the form She takes. With a smile and a nod, she drinks until she needs no more and then gratefully withdraws from the offered wrist. It is an oddly casual, yet intimate thing, the drinking. Perhaps it is what makes the link between Her and the Ascended so powerful. Their devotion to Her is… quite intense sometimes.   “Of course.” She pulls the map from its storage place, unfurls it, and hands it over. “I got it off an Outlander who seems to have taken up with the Fae. Or facilitates trade? I’m not quite sure. Once Lucas and I discovered the trees in the Greatwood were moving, it seemed like a necessity if we’re ever going to be able to find our way through.” And the best part is that no one else has it. See, Mother? She’s clever and playing nice with her other siblings. WESSEX come, you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts unsex me here