It's Lord of the Flies in my mind tonight
Weaver asks the good questions, and this is actually something Wessex has thought of, even explained to the youngest of their clan fairly recently. She smiles faintly as she goes on, attempting to toe the line between zealot and matriarch. “It means I protect our Ascended family. I take point on the big things, organize us if She wants us to do something… try to have relationships with everyone, or be around if they need help. I used to be Queen of the Grounds, so I suppose it’s more or less a smaller, symbolic version of that.” She leaves out the part where the Voice needed someone as powerful - or with the potential to be - as the demi-gods of her enemies. Masking the dirty work she’s done under the verbal umbrella of ‘protection,’ the demi-god firmly believes that everything was for the betterment of her kin, if not for the world, and that there will always be casualties to progress.
“Oh I’ve been to Whitebrim. Think one of the guys out there wanted to eat my friend.” Her nose crinkles at the memory; everything turned out fine, but looking back, she kind of wishes there had been a real fight - if they were real cannibals it might serve them right if they ended up getting eaten by their own.
The crowds begin to lessen a bit as they enter a residential area and her eyes are drawn to the houses - nothing like the spread out farmsteads of the Outskirts or the single buildings of the Settlement. She wonders what it would be like to live in all this humanity all the time, but her attention is once again commanded by Weaver and so she listens attentively, nodding every now and then. “Well, useless bits of magic can grow,” she offers, having personally watched several individuals become quite powerful mages. They stop in front a particular house and Wessex doesn’t find it noteworthy in any way, but then unassuming places are often the best places for assuming figures to live.
“I think I’m good. No need to take up any more of your time. I believe this is yours, now -” she slides the three-legged carcass off her shoulders and places it the door to the house. Wessex has every intention of leaving, but a thought occurs to her, so she turns back. “I know you don’t care about the Old Gods, but how to do you feel about the Voice? Purely for a non-Grounders perspective.” It’s important to know what the outside world thinks.
“Oh I’ve been to Whitebrim. Think one of the guys out there wanted to eat my friend.” Her nose crinkles at the memory; everything turned out fine, but looking back, she kind of wishes there had been a real fight - if they were real cannibals it might serve them right if they ended up getting eaten by their own.
The crowds begin to lessen a bit as they enter a residential area and her eyes are drawn to the houses - nothing like the spread out farmsteads of the Outskirts or the single buildings of the Settlement. She wonders what it would be like to live in all this humanity all the time, but her attention is once again commanded by Weaver and so she listens attentively, nodding every now and then. “Well, useless bits of magic can grow,” she offers, having personally watched several individuals become quite powerful mages. They stop in front a particular house and Wessex doesn’t find it noteworthy in any way, but then unassuming places are often the best places for assuming figures to live.
“I think I’m good. No need to take up any more of your time. I believe this is yours, now -” she slides the three-legged carcass off her shoulders and places it the door to the house. Wessex has every intention of leaving, but a thought occurs to her, so she turns back. “I know you don’t care about the Old Gods, but how to do you feel about the Voice? Purely for a non-Grounders perspective.” It’s important to know what the outside world thinks.
