God help the outcasts, the tattered, the torn
Seeking an answer to why they were born
Bastien had never been keen on leaders in general, not even when his wife had been one of them; he'd always believed in community and council and had not found his faith in the Doges of his time, nor the Kings and Queens in Caido.
That said, when he saw Wessex walking by with her bell, he felt a flicker of hope within his chest and a sense of thankfulness that they had someone in charge. Unawares of Wessex being sick too he gladly followed, hoping that at the end of their trail they would come across the cure to his ailment, or at least some kind of relief. In better spirits than he had been in a while he walked quickly, immediately bounding up the stairs into the temple with no hesitation.
Then Wessex seemed to only go and lay at the shrine. Bastien stared in confusion, wondering if she was doing some kind of ritual, offering herself up. While he didn't understand it, he could absolutely appreciate the image of the Wraith collapsed by the shrine and his aesthetic senses, still active despite the sickness, made him step forward.
Suddenly, it seemed that her prayer had done it's work. From the ceiling began to fall water in heavy droplets. Bastien jumped, flinching hard and trying to run for shelter, sure that they had somehow invoked a curse. In his addled state though, he struggled to find good cover and found himself growing quite wet, his sounds of distress growing louder by the moment.
That said, when he saw Wessex walking by with her bell, he felt a flicker of hope within his chest and a sense of thankfulness that they had someone in charge. Unawares of Wessex being sick too he gladly followed, hoping that at the end of their trail they would come across the cure to his ailment, or at least some kind of relief. In better spirits than he had been in a while he walked quickly, immediately bounding up the stairs into the temple with no hesitation.
Then Wessex seemed to only go and lay at the shrine. Bastien stared in confusion, wondering if she was doing some kind of ritual, offering herself up. While he didn't understand it, he could absolutely appreciate the image of the Wraith collapsed by the shrine and his aesthetic senses, still active despite the sickness, made him step forward.
Suddenly, it seemed that her prayer had done it's work. From the ceiling began to fall water in heavy droplets. Bastien jumped, flinching hard and trying to run for shelter, sure that they had somehow invoked a curse. In his addled state though, he struggled to find good cover and found himself growing quite wet, his sounds of distress growing louder by the moment.
Winds of misfortune have blown them about
You made the outcasts, don't cast them out
BASTIEN
