I write sins, not tragedies
Through her many dealings with the Voice and the repercussions of others’ dealings with the Old Gods, Wessex knows there’s truth in what the shaman says. She nods, knowingly, but remains silent for a moment as the various bits and pieces are named and dissected according to their value. The heart? That piques her interest, though she clearly has no use for it herself.
“Many have done the same with Ascended,” she says finally, lips thinning out into acceptance of the hard truth, and all the things she couldn’t control over the years. Now she has to think like a General and consider what might be best for her people. This dead Fae (vaguely familiar, but the bloat and decomposition obscures any definite identification) might be a gift horse. She should take advantage of it. The Wraith is nothing, if not practical.
“Right then, a proper burial after this.” she says, perhaps a little too eager and grim. Reaching down for one of the knives in her boot, she adjusts herself into a more comfortable position and starts to cut into one of the arms at the elbow. “And a bone for me, too. We’ve never been introduced. I’m Wessex - any of her clothes bloody?” With a wrench, the forearm comes off, and her eyes finally fall to the staff.
“What’s that?”
“Many have done the same with Ascended,” she says finally, lips thinning out into acceptance of the hard truth, and all the things she couldn’t control over the years. Now she has to think like a General and consider what might be best for her people. This dead Fae (vaguely familiar, but the bloat and decomposition obscures any definite identification) might be a gift horse. She should take advantage of it. The Wraith is nothing, if not practical.
“Right then, a proper burial after this.” she says, perhaps a little too eager and grim. Reaching down for one of the knives in her boot, she adjusts herself into a more comfortable position and starts to cut into one of the arms at the elbow. “And a bone for me, too. We’ve never been introduced. I’m Wessex - any of her clothes bloody?” With a wrench, the forearm comes off, and her eyes finally fall to the staff.
“What’s that?”
WESSEX
