chaele
worship like a dog
They look up to the shadow of the dragon above, alert to its watchful protection. Whatever blade or whip or magic is drawn here, the Nightshade has the advantage-- as is her right. As she approaches, Chaele nods their head in a gesture that resembles a bow. “Your reputation precedes you, Queen Maeve,” they greet, blades low. Unfortunately the same is not true of the shaman. “I am called Chaele.”
Motivations are complex, fickle things; Maeve may have heard of the shaman’s consorting with Ascended of the Ground, and it is true that Chaele wonders how this supplicant to the Old Gods compares in skill and sympathy. But so too is this a chance to show that they are civil, neutral, harmless. The two blades clash together with a ringing noise, an invitation to move first.
“I thank you for coming so far to meet me. May the stars shine favorably on our reunion.”
Motivations are complex, fickle things; Maeve may have heard of the shaman’s consorting with Ascended of the Ground, and it is true that Chaele wonders how this supplicant to the Old Gods compares in skill and sympathy. But so too is this a chance to show that they are civil, neutral, harmless. The two blades clash together with a ringing noise, an invitation to move first.
“I thank you for coming so far to meet me. May the stars shine favorably on our reunion.”
at the shrine of my lies
