[Mini Event] who tells your story

This is why Caidonites have never pulled together under a leader; not only was survival far more importance than governance, but they are a notoriously stubborn people, stuck in their ways and quick to anger. That, and the Gods pit them against each other. Three say this and one says that, while any means to figure out the truth are hidden, looped up in obscure languages and coveted like starlight. While Wessex will not pretend to think she has the only answer, she is an excellent stereotypical example of a their people. First, she’s angry at 108 for blowing their cover. Idiot. Then, she’s angry at Amalia for being such a suck up to a Goddess who plays blatant favorites. When she finds herself unexpectedly siding with Maea, which has never happened before, she is sure the world as they know it must be coming to an end. Finally, she’s angry at Rory, for putting her on the outside when all she’s ever done is help him, protect him. They were a team, and fuck, if she could read his thoughts, she’d spit at his feet and walk away. This is why Wessex  doesn’t make friends. They eventually turn on you. And of course, there’s the fucking Outlanders to deal with. She should have been given the power to hulk out instead of these fancy finger blades. Instead, her voice is low as she fixes Amalia with the stare of a disappointed mother. “You think I’m going to doom the world? Sam? Bastien?” She raises an eyebrow. “History needs a scapegoat and the winners are the only ones who get to tell their side of the story. How do we decide which God is telling the truth? Why have they given more power to Outlanders than they’ve ever given to us?” Her gaze moves to the approaching Roana, a sneer spreading across her face. . “You can’t fight everyone. How many of us have lost family to disease, to LongNight, to mutated beasts, to the lack of knowledge and inbreeding that continues year after year. And now we sit here, fighting amongst ourselves again.” Wessex shakes her head. “Nah. Too many would-be leaders and not enough followers. Talking won’t do shit.” And Wessex doesn’t pin her hopes on lost causes. Every woman for herself now - and this woman at least knows her fellow Ascended won’t turn on her. She turns and walks away from the group, to bide her time until nightfall. She almost leaves a snarky retort behind - but manages to refrain. It would be a waste of unnecessary  breath.   WESSEX She whispered back, I am the storm