[PQ] Semper Fidelis

Did they think she was just going to go away? Did they think she wasn’t going to be watching and waiting? If so, they don’t know Wessex. Hell, no one really knows Wessex. Hunting has made her patient, even when she’s seen what lies beyond. Even with the lush forest full of healthy, plump wildlife staring right back at them - animals who are utterly unafraid. With the stars and the river - goddamnit, to be in this cage is too much to bear when it’s all so close. When that is what they’ve been missing. If only they knew. If only they knew! The black-cloaked woman lingers in the darkness, the moon covered by clouds, and the edges of the clearing around The Spire kissed by the tendrils of fog. She watched as Roana, Evie, and Maea left the besieged area and headed for the Settlement earlier in the day, but chose not to follow up. If they returned, she missed them. Rory is nowhere to be soon, neither is Amalia. Both of which are good things, ultimately. The last thing Wessex wants to do is to hurt the two of them, but she’ll be damned if she lets them stop her, either. The images of physically fighting Rory would make her ill if nausea was a thing she still experienced. No, this will be done without bloodshed, if possible. She is adamant about that. Her fellow Caidonites have nothing to fear from her, so she should be able to pass amongst them easily. Same with 108 and Kristopher. Aedion and Lucas might have a more difficult time, but that’s why they (should be) wearing black and hitting it under the cover of night. Some small miracle has kept the sliver of a moon hidden away, but with their Night Vision, and their extra speed, they should be able to pass through the crowd easily enough. She already knows Sam won’t show up, that much was obvious at their meeting. Which, again, is probably to their benefit. So around one in the morning - when everyone should be asleep - Wessex gives a low owl call to the other four and moves forward, bow and quiver strapped tightly against her body, a sword at her side, and her hand-blades sheathed. There’s also a ball of sturdy string in one of her cloak pockets, because you never know when you’re going to need to tie something. With any luck, the rest of Team Ascended would still be at their stations around the perimeter and enter in a rough circle, literally closing in on The Spire from multiple angles. They would be spread out to minimize detection. Then, once they reach the big black obelisk, all they had to figure out how to open it, get in, go up - or down? The task seems gargantuan, almost. Overwhelming, almost. But oh, how Wessex loves a challenge. Move quickly. Quietly. Don’t get caught. If you do, don’t give up the rest. Drink from The Lady first. Bring weapons. Tools. Whatever might be useful. That was all the advice she could offer; Wessex learned a long time ago that you can’t help what others do, you can only control yourself. They were going in relatively blind. But damnit, they were going to go in, come hell or high water, booby traps, or all of the above. --------------------------------------------------------------- This is a PQ to get into The Spire and lift The Barrier! It takes place in the early hours of the morning on the day after Maea’s PQ. 108, Kristopher, Aedion, and Lucas have first dibs.  If they do not want a slot, you may claim a space if your character genuinely wants to get into The Spire AND lift The Barrier. Keep in mind that if your character is not an Ascended, there may be extra risks associated with joining. 48 hours to respond. Posting order does not matter. 1. Lucas 2. 108 3. Aedion 4. Kristopher WESSEX come, you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts unsex me here

The call reached Lucas's ears and he wasted no time in heeding it; his steps altered subtly, the Ascended circling back towards the Spire from his place walking its perimeter. He came at it from the opposite side to Wessex, his hands buried in the deep pockets of his black coat, his hood drawn up to cover his fair hair. He had drunk deep from the Voice that day, resisting the urge to go after one of the Naturals or Outlanders instead - it made him slow, he found. And tonight they could not afford to be anything but razor sharp. With him he carried a coil of rope, a pair of knuckle dusters and a small knife that would be more for utility than a weapon. In truth he planned to fight nothing, should it come to that. His comrades could be heroes - Lucas had a job to do. Besides, after his romp with Edrei he could still feel her magic burning, crackling under his skin. If in dire need, he would waste no time in using it. Slowing his steps once he grew close enough, he nodded to Wessex but said nothing, awaiting further instruction. LUCAS don't you know there ain't no devil it's just god when he's drunk

RORY

Did they think he wouldn't be watching?

Rory's stomach was a nest of wolves and vipers, nerves and anger and .. a restless energy that had him up, awake, in the dark. There was no starlight, no moonshine, only the sort of quiet, heavy darkness that blotted everything out, and ate the sounds. There was no crisp light to cast shadows even in the dark.

He couldn't sleep in the day, for people still saw to him as some form of leader, at least those who stayed by the Spire, stubborn or perhaps merely wanting blood. And he couldn't sleep at night, for the thoughts chased themselves round and round inside his skull, and his heart pounded and his lungs gasped and his nerves made him shiver and shake.

And he knew that it was only a matter of time before someone took things into their own hands, and .. what then? He could look the other way, absolve himself of all guilt and responsibility, and let whatever happened happen. Who was he, to champion the gods that had abandoned him? Who was he, to uphold the will of the gods in their absence? (It was what he ought to do)

And yet he stood there in the dark, eyes intense in a sleepless way, breathing into the night air that was still chilly with the memory of winter's bite. A lonely figure, a ghost in the black, his leather coat whispering to the rhythm of his breath.

And the shadows moved—

And he knew that in his heart, he had been right.

They were like oil spill, slick and hard to see except at the right angle, moving with a grace that only predators possessed: dark things, in their essence. His heart and his hands hurt, and felt cold.

So it had come to this.

He was not as fast as them, not as deadly, but he was nimble and agile and then he was there, not caring about those he did not know, his blue eyes haunted, sad, as he gazed across at her. At Wessex. At the woman who had offered to stay with him for Long Night, who had made him a fire when she found him wandering his own fucking house like an idiot, who had.. he found himself blinking his glassy stare away.

"Wessex," he said quietly, knowing that he didn't have a chance in hell at stopping five Ascended, and that trying to rouse the mob would just...

So he was no better than any of them.

He didn't know what else to say.

[ Rory isn't taking a spot, obviously. ]

as if you were on fire from within,
the moon lives in the lining of your skin.

108 To go on is to go through. At last, even the seer is cremated. Each seed loves the dark for the light it promises. I arrive on silent feet prepared for the unknown. I have things in mind that I have been worrying over—traps that I believe have not exactly been laid, but perhaps still exist. There are things at work here, things beyond my comprehension but perhaps not beyond what little intuition I have left. But everything we are has been leading up to this. It is all for her. If not her, what else? What use our eternity trapped within this sphere? This cage? This prison? It has taken time, but our minds are clever. We will be freed, whether in death or life I do not yet know. But I will spend not another year in this place. And so I arrive. Nodding to Wessex I take up a place near the Spire, gazing up at it and wondering how much longer we shall remain on the outside.

AEDION

not yet corpses

He, too, arrives when Wessex makes the call. He had listened to her, had made sure he visited the Voice for refueling, and he realizes soon after as he approaches the Spire under the cover of night that he’s literally never felt better in his life – this one and the last. He still manages to come a bit underprepared, at least in his mind. He comes bearing a couple of knives and himself. He hopes that whoever else comes has things a bit more helpful than he. Deep down he only hopes that he can blame it on his newness, his fresh Ascended status and being unaware of the goings on around him.

He has left his perch, his position, on the edge of the field and approaches when the others do. It feels almost strange, like a clock counting down the seconds until they can move again. But he feels better, holds himself better, and has managed to find better suited clothing without the rips and tears of his previous ones. He wears nearly all black, only the boots are a dark shade of brown, impossible to tell in the night that they aren’t entirely black. He is also lucky that his hair has grown, and it has grown dark as the night, and it helps to hide his profile as he closes in and finds his steel hued eyes shift from each one that answered with a silent nod of his head.

He greets Wessex first, a silent bob of his head and crooked fanged smile. Turning his head slightly, he nods to Lucas as well, then to 108 as they approach as well. His smile falls completely as his head shifts to the Spire yet again, wondering if he did hear Wessex’s name uttered, like a quiet sound on the wind. But he finds he doesn’t particularly care. Wessex is a strong woman, even stronger Ascended, and he knows that she can handle herself. It is to her that he looks for direction of where and how to start. He has spent years in his previous world in darkness, hidden away from the rest of the world like it is some forgotten puzzle piece. He has no need to continue the story in that way.

still we rot

He was summoned to the Spire once more. He was summoned by his Light Mother, and he was called upon by his young sister. Wessex was everything that he had admired about his Ascended brethren, and not in a very long time had he come across someone who embodied such purely Ascended values and dedication that Wessex did, so speaking with her was a breah of fresh air, so to speak. The black Spire towered high, and Kristopher stood in the shadows, awaiting the time which they would make their move. A shadow in the darkness, unmoving and stoic, his gloved hand rested on the pommel of the slender blade which hanged at his hip. A rope was attached to his belt beneath his cloak, as was a hunting knife. And just for added measure, he had flint and steel in his pockets. He was far from a fan of fire, but he couldn't be too prepared. Nodding cordially to his gathering brethren, Kristopher walked into the open space. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. Never one to follow leadership other than his own - and the Voice's, obviously - the man willingly handed the reins over to the woman. He had to admit that the temptation of discovering what was concealed within the Spire was almost too much to handle. KRISTOPHER I’m Everything You Can’t Control

Yes Rory was watching.

But she was as well.
They were.
And while they would allow him to see, the rest would not.

All those who had accompanied Rory,
who sat in wait camped around the base of the Spire
would find themselves suddenly asleep...

Maybe part of her wanted to be found - wanted Rory to be watching, wanted, no needed him to step forward to she could explain herself. Why she walked away from their defenses around The Spire, why she’s rallied her own  troops. In the end, most of her words fail her, because Wessex simply isn’t a talker. Not in the way that others are. Her love is expressed through actions; in the soup she made, in the way she tucked him in to the rocking chair, in her anger (fucked up as it might be) at being left behind during LongNight. She may never actually say the words to Rory, may never actually say anything remotely close to it - but she will be there, as much as she can be - when he needs her. And when he cannot ( or will not) do the hard thing that needs to be done, Wessex will do it for him. Without be asked. She will shoulder the responsibility, the blame, the hatred if it’s slung her way. She can bear it. Even if the hatred comes from his eyes, she will take her martyr-slash-hero complex and walk away, knowing that she saved him. She can feel him at her edges as he moves to intercept her path, so she allows it. The weariness is written on his face, the exhaustion, the mental and emotional weight of it all. And she looks back at him without apology, though there is a noticeable reaction as he says her name. For a moment, there is only tense silence between them. Words of redemption and reconciliation are on her tongue and yet she cannot bring herself to say them. She takes another step towards The Spire, then another. And when they are shoulder to shoulder, when he cannot see her eyes, she finally spits some of it out. “I saw the outside. I saw - life.” Her voice almost cracks, but she does not hesitate. “It looked like a place Magrethe and Karlia would love. A place we deserve. This isn’t just a Voice thing, Rory. This is for everyone.” I hope you can understand comes in a hand on his shoulder, waiting a moment to see if he has any response, and then moving forward to meet the others at the base. She can't keep them waiting. WESSEX come, you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts unsex me here

Rory will see nothing on the Spire. But in the moonlight...with the eyes they have been given, the ascended will see the following stones seemingly raised from the granite of the Spire. Once you think you know what to do next, have one member of your group write what you do IC.

AEDION

not yet corpses

He ignores Rory in his approach, ignores Wessex as she moves to speak with him. Aedion’s eyes are too far focused on the black obsidian of the Spire. It’s only when Wessex returns to join them that he looks back to her, to see the others like himself around them. The Ascended, the bright ones, the gifted ones. He can’t stop the small wolffish smile that crosses his lips as his eyes turn back to the spire and he notices the raised stones. He waits for a moment, but he’s certain he knows. He may be new here but his mind is clever and suited for bravery. And if he’s wrong, well he’d rather it be him than someone else.

Quietly he glances to the others, his leg lifting as he begins to step toward the stones – eyes trained and focused. For a moment it reminds him of his name, but he knows better. He is not a chosen one in such a manner. Chosen to Ascend, yes, but not chosen enough. He’s certain that belongs to Wessex. With a quiet glance back to his fellow Ascended, his steel gaze shifts toward the stone again. A, S, C, E, N …. and nothing. He knows that the letter D is missing, it’s the only thing that makes sense to him. He looks up at the spire for a moment before inhaling deeply and raising his hand to it, tracing on the glowing stone “D”. While he does so, his lips move and he speaks. “Ascend.”

He hopes he is right.

still we rot

The symbol you have drawn seems to do nothing.

Like Aedion, Lucas had no interest in the long-haired man or whatever mewling he was doing or not doing about the situation. They had things to do and he had no intention of leaving before he had unlocked the secret to this place. Folding his arms across his chest and arching an eyebrow at the raised stones and the apparent puzzle before them, he hummed out a sigh in contemplation. A, S, C... ah, Aedion had already got it. "That's the plan," he quipped as the other Ascended spoke aloud, smirking and waiting expectantly for something grand to happen. And when it didn't he resisted the urge to roll his eyes and tell the big black dick-in-the-sky where to go. Then he realised that the D, while correct, did not really mimic the rest of the workings. "No, no," he murmured, stepping forward so he could try for himself. "You have to give it the right D." Winking, Lucas traced a box, along with two diagonal lines to fashion a 'D' in the same lettering as the rest of the stones. "Now open sesame, or something." LUCAS don't you know there ain't no devil it's just god when he's drunk

RORY

She was silent.

What had he expected? Words? Some outpouring of doubts, regret, guilt, shame? No, not from Wessex, never from Wessex—she was steel and she was lightning, not soft, malleable gold. Rory's hands twisted around themselves, wanting a pony's mane to tangle into, to hide in—

A shiver coursed down his spine, the chill working into his bones, and as they walked he saw sleepers. One, two, three, four, five, many, everyone. In the hush, it was just him and the Ascended.

Then she spoke as they strode together towards the Spire. And he heard it in her voice, just as he had seen it in Amalia's eyes, and his heart broke again and again for this place they called home and loved and cherished even as it gave so little back—this place they had thought full of life but it was only dust. He could not understand what she had seen, how it had been different, but the crack ghosting along like a shadow to her words told him how monumental it was.

His name was a swift stab to his aching heart. Her hand upon his shoulder something he wanted to grasp, cling to, never let go of.

There were many things he had thought he would say to her. How was what they were doing any different from what Roana had tried to do? Who were they to make this decision for everyone?

One thing nearly made it into his mouth: I couldn't stop you even if I—

But he didn't say it, for there in the dark, heart sore and tired, he did not know how he would finish it.

He just knew that he was powerless to stop what Wessex had set in motion, and he was too tired to plead or rage.

So instead he told her of what had happened earlier that day.

"I will stay and watch," he declared at the end of it. He felt hollow and sad and exhausted, but most of all, he was afraid. "And Wessex..." He reached out for her, and should she let him, he would take her hand, and hold it for the span it took him to look in her eyes and say the words. "Be careful."

Then he took up his lonely vigil, a sparrow in the wolf's mouth.

as if you were on fire from within,
the moon lives in the lining of your skin.

Blue lightning beneath the fingers of the two men. The stones shift and new lines appear.