the Rift


[OPEN] blue birds fly;; [welcoming!]

Tiamat the Ocean's Light Posts: 360
Aurora Basin Lady atk: 8 | def: 10 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.2 :: 6 years HP: 60 | Buff: NOVICE
Nimue :: Common Orca Leviathan :: Boil Reli
#1
the ocean loved her and knew everything that made her.
and every time she’d walk to the shore,
she’d smile at the ocean
because the waves told her story.
“What are our leaders like?”

The ocean mare repeats the question Wessex had spoken, her eyes briefly flashing over her shoulder as she presses forward in the proper direction. The length of her lion tail sways in time with her hips, setting a slow but steady pace as her cloven hooves cut through the cold dirt and frozen underbrush. “Well,” she chews on her answer for a short moment, pausing uncharacteristically in order to sort her thoughts. Usually Tiamat wouldn’t even think about hesitating—usually she would launch eagerly into a description of the home that she holds so dear, including the individuals who make up her family.

However, current events have her suddenly faltering.
When she manages to speak again, the tone of her voice is more somber than before—almost flat compared to her typical bubbly cheer. “We only have one leader right now: Lady Hotaru. The Basin recently suffered a tragic loss with the death of our Lord—Lord Deimos. It was a heartbreaking day for everyone. He was a loyal leader and a noble man, he’ll certainly be missed,” the blue maiden speaks reverently of the stallion she had grown to adore and respect. It is strange to think of an Aurora Basin without him, as he had seemed to be the corner stone of the very mountains themsevles, but time will go on.

They will heal from his absence, but Tiamat knows that they will never forget.

“I wish you could have met him,” she sighs with a single chime of wistful laughter, shaking her head and tucking her chin in towards her chest. It is unfamiliar how her heart aches for him, longs for him, knowing that he brought comfort and steadiness just by being in his presence.

“But—” Tiamat quickly raises her eyes and looks to Wessex, her brow knitting together into something of assurance. “While I don’t know Hotaru as well, I know her well enough to assure you that the herd is still in good hands,” she gives a nod of earnest affirmation. The rosy Valkyrie has shown nothing but confidence, loyalty, and love for their northern family—Tiamat has faith that she will lead them well.

Leaving the larger mare with a heartening smile, the ocean mare presses on, guiding them through the heavy forests and rolling meadows. The journey from the Threshold, for her at least, is not a long one. She knows the paths by heart, and allows the earth to guide her, cloven toes stepping lightly over the cold, verdant terrain. “It’s not far now,” she looks to Wessex when the peaks come into view, followed not long after by the shadowy figures of the rusted Sentinels. Finally, when she crests the final slopes with a deep gust of air, she pauses at the entrance, grinning broadly. “That’s home!” Tiamat breathes affectionately, gazing down at the beautiful valley.


notes; Everyone come and welcome Wessex!! Tagging @Erebos because she's a soldier, if you're not too busy Heather c:
“Speech.”


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@Wessex
please tag Tia in all replies!
magic & force are permitted.

Wessex Posts: 149
Aurora Basin Haruspex atk: 5.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 7.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.3 hh :: 3 HP: 68 | Buff: NOVICE
Astor
#2
I AM IRON AND I FORGE MYSELF
You can tell a lot about a group - kingdom, herd, club - by its leaders; they either let their people get away with shit, or didn’t. They either commanded respect and earned loyalty, or were holding on to their positions purely by bribes or fear. Wessex wanted to know the atmosphere of the herd, whether she was walking into something hostile or not. Not that she expected Tiamat to dish about the gossip and reveal shortcomings to a complete stranger, but Wessex is better at reading body language and vocal patterns than she is at reacting with the appropriate emotion.

By Tiamat’s response, Wessex intuits that she was personally affected by the loss of their most recent leader. Which makes the horned mare think that the stallion must have been the decent sort, to evoke such a somber tone. There are those who are lead astray by charismatic rulers, but Tiamat doesn’t seem to be the brainwashed sort who spews propaganda and rote slogans. “I am sorry for your loss,” Wessex interjects at the appropriate time, knowing that it is the polite thing to say. What surprises her is that Tiamat seems to think she would have liked their late leader. What that says about herself (or him), she doesn’t know, but it is useful information, and she finds that she is rather curious about this Deimos character.

“Hotaru,” she repeats, and nods to indicate that she’s listening, before falling into an easy silence with the blue mare as they traverse the terrain. Wessex is more than happy to let her guide do the talking, if she so wishes, and is also equally content to observe and mark the way back. The air grows colder as they move towards the mountains, finally heading between the peaks - and then beneath a metal horse, which the soldier in her takes as a border mark. The heavier woman has always been partial to cooler areas, and this land is no different. At the joyful exclamation of That’s it! she follows the blue mare’s gaze down into a Valley, and smiles a little.

It is indeed beautiful, she thinks. “I can see why you love your home so much…” and then, in jest, “But dont you all get cold in the winter, sleeping on all that ice?”

wessex

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@Tiamat
-- please tag in all posts! --
-- magic and force allowed, no death or permanent damage --

Erebos Posts: 474
Aurora Basin General atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: Four HP: 75.5 | Buff: DANCE
Orsino :: Plain Kitsune :: Dark Illusions & Enyo :: Common Griffon :: Draining Clutch Heather
#3

The prince attempted a trial at normalcy – branching out across the unfreezing lake, hooves powerful, potent, along the serene surface, like a beast of the seas, like a tempestuous wave, poised gallantly despite all of the tangled knots curled in his chest. He thought nothing about death and demise, he thought nothing of perils and trials, the ferocity of the world crashing down around him, or the hazardous wake of destruction he yearned to wreak. Instead, he fought.
 
It was a calm serenade of his savage arts, an intricate maneuver of beasts, fiends, and vermin, crashing along the rippling waves like a titan, pushing off the veneer with disastrous speed, stretching his stride until it seemed he’d crash into the opposing embankment, then coiling, snaking, his body in a feral twist to unleash agony and unholy cataclysms the other way. He tucked his head low, predatory, wolfish, then struck the air with his sword, slashing invisible enemies and opponents with the mighty cutlass, a dastardly rapier, pretending ghosts and wraiths had lined up for his taking, meeting their marker with an abhorrent laceration, a vicious slide of annihilation.
 
It was freedom and weightlessness, to fight, to defend, to protect, granting and giving him something to do other than mourn and sob, wallow in his grief, set up pretenses and unearthly smiles that rarely met his eyes. He could pretend the realm was his, the empire wasn’t sinking, that the earth didn’t shatter, that friends didn’t disappear, become hurt, and that fathers didn’t die.
 
But the fantasy and delusion faded when Orsino spotted others at the border, and the boy was forced back into his General’s role – features rendered away from their cold, inhospitable grandeur (when his mind had been solely occupied by the bite, the menace, the malice of taking down a fellow heathen), tucked back into a passive reluctance, leaving the edges of their portion of sea, and following over the rimes and notes of the inner valley. His eyes lifted along the towering, crumbling sentinels (what was to become of them again, aged and decrepit?), to the figures gathered below it, one recognizable because of her distinct coloring (blue like his, but brighter, deeper, like the ocean – his mother had given him the taste and relish of rain and showers), and the other wholly unfamiliar.
 
The boy approached out of necessity, out of curiosity, and because it was something else to do, to keep him occupied from the lingering touch of phantoms, of tossing himself off the nearest ravine. A grin postured itself across his lips (a little too forced, and he was sure Tiamat would see past the façade, but he couldn’t bring himself to care), and his gaze segmented upon the pair, interested, inquiring, but playing the part of amiable cretin first and foremost. “Hello Tiamat,” he brightened, pretending and pretending until the pretenses felt standard and typical too (but his heart still hurt), pausing to linger upon the stranger – younger than he, but much broader, powerful (built for warfare?). “And greetings to you,” he nodded his head, a touch of the regal, noble son inching its way out, past the warfare, past the honed muscles, past the coiled, curled, carved edges. “I’m Erebos. Who are you?”

 
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@Tiamat @Wessex

Tiamat the Ocean's Light Posts: 360
Aurora Basin Lady atk: 8 | def: 10 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.2 :: 6 years HP: 60 | Buff: NOVICE
Nimue :: Common Orca Leviathan :: Boil Reli
#4
the ocean loved her and knew everything that made her.
and every time she’d walk to the shore,
she’d smile at the ocean
because the waves told her story.
Despite the tragedy of recent events, the blue maiden will always feel a sense of comfort and happiness when she returns home. Even though the mountain valley seems a little darker, a little smaller, without the watchful eye of the Reaper, she is sure that the Basin and its people will recuperate. Looking out over the lush slopes and haloed peaks, Tiamat’s smile softens into one of tenderness. From the corner of her eye, she can’t quite read what Wessex might be thinking, but the larger mare’s words are enough to warm the Mender’s heart. Tiamat can only hope that the Basin will offer her new friend all that it has given her.

When Wessex continues, throwing words of jest into the cold air, Tiamat’s expression shifts accordingly. The lines of affection animate into a countenance of mirth, and the sunlight catches the curve of her lips as they widen, her grin brightening in time with her eyes. “You’d think so!” The sea mare shakes her head as a giggle escapes between her words. “Everyone actually has to get together and huddle close. Hope you don’t mind a little bit of cuddling,” she tries to hold her expression steady for a moment, but she is too caught up in her own humor. Winking playfully at her dappled company, Tiamat laughs more freely, imagining how Wessex would react if cuddling together, indeed, was the case.

“I tease, but the herd is actually good about watching out for one another. The winters do get frightfully cold,” she nods a few times to herself, knowing well how bitter winter’s bite can be. Even so, despite her satin skin, the ocean mare has never felt as though she’s had to suffer. Her shoulders lift and fall in a sigh of satisfaction, a happy glance cast towards the heavier mare before she extends a leg forward, ushering them into their home.

Fortunately, it is then that a shadowed figure comes to greet them—the stallion’s dark body is stark against the day’s pastel colors, and easily spotted by the blue mare. She calls out to him cheerfully. “Erebos! Just the man I wanted to see,” a sapphire nose is extended towards the Reaper’s son as the distance diminishes between them, noticing (not for the first time) how much of his father is in him.

Clearing her throat and leaning a step back before her heart is caught up in another storm of emotion, Tiamat smiles, looking from Erebos to Wessex. When the stallion asks about their new arrival, the sea maiden bites her tongue for a moment, allowing the taller mare the opportunity to introduce herself. Only when names are exchanged, does Tiamat allow herself to chime in again. “Wessex has just joined the Basin—she would like to protect our borders with you and the other warriors,” she gives the dappled mare an encouraging glance. Just by appearances alone, it would seem that Wessex will serve with them well. “Erebos is our General,” Tiamat clarifies, knowing that he is the one Wessex will need to look to for specific instruction.

“Speech.”

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@Wessex @Erebos
please tag Tia in all replies!
magic & force are permitted.

Wessex Posts: 149
Aurora Basin Haruspex atk: 5.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 7.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.3 hh :: 3 HP: 68 | Buff: NOVICE
Astor
#5

I AM IRON AND I FORGE MYSELF

Her lizard-like eyes narrow in suspicion at the word cuddling. Surely her guide is kidding. Surely. There is nothing about Wessex (she thinks) that projects she would be amicable to cuddling a single creature, let alone in a group. No. It must be a joke, and when Tiamat can no longer hold a straight face, Wessex lets her face relax too, chuckling a little dryly. “Cute,” she admits, not quite willing to confess that she almost gullible for a minute there.

The mottled mare follows her smaller friend, until a gray stallion with a sharp and pointy horn approaches. Eyes flicker to Tiamat, who shows no concern, so it seems the man must be a part of the herd. Erebos, she calls him, and they greet each other warmly. While the two of them exchange pleasantries, Wessex studies the horned stallion who stands before them; she’d watched him approach, noting a well-built physique and hard (sharp) edges, how he comes to just a smidge below her own height. He seems to move with some regality, with purpose and confidence, and she thinks he must have some sort of position within the herd, even if it is only soldier. Her own horned head dips in greeting - short, but not curt. “To you as well. I’m Wessex.”

For a woman, her voice is fairly deep, having a wide chest to resound from, and yet for all its rumble, she chooses to use it sparingly. She doesn’t exactly check out, but small talk has never been her forte. The blue mare brings her back to the center of the attention, saying with you and the other warriors, and it seems her body acts of its own accord. A fellow soldier, and one that most certainly outranks her. Wessex snaps to attention, straightening her body to its fullest height, tense, gaze straight ahead for a formal moment. “Sir,” she acknowledges brusquely, but says no more. She is ready with a recount of her past year and training if so asked, but also knows that actions often speak louder than words.

W E S S E X

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@Tiamat
@Erebos
Sorry this took forever X|
-- please tag in all posts! --
-- magic and force allowed, no death or permanent damage --

Erebos Posts: 474
Aurora Basin General atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: Four HP: 75.5 | Buff: DANCE
Orsino :: Plain Kitsune :: Dark Illusions & Enyo :: Common Griffon :: Draining Clutch Heather
#6

Just the man I wanted to see echoed across his ears, and the sudden, impulsive urge to laugh seared through him – an intoxicating maelstrom of sadness, depravity, and guilt, because it should’ve been his father here, it should’ve been the mighty sentinel, the monstrous, bestial guardian, instead of his son, uncertain, unsure, and so ill-equipped to do anything but stare, smile, and nod. Why would anyone have need of the broken prince, the boy who sauntered across seas and oceans, the boy who could only conquer himself? She reached out to him, this femme he barely knew, a healer from shells and gulls, and there was a moment where the position before him seemed wholly insurmountable, even after days of tutoring his soldiers with trees and saplings, even after laboring and toiling, skirmishing and practicing, ready for the day his annihilation and abhorrence would mean something. Then he leaned forward, a forlorn acceptance, tipping his grin upwards so no one could see how far he’d plunged, not in front of strangers, not in front of menders, not in front of the wide, desolate world. They’d know soon enough anyway – whether he stumbled and fell, incapable of rising, or achieved greatness in the glimpse of an ever-shifting empire.
 
His eyes flickered back to the unknown femme, with her broad shoulders, her entangled, notched horns (made to pierce, made to stab, made to lacerate – and he could appreciate those for the vigor, for the brawn, for the tenacious edge they could give and grant to battles): Wessex notched into his memory for future acknowledgments and scrutiny. “A fellow soldier! My favorite rank!” The young General laughed, pretended it didn’t sound so haunted, so damned, meticulous, charismatic stare lingering along her figure – hoping she’d be strong, durable, obstinate, and defiant towards the rest of the world’s order, stubborn, willing to fight for the icy walls and the rising mountains, just as his sire had done for eons, just as he’d promised on the day he’d taken up the mantle, the shield, the sword. At her sir he nearly flinched, surprised, a bit startled; but smiling all the while, straightening out his shoulders too, his virile frame, the posture he’d honed for war (for vengeance, for justice, for all the lives spoiled by another, for all his friends massacred and destroyed). He dropped his head before her, swift and quick, before raising it again, bestowing an honor to another beast of warfare, then obliged with his charms, with his light vocals, with his curious, impish tones. “Are you experienced in fighting, Wessex?” There were moments unsaid too, coveted by the tone, by the unholy vows, by the rising of violence: are you capable of taking down another?

 
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@Tiamat @Wessex

Wessex Posts: 149
Aurora Basin Haruspex atk: 5.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 7.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.3 hh :: 3 HP: 68 | Buff: NOVICE
Astor
#7

I AM IRON AND I FORGE MYSELF

The young woman (it seems odd to say woman, perhaps because she sees herself without a sex - not in that she does not enjoy caresses and pleasure, but that she has never distinguished between the duties of the male and female gender. She crosses both) holds an infinite amount of promise, as do most who are their age. Her body already bears witness to struggle, change, and survival. A mind is a curious thing, however, it evolves with its caretakers, easily shifting from one position to the next with nary a pause to look behind at what used to be. There’s no telling if she is exactly what the youthful General is seeking, if she could possibly be all his hopes for the future of the Basin coiled within an eight-horned figurine.

But she’d be damned if she doesn’t try. Loyalty can be just as admirable and defiance; synonymous even, to the rebel-rousing protestor.

Erebos relaxes, and that is Wessex’s cue to also drop her heightened formality. At ease. Fractions of her story come out in straightforward tones, and she assumes they will be enough to satisfy their curiosity. “I spent the last year in a company of hired soldiers. I’ve seen three large battles, but my assignments were mostly to protect, given my age and size.” Which is most of the truth. It shouldn’t matter that when she’d joined the merc company, she only had four horns, and left with eight. Or that she has no idea what her body will throw at her next. Better to take it in stride.

“When our leader was killed, I left. His second and I… did not get along.” And the truth is that she doesn’t know if she prefers wandering to staying still. Wessex doesn’t have anything to keep her in a single place, so why bother? Money was money. But no one ever bothered her while she was alone, and she can forage, so really, the mare is quite self sufficient when it comes to her physical needs. Her emotional needs might be another story.

W E S S E X

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@Erebos  @Timaat
-- please tag in all posts! --
-- magic and force allowed, no death or permanent damage --

Tiamat the Ocean's Light Posts: 360
Aurora Basin Lady atk: 8 | def: 10 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.2 :: 6 years HP: 60 | Buff: NOVICE
Nimue :: Common Orca Leviathan :: Boil Reli
#8
the ocean loved her and knew everything that made her.
and every time she’d walk to the shore,
she’d smile at the ocean
because the waves told her story.
As far as the blue maiden can tell, the two warriors seem to get along right away. Wessex is quick to regard the Basin’s General with an honorable amount of respect, shifting her posture to one more militaristic, and the Mender can’t help but watch them, trying to understand. Their conversation is foreign to her (comprehending it, that is). With the glass heart of a healer, Tiamat has never understood the need for violence, or the joy that some people take in the bloodshed of others. In all the battles that she has witnessed, she has only seen pain and hate—where is the pleasure in that? Where is the glory?

Even so, she remains respectably quiet, allowing them to discuss the matters of their own rank. She tries not to get too caught up in the brief explanation that Wessex gives of her history, trying not to dwell on how sad it is that she has already been subjected to so much violence (because she knows that it is not sad for everyone, even if she can’t grasp any inkling of beauty in warfare herself).

However, when the larger mare mentions the death of her leader, Tiamat finds herself suddenly absorbed in their conversation. It is personal, now.

The death of a ruler is, unfortunately, something that they have all been a victim of.

“I’m so sorry to hear that. It is a devastating thing to lose a leader,” the mare’s voice is little more than a murmur of grief, her gaze shifting to Erebos and lingering on him for a moment, knowing that with whatever devastation she feels within herself, his pain must be multiplied tenfold. Unable to help herself, Tiamat reaches to him again, brushing his shoulder if he will allow it. “But from our loss, we will learn to rise again, climbing even higher with the strength of our predecessors to guide us,” she hopes to lift all of their spirits, even for a moment if possible, ever searching for a thread of hope in the darkness.

Turning her eyes then to their newest herd member, Tiamat smiles, the gesture soft and encouraging across her sapphire lips. “I think you will do good here,” she says with confidence, already fond of her newfound friend, “We are happy to have you.” The ocean maiden reaches out to touch Wessex’s muzzle, exchanging breaths in an action of welcome and friendship.

“Speech.”

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@Wessex @Erebos
please tag Tia in all replies!
magic & force are permitted.

Erebos Posts: 474
Aurora Basin General atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: Four HP: 75.5 | Buff: DANCE
Orsino :: Plain Kitsune :: Dark Illusions & Enyo :: Common Griffon :: Draining Clutch Heather
#9

Erebos was attentive, poised, eyes and soul riveted squarely upon the horned femme, appreciating the layers of history stoked amidst rabble and ruin. The past, the experiences, the weight of so many things could instigate, incense, and fuel motivation, spark inspiration, tempt ambition, and he’d be eager to see where the lines of the mountains would take her. Helovia had a way of twisting foundations, of promising oblivion, of plunging each and every soul into its casket and catacombs, ripping apart innocence until there was a hollowed shell, a vessel, either fighting or stumbling, crawling, dying.
 
Then they scorched over the topic eating at his essence, distorting the rippling accord of his charismatic persona – the pretenses frayed apart, the mask fell, and he visibly flinched, a momentary shudder, a harsh, recoiling, unrelenting entity of his father gone. He felt whittled away down to nothing, naught more than a bitter distortion of the exuberance he once shared, held, nestled in his gallant heart, wanting to leave, wanting to retreat, to lose himself in the memories, in the failings, in the way his life had crashed down around him. “Sorry for your loss,” he choked out, staring at the ground, at the nestling of small shoots and leaves trying to become saplings, attempting to forge out roots, when he felt entirely pulled away from rudiments of his existence. Not a General, not a soldier, not anything more than an instrument of faltering smiles and awakening discord; the foolish prince with a tipping crown. Tiamat’s words were muted, soft, dulcet against his ears, but incapable of truly destroying the caustic, tarnished filaments of his hopes and dreams (his sire’s smile, proud of what his son had accomplished, the protective stance as he thundered against onslaughts and tyranny, as he notched another success, another triumph, another promise fulfilled). They echoed and curled, we will learn to rise again, coiling along his temple until he wanted to shout back at her (how?), roll menace and frustration across his tongue, become that raving, molten fury locked within his chest, within his bones, sinking down into pernicious veins and tainted whims. The boy couldn’t imagine a time when he’d be truly mended, soothed, assuaged from the potent venom sliding through his wares – but still, he didn’t yell, he didn’t unleash his wrath, his contempt, his feverish abhorrence upon the world and all its crimes. He didn’t even move away from the healer’s touch, her attempt at comfort (because she knew too, how it felt to lose someone bigger and larger than they could ever be; a pillar, a backbone, and no one there to fill the void).
 
The General tried to move past it, tried to pretend nothing was amiss, tried to lower the simmer of his raging heart, but the damage had been done; a small smile barely reaching his lips, not even close to his eyes, punctured into the lapse of judgment, of secrets, of specious onslaughts tearing him to shreds, poised upon Wessex as if she were another tether for him to grasp, to hold onto. “Perhaps you’d like to accompany me on patrol soon?” Anything to get him away from the tempest brewing on the surface of his skin, feverish and cantankerous, a diversion meant to sweep him entirely aside, or where he could throw himself off the nearest peak. 

 
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@Tiamat @Wessex

Wessex Posts: 149
Aurora Basin Haruspex atk: 5.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 7.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.3 hh :: 3 HP: 68 | Buff: NOVICE
Astor
#10

I AM IRON AND I FORGE MYSELF

Welp. She done fucked up.

Not in an egregious sort of way; no, she didn’t threaten anyone or forget to curb her blunt tongue. Wessex simply forgot what Tiamat had told her earlier - that they had lost a beloved leader - of course the wound must still be fresh, and she had to go and pour salt on it by carelessly dredging up her own memories. Because the truth of the matter is that while the mottled mare had been loyal to the stallion who accepted her as part of his Merc company, she had not loved him the way these two had clearly loved theirs. Her ‘loss’ is a drop in the bucket. Theirs seemed like it could consume the whole valley, drown them in its waves, and some might be happy to perish in the cold, salty depths.

The proof is in the murmur of Tiamat’s voice, the efforts to immediately bolster her own morale and yes, - it must be more for Erebos, Wessex thinks, more than for the blue maiden’s benefit. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him recoil, as if the very idea of the words are acidic, eating their way through a carefully mended mask of rank and duty. In that moment, she chooses not to turn and stare, though her eyes do glance over at him for a moment, noting an entirely different man than he was only seconds before. “Damnit…” she mutters under her breath as she shifts rather uncomfortably from one leg to the other.

Time to vanquish the elephant in the room; she clears her throat and with all the grace of a pregnant rhinoceros, bulldozes through it. “I am sorry, Tiamat told me on our walk here that the Basin recently lost - ah, Deimos - correct? I did not mean to re-open fresh wounds, or try and compare fondness to love. He must have been inspiring, if he can still garner such… grief.” A cough squeaks out, as if her conscious were trying to tell her to stop digging a bigger hole. Of course, she fails to listen. “I look forward to joining you on patrol, Erebos, and learning more about the Basin, Tiamat. Again, my apologies.” Horns dip in acknowledgement of their grief as she ends her much too formal speech.

Eager to step out of her own mess, Wessex takes a few steps forward and gazes towards the interior of the valley, letting her eyes adjust to the brilliance of the sun as it bounces off peaks still covered in snow. “Hopefully by tomorrow, you will have forgotten that I put my giant ass hooves in my mouth. But until then -” her head jerks towards the chilly, unexplored mystery that lays before them, “- I have some exploring to do.” And with that, she offers Tiamat a brazen wink and heads down the slope to what is, for now, her new home.

W E S S E X

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@Tiamat  @Erebos  
Y'all can end it here if you want!
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-- magic and force allowed, no death or permanent damage --


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