for there are many ways to kill a man they say
Old habits die hard - or in this case, they seem to linger piteously on, refusing to give up while there’s still oxygen in the air. What does being Haruspex even mean? She’s still Wessex, still half-moose (or half-tank, depending on who you ask), she’s just acquired a pretty mirror and is supposed to talk to a God. That doesn’t change the fact that she likes to fight, or finds her zen place while patrolling by herself. It doesn’t change her emotions or her thoughts, the way she looks at life (at least, not yet). Supposedly, she has other responsibilities, but there’s no one around to brief her on said tasks, no guide (Where’s Ode?) to light the way - and the Spark only jested that she might use the Mirror to her sexual advantage.
So you see, the only thing she can think to do is try to hurry the Herd Quest along, but that would require everyone to actually be around, and the Basin is notorious for hiding wandering members from sight.
A loud call rings through the snow-flecked hills, loud enough to disturb whatever birds are left, sending them caw-ing into the air with very little grace. With a shrug, Wessex turns and heads towards the summons, letting her tail swish idly behind her. At least the weather brings fewer flora to snag her spikey little mace on. On first sight, she sees Rikyn and Duir have already found the visitor - who is nothing more than a grayish-brown shape from that distance. Unseen as she is, Wessex might have turned around, but she’s in a ‘fuck it’ sort of move and ends up idling towards the trio, curiosity piqued.
Does he want something? She imagines that most will avoid the Basin come winter, and even now it is too chilly for some. Her eyes narrow ever so slightly, before she introduces herself. “Wessex. Who are you?”
I am Iron and I Forge Myself
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