What do you get when two ruthless assassins raise their daughter travelling through the wildest reaches of Caido? Take one look at Theea and you'll get a pretty good idea. Cheerful and tenacious in equal measure, and curious beyond all else, she began her journey on a mission to find those her mother once called family. And find them she did, soon rubbing elbows with demigods, leaders and even ghosts from the past. Her determination is resolute, her thirst for knowledge unmatched. We can't wait to see where her next adventure takes her!
Congratulations, Theea!
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Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
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He shifts only slightly to deposit the glass on this section of the table they’d seemed to convene at, before the courtesan is turning his attention back to Ashetta as she focuses on him. There’s something deeper by the mention of masks, and while he isn’t sure what it is that has her reminiscing, Thorn’s masks were of a variety that had been paid. He nods his agreement, his seafoam gaze bright beneath the shadow of the mask that hides his face, his voice softer when it breaks out of him. “Neither, actually. I wear 'em for work.” He’d bounce his brows, but it would be impossible to see with the placement of the mask, so he settles for one of those roguish grins again, sharp and playful.
It’s all a smooth motion when he leans in toward her to ask her if she’d seen the herald, and when her answer and question reaches him with just about as much information as he’d anticipated, he pulls his gaze away as if he might be able to get another glance around. (Little does he know, the herald would be snagging the little paper fortune from a fortune cookie he’d snacked on before arriving here). “I’d heard it put it on ‘cause it wanted more attention. Figured it might as well show up for it’s own party, yeah?” Shoulders rise and fall in a small shrug.
He looks back at her when she takes a step forward, her voice a soft and beautiful thing for his jeweled ears only. “Nope on both accounts. Sorry t’disappoint.” He sighs, but it’s still edged in playful amusement and dramatics. “I’m more of a Frey follower. Though, I’ve never met ‘em personally.” He doesn’t seem to dwell on it, not with the abandoned blood that runs through his veins. But it does give him an in to ask her the same. “Do you?”
I nod, the corner of my mouth ticking upward in a knowing way. “My line of work back in the day required all kinds of masks,” I admit, a trace of wry humor in my tone. “What is it you do for work?”
The cider and shots have left a warmth in me that makes honesty easier, or maybe just harder to hold back. I tip my head toward him, studying the lines of his face beneath the mask. “I get it—Ludo—wanting not to be seen, but longing to be known.”
Something brushes against my hip right then, light and fleeting. It’s so familiar my heart gives a startled lurch—like the fleeting touch of a child’s hand—but when I glance down, there’s nothing. Just shadows and the sweep of my skirts. My jaw tightens briefly, and I dismiss it, shifting my focus back to him.
“I’ve met Frey before,” I say, my mouth quirking faintly. “An… interesting experience, to say the least. I’ve met a few gods, actually. As a hybrid, I’ve found they’re more accepting of my magic.” I pause, gaze dropping to the rim of my empty mug before lifting again. “I’m a follower of Mort. He changed my life a decade ago.”
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“Oh yeah?” Thorn perks up, as if they’re nearly two peas in a pod. Even though something tells him she gives off the air of something far more dangerous than he could ever do. Not that he’s complaining, he’d known for a long time he wasn’t made for steel and blood. “I’m a courtesan. I work out’ve the House of Midnight.” So maybe it would make more sense why he’s chosen to tackle the Ludo attire with something Frey inspired. Why he follows them as opposed to the raggedy god of spirits. “What’d you do?” He asks, flashing her another bright smile that’s toothy and playful.
She doesn’t have to say it if she doesn’t want to, of course, but Thorn can’t help but be curious. It’s part of his nature. And as such, as she explains Ludo and its thought process briefly, suddenly Thorn thinks he can understand just why Ludo might have put the whole ordeal together. And at the very least, it’d gotten one hell of a turnout if the party around them is anything to go by.
Perking up to hear that she’d met Frey before, he pretends not to be too interested in her experience. But when she says she’s a hybrid he can’t help but let the delight of the idea sparkle in his gaze, nodding. “Yeah, that’s what I heard. Were you uh…” His lips quirk into an apologetic slant, his head tilting with it that only sets the shiny jewelry in his ear to shift and dance in the lantern light with the movement. “Attuned first or Abandoned?” Is there hope for him to even potentially have some kind of acknowledgement from a god?
As for Mort, though, he perks up a little bit more, a brief moment of the widening of his sea foam gaze as he straightens up again. “I’ve heard Mort’s really great.” And if he’d changed her life a decade ago and she still followed him, he has to assume that rumor to be true, too.
I let my brow climb higher as the understanding clicks into place—the scandalous cut of clothing, the unflinching eye contact, the god he favors. Of course.
Inwardly, there’s a flicker of old familiarity. I’d known plenty of courtesans in another life—not because I’d ever hired them, but because I’d been the one in the shadows watching the door, intercepting the drunk or the violent before they made it through. A few of them had even become friends. There’s a kind of respect in surviving that line of work that I can’t help but acknowledge.
“Respectable work,” I say after setting my mug down, the corner of my mouth ticking upward. “Far more respectable than what I used to do.”
I lean in then, letting the faintest curl of static slip down my arm again before I can stop it, voice lowering for him alone. “Retired assassin.” My eyes catch the lantern light in a way that makes the mischief in them unmistakable. There’s no apology in the admission—if anything, a quiet, dangerous pride. Then I straighten again, cider glass turning idly between my fingers. “I took up being a messenger after that. Did it for a long time. I’m thinking of going back to it.”
When his question shifts to my origins, the smile I give him softens, but there’s a thread of regret stitched through it. “Technically, I was Abandoned,” I say, tone already carrying the apology. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’m an outlander—back when there was still a barrier around the Hollowed Grounds.”
My gaze dips, caught for a moment by the whorls of gold thread across my skirt before I look back up. “In my old world, it was much the same—a shapechanger couldn’t also be a mage. But I achieved it. Practically right before I was pulled here.” I huff a quiet laugh, more air than sound. “And then I landed here, with all the rules rewritten.”
I soften further when Mort comes to mind, the warmth of the cider paling beside the warmth in my voice. “I went through a sort of… rebirth with him. It was the beginning of my journey toward forgiveness.” My eyes drift past him for a heartbeat, unfocused, before I return to the present with a faint smile. “I’m still on that journey. But I’m figuring it out.”
Orbs of light beckon and call from the darkened angles and shadows of trees. Were those whispers of your friends? Family? Fallen allies?
Was that a scream? Could they be in trouble?
Is it all in your head? Just your imagination?
Or something else altogether – because what if it’s true?
You’ve encountered a Will-O-Wisp. This counts as a common creature encounter for the purposes of levelling, but does not count as a Random Event for levelling or MP. There will be no further admin/re intervention. If you choose to follow this creature, you do so at your own risk, however, just having it in this thread is enough to satisfy your levelling requirements.
Will-O-Wisps (common): Glowing orbs of light that dance and weave between the branches, despite their usefulness, these creatures are not to be trusted. Mischievous and loyal to no one, they will lead travellers astray at a moment's notice.
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Thorn brightens a touch as she sets her mug down and comments on his line of work, even if the hidden brow does lift when she says it’s more respectable than her old career. It only intrigues him more - ever a man searching to hear the stories of those around him, his mind a library of experiences and events that weren’t of his own but ones he could imagine or recall.
She leans in and he remains steady like a pillar, his sea foam gaze trailing the spark of lightning that trails down her arm again, a fleeting static that’s there and gone in the blink of an eye. Her quiet, lowered voice, for him alone sparks a twitch of a smile on the corners of his lips, watching as she leans back again and he catches the glimmer in her gaze from the flickering lantern light. “I’d say that’s respectable.” But then again, Thorn’s morals weren’t exactly perfect. “A messenger, though? Sounds nice. Lots’ve travelin’, seein’ new places.” He hums thoughtfully, before he quiets himself to prep for Ashe’s origin.
And he’s very interested in her answer, despite the way he aims not to be. He watches her with a certain kind of stillness that sparks of hope and curiosity. And when she mentions she’s an outlander, his gaze widens a fraction before he lets the honey silk laugh slip past his lips. “That makes sense. At least ya didn’t get completely messed up, though I’m sure that was… Tough. Leavin’ what ya knew.” His head tilts to the left then to the right, as if mulling over what he wants to say.
It doesn’t come out as she continues, though, looking past him with a kind of careful thoughtfulness. Nostalgia, perhaps? Or uncertainty? But she flashes that faint smile back at him and he finds he understands quite a bit. “Hey, at least you’re tryin’. Steps are better than wallowin’. I’ve done that a few too many times.” The laugh that leaves him is lighter but breathes of truth.
It’s cut short with the faint whisper that reaches his ears, one that sounds markedly like his father in a rage. He pales instantly, all of his suave charm suddenly vanishing like a glamour as he glances back over his shoulder only to spot the motes of light hanging by the boughs of the trees on the edge. Hissing out a curse, he rolls his eyes and runs a hand through his hair, immediately reaching after for a full glass of something stronger. “Fuckin’ will-o-wisps.” He flashes a small apologetic smile her way before he downs the glass.
08-13-2025, 12:03 AM (This post was last modified: 08-13-2025, 12:04 AM by Ashetta.)
Ashetta
burning glances turning heads
When he calls my line of work respectable, my head tilts slightly, the reaction a mix of subtle surprise and a quiet sort of approval. Not what I’m used to hearing—but I’ll take it. My gaze drifts back toward the party, scanning until it lands on Theea. She’s still laughing, still holding her ground in the little circle she’s been weaving for herself. I let my shoulders ease a fraction; she’s doing just fine without me hovering.
“Being a messenger was good for getting a lay of the land in a small settlement,” I say, returning my attention to him. “Knowing who everyone was comes in handy when you’re paranoid.” A faint smirk tugs at my mouth. “I’ve… calmed down a little on that now.”
I nod at assessment of what it must be like to flip into a whole new world. “At first, it was terrifying. Northaven had its dangers—fuck, I lost a finger there.” I lift my left hand, letting him see the small, mechanical prosthetic strapped neatly where my pinky used to be. “But nothing like how deadly Caido gets. And things were bad behind the barrier.”
Memory rises too fast, tightening around my throat, and I have to break it with motion. I lean across the nearest table, fingers curling around a waiting shot, and toss it back before the burn can make me think twice.
“I’ve wallowed plenty myself,” I admit with a dry edge, starting to say more when something brushes the edge of my awareness—something not meant for me. I see the change in him first, the way the color drains from his face, and my hand twitches toward a blade even as my gaze follows his.
Will-o-wisps. Of course. The pulse of adrenaline cuts off before it can sink its teeth in.
When he curses and reaches for something stronger, I watch him with a flicker of sympathy, my own gaze still wary on the lights. “Don’t be sorry,” I say. “We’ve all been fooled by them at one point or another. I almost got lost not but two seasons ago.”
Maybe it’s the alcohol, but I add, “For me, it was the voice of my husband. Silly part was that I knew it was just the will-o-wisps the whole time.” I'd just wanted to keep hearing his voice. I don’t let anything deeper than a pause cross my face before I turn back to him, meeting his eye steadily. “What did you hear?”
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“Ah, yeah, ‘m sure that can help alleviate some’ve it.” Thorn says in regards to the paranoia - not something he dealt with all that often given his line of work. But he’d had some experiences that had left him leery of it, such as the very scar that sits under his collarbone. Small, but gnarled enough to show his magic hadn’t entirely saved him from it. He couldn’t vanish it away and it certainly had an impact on his life after that.
But then she’s explaining what it was like to enter into a new world and have to figure it out from here and he watches her with no judgement and apt attention his seafoam gaze. Thorn was and has always been a great listener. It’s part of why he’s so good at his job. “Gods, I can’t even imagine.” He murmurs, frowning at the lost finger but the understanding lingers there. He gets it, even if he hadn’t been behind the barrier. He’d been in the far outreach of Halo, with a family that certainly didn’t approve of him now.
They both have a moment, though, when the admission of wallowing is a shared past time between them. And it’s precisely when the will o wisp makes an appearance and cuts through the courtesan’s cool facade. Something he hates, of course, because who wouldn’t? But for it to be nothing more than terrible little motes of light?
He knows it isn’t as humiliating as it feels. “They like t’meddle, that’s for sure.” He says with a sigh that burns from the alcohol downed, even as he flashes her a smaller yet no less suave smile, as if he’s getting the groove back. She explains what she’s heard, though, and he nods - wondering if it was a good or bad thing for her to have heard her husbands voice (having experienced quite a few less than happy partners in a marriage that had sought out his services, that is.)
“I heard my old man. He was… Upset, which is not unusual for him.” But he never attended these, thankfully, and the time he does Thorn is sure he’ll be miles away. “Luckily he never ventures outta Halo anymore.” So I prolly should've known better.
I let his smile sit between us for a moment, softer than the roguish ones he’s flashed before. There’s something respectful in the way he doesn’t press—doesn’t pick apart the quiet weight of what I admitted. Especially because it’s still fresh, the memory of it. Hearing his voice after months of nothing but silence. The ache of it lingers, sharp as ever. I hadn't been quite so respectful.
When he explains the wil-o-wisp's trickery, my nose wrinkles faintly and I shake my head, almost scoffing at the thought. “Fuck father figures.” The words leave me flat but honest, no attempt to dress them up. “I’ve had three in my life. Two rejected and abandoned me, and one was cruel.” My mouth twists, wry and humorless. “So I don’t put much stock in the title.”
I glance back at him then, steady and earnest despite the bite in my words. “I’m glad for you, though—that you broke away. Done well for yourself.” My voice softens, almost conspiratorial, cider-warm and low. “Not everyone manages that.”
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He knows when to push and when not to - and in this instance she’d already offered enough information that she didn’t have to that it almost feels rude to pry more. Perhaps the interaction had been one she’d wanted to hear and didn’t want to taint it with the admission of what had happened for the will o wisps to bring it up. Or, perhaps it was a not so good memory which she’d rather choose to forget than have to relive.
Either way, Thorn’s softer smile blooms a big wider with the laugh that leaves him. “Yeah, me neither, to be honest.” He drawls, relaxing in face of the common ground between them. Fathers weren’t exactly what everyone had made them out to be while growing up and that had taken the courtesan a bit of time to learn.
As for him getting away, he hums a little and ducks his chin. “Yeah. I was originally goin’ off for architecture to take over the family business. Explored some, hit Torchline, found out I was more interested in stories than buildin’. And here I am.” Jewelry glints at his fingertips as he makes a dramatic gesture to his torso, his smile brighter as he aims it her way. “So I’m sure y’can imagine how shitty that went over.” He tacks on with a playful knowing look now that the will o wisps are getting further from his recent memory.
