From being an Abandoned who had rarely left the Hollowed Grounds, to embracing the call of adventure, to dying and being reborn first as an Ascended and then as an Ancient, Maea has gone through quite the amount of changes in her life. One thing remains common, though, in her attempts to find out just where she belongs; she’s always had a craving for knowledge which has brought her to so many places and to meet so many people here in Caido. We can’t wait to see what else is in store for her!
Congratulations, Maea!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
Skinning and hosting by the epically talented Kaons, and functionality fanciness by the coding magic of Neowulf. If you ever see either of them around, make sure to show them some love!
In and out. In and out. Wessex makes no move to enter any dwellings, leaving all doors shut and and all people undisturbed. The smaller buildings are oddly endearing, but the Ascended woman doesn’t want to give anyone there a reason to interfere. So she moves as quickly as she can, looking and looking and looking, but never touching. Ducking from darker shadow (ha, like it helps hide her from Fae eyes, but oh, she can pretend) to darker shadow, she finds herself at a series of stalls on the edge of the river. Unattended in the dead of night, of course, but no less interesting.
What do fae wares look like? Her mind leaps to vaguely tiny and exotic things, delicate and mysterious. Familiar to everyday use and yet somehow, alien. Wessex hasn’t the time to stop and investigate, so she simply does a loop and then keeps on moving.
No, I’ll be the stone
I’ll be the hunter, a tower that casts the shade
I lie awake and watch it all
Everything about the ascended speaks of her otherness. Her height. Her pale skin. Her movements and strange agile grace.
She is not one of them.
She is not welcome here.
Like cells swarming upon a virus the guard appears; swift as the wind, silent as the growth of moss. They are nearly half her height, some of them slightly small and others slightly taller. Even so, with their skin like bark and their eyes like cooling embers, wings splayed as if forming a ridge between them. They are fae, but they are clearly of the woods moreso than of any kind of humanity. Their hair is like gnarled sticks, skin olive, eyes wide. They are dressed in animal skins, wait, no. They are shifted, partially so.
"Are you aware you do have permission to be here?" One of them asks, though none of their mouths moves and the voice seems to be far louder than one tiny chest should be able to project.
Despite her best efforts, it was only a matter of time. And somewhere deep down, she knew this, knew it would not be easy. Surrounded, stared at, possibly hated simply for what she is, Wessex adopts a manner completely unlike anything anyone has ever known her to be. Cautious? Yes. Humble? Occasionally. Apologetic? Never.
Her hands go up, the universal signal for don't shoot, I'm unarmed.
Wessex looks around at the wild things, the angry things, the enigmatic little people. She is everything they are not, aside from perhaps, crafty and clever (not so clever, actually, if she had a better plan she might not have been caught). "Yes, and I apologize for doing so," the blonde says, hoping that there is as much contrition in her tone as she wants there to be. Not syrupy sweet, but plain and owning up to the trespassing. How could she claim to be ignorant of that fact, when word had spread far enough of the fae's tendency to capture whole groups of people?
No, I’ll be the stone
I’ll be the hunter, a tower that casts the shade
I lie awake and watch it all
"Leave now, then." They say in unison, forest-coloured eyes hardening and narrowing. They are happy to fight, happy to toss this one into the pit and let it be devoured by the tulmhainar. Equally though, they are happy just to have their woods rid of the horrific creature, infused with unnatural materials.
She sighs and turns with her hands still in the air, trying to get as many of them in her sight as possible. It’s futile, of course, but it allows her to see the myriad of half-things they are. Get some idea of how they work, maybe. Together, certainly. There is cohesion and magic in them she doesn’t understand. Almost regrettably, she shakes her head at their demand. Would that she could, but there are things to be done. Promises to fulfill and rewards to reap.
“I can’t. I can only go forward.” Which is the truth, sort of. She could turn and go, find an easier way. A smarter way. Sacrifice one of her siblings, maybe. But she won’t.
That isn’t Wessex’s way.
"Not that it matters, but I'm not here to hurt you. No weapons on me."
Which isn't a lie, either. She may be a walking weapon, but she hasn't got anything they can see.
No, I’ll be the stone
I’ll be the hunter, a tower that casts the shade
I lie awake and watch it all
At the notion that it is she who will hurt them, the grouping of fae warriors collectively sneer. Their eyes turn slanted at the corners, silent laughter passes among them like ripples in a pond.
"Then forward it shall be."
At once spears are pointed in her direction, fire alighting the tips and bathing the warriors in a warm glow. It lights up the darkness but is not simply a way to provide light, oh no. It is a warning. A message. We know what you are. We know how to hurt you.
Wessex is bigger, stronger than one, but surely not all.
No, not all. And she’s not stupid enough to try and best them. With their fire and their spears, their laughter and their sneers, they capture the Asccended woman - or rather, she goes willingly with them.
To the pit, they say, and “To the pit,” she repeats back in acquiescence, not quite afraid now, but… more wary than before. No idea what the pit is, or that Amalia had been held there, too. No idea that she'll actually be alright down there, for awhile. No one knows she’s out here - there will be no rescue mission, no one coming to save her. Her thoughts fly to what’s going on in the Hollowed Grounds and her now… subsequent absence.
Well. Can’t be helped. These are the consequences of her own actions and refusal to ask for help (from who? She doesn’t know). Following the fae in a docile manner, she knows the only way forward is through this mess - whatever it may bring.
No, I’ll be the stone
I’ll be the hunter, a tower that casts the shade
I lie awake and watch it all
