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!
She just glowered at the grass in front of her, as if he hadn’t apologized again. It was a moot point anyways because Roana was gone – and he could be sure that she wasn’t fully off the hook. This would come up again she was sure of it.
”I don’t know, maybe something else that they don’t know.” she snapped when he asked what he ought to have told them. That there was no equivalent word for girlfriend in his language didn’t help his case in her eyes. He clearly knew what it meant in this language. And she frankly didn’t know what to say to him, anger bubbling up and spilling over in a burning rage she couldn’t recognize, clawing at her insides desperate for a way out that she didn’t have. It was an anger she didn’t know how to deal with, so foreign to her that tears of frustration welled up and burned her eyes. Phoebe tilted her face forward, hiding it in her hands and scarf as she did so.
”So slow that you would rather I die not knowing how you feel or wondering if I am chasing something I can never have because you don’t intend to ever give it?” she snapped, her tone of voice so harsh that it almost sounded like someone else entirely. In a way it was, the blight attacking and twisting her emotions to vile and viciousness, as explosive and volatile at its reaction to every test she subjected it to. It’s hard for me to not know where I stand or you stand or have a solid understanding of where things are going but here I am, looking my own mortality in the face and knowing I have accomplished none of the things I ever wanted to.” she rambled, fingers curling into her hair, as if pressing against her head might somehow soothe the rage boiling over inside her.
She snaps at him and he doesn’t react to it, instead he only stares at the grasses further, waiting for more of the vigor and flame to hit — finding an inferno in its wake. He glances to her briefly when she speaks, a steel to her voice that makes his jaw clench and he sighs through his nose. He removes the hands from his face and regards her. “I am not intending for the blight to kill you, Phoebe.” He says roughly. “But I do not wish to rush into something because of it.” He adds on, turning his body to face her, crossing his legs underneath him and leaning forward.
“I thought it was clear where we stood. Every night I come home to you, I spend all my time with you. I hold your hand when you need me to.” His eyes are soft but there’s an edge to them. “I am there for you whenever you need. And I am there to love you when you think you aren’t enough.” Perhaps his voice snaps a little at this, too, but he tears his gaze away from her to look back out over the fields. “I can’t give you the things you want me to, not yet. And I don’t want you to regret it if I did.”
you were forged in fire
& you rose from the ashes
murder and mercy rolled into one
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
”You don’t get a choice, Jata, it’s an illness, it doesn’t care if you do or don’t intend for me to die!” she snapped at him. Men could be so pig-headed, thinking they could change the world just because they willed it. It just wasn’t the case. Death didn’t care. It was indiscriminate. It came whether it was welcome or not, and this illness just speeded up the process.
And as he turned to her and spoke more, she grew increasingly angry because he was right. All of his actions said the words he couldn’t speak. And yet it made her increasingly angry for no reason. Of course he was right. He was always right, even when he wasn’t – that he was now just made it worse. How come she was never right? How come Frey said what she felt mattered and yet it never did to anyone else? ”Do you love me?” she said, the tiniest hint of herself showing through, her insecurities reaching for closeness even while her rage pushed him away. But the tiny hint of herself was quickly obscured by the force of her anger, pushing and prodding at the things she knew he struggled with, goading him on in an uncharacteristic fashion.
That he worried she would regret more with him though? That clearly hit a nerve as she lifted her head to stare at him wide-eyed, as if he had just spoken a foreign language.”You nobles really are stupid.” she snapped at him, brow furrowing. ”I might get mad at you or frustrated or impatient or disappointed, but I won’t ever regret you or anything that comes from you.” she said, sounding an equal mix of hurt and angry now.
She spits the venom back at him and he shakes his head, knowing deep down somewhere that it’s the blight talking, and yet he kind prevent the churning frustration that grows in the pit of his stomach. “You're right, I don’t get a choice, but I can try just as hard as you are to prevent it.” He snaps back at her, until he faces her and she asks him the one question that gives him pause.
His eyes widen a small fraction, and suddenly he recalls a similar situation, back home with Lusea in the comfort of the back room of the bar she called home — between teeth and sheets, a taunting lilting voice. “Do you love me?” And he had paused then just as he does now, such a strong word that lead to so much heartbreak that it makes him clench his jaw and turn his head from her. He knows that deep down he cares for her, but he cannot let himself say it.
The last time he had, had been the last. A proclaimed scream above the buildings of the city, with Lusea in his arms, and everything was perfect, only twelve hours that stood between then and their capture. He bites down hard at his cheek, nearly to draw blood, hoping that she can understand the way he shows it in other ways, because of how painful it is to say it out loud.
It isn’t much different here, either. He could say it to her, and she could be gone the next season. It was a curse, and one he refused to let himself fall into again. “Phoebe, I care about you. A lot. But I just, I can’t say it.” There’s near desperation in his voice at this, exasperated and weary as he fights the memories away; brought only back when the venom from her returns and she makes a comment about nobles.
His hardened steel gaze slips back to her, and he grits his teeth at the implication before he repeats what she had literally said just before. “You can say that all you want but years from now? Will you say the same?” He asks, a snort leaving him as he shakes his head. “We have rushed into this, into all of it, and you’re willing to stick with an asshole like me and claim you won’t regret what I am or become, just to experience an attempt at having a happy life?” He asks with a huff of a mock laugh. Because in Jata’s mind, there is no possible outcome where he would ever be truly happy. There’s always something to come and take it away, to destroy and blunder. “What about when you live through this blight? And if I married you, and did all the things you wanted to give you some happiness, you would inevitably resent the decision you’ve made. A decision that you have made in desperation.”
He might not be infected by the blight, but he knows his temper has shifted, and there’s a small amount of an apology that lingers in his eye, but he can’t mask the truth.
you were forged in fire
& you rose from the ashes
murder and mercy rolled into one
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
08-20-2019, 05:28 PM (This post was last modified: 08-20-2019, 05:29 PM by Phoebe.)
PHOEBE
Phoebe’s hands began to tremble – not the near constant tremble she had now from the blight either. It was more violent, more noticeable, her soft expression contorting with her fury. Of course he couldn’t say it. Of course he wouldn’t say it. Not that she could bring herself to say it either, but in the moment that hardly mattered to her. There was always an excuse. There was always a reason he held her at a distance. And then he made it worse, going on at length – telling her how she would feel, how she did feel, like he could somehow know her inner truth. He was no mind or soul reader, he was no god that could see into the very fabric of her person and know what she would or would not do. And with the blight-induced anger clouding her mind, controlling her consciousness, neither did Phoebe.
Without the prompting of conscious thought, she reached out at smacked him as hard as she could across the face.
Then she froze, the tingle in her palm and loud SMACK of skin hitting skin suddenly shattering the rage filled fog that had been clouding her mind. She gaped at him, hands still trembling, breath short as if she had just run a mile. Only then did she suddenly realize what she had done. Even now his cheek began to redden before her very eyes, and in response tears ran down her face. ”O-oh my god…” she stuttered, lifting her hands to cover her gaping mouth. ”I…I-I’m so sorry, Jata, I’m so so sorry I don’t…I don’t know what came over me I…” her voice broke as she began to panic, a sob breaking through as she cried. How had she gotten to that point? Why had she gotten so angry? How could she have struck him like that?!
He didn’t presume to try and understand what she would do – but he knew himself and the type of person he was, and he knew that she likely wouldn’t be happy with the result when she found out (if she ever found out). But it had nothing to do with what he did or didn’t feel, but simply him in general. The anger tenses the air, and he’s suddenly so glad Roana isn’t here for it – for his inability to confess to her something she clearly wanted, but it hurt him too much to admit it, to claim it in such a way that would result in the very same thing he had fought so hard to prevent.
But she says nothing as he rambles, as he tells her how he shows his feelings, hoping she understands that and can see it the way he can. Eyes drift back toward her, a hardened edge to the silver as he waits for his words to hit – for his own venom to combat her own, to show her how much she likely wouldn’t want to stick with that for the rest of her life. But instead of responding with words, she’s quick, and before he knows it, his head swings to the side and his cheek grows red, and his eyes dart to her in complete surprise. Teeth grit, muscle feathering in his cheek, he’s speechless and uncertain what to do next.
His temper flares, rears its head, until she breaks out of whatever kind of fog had clouded over her. And suddenly she’s gaping at him as he reaches up to touch his cheek. His fingertips are light as they reach for the feeling of the sting, a small amount of blood beginning to brim from the scratch on his cheek, and he pulls his hand away to inspect it, tearing his eyes away from her while she apologizes. It isn’t much, and her admission of not knowing what came over him quells the anger just enough for him to exhale a sigh and wipe the blood away before running a hand through his hair and his face, trailing a bit more of the small amount of blood down his cheek like some form of warpaint.
His eyes soften as he looks to her and sees just how much it has affected her, and he reaches out tenderly to grab her by the arm and pull her into him. He says nothing at first, instead, content to pull her into his lap and hold her after she realizes what she’s done. “It’s not you.” He finally says after a moment, voice rough and tired, holding her tight to him as he regulates his breathing and quenches the roiling frustration within him.
you were forged in fire
& you rose from the ashes
murder and mercy rolled into one
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
Her whole frame began to tremble, her breath coming short as she panicked. She had never felt such anger before, such blinding rage that she lost all sense of her self. It was terrifying. Phoebe could only manage quiet, blubbered apologies, broken and incomplete, interrupted by sobs and gasps as she hyperventilated. Seeing the scrape on his cheek from her nails didn't help, a choked sob escaping her lips as he trailed a bit of blood along his skin.
He grabbed her by the arm but her flinch was masked by how she trembled. Retribution didn't come though, and instead he pulled her onto his lap and held her tight. It made her cry anew, feeling small and safe in his arms as the panic attack brought on by the sudden mood swings and involuntary actions roiled through her. "I'm so sorry, I'm so so sorry, I didn't mean any of it, I didn't I don't know why I..." she rambled into his shoulder, broken only by gasps for air and breaks of sobs.
He can’t tell if she flinches from him or if it’s the blight causing the tremors, but he knows she’s back – he knows it the moment he holds her tight and she breaks down in his arms, and he can’t do anything, say anything, other than bite the inside of his cheek and rest his head on her own, shutting his eyes tight as his own arms flicker with the hint of a tremor. Not blight related, but a crash of his own emotions, while he tries to regulate them, to listen to her bubbling apologies and sobs, refusing to respond until she begins to calm.
“It’s not you.” He reiterates roughly, reaching up with a hand to stroke her hair before he buries his face into her neck and closes his eyes. He rocks her gently, slowly, trying to calm her, trying to quell the panic that’s set in. The same he does for himself, for the anger and vibrancy that gleams in his eyes and throughout his actions, screaming for a release. He focuses first on his own breathing, using her as a rock to steady himself, to hold her as if nobody could take her away from him. “The blight is getting worse in you.” He replies after a while, lifting his head to look down at her, his scratch clotting but not before running another small stream of blood down his cheek to his jaw, like some kind of bloody teardrop.
“It’s not you, Phoebe.”
you were forged in fire
& you rose from the ashes
murder and mercy rolled into one
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
Slowly she felt her emotions dropping down to a normal rhythm as she clung to him and him to her. He insisted it wasn’t her but it had been – it was her hand that struck him, her nails that scratched him. Even if she hadn’t intended it, even if it had come from blinding rage, it still had been her. ”I’m still sorry…you didn’t deserve that…” she muttered, looking up at him as he pulled his head away from her, her expression still distraught. Immediately her eyes went to his cheek, looking at the trickle of dried blood and feeling tears well in her eyes again.
With shaky hands, she reached up and wiped the blood from his cheek with her scarf, her gentle touch in stark contrast to the strike that caused it. She was horrified with herself, shaken to her core. What else would this blight cause her to do? How much more of her mind would she lose in the depths of emotion she couldn’t control? She nodded a little in agreement – the blight really was getting worse, and so quickly it terrified her almost as much as the outcome of her rage had.
”One part was.” she whispered quietly. Even in rage, some things were tinged with truth – insecurities blown out of proportion to form the foundation of her anger. ”I won’t regret you. I won’t.” she said softly, still trembling from experience.
His teeth continue to clench slightly, his muscle feathering a small amount as he calms his breathing — in through his nose, slowly and calmly, as she looks him over and apologizes once again. Still, he says nothing, instead closing his eyes lightly when she reaches up to rub away the blood that had dropped down his cheek. He wonders if perhaps he did deserve it, for speaking his own truths, for telling her that he cannot physically tell her that he loves her, that he tries to do it in other ways. It hurts too much, too much to think about, and the sting of her palm hitting his cheek, nails raking against his cheekbone, was enough to bring him back to her and now.
But his heart still thunders in his chest, rapidly, wildly beating. At least she has calmed, enough to look at him, to see what the blight had made her capable of, to meet his shadowed steel eyes with her own shadowed gaze. And when she whispers, he doesn’t know how to respond, he doesn’t know what to say. But all he can think of is Lusea, a poor innocent soul much like Phoebe herself, and he turns his head away from her then to look out over the grasses. He wants to tell her it’s a terrible decision, that he can’t give her what she wants, but he doesn’t know how to word it — everything coming out harsh and rough, when it runs through his head, and so he takes a moment to collect himself before his eyes shift back to hers, the shadowed darkness hiding within, a glassy sharpened gleam to his eye.
“You will, because I will ruin you.” It’s perhaps the most honest thing he can say, because that is what he’s done. He ruined his chances of leading for his family (though not like he wanted to, to begin with), he had ruined Lusea for simply being something of his. And with it, with the darkness and crumbling edges of what was left of his heart, he knows it’ll be the same here too.
you were forged in fire
& you rose from the ashes
murder and mercy rolled into one
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
His words stung – not because they hurt her but she hurt for him. In her anger she had needled right at his most sensitive areas, knowing where they were and targeting them. And now, even though he said it hadn’t been her, she knew she had harmed him. Phoebe frowned and shook her head gently, still trembling lightly. She reached up and placed a shaky hand on his cheek, trying to find the right words to say as exhaustion washed over her, her emotions still raw and on edge.
”Then consider me ruined.” she said gently. ”But I’m not. You’ve built me up again. I was ruined before I met you.” she said, her thumb running over his cheekbone, still feeling badly. ”And I won’t regret. Never. No matter what.”
Oh, and she had. She had found the points of entry where it hit him the most, where he had told her his history in another moment of weakness knowing better, because this is how it went. Venom tipped words like daggers reaching into the most important parts of him. And while he didn’t entirely blame her he blamed himself most of all. Because he had told her about Lusea, told her how close they had been, told her of what happened to her and what happened to him after.
His gaze shutters as her hand rests on his cheek, his jaw sore from the tension as he keeps his gaze from her. Ruin. Destruction. Soldier. Killer. He can’t keep his mind from it but he does a good job hiding it as he swallows hard and releases a somewhat shivering breath. And for a moment after he hears what she has to say, he wonders if she knows what she’s signing up for. “You were broken.” He responds quietly, flinching internally from the wording used. “Not ruined.” He explains, as though it gets his point across better. But he doesn’t expect her to understand, he doesn’t know if anyone would.
He’s just as confused as the rest of them all.
But the words she had said were sweet and kind, nothing like the spitfire venom from before, but he keeps his gaze averted, letting her go just enough to let her stand should she wish to. “I’m sorry.” He tells her again, that same sincerity.
Sorry he can’t be the person she wants him to be.
you were forged in fire
& you rose from the ashes
murder and mercy rolled into one
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
Had she been in full control of her own emotions and mind, such spitfire and venom would not have flowed from her lips, not at him anyways. But there was nothing she could do about it now, and her heart ached. ”Stop.” she said gently, concern laced in her voice. ”Let me decide what I will or won’t regret, let me decide what will or won’t ruin me, okay? You can’t control that, only yourself.”
Her thumb gently ran over his jaw, where his muscles feathered and drew tight. ”Why are you sorry? I am the one that hit you and yelled at you.” she said. ”You just being here after that is more than I’ve ever been given before. I’m…I’m sorry I said all of those things. I didn’t mean them. Truly.” she said, eyes sad and tone full of regret. ”I never…I should never have said any of it. Blight or no blight.”
He chews on the inside of his lip when she speaks, concern drifting in her voice, and he can’t help but to keep his gaze away from hers. He lets her grow concerned, because he doesn’t have enough energy, enough state of mind to quell her own worries. All he wants to do is rid the anger he has through sweat and the feel of his fist hitting a bag of some sort. But he controls himself enough to refrain, to hear her when she tells him to let her decide; but he can’t. He had before, and it had cost him everything. He had thought he had control, but he didn’t then when he was virtually untouchable. What made him think he did here?
Her thumb rubs against his jaw where the muscle flares and he focuses again on his breathing while listening, and to a point she’s right, but he is also right too. He’s sorry he can’t give her what she wants, what she should be able to experience before the possibility of the blight taking her. But she’s full of regret and his eyes finally skate over to hers, dark and shadowed, weary and tired as he pulls away from her touch to rub at his forehead. “You are right to an extent.” He says roughly, thinking of the times she had asked him numerous times what they were to one another, but the words couldn’t slip from his lips. So he had danced around them instead, and it obviously bothered her enough to spit it back in his face, blight or no blight.
It’s his turn now, and he looks to her and her soft, pale, sickly face as he reaches up to brush her hair over her shoulder. “It’s okay.” It isn’t. “I need some time to think.” He manages to grit out before sighing, his accent strongly coming through. “Let’s go home?”
you were forged in fire
& you rose from the ashes
murder and mercy rolled into one
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
