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!
Ooooh, that pushed a button. Leaning back on her hands, Wessex watches the newcomer get up and pace, angry and restless, and rightfully so, she thinks. There is bound to be anger in anyone who was ripped without warning from a home they enjoyed (she assumes, and it is only because he is resigned to make the best of this place, rather than saying he looks forward to a fresh start), dropped without ceremony here, so close to LongNight. Hmmmm… another thing she should probably mention.
“She has the technology to make portals. But I don’t know if they can be reversed.” She doesn’t want to promise him anything that isn’t in her power to give. “But She grows stronger every day, so I can imagine it might be within her power to send you back.” And here comes story time again, which Wessex delivers without much flare, because she isn’t really an entertainer. “The portals were opened because she needed people to help break Her out of the Spire, where she was imprisoned.” She sighs, needlessly. “It’s complicated. I can give you some good reasons if you want but it’s ultimately up to you to decide.”
Amun paused, pivoted on his heel, and stared at Wessex. It sounded like she knew a lot about The Voice, and so he was going to pick Princess’ brains until he hopefully knew as much as she did. ”You seen this technology of hers? And she told you that's the plan?” Surely it couldn’t be any more difficult to send someone back where they came from. It seemed that identifying the person and plucking them from a random location was much harder than sending a known individual back to a known place. Then again, he was an artist, not an engineer. He tilted his head. "Why was she imprisoned, anyway? And fine. Give me your ‘good reasons.’” He put quotation marks around the last two words before folding his arms. They better be damn good.
Wellllll fuck. He has her with the ‘seen it’ question. So might as well dodge that one and get to the others. “She’s brought in loads of people like yourself. Different worlds, I think, but you can ask them about the portals. And we did break her out of the Spire. But the rest…” Hmmm. Wessex makes a face. “The goal is to keep expanding, get out of the Hallowed Grounds. Go where the Old Gods don’t want us to go. They’re keeping us here with fierce storms and physical barriers.” Because if we do get out (like they did with the Spire), they’re afraid we’ll overrun the world again. But that’s a little too much telling for a first meeting, now isn’t it?
“They’re afraid of her power, or so the theory goes. She came close to overtaking them, and they took some drastic measures make sure it never happens again.” They aren’t in the Hallowed Grounds, so she can’t gesture to the scorched earth, the dust, the failed crops, the mutated animals. Did the means justify the end?
“And they hate us just about as much as they hate Her. She gives us powers every now and again - upgrades. She keeps us going with our fluid. She… loves us. As her children and creations. And yes, for that, she expects a certain obedience.” And once they accept that, the easier life becomes. Wessex shrugs a little. "She brought me back to life. Personally, I find it's a small price to pay."
Amun had asked a lot of questions, so he probably shouldn’t complain that Wessex gave him quite a few answers. That didn’t stop him from considering it, but instead he just listened carefully. Strangely enough, she didn’t answer his first question, and he wasn’t going to let that slide. ”So I take it you haven’t seen the technology then? And I’m sorta kinda getting the impression you haven’t been through a portal yourself.” Or, in other words, she was bullshitting him. Probably best not to use such language in front of Princess, though. She might blush. Well, if Ascended could blush, that is, he honestly didn’t know.
He could get behind expanding—he hated the idea of being trapped—and he understood being pissed about being locked away just because someone, or these Old Gods, thought she was competition. But the rest of it, well, didn’t seem like it should matter much to him. ”I was fine the way I was. I didn’t ask for this. And I certainly don't consider myself any child of hers. So it seems like that’s all a lot of good reasons for you to follow her, especially that last part.” He smirked at Wessex. ”But what about me?” The Voice's so-called love hadn't done squat but brought him to the hell-hole that was Caido.
“Of course not. I was born here.” And if he’d bothered to ask some more instead of honing in on a singular question, he would have been told that until last year, they’d been encased in a bubble for 300 years, so no, she hasn’t seen much technology, other than what’s installed inside her. Instead, he decides to throw a tantrum about how he feels, targeting the woman in front of him instead of who he’s really angry at - her Goddess. Outlanders are all the same in the end, and privately, she begins to wonder how and why he’s been Ascended in the first place. Surely her Lady can do better.
His smirk and the accompanying challenge are enough for Wessex to want to say her goodbyes. Standing up and brushing her ass off, Wessex throws Amun a glance. “Do whatever the fuck you want. I’m your Queen, now, not your mother.”
Wessex said ‘of course not’ like the fact she was a native here should’ve been immediately obvious to Amun. News flash: it wasn’t. ”Out of curiosity, how was I supposed to know that?” His voice had lost the accusatory tone, and was simply questioning now; the potter wasn’t prone to getting angry for long periods of time. Indeed, the only heat he liked to feel in his veins were the fires of passion. He’d had a momentary lapse as they discussed the circumstances that had brought him here, but Amun was back to his easy-going self. Time to see if he could get Wessex to cool off too.
”I don’t have a mother, actually. And when was the coronation, Princess? Also I prefer to do whoever I want, though whatever works too I guess.” Seeing as he didn’t actually believe she was queen of anything but her own mind, his voice came out in a gently teasing tone, and he winked at her again for good measure.
“You weren’t,” she concedes, calmly crossing her arms. “You assumed a total stranger had the same experience you had and I didn't try to correct you.” He hadn’t asked about her, she hadn’t volunteered, yadda yadda yadda. It’s not her fault he was brought here. It’s not her fault he Ascended. It’s also not her fault the Voice doesn’t tell her everything - she’s tried. Oh, she’s fucking tried to get answers out of her Lady and it just never goes as planned. Sometimes Wessex thinks it’s because She wants her children to use their own brain power, and other times she thinks it’s just to maintain an enigmatic aura.
“Early Leafchange,” she says with her own smirk, remembering the tumbling, sweaty bodies and the tangled, soaked sheets. “It was quite the event.” Private event. Public fallout. But in the end that’d been somewhat mended, too.
Wessex was right, and he wasn’t particularly afraid to admit it. ”Guess I made an ass out of you and me, then.” Although the words were a bit crass for a Princess, they came out without a hint of mockery, just an amused drawl. As she stiffened up and crossed her arms and generally got all stuffy, he did the opposite: he leaned against a nearby tree languidly, not at all bothered with how the conversation was going. However, when she answered his question with a smirk, he raised his eyebrows. ”You shitting me, Princess?” He grinned back at her. ”So what, should I like, curtsy or something?” If anything, finding out she was an authority figure made him more inclined to tease her. Amun didn’t much care for rulers or thier laws.
Wessex chuckles. She’s never heard the term before, but it rings true to this particular situation. “Guess so.”
Ok, so not that Wessex will ever admit that having not one, but two men not believe her when she says she’s the Queen is a tad upsetting, but it is. What is it about the patriarchy, even the gay one, that makes them think she’s lying? “Told you I was fancy.” Well, not outwardly. And certainly not so much inwardly, either, though she’d be curious to know what all that extra hardware and upgrades might look like on the inside. As casual and cheeky as this one is, Wessex is still curious about him.
“Let’s make it interesting, shall we?” She reaches down and pulls a knife from her boot, the offers it, handl-first, to Amun. “Stand back ten steps. If you can hit me, you don’t have to curtsy, and you can keep calling me Princess. If you can’t, you curtsy and tell me why you didn’t believe me.” Both eyebrows raise as she fixes him with a slight smile and a challenging look. “Deal?”
Queens were supposed to have elaborate dresses and hangers-on. Wessex didn’t have either, so she’d have to forgive Amun for his ignorance. ”Not nearly fancy enough, Princess. Where are your jewels, your silks, your crown, the simpering ladies-in-waiting?” Clicking his tongue, the potter shook his head. And yes, he was still calling her Princess. He’d never let a little thing like reality get in the way of a good nickname. Still, she could do with a makeover, he decided. No one was going to believe her unless she dressed the part.
As she handed him a knife, he smirked at her and pointedly did not take it. ”I’m a lover, not a fighter.” Gathering up imaginary skirts, he curtsied, a surprisingly graceful motion. He grew up on boats and among vagabonds, so he picked up all sorts of useful and interesting skills. Still, he’d already given her part of his answer, but he figured a more elaborate one would be useful. ”Now don’t get me wrong, Princess, you’ve got the attitude and the posture down. But you’re not sparkly enough. And I don’t mean jewels and gowns. That wouldn’t suit you. I mean you’ve got no symbol of your authority. Even kings wear crowns, yeah?” After all, Amun could look as regal as the best of them, but no one would believe a man in nothing but shorts was a king anymore than he had been inclined to believe this woman in entirely serviceable clothes was a queen.
She relaxes a bit, her posture changing, and her arms drop to sides as she looks down at her weather-inappropriate, but yes, entirely serviceable and slightly barbaric (or kinky, depending on your view of leather) garb. She bends at the waist in return, traditional gender roles reversed. Which is fine, cause fuck tradition.
“What would I do with simpering ladies, other than strangle them in their sleep?” she asks, mock shaking her head. “Seamstresses would hate me for ruining silks in the outdoors, jewels would give away my hiding places, and a crown is a dick move in a land where people were recently starving.” A poor use of resources. A wicked little grin darts across her face as she takes that same knife, turns it around, and throws it at a nearby tree (not the Mathair). It vibrates in the wood, and then is quickly followed by a second, just below it, and a third - a little off of where an imaginary man’s vital organs may be, but still ‘on’ the person.
“How many Queens can do that?” she asks, with more than a little pride in her voice.
“How come your world’s Queens are never self-sufficient? You’re the second one who’s said I should have people with me.” Like everyone around here doesn’t have anything better to do than wait on her, or try and protect her back. You’d have to be an idiot to attack Wessex at night. And as for during the day, you’d have to find her, first.
Apparently Wessex was going to be a hard case about this. ”Sometimes you gotta give the people what they want. And hey, I don’t make the rules, but if you don’t look the part it’s just going to be that much harder to convince someone to accept you authority.” Given his disreputable past, the potter knew both that appearances were everything and that they could be deceiving. Amun just grinned at her display with the knives. ”I know how to stick the pointy end in things too.” Winking to make sure that she knew he wasn’t cowed by her ability to castrate his non-working dick and so that there was no doubt what he was talking about, his grin turned into a smirk at her questions. ”Alright, tell you what Princess. I’ll be your lackey. I can announce you when you walk into rooms and everything. It’ll be great.” He mimicked a trumpet, and wicked mischief glinted in his eyes. Plus, it would be good for her public image. And he didn't mind the idea of getting in good with the queen.
“So…. you’re saying I make the rules, but I still have to abide by an invisible set of rules from other people’s worlds?” Wessex audibly snorts her opinion - full on derision. “I’ll give you some points for the people bit, but fuck that, Caido is different.” She already has a disreputable past that she can work with, and it matches her clothing. If the Wraith knew what a pirate was, she’d just slap on a hat, get herself a boat, and call herself the Pirate Queen, because that seems far more up her alley, according to conventional patriarchal lore.
“Reeeaaallly. I have a hard time seeing you be anyone’s lackey.” Her gaze narrows suspiciously, because it’s a weird thing to offer the first time you meet someone - if it's a fellow member of a small race, who just so happens to be one half of the non-romantic ruling pair. He doesn't even know the nuances of Caido's society. “What’s in it for you?”
Wessex seemed to think the whole keeping up appearances thing didn’t apply to Caido—as evidenced by the snort she gave him—but Amun wasn’t so sure about that. ”So people are completely different in Caido, then? They never care about what people look like?” He asked the question idly, but an amused smirk danced on his lips. Surely some things here were the same in these parts. ”Alright, fine. I can be a flunky instead if you’d prefer.” When she asked what was in it for him, he gave her a happy grin and an approving nod. Finally, she was asking the right questions. ”Well. You’re obviously a powerful person. And I’m new here. So I figure sticking close to you is the best thing for me.” Access, riches, beautiful people: they’d all flock to a ruler, and he was fine taking her leftovers.
