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!
Deimos was unaware of the ongoings at the Mathair – had only seen the Fae guardings its sanction from within a book, ignorant of the reasons why they lingered around the perimeter of the tree. Last time he’d been there, the Penumbra and himself had been planting the gilded flowers, striving to orchestrate measures against the blight unbeknownst to themselves. He tilted his head, listening to her sigh, to the relief palpable in the room, something to be reassured about, regardless of the factions surrounding them, the ominous, demanding notions curling and coiling beyond doors and windows. The beast presumed it would fissure and collapse back into silence, so his eyes drifted along the hearth again, on the flanking and crackle of fire, hands itching to conjure, to control.
But then there were secrets about the mountains, and his attention was entirely devoted to Rexanna’s domineer and diligence. It was like the old days, primordial flesh and bone conjuring, deciding which disaster they were about to oblige next, which ruin they were about to achieve and diminish, which banner they sought to make their own. It felt right that they conspired about the peaks, the valleys, the ice, the snow, instead of anything else; a path of normalcy and sanctity in the Machiavellian quandaries of the present. “Oh?” He rumbled, the gestures of curiosity obvious and paramount, even in the inkling of his voice, in the happenstance of a curving, coiling snicker. “I know of their existence, and perhaps a way to get there.” Were it anyone else, he might not have been so forward with the information – but they were allies, thieves and kings, they were comrades, and they were family. “Amalia, Jigano, Kiada and I went into the Underground to find Safrin’s library. Within, there was book about portals.” He shrugged, recalling how he’d been the first to test it, out of inquiry, out of inquisition, lifted straight into another view. “When I opened it, it brought me inside the book. And there were signs pointing in different directions – but one unfamiliar. The Fangs.” His chin lifted slightly, mind wandering to the landscape amidst fog and mist. “And when we went, since Kiada joined me, it was like a window, and we could see the mountains.”
and indeed, just think: in many ways, body and soul,
i have been more a battlefield —
Oh, it is just like old times, scheming and planning, putting their information together and deciding the best course of action. But she hadn’t realized he had known about Halo already, known about the mountains that loomed just at the ends of their fingertips. And when he questions her, she can almost imagine the tilt of his head, the snickers, the planning and schematics that go beneath the lines of his face toward something akin to how it had once been. And all she can offer is her own, pretensive innocent smile in return.
She remains quiet, listening while he offers the information – knowing deep down she will not keep it a secret from him. Loren, sure. Everyone else, definitely. But him? Never him. She listens further as he explains the group that had endured the library, found a book about portals, had disappeared to learn of a place called The Fangs, and Rexanna wonders if it is a part of Halo, a smile crossing her face at that information.
She knows how excited Kiada would have been, knows how important it had become to her. It was similarly how she felt when she spotted it through the view of the Mathair. “We’re alone, yes?” She asks him quietly, waiting for a response, before she continues on. “The portal is in the Mathair that I think leads there. It leads to a place called Halo.” Perhaps the full official name of the land, not just where it spits out. Or perhaps Halo is where it spits out and the Fangs is the full name. She doesn't know. And she pauses – because even without eyes, her demeanor is still the same. “I, uh, helped open it.” She bites down on her lower lip, waiting to hear how he reacts before she continues.
“Zariah is there, confirmed by the Voice when she patched us up.”
Trust; an eternal trust and bonds settled amongst those mountain lairs and harsh winds, too much time spent on rapacious, mercurial, and devastating whims to be anything but allies, thick as thieves with their unrelenting prowess for plotting and devising a multitude of tactics. Left to their own devices, they would’ve eventually found something – the summits, rime, and glaciers were more than he could ever expect. But alone meant confidential expanses, and the wicked glint of his smirk followed through; unseen, unheard, except for the infernal existence on his features. Valued cloak and daggers again, fuel and fire, conspiracies and theories. “Yes,” unless Zuriel counted, but those secrets weren’t shared or utilized except with one another.
He leaned in closer, listening, listening, listening to the depths of possibilities and intrigue. Sure enough, the portal was in the Mathair, as they’d pondered and wondered and thought along those intervals and lines of fog and mist, amongst the book pages, looking out from within. He slipped the word, Halo, along his skull, a brandished execution of things that might’ve been synonymous with the Aurora Basin, but never motions and worlds ruled by seraphs and angelic qualities. The fact that she’d helped to open it, however, was entirely new. “How did you manage that?” Some other fiendish quality? Some other outset they’d been unaware of? When did this all occur? His inquiry held no malice, no menace, naught but the segments of curiosity and intrigue, a sharing of information.
Then of course, came the rasp of irritation to settle along his shoulders, his figure. Zariah is there like some sort of cruel, crude echo. They’d all enjoyed the peace and repose of her absence; he hadn’t heard any other notion or reaction to her consignment towards oblivion. “That is a shame.” But why was she there? Had she taken over another kingdom, moved on from theirs? Or was there something else going on?
and indeed, just think: in many ways, body and soul,
i have been more a battlefield —
Zuriel didn’t count so much to Rexanna as anyone else did, at that point. And so with his confirmation, she announces her information, a sly smile crossing her face with the result of what had happened, how they had opened it. And he seems to ask her how they’d managed it, a tilt to her head as the smile is replaced by contemplation. “Well, the voice called us to come help her. And when we got there, the tree was alight in electricity.” A light frown crosses her face at this next part.
“We had to kill the tree.” Uncertain how he would take it, she looks away from the direction of where Deimos is, head angling as if she could see disappointment underneath it. But there were mountains, and she wonders if given the chance, if he would do the same as her. She has more information though, mentioning that Zariah is there, and she nods in agreement to Deimos as he mentions it’s a shame. “It is a shame.” She offers, shoulders rising and falling in a small shrug.
“She helped us open it on her side, I think.” Recalling what the Voice had said, the questions that Wessex had asked.
The Voice had called them all, like a siren, like a sonnet, and they’d flocked to her leagues, to her follies, to her pursuits. Understanding the deity’s role in the blight, in the pestilence, hadn’t earned her anything but ill regard in the Sword’s notations and observations – his eyes narrowed a perceptive degree, would’ve been seen as dangerous, as treacherous, as scathing and contemptuous, had it been aimed or directed at anyone. Instead, his stare fissured and rankled upon the edges of the room, while his mind contemplated all these bewitching spells and considerations: why. Power? Glory? A further foothold in the world? Had to kill the tree coursed along his mind too. “Did you have to injure anything else?” All those armed Fae guards lurking along its decrepit wood, there to ensure no others scorched upon their broken pedestals, paragons, or beings – or another, lingering, brooding, brewing contortion? Would they remain there out of rancor, to see if anyone returned to the scene of the crime?
Zariah’s movements within the rotation and revolution were bizarre too. Had the former tyrant been in collaboration with the Voice? His mind spun and his questions crackled, inquiries ignited and inspired by the wave of conspiracies, trials, and tribulations pressing into the flames; fanned and fanned and fanned. “How did she already arrive to the other side?” How could she already have been there to open the portal? Was there another way, then?
and indeed, just think: in many ways, body and soul,
i have been more a battlefield —
“Did you have to injure anything else?” He asks, and quietly Rexanna takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly as she keeps her head tilted away from him. He’s no stranger to blood and lives taken, but it still bothers her when she has to admit it. “Some Fae arrived. We told them it could be peaceful if they left us alone. They did not.” Shaking her head, arms cross along her chest as she draws her knees up tighter. “I was trapped by the tree for a majority of it, but at the end the Voice released an electrical charge of some sort that drained us completely and killed everything else there.” Her head drifts back toward Deimos – only willing to tell him because of what he means to her, thankful for no eyes to see his judgement.
“Lucas died immediately after attacking the tree.” She doesn’t know if he knows who Lucas is, but regardless, it’s still a loss she feels.
At the mention of Zariah being on the other side, her shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. “I’m not sure… I know that she had left on an assignment for the Voice. Perhaps she had managed to make it there to help us open it.” A quiet question, with so much uncertainty she doesn’t know. She wishes she did, and hopefully sometime in the near future they can learn what really happened.
No; he rarely flinched from the notion of blood and loss, it’d spiraled around him so frequently that it was a numbing motion, a maneuver of lacerations and damnation all at once, didn’t bat an eye when it came plunging from wounds or when it crawled across grounds and soil. But from his years of experience in Helovia, he also understood the ramifications and consequences of it. Political and diplomatic games to play underneath the layers of ichor and sweat, between the roles of barbarian and Machiavellian stages; a world enamored with decisions, with choices, fleeting, twisted, and sometimes crumbling, shifting, the roles. How many times had they picked, nettled, and prodded, sinuous, agent provocateurs until they’d received what they wanted? How many times had it happened to them in return? How many hours had they spent revising strategies coated and enameled in vengeance? Here was another turn and embellishment of revolution, orchestrated by the Voice and her dominating attempts to alter the world in her benefit – and the notion of the mountains on the other side left it very tempting. Of course they would bite. Of course they would pledge. Of course they would leap into the fray for their goddess. Except there’d been other lives at stake; and the Fae already didn’t take them too kindly.
So it hadn’t gone well, all in all.
He hid the sigh building behind his teeth, smothering it in a shallower breath. “Why would she do that…” Zariah, aligning herself with the Voice? Was this some other power play? Some other grander thing they couldn’t see yet? Or had it just been another tyrannical interlude, seizing hold of any potential she had, leaving them behind to divest glory and triumph and barbarous needs with better, more formidable options – a mess on the other side when they dared to lift the veil? “More power,” he mused to himself, answering his own inquiry, shifting and yielding into another shrug the Penumbra couldn’t see. “The Fae will not take this well.” Maybe something that didn’t need to be said – a foregone conclusion.
and indeed, just think: in many ways, body and soul,
i have been more a battlefield —
Oh if anyone knew how much the Fae disliked her, it’s Rexanna. One, being an Outlander was problematic on its own, one from the Hollowed Grounds of all places, let alone being Ascended? It was like a double whammy of disapproval, and with her actions she can’t blame them in the slightest. But gods, she wanted the mountains so bad, the opportunity to leave here and explore further. She could grab Bastien, go with Deimos and Kiada, and show him what it was like back home.
Besides, she has some sort of idea that Bastien might appreciate the way light hits the snow along the rockery, it might be worth painting for him.
At the mention of Zariah, however, Rexanna shrugs ever so slightly, inhaling deeply despite not needing to. “I’m… Not sure. She’s got her own sort of agenda.” She offers. “That’s all I can think of in regards to leaving her children here to do this.” And while Rexanna couldn’t claim she was a great mother (she hadn’t been, at least she had brought her children with her).
A small nod is sent Deimos’ way and a light frown as she shrugs. “They won’t… I already know this. Lucas’ body was left behind, we were hardly strong enough to get ourselves to a shrine for repairs and replenishment.” That breath she had inhaled now comes out in a sigh, arm reaching up to rest her cheekbone against it. “I regret what happened… I do, but gods Deimos, I want mountains so bad.”
The musing probably didn’t matter in the end; Zariah had her own motivations, and he wouldn’t be shocked or surprised if she managed to circumvent and instigate some sort of pawn or manipulative game. Leaving her children seemed up her alley to suit her affairs or duplicitous tactics, and some portion frustrated him that one of the things he desired the most might be right in the depths of her grasp. However, layers upon layers of the unknown stoked between the walls and thresholds, and they had no means, no multitudes, no Machiavellian ensigns and designs agitated or unfurled until they were out of LongNight’s hold.
He said naught more about it, spinning it silently in the web of his ambitions and wiles, contemplating, considering, when Rexanna continued the story, the tale, of their Mathair antics. Lucas was dead. Not a name he knew, perhaps a figure in the background or heralded scenes, someone he hadn’t noticed along their passing chains and tethers, as the world navigated and escalated. But his remains being left behind was just one more piece of evidence, one more strike against the Ascendeds’ actions and intervals - he shook his head at the mess; withholding whatever growl managed to segment its way into his form, the granules rough and sullen. Was it worth it? he wanted to ask, understanding as much as she the drive, the need, the longing for the summits and peaks, the rivers of ice and snow, the glaciers, the hollowed, hallowed sanctions of everything he’d once devoted his entire life to. “We will get there.” He paused, narrowing his eyes, staring at the flames, seditious determination, irreverent tenacity, emboldened and simmering on his tongue. “One way or another.”
and indeed, just think: in many ways, body and soul,
i have been more a battlefield —
There’s a slight smile, conspiratorial in nature that accompanies his reply. A tilt to her head in silent question as she mulls it over too. Mountains, one way or another, but something else seems to tug on Rexanna’s thoughts. “We won’t be able to get into the Greatwood again, I don’t think after this. But that doesn’t mean anyone not Ascended can’t.” A small boon, if they need one. And despite how much Rexanna wishes to have the mountains at her fingertips… Well, she’d love to see them first.
But without eyes? She needs to get that figured out before attempting anything portal related. She sighs lightly, a nod. “We’ve just dug our graves deeper.” She replies uncharacteristically pessimistic before she leans back against her own chair and tilts her head back so her eye-less eyes face the ceiling.
“We want people to befriend us, to think of us like people because we are… But it’s hard when we go and do these things. The blight, especially, since we didn’t know.” She frowns, arms pulling her legs in closer to her. “I’m glad I have you.” A quiet admission though she can’t see him to see how he’ll take it. He hadn’t particularly judged her at any point, not like Jigano had when she had told her she’d Ascended.
Rexanna’s statement hung like a suspended, likely anvil; and for all their intentions, for all their deeds, for all their actions in restoring the Greatwood to some wandering grounds, there was always something else to follow. A back and forth, a give and take, and then nothing – he half-expected it too, along with anyone else the Fae would utter or demand. There would be a price to pay for misdeeds, consequences and repercussions, and though the Penumbra and Sword had dealt with many in past lives and intervals, they had no control, no contortion, no say in these current aspects. “We will see,” was all he could surmise, the predictions already nuanced into the air. The rotation coiled its way into a sigh, a frown, all those dimming platitudes of the mountains and their ranges dissolving; things he’d hoped and craved and longed for thinning within an instant. But Rexanna knew, knew about the way the Ascended were glanced upon, about the blight’s insurgence, about the mistrust laden amongst those within the hollowed sanction. He couldn’t help but agree; for all their proclaimed ignorance, the Voice’s concoctions weren’t going well for her constituents, compatriots, and children; at least amongst those living in their sanction.
He nodded along with her speculation, even if she couldn’t see, avid agreement in the silence – and the slightest inkling of his thawing heart when she unfurled her last statement. The lightest of smiles appeared, touched but incapable of expressing it any other way, eyes downcast as if embarrassed to be singled out – and then he ushered the same. “Let me be clear – I trust you because of who you are, because I know you. That does not go for all Ascended.” They’d had a lifetime of plotting and machinations together, of slaughter, of exposition – a trusted foundation. He proffered no judgment for her, brought them to individual basis. But he didn’t know many of the others well, save for Wessex, and even then, he kept a distance.
and indeed, just think: in many ways, body and soul,
i have been more a battlefield —
A repeat of his previous words, that causes the Penumbra to nod in his general direction. That’s all they can do at the end of the day, is wait… Wait and see, then move on. It does little for her to wallow in the possibilities of what could have and what could not have been. And so she focuses on where his voice comes from, tilting her head as she keeps her arms pulling her legs in tight. The trust that is given is far deeper than her race, and she understands this. But he still hadn’t pushed her away when she’d changed. Not like some of the others she knew.
And for that, that’s all the appreciation she has.
Still, his comment grants a quiet chuckle from her with an understanding nod. “Well, when there’s those of us like Archebold I don’t blame you.” Shoulders rise and fall in a shrug before she shakes her head. “And Lucas for that matter.” Had she had eyes to roll, she would have. “Many of us needed to be reined in.” A brief pause as she considers, arms lifting just enough to brush by the brand on her chest. “I reined Lucas in before he died. He would’ve done anything I asked of him.” A light shrug as if it mattered – when it doesn’t, not anymore.
The wait and see method wasn’t his preferred motive and motion, but without any further knowledge, without any way to crawl through the walls and relish some semblance of freedom, they wouldn’t know how to proceed or move forward. They needed the light of day and the press of action to spurn them all onward, and then go from there. The apprehension and dread had maintained its stoic lobbying in his skull though, residing just behind the other conflagrations and tempestuous, tumultuous convictions. Had there been a time where they had relished a simple, hospitable peace? A repose? An arc, a lifting of the cumbersome shrouds and veils? His eyes flicked back to Rexanna, the frown ever present on his features, clambering back over what had been dim smiles and possibilities of other ventures; harking back to consequences, to the beckoning, unwinding unknown. It was coming for them; they just couldn’t surmise how yet.
The names she rattled off meant little to him though; unknown, either gone or vanquished, arching his brow at the thought pattern of reining the Ascended in. Perhaps it was the Queen who should’ve been required to assemble her own notions of settling and gazing upon what her notions and nuances caused; but that was for another day, another moment, when their efforts spiraled and collapsed. “I am not surprised,” at her efforts towards Lucas; a talent she’d mustered and maintained throughout Helovia, specious in her benedictions, in her ability to peer into another’s depths, to peel away layers, to coax, inspire, and invoke. Behind the tones, there might have been a chuckle, but his gaze lifted off along the darkness traced walls, and the reverberations of time spilling across their gatherings – a time when she could be healed, a time when they could rush off into the mountainous expanse, a time when they could conquer and have the things they’d once honored and cherished once more.
and indeed, just think: in many ways, body and soul,
i have been more a battlefield —
He isn’t surprised at her success in reining Lucas in. Nor is she, if she thinks about it long enough. She’s had the practice, the abilities, the success once before. And for most of it, in that other world, other time, other place, Deimos had been there too. He had been the one to give the orders, had been the one to decide what was best. And he had left it for her, once upon a time, to enact.
Stealing a certain someone named Crowley came to the forefront of her mind, wondering where she had garnered the attention and ability to do such things. At least here? Here she was different. The same Rexanna within her heart, but changed too — like the reaper turned sword. Rexanna has been a siren turned penumbra, and she finds she enjoys this new version of herself far more.
“But anyway, thank you.” She says again, quietly, head tilting up to the sound of his voice. “I should probably rest some, run more scans.” She admits, and he can stay if he chooses — enduring the silence with her. She certainly wouldn’t mind the company.
