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!
He watched Ashe shifted back into a girl and smirked at the sight of her covered in paint. It had been years since he saw her like that, and he found his sentimentality getting the best of him. Seeing her with splotches of paint all over her was an extremely familiar sight. Whenever she painted in the Guild, she would end up wearing more paint than she put on the canvas.
Theea smiled up at Ashe when she was spoken to, glancing back at Kalt, then nodding at the statement, showing her hands as though she hadn’t just covered Ashe in paint. The man smiled down at the girl, bringing his gaze back to Ashe as she got to her feet.
He was about to tell her to stay, not to hide, but her attention was drawn by her mother. A slight frown pulled at his lips, and he turned in the direction of the call in time to see Remi collapse. Ashe’s eyes flicked up to Kalt, and she was heading in a jog towards the commotion before he had a chance to meet the gaze. Leaning down, the man picked Theea up, holding her against him, her sight blocked from seeing Remi.
Kalt narrowed his eyes as he approached, watching those around the fallen man with curious attentiveness. “Why is he sleeping?” The little girl asked, swiveling her head enough to see Remi.
Kissing the side of her head, Kalt rubbed her back gently. ”He’s sick, star,” he said quietly. ”He’ll be okay, though. The others are gonna take good care of him.” The girl just nodded, her eyes wandering around, attention no longer on Remi. That was better. He had no idea what happened to the hawk, but he wasn’t there to be a doctor. One thing he did know was that a crowd made the situation less than ideal.
He would touch his hand softly to Ashe’s back, drawing her attention and jerking his head away from them. Her mother had confirmed that it would be okay, so Ashe probably wasn’t going to stick around for very long. Kalt knelt down and put Theea on the ground when she started squirming. She stepped over to Ashe, looking up at the shewolf, and would take her hand, trying to pull her towards the place where people were making the lanterns. ”Hey,” Kalt said firmly. ”What did I say about using your words?”
Theea sighed through her nose and looked from Kalt to Ashe. “Make a yan… Make a lantern?” She asked. Receiving a firm look from Kalt, the girl tacked on a “please” to the end of the sentence, and the man looked at Ashe with a slight smirk.
You can't take back the cards you've dealt on this
long and lonely road to hell
the throne must be such a sad and lonely place
He shouldn’t have come – he could feel it in his bones, stifling his lungs, causing him to take a few steps back from the crowd, from the rushing throng of the unknown, of the ignorance, plunging confusion and ignorance back into the bastion. If you aren’t here to remember the dead, then leave washed over his senses, and he became just one more interloper, trespasser, looking on as the rest of the chaos spread. The Reaper’s eyes might have widened, taking in every sight, every sound, every scene, but was utterly incapable of doing much of anything; the world was a sea of red and shadow, cloaked and daggered, the flickering rain, the heat of a thousand embers, and he choked down the bile rasping, clawing, its way down his throat. He knew loss like the back of his hand, had loomed and brooded in its wake for what felt like an eternity, one binding tether after another, and they never blurred together, but seethed and tormented in a raging mass. You didn’t do anything would cut and slash its rough tenors along his brain, and he’d agree, he’d fall to his knees and admit he’d been a useless, ineffectual son, a poor beloved, a shadow when he should’ve triumphed, conquered, and destroyed. You were too late was a tattoo across his chest. You were worthless was an anthem of his livelihood; a sword in his heart, a rhythm to movement and motion. The savagery and nefarious endeavors were only a side effect, a motivation, past the brambles and thorns stuck in his side – he could picture them all, warriors and scholars, healers and titans, lords and ladies, stifled and fallen, gone to wisps of ash and sand; too late, too late, too late. The promises had never meant a damn thing; all the uncontrolled elements festered in his hands, their blood might as well have been riddled and rankled across his palms. He didn’t truly need lights in his eyes to remember them; they were always there, a shift in his schema.
Deimos swallowed down the treacherous, looming convictions; thought about preparing a hundred lanterns for the deceased in his wake, in his memories, in the spine-tingling visions erupting from his skull, when the commotion continued brewing. Remi fainted; he’d crumbled, and the beast had missed it all, but there were others circling around his feet, and he backed off again, more hindrance than assistance. His brow quirked, and he wondered what to do – the calculating airs had no place here, in this woeful land of the unknown, shaded and jaded, and he was out of his element (nothing to stab, nothing to maul, nothing to obliterate). The piercing slate of his gaze wandered to Rexanna, then towards the one who’d proclaimed the factors surrounding the lanterns – he wanted to know more, to understand something, to be more than dead weight and uselessness in the crowded sanction, surrounded by ghosts, phantoms, and poignant, eerie trepidations. Was there somewhere he could prepare a lantern? Was there anything he could do besides stand amidst the rabble and ruin?
Photo and Table by Time Photo taken at Hero's Square in Budapest, Hungary
Also brief mentions of Wessex ;D Captain Clueless continuing to report for duty.
Ashe met her mother’s gaze and nodded at her smile, then darted her gaze down to Remi. She glanced about, searching for Devrum in the crowd - he’d be strong enough to get him out - but didn’t see him. She looked back down to her mother, to the shapechanger that had become something of a brother. The assassin’s fingers began pulling at loose threads on the edge of her cloak as she carefully eyed the healer - stranger. The flare of paranoia was absurd, she knew, but she couldn’t help the way her lip feathered, questioning who he was, what his motives were. Master was dead - there was no one directly targeting her family anymore. She hoped.
Ashe heard his soft steps in the grass only in the very same instant she felt his touch on her back. She sucked in a breath and flickered her eyes up to find Kalt urging her away. She furrowed her brow and glanced back at Remi, at her mother. Remi was alright, he only fainted, and she was not a needed presence. She looked out into the shadows beyond the expanse of soft lanterns and leaned that direction, her fingers ripping off one of those loose threads sharply. Time to go.
Suddenly a small hand slipped into hers.
Ashe’s eyes popped open wider and she glanced quickly down to the dark-haired little girl that was tugging at her. Kalt’s daughter. She looked up at the sound of Kalt correcting the little girl, and she looked back to meet the wide blue eyes of the little girl. The assassin blinked in surprise and managed a brief smile at the invitation, but she flashed her eyes up to Kalt uncertainly. ”I.. Should go,” she said to him.
She glanced back at Vervain then, and her blood turned to ice when she realized her mother had never known about Kalt, never heard about him. Ashe had never truly talked about what her life was in the Guild to… anyone.
Ashe reached up and wiped the back of her hand over the paint smeared on her face, and her hand came away covered in bright and vibrant color. A hint of a smile flickered at the corners of her lips. She cast fire-blue eyes down to the little girl that still held her hand, and then back to Kalt, back to her mother and Remi. Time to go.
She looked back at the child that still held her hand, and she gave her a soft smile in spite of herself. ”I’m very bad at that sort of thing,” she said to her. ”I’m sure you’d make a better one without me.”
A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets
Edrei and the newcomer could flirt all they liked - Ronin resisted the urge to smirk and roll his eyes. Instead he settled his attention wholly on Amalia (and by extension Jorseval , but it wasn't a choice he actively made). His blue eyes grew interested as she spoke of the lanterns, gazing past her to the glowing things attached to one of the posts. To remember the Old Gods... Were they related to what she had been singing, then?
All at once, though, she was offering them food, and damn if it didn't look appetising. "I mean, if you don't mind," he murmured, mentally packing that information away for later. Four loaves... four Gods?
"So can anyone make a lantern?" he asked curiously, moving to kneel beside her and examine the bread. "And what of these Old Gods...? I'm not from... well, here. I don't know anything about them."
[ I know I'm super late to this but please anyone come and hang out with Rory! I skimmed the thread so I know the gist of what's going on but I'm not 100% sure who is near who so I'm just sticking him with Wessex for now... ]
Rory had long ago stopped making a lantern for his father.
He had never met the man anyway; he'd just grown up with stories of a husband who was down-to-earth and not very forgiving, but not altogether bad. Rory had often imagined him to be like the father of his best friend—the closest he'd come to a male role model, really—but the older he got, the more he realized that the two had likely been nothing at all alike.
No, Rory did not make a lantern for his dead father. Yet he hung two from his stakes, both made from thin and carefully cured goat hides stretched over a metal frame. Their shapes were whimsical, the hides painted with swaths of soft colors, mixing and blending like the night sky. Painstakingly he had jotted down some of their constellations with bright white pigment. Candles burned within, giving them the appearance of being pieces of the night sky brought down to the surface.
Gently, he touched the chain from which one hung. His sister was somewhere else in the crowd—it had been many years since they'd hung theirs together. He still wasn't sure how he felt about that, although it'd largely been his choice.
And of course the Outlanders came, in droves, unaware of what was going on—some were louder, some were thoughtful. Rory's eyes, bright and blue and intense in the lantern-lit dark, watched them with uncharacteristic cold and wariness. Most of the time he did not mind them, but here they were treading upon something sacred, and Rory ill liked the way some of them moved.
It made him feel sick and sad and worried, afraid to leave his lanterns lest someone's lack of care knock them over; his palms were sweaty and his pulse fast and light.
This was not who he wanted to be.
And yet, he did not want this moment ruined; perhaps he had himself to blame, for not having told them of the upcoming festival.
Slowly Rory left this lanterns, gravitating towards the fire, towards the voice of authority, the one speaking what likely many of them felt. He found himself standing beside Wessex, at war with himself. "I don't like this," he said quietly to the Ascended woman, fidgeting with the hem of his worn greatcoat.
If he’d had his druthers, Koel would avoid parties and festivities of any kind. They’d been seemingly omnipresent in Northaven: every single event had required some sort of ridiculous ball or gala or even more pretentious gathering. Weddings had been the worst—what with that dumb rule about having to marry—but honestly, the people of his old world hadn’t seemed to mind as much as he did. So, while the conditions under the bubble were harsh, in one way he was glad that he was no longer forced to suffer through the ridiculous niceties of Northaven.
He should’ve known he wouldn’t be that lucky. It seemed this new world had its own share of traditions and customs. Luckily, he was no longer obligated to go, so he was fully intending to stay away. He even had the perfect excuse: recuperating from lingering injuries sustained during exploration. However, as the lights had started flying into the sky and the sounds of revelry had drifted through the ruins, he’d stirred, something deep within him needing a connection. He felt like he hadn’t talked to anyone, not really, not since he first came here, to awash in pain and wallowing in his ongoing grief over his losses.
Perhaps it was time to change that. So, despite his reservations, he’d hobbled his way over to the gathering. When he arrived, he hovered by the edges of it—simply taking in the scene and observing those present—before deciding that even he, introverted as he was, probably should make an effort to talk to people. But he didn’t want to talk to people he knew; they’d want to talk about where he’d been, and fret over him, and generally he wasn’t in the mood for serious conversation tonight.
Besides, he still hadn’t gotten to know these natives—or, at least, hadn’t found a way to communicate effectively with them—so he wanted to see if he could rectify that. Spotting unfamiliar faces in Wessex and Rory, he limped over to them, as friendly a smile as he could manage on his face. It wasn’t very, and it slipped away soon enough. Koel wasn’t good at smiling. ”Evening, folks.” At least his voice came out smoothly enough; if nothing else, managing the ridiculousness of bluebloods had taught him to be polite.
12-21-2018, 04:55 PM (This post was last modified: 12-21-2018, 05:12 PM by Loren.)
Loren almost hadn’t gone. He wasn’t a people person, and he didn’t like large groups—the probability something would go wrong seemed exponentially higher the more individuals were added to the mix—so there wasn’t really anything that would’ve brought him out to this party even under normal circumstances. Beyond that, his circumstances were anything but normal. He’d been avoiding his family like the plague ever since he’d broken with them. Edy, at least, would be in the thick of things at this, no doubt being her usually carefree and reckless and destructive self.
But as he’d been sitting in the Atheneum, once again making an effort to figure out where the books had come from and what it actually possessed, he’d come to the realization that if he stayed away because of the Launceleyns, he’d be letting them win. And not once in his life had Loren ever allowed his family to beat him. So instead, he’d steeled his spine and marched out to where the lanterns were flying. He didn’t really know what to expect, but the array of lanterns was dazzling and frankly a bit disorienting. They made a patchwork of light and shadow that made it difficult to see anyone, made him think there were people and things were there weren't’, and made everyone’s form indistinct. In short, he basically hated all of this, but hopefully his eyes would adjust.
Craning his head, Loren hoped to spot Remi—unknowing that his lover had fainted—but failed. He did, however, see Edy, and immediately ducked his head and walked in the opposite direction. Unfortunately, he was so focused on getting away from his relative that he nearly bowled someone over. "Oh! Sorry miss, I didn't see you there." His cheeks burned as he stumbled backwards, away from Asavvi. Unsurprisingly, he'd made a fool of himself, but it was hardly the first time and he really didn't care about a stranger's opinion of him.
Fire and festivals? Yeah, no, Elyna wasn’t going to go, since both of those things annoyed her and one of them was one of the fire things that could actually destroy her. Her kind were tough and nearly immortal, but a stray spark might do her in. However, everyone else seemed to be out there, and she’d yet to see a party that didn’t end in disaster, so after her initial internal refusal, she’d relented.
Honestly, the main reason she was going was so she could snoop. She didn’t trust these naturals as far as she could throw them (which, with some of them, was quite far, scrawny as they were) and she couldn’t help the nagging feeling that they either knew more than they were telling or they were responsible for the Northaveners plight. Of course, her investigative technique was to annoy people until they tried to fight or kill her, then follow that lead, so that required her to, you know, talk to people.
So talk to them she would: this shindig was at night, so she would be at full strength and not crippled by the sun. Speeding over there, she’d halt in the shadows, eyes scanning the crowd, easily picking out who was who. Seeing as she had no friends—and no desire to make any—she didn’t have to say hello to anyone. Instead, she picked out likely targets. Wessex and Rory (though she didn’t know their names) might have been useful, since she’d engaged with them before, but that birdbrained former Overseer was with them. The man would no doubt object to her questioning, since he seemed like the type. The self-righteous overly masculine annoying fucker type, that is.
Instead, she’d approach the strange looking women who similarly seemed to be holding themselves apart. Tae and @grusha weren’t known to Elyna—not that it mattered to her, since she wasn’t intimidated by anyone—but hopefully they’d know something. Not bothering to slow down, she ran over to them, appearing before them in a rush. ”Hey. What’s this all about?” As always, Elyna’s voice came out gruffly, but she wasn’t actively being unfriendly. Maybe she could learn.
The way the colour rushes up Amalia's cheeks makes the teenager grin, and Edy lets her eyes once again roam over the landscape of Amalia's changing expression. It isn't that she enjoys making anyone uncomfortable, moreso she likes making them feel anything. Usually it's just annoyance, but the coral colours on the woman's face indicates that even if her mind is uncomfortable, at least some part of her is enjoying this.
As Sarya appeared, Edy grinned wickedly. "Well, well, well." She purred in response, flashing her former drinking-companion a sultry wink. "Something about the dead, I think." She replied with a lazy shrug of her shoulders. At least that's what she thought she heard Wessex yelling. She couldn't really be sure. Amalia's answer is a much better description, and Edy nudges Sarya gently with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. She should clearly just leave her lips to do other things, rather than explaining away traditions she clearly doesn't understand.
With a grin, Edy accepts a chunk of bread and immediately pops it into her mouth. "Oh yeah?" She asks curiousily. "And...they like that sort of thing? Do they come down and eat it? or....?" Knowing basically nothing about gods, it did seem a bit strange that they needed to be fed as if they were farm animals or something. Still, the bread tasted delicious and Edy supposed that if she were a god, she would like to be fed.
Glancing at Ronin, Edy popped another piece of bread into her mouth. "Why? You gonna make a lantern Cap? " She chuckled with a shit-eating grin.
A few turn to pay attention to her, but alas, she is neither physically imposing nor important enough to warrant actually anyone actually listening. So she silently seethes, letting her already present resentment towards these ignorant foreigners simmer and bubble some more. Her hands slowly curl into fists, jaw clenching as her words are ignored.
This isn’t right.
At least she isn’t alone in thinking it.
Another native approaches her, one she’s familiar with due to his trade, but not exactly friendly. Rory, the leather guy.They have a working relationship, in that their product/customer knowledge of each other works for Wessex and she doesn’t want anything more. Normally she’d be curt, business-like, maybe even move away, but right now they’re on the same team. Naturals against the World. “I don’t like them,” she hisses back quietly, eyes narrowing towards the revelers. Those fists begin to uncurl, trading immediate anger for a something farmore calculated, as the hand between them begins to move towards the knife at her hip...
Before she can do anything even remotely destructive, an Outlander begins to hobble towards them, prompting a low growl from the back of the Ascended’s throat. Ugh. Fine. This isn’t a night about her personal preferences, it’s about something bigger, yadda yadda yada… She’s still tempted to hiss at Koel like a feral queen, but a glance towards Rory keeps her quiet. She doesn’t need clothes anymore, but he doesn’t know that, and his skill makes her look badass, so… don’t piss off the guy who keeps you from being naked. Though that might be something to try one day… see what kind of effect it has on Natural and Outlander alike (she has a feeling there are some carefully hidden deviants amongst both groups).
Instead, she grunts a barely recognizable “Evening,” towards the Outlander.
Wessex was hardly the woman he'd go to for sympathy, ever. While he wasn't going to go so far as to doubt that she expressed emotions in private, he certainly wasn't ever going to assume that she'd have time for his random bullshit.
But this wasn't about something like that. This was about their festival, and the horde of people drifting between their lanterns, like moths drawn to the flames. Rory tried, to see the best in them, to see only the curiosity, the desire to learn, and to not feel like a foreign object to be studied; his lanterns did not hang there for their amusement. His hands, without a pony's mane to work themselves into, kept moving, always. His fingers wound around each other, or picked at the edges of his worn coat, but aside from their ceaseless movements and the groove between his eyebrows nothing else gave his anxiety away.
"There's not a whole lot we can do about them," he responded in a low voice; another note of anxiety threaded its way through the words. Short of outright trying to slaughter them, there just wasn't any way to get rid of them, and at most other times, Rory liked some of them far too much to want to off them all. He just didn't want them among their lanterns. He didn't want them at a Festival they did not understand. He wanted them to go away and become a problem for another day.
But Wessex looked vicious in the firelight.
Fortunately, the limping approach of one of the interlopers seemed to stall her. She still looked wild and indomitable, a predator hiding her teeth in the middle of an unsuspecting flock, but not quite coiled to spring at them anymore.
The stranger headed straight for them, and though his smile was brief his voice seemed genuine enough, if a bit disused. "Evening," Rory responded, pleasantly surprised that Wessex spoke her own gruff greeting rather than beheading the man. "You are hurt?" It was half-question, half-statement, directed at Koel.
Asavvi
My mind, my body, my soul
Only feels good standing out in the cold
Her assumption seemed to be accurate and Desmond welcomed with bright eyes and a warm smile. It dulled the edge of her unease to have found someone with such a calm manner in the face of so many strangers. She had been trying to learn the ins and out of this new land and the man aided with his explanation of the lanterns and by extension the gathering. Asavvi wondered if she should light a lantern for her family. They weren’t dead—she couldn’t believe that they were dead—but they were almost certainly lost to her, and even with that truth trying to work its way into her heart, she wouldn’t let herself grieve. Not yet.
She made to send a polite smile of thanks toward Desmond, but he was already turning, moving away to assist a man who seemed to be having trouble breathing. Feeling her muscles tense, Asavvi watched the small flurry of aid that converged on the man as he collapsed; Desmond and a dark-haired woman taking the lead in aiding Remi. She had no medical training, and so backed off, giving them space to tend to man and was happy for the excuse to do so, but in turning to move away from that cluster of festival-goers, Asavvi spotted the familiar form of s dark-skinned teenager.
She felt her chest give a shuddering little start of excitement at the sight of Edrei. It wasn’t exactly a pleasant feeling but for a moment Asavvi thought to go to her before noticing that the vivacious spark of a teenager was clearly eyeing up another girl. Even as soon as her foot had moved to take a step toward Edy, Asavvi made herself stop. The spike of jealousy was sudden and completely foreign to her experience that the girl froze where she stood. It had felt so good to be held that she’d almost convinced herself that there was something more, something meant. Obviously, said the vicious little voice in Asavvi’s head, that feeling hadn’t been mutual. That is exactly why it had been a mistake.
She didn’t panic, didn’t run, but there was a perceptible change in her manner. Her open curiosity about the event and its attendees had retreated behind a serene mask that wasn’t unpleasant but a great deal less engaging. Asavvi’s arms pulled up from tensing shoulders to cross defensively across her midriff. With her only bit of conversation sidetracked by a timely interruption it was easy to step aside and start moving away only to be brought up short by a body colliding into hers.
The man stumbled back, already apologizing as Asavvi steadied herself. With a handful of rough-and-tumble siblings, she was used to them bowling into her unexpectedly and wasn’t easily wrong-footed. “That’s quite alright, I should have been more careful. Her eyes were borderline cold, body righting into a closed off posture—arms crossed—already determined as she was to get as far from this gathering as she could manage. Asavvi didn’t want to be given a reason to linger here.
Cel frowned gently as the peaceful festival seemed to take a turn slightly for the worse. She didn’t know what the meaning of all of the lanterns was, but she also knew that she didn’t really care all that much then and there. It was beautiful, serene, and it appeared to be a way for everyone to join together and celebrate together.
Something that she had noticed about this world, as strange and foreign as it might have been, was that there was no apparent hierarchy between them. It was such a pure thought, and she truly hoped that it wasn’t just what it looked like from the outside.
Her attention was drawn from Alistair to Remi as he collapsed, but there were already too many people surrounding him, so she stayed back. Then, the main fire billowed as one of the Ascended women threw alcohol into it. She made it clear that the newcomers weren’t welcome in her eyes, and Cel felt herself grow uneasy.
Remembering the dead… So that was what this festival was for. She did that almost nightly back in Northaven for her husband until Archebold had begun to fill that void, fill the emptiness that had been left inside of her. She glanced around to look for him, but not seeing him in the initial scan, opted to depart. The young woman already felt that she didn’t belong here, and the woman by the fire gave her an excuse to leave, so that’s just what she did.
your battle-worn tongue doesn't say the truth anymore
that you are ruined
There appeared to be so many things happening at once. Her eyes lingered on Bastien as he responded to her, offering him an easy smile while he introduced himself – his hand finding his chest in the gesture. She nodded her head to him lightly. “Pleased to meet you Bastien.” She said quietly, turning her attention to the gathered crowd and a strange woman approach it, dump the alcohol into it and chant over the fire about how they’re for remembering the dead. Her eyebrows raised briefly, and she turned to look back to Archebold and Bastien with a small shrug of her shoulders. “Suppose that answers that?” She responded, looking back to the lanterns with interest.
She still refrained from touching them, but curiously she wondered what they meant. Did the one nearby her with the boats on it mean the person fished? Or did they simply like boats? However, she turned to look and see as others made more lanterns when she spotted Remi being rushed away. Her brows furrowed slightly and she hoped she was okay, but didn’t rush to do anything. It seemed as though there were enough people there to take care of him, and she didn’t need to get in the way. She’d seek him out later and see how he was doing.
So she turned her attention back to the crowd that was around her, offering them a kind grin, returning to Bastien’s earlier question. “I, too, just arrived not long ago. Fell right on in.” She offered a kind laugh in response.
