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!
Roana may have technically quieted herself in public - she didn't really have any authority anymore - but she was still very visible in the community. She took it upon herself to make rounds around the little settlement they were building. Security was what she knew and excelled at so there seemed little reason for her to try and pursue anything else. Not to mention she was one of the few who came through with their weapons. The broadsword on her back was standard issue. The claymore on her hip, Krosis, even to the untrained eye was something special.
She always had her named, enchanted blade on her hip, prepared to jump into battle at any moment should she need to. But today her rounds had been boring. Which was good. She wanted her rounds to be boring. That meant people were safe for the time being. So she concluded her rounds and headed back to the small home she shared with her sister in law Phoebe and three sons. Everyone knew they could always come to her with an issue after all. She didn't need to be out and about all day and night.
The sword is a shiny thing, and much like a magpie, or a starving child standing before a pile of sweets, Wessex is drawn to it. Any warrior worth their salt (and bread, butter, and bacon) would be. The woman who wields it is of significantly less interest… not nearly as striking as the last Outlander woman she came in contact with.
What is intriguing is that this one seems to be a creature of habit. Wessex has stalked her for a couple of nights now, flitting from shadow to shadow, rooftop to rooftop, taking her sweet time. This strike won’t be ruined with surprised Ascendants popping out of dark corner unexpectedly. She’s learned her lesson. As Roana passes beneath her, the tawny woman drops from the top of a decrepit house and lands quietly on light feet. Purposefully behind her target, Wessex applies her preternatural speed in hopes of getting her knife out and into the small of the woman's back before she can turn around.
Surprise. Guess it won’t be a quiet night after all.
The only warning Roana got was the sound of the knife being drawn from it’s sheath. But before she could turn, she felt the pressure of it’s tip pressing into her back. The former captain stilled, but did not panic. Years of training had prepared her for this sort of a situation. More importantly, she could not afford to be rash. She had three little boys waiting on her back home. They needed their mother in the absence of their father.
Her hand tightened on the hilt of her claymore, where it had been resting while she walked. ”What sort of person pulls a knife on a single mother of three?” she said dryly, eyes forward. Filth. That was the sort of person. Moving would get her stabbed in the back if she wasn’t careful. ”I’ve nothing to give you so why don’t you go back the way you came and no one gets hurt?” she said, calm, cool, and collected as always.
At least this one doesn’t reek of fear. Wessex licks her lips a little, an action that is just as predatory regardless of being seen or unseen. It’s the feeling of it, the smooth, sharp edges under her tongue that sends a shiver of power up and down her spine.
She chuckles, maintaining a pointed connection with the Outlander. Wessex could care less that this women has children - how many of her own kind have died in the midst of adolescence. Honestly, killing her might be what’s best for the Naturals, might be a blessing in disguise for her unfortunate whelps. Newsflash, lady, having unprotected sex and reproducing doesn’t give you some special status. She hisses back, “What kind of person forgets to ask if they can live on someone else’s land?” Greedy, self-absorbed, inflated folk, that’s who. Time to take one down a notch.
“Your sword,” Wessex murmurs, nudging the tip of the sheath with a toe. “Give it.” Roana might feel a chilly breath on her neck, or the slight movement of her hair. Wessex is ready for a fight, ready to wrap a hand in the woman’s locks and yank her oh-so-brave head to one side. The plan is still forming, but the Ascended is currently torn between drinking from her and just snapping her neck. Call it population control - this bubble is only so big, and there aren’t enough resources for everyone. Wessex is a lion in human form, she’d just be doing her job by culling the herd.
”The sort that didn’t choose to come there in the first place.” Roana said calmly, though she was a bit irritated. ”None of my people wished to come to this place any more than your people wished to have us. Should we not seek friendship rather than vengeance? We could help each other.” Even with a knife pointed to her spine, Roana was a soldier through and through. Trying to de-escalate a situation was as close to second nature as quickly dispatching an enemy. You had to be able to do the former if you were going to be around hot-headed soldiers all day. If this woman was mad about her sudden appearance, there was nothing she could do about it but offer to ally rather than war.
But then she asked for her claymore.
Roana frowned, brows furrowing. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the hilt of Krosis as tightly as she could. ”No. This is all I have left of my father’s legacy. You cannot have it.” she said firmly. Already she was thinking about how she could get out of this. She couldn’t see the person behind her, but she did not think they were human. They had snuck up too quietly, too quickly…and she felt too much like a mouse under the paw of a lion. An ascended perhaps? At night she couldn’t out run or out muscle one. Even her grip on the sword was basically useless. All she could do was try to have them see reason. ”One such as yourself has no need for a weapon anyways. Are you not powerful enough as you are, an ascended?” she said, hoping to find out for certain what this person was.
And here’s the true point of Wessex’s loathing: the Outander woman continues to justify their actions rather than own up to it. It doesn’t matter that they didn’t want to be there, they knew there were other people living there, and rather than approach and ask permission, they took and took and took. Wessex hisses, potentially blowing cold air on Roana’s neck. That’s all the answer she needs, isn’t it - no human can exhale at that temperature.
Wessex won’t engage her in argument. That’s the fatal flaw in all the movies she’s never seen; rather than just doing the deed, rather than demanding and taking, villains (and the occasional hero) stops to talk, loses their focus, yadda yadda yadda. This isn’t a movie - movies don’t exist here, and neither do fairytales, where wrongs can be righted with a simple ‘let’s be friends instead’ request. This is Caido. There are monsters in the night. Monsters with swords, monsters with dicks, monsters without morals, and monsters you think are friends.
“If I have to tell you again, I will follow your scent to your home…” Her head moves to snake closer to Roana’s, reaching out with her tongue to lick the woman’s neck if she doesn’t move it. She may not want to, who knows. “... and I will hurt whoever is there.”
Oh she moved her head. Roana was not into that, especially not when the most precious thing she owned and the most precious people in her life were being threatened. She jerked her head away, scowling. Krosis was undoubtedly priceless to her, but there was no object in this world she would not sacrifice to keep her children safe. Not a single thing. Still, as she released her grip on the claymore, her hands shook. "Fine. Take it." she said her voice shaking with emotion. Anger. Remorse. Loss. Pain. This was like being asked to choose between her father, her heritage...and her children.
She wasn't the best mother, but she was a good one.
Then and only then did she turn her head to steal a glance at the woman who would take her inheritance. Roana memorized her features with a glare, blue eyes alight with rage. This would not be the end. Oh no. She would get her sword back. Her children would be safe. And if this bitch had to die to make it happen, so be it.
“Good girl,” Wessex cooes, before taking the large blade and scabbard off Roana’s hip. She does so in a strangely gentle manner, knowing a good blade when she sees it. Its particular properties are unknown to her, but there is something special about it, maybe it tingles a little bit in her hands, or it’s just an inkling - for there aren’t many blades like this in Caido. Wessex would know, she’s fought tooth and nail for every serious weapon she’s ever had. They’re a commodity in this vicious world.
Whether or not her victim sees her is debatable. Maybe she sees the shock of blonde hair, her pale skin, the flapping of a cloak with its hood down. Wessex doesn’t linger once she’s got the claymore in her hands, turning quickly on her toes and springing up to the rooftops from whence she came. If there was any doubt Wessex is an Ascended… there shouldn’t be any more.
But her voice? Her voice is undeniable, recognizable even in its whispered hissing. It might invade Roana’s dreams for weeks to come. But hey, at least her brats are safe, right?
