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!
Weaver asks the good questions, and this is actually something Wessex has thought of, even explained to the youngest of their clan fairly recently. She smiles faintly as she goes on, attempting to toe the line between zealot and matriarch. “It means I protect our Ascended family. I take point on the big things, organize us if She wants us to do something… try to have relationships with everyone, or be around if they need help. I used to be Queen of the Grounds, so I suppose it’s more or less a smaller, symbolic version of that.” She leaves out the part where the Voice needed someone as powerful - or with the potential to be - as the demi-gods of her enemies. Masking the dirty work she’s done under the verbal umbrella of ‘protection,’ the demi-god firmly believes that everything was for the betterment of her kin, if not for the world, and that there will always be casualties to progress.
“Oh I’ve been to Whitebrim. Think one of the guys out there wanted to eat my friend.” Her nose crinkles at the memory; everything turned out fine, but looking back, she kind of wishes there had been a real fight - if they were real cannibals it might serve them right if they ended up getting eaten by their own.
The crowds begin to lessen a bit as they enter a residential area and her eyes are drawn to the houses - nothing like the spread out farmsteads of the Outskirts or the single buildings of the Settlement. She wonders what it would be like to live in all this humanity all the time, but her attention is once again commanded by Weaver and so she listens attentively, nodding every now and then. “Well, useless bits of magic can grow,” she offers, having personally watched several individuals become quite powerful mages. They stop in front a particular house and Wessex doesn’t find it noteworthy in any way, but then unassuming places are often the best places for assuming figures to live.
“I think I’m good. No need to take up any more of your time. I believe this is yours, now -” she slides the three-legged carcass off her shoulders and places it the door to the house. Wessex has every intention of leaving, but a thought occurs to her, so she turns back. “I know you don’t care about the Old Gods, but how to do you feel about the Voice? Purely for a non-Grounders perspective.” It’s important to know what the outside world thinks.
Weaver listens to the answer, noting how nothing of powers or skills that come with being a demi-god get included in that answer. Which is not to say Wessex is necessarily hiding that truth, but rather that it appears she values her role more. Maybe she is just a clever politician in this regard, and Weaver is aware of the possibility, but she doesn’t ask for more details. She had a feeling she’d run into Wessex again and learn more in time. For now, she ponders the idea of an Ascended family. Not because she doesn’t know this is a thing, on some very conceptual level, but because she has never really thought about it or heard someone talk about it. ”A race as a family. What an interesting concept. I take it you like it, though, given that you seem to work hard for them?” She assumes you do not get chosen as a demi-god by being useless, after all.
She laughs as Wessex admits to having been to Whitebrim already, stating that someone wanted to eat her friend. Weaver gives a half nod, with a look of ‘yep’ written all over her face. ”Well then you have seen the worst of Halo. The Fangs are deadlier, but vastly more fun.” She gives Wessex a grin at that, simply listening as the other woman says that magic can grow. Weaver is, of course, well aware. She just needed to do it, and she found herself itching for something that needed time to move much faster. Now that she cared about it, now that she had an opportunity to do something other than hunt and keep them alive, she felt like she needed to make up for all the time she had lost.
”Thank you,” she says as Wessex leaves the luxere at her door. Weaver sticks her head in the house, yelling for her brother with every intention of making him help her with the carcass, but then turns her attention back as Wessex asks another question. Ah, The Voice. The Ascended loved their goddess, it seemed. Samuel had defended his goddess earnestly (not that Weaver had attacked, but had been ambivalent). And now Wessex, curious. ”I don’t care about the old gods because they don’t care about me. Tell me, is your goddess any different?” She pauses for a moment, knowing she was blunt but willing to make the point. ”Though I suppose that’s a very Abandoned view. As for Halovians in general,” she shrugs as she continues, ”you will see the old gods here mostly, but that doesn’t mean anyone dislikes the new ones. We’ve just been a little stuck in the past here.”
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
It’s probably because Wessex has earned her status through fucking hard work that she doesn’t dwell on the power part of being a demi-god. In her mind, it has nothing do with how powerful she was - or will be - and everything to do with her role and future roles within the Ascended family.
Her powers are a way to accomplish those roles and goals, but they don’t define her, other than apparently lending themselves to her moniker. The Wraith. Ok, sure. There are worse things to be called, and she’s probably been called most of them.
Does she like it? A good question. The demi-god shrugs nonchalantly. “They and the Voice are what I have left. Disease took my family and almost took me, and as I’m sure you’re shocked to hear, I’ve never been good at making friends.” She chuckles and quickly runs back over their conversation. Made friends with Weaver, maybe, but neither woman could truly be considered typical. They stand out, though for different reasons. She waves her hand at the thanks, indicating that it’s nothing and a fair trade, as far as she’s concerned.
Weaver, however, doesn’t disappoint with her answer. Crossing her arms loosely over her chest, a soft chuckle tumbles out. “A fair one. I can’t speak for my Lady, but she was Abandoned once, and so is one of our family. The Voice cares for potential, thinks highly of those who would make the jump to shed their Old God shackles.” A small quirk of a smile. “But then it was an easy choice for me. It was death or ascension. And I wasn’t done with the world yet.”
Looking up at the mountains that rise above the Citadel, Wessex closes her eyes in the chilled wind, trying to remember what it feels like to be cooled by the air. “But it took me dying and her bringing me back to cement that loyalty.” Knowing that she dropped a bit of a bomb, but preferring to leave the conversation where it is, Wessex looks back towards the mass of the Citadel market. “Nice to meet you, Weaver. If you ever need anything, give a shout. I can usually be found.” And with that, she strolls off, pleased with her gift and the way the day’s gone.
Her story, or at least the little bit of it that she tells, is not an unfamiliar one. This was Caido, after all, and Wessex was talking to a Halovian. Weaver knows what it is like to have little left, and in truth, she’s lucky to even have Korbin still. It is not uncommon to lose everything, and it is a gift to keep even pieces of what you start out with. Weaver simply nods at the answer, the description of her family as all she has left. You cling to the things still within your grasp, something Weaver understands.
Of all that Wessex tells her next, Weaver finds herself most interested in the fact The Voice was once Abandoned. Abanoned turned God? Now that was interesting. That made her want to know more. Now was not the time, but she stores the information away for the future. That, and the fact that one of their number was an Abandoned now? Color her intrigued. Weaver, after all, has no love for the gods that do not love her.
”Tell your Lady my love is not for the Old Gods, but rather booze and sex. If she can work something out with those things, she might have a few more recruits.” Weaver says with a grin and a slight wink. She’s always been loathe to give up her humanness, those essential bits of pleasure and pain. That’s the only part that turns her off, really, and she supposes that is why she’s one of the few naturals not particularly turned off by the Ascended or The Voice, as so many were.
She opens the door, slipping inside as they say their goodbyes. ”Oh, I’m sure we’ll cross paths, Wessex. You seem like fun.” And with that, Wessex strolls off, and Weaver works on dragging a very large, dead, luxere inside to butcher.
