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!
Nothing practical brings her here today. There is nothing to collect here, nothing they can take home, nothing they can eat. At least, nothing tangible anyway, but not all things worth collecting were tangible. Knowledge was power as well, gossip was worth a hot meal and secrets were worth their weight in gold. She only knew of the spire through whispers and mutters, through eavesdropped conversations at the bar. Bars are great places for gossip. Pretend to be drunk, pretend to be an asshole, and people more or less ignore you. They assume you aren’t worth the pot you piss in and ah, look at that, secrets. She’s not a fool, but she knows how to play one.
What a strange thing, she thinks, coming up to the obsidian tower that had been the center of the Grounders lives, if she understood the story correctly, for quite some time. There’d been snippets of stories of blood and loss, of war and rage, of secrets and stories. The snippets were not enough to piece together the price paid to open the Spire, to begin to open the world again. She ought to be thankful for those that spilled their blood here, she supposes, of her life might have forever consisted of Halo and nothing more. As of yet though, she still doesn’t know if a larger world is good or bad. Halo had enough dangers. Did she really need more?
Yet in two days she’d gathered more resources than Halo could provide in a year. There was possibility out here, and her bones sang with it. Halo was home, but even that was shifting and changing, an outsider and an Outlander sitting at the helm pretending to be King (perhaps he would earn the title in her head one day, but she didn’t answer to a King she didn’t trust).
Weaver circles the Spire like a predator, not afraid, but simply appraising. There is a staircase leading up and down, but she doesn’t enter. She isn’t here to die, simply to see, to examine, to put pictures to the pieces of the stories she has gathered. There’s no real purpose to her exploration, it is merely that, exploration. Occasionally she’s entitled to spend a few minutes living and not merely surviving, after all.
That’s one thing they can all agree on. Bars are a great place to get the downlow of everything. Only Sunjata has had the benefit of not being the one pretending to be drunk – just the one inhabiting the abilities of loosening lips. It’s been made harder with his sickness as of late, and the unexpected results of the wedding, but… He’s here, out for some air, venturing to the Spire in the wonders of whether or not slipping through is something he wants to do. But gods how he hates the cold, how he hates the snow.
And right now? It’s hot as hell in the Hollowed Grounds. He gets away with a sleeveless shirt, all his tattoos on full display, steel eyes slightly less haunted than they had been in recent days as he still tries to get used to the ring on his finger. It’s heavy, enchanted nonetheless, and part of him at times wants to shy away from wearing it out in public, having never expected it to be there in the first place.
He doesn’t, but the thought is tempting.
Just like as he steps closer to the Spire, gaze lingering on it as his arms start to partially shift with deep navy feathers, casting a shadow of sorts as he approaches. He doesn’t see anyone else around at first, but the closer he gets, he suddenly spots a woman that almost appears to be circling it. He has almost a foot on her, and he halts before the Spire – peering up at it before looking over to her almost in some form of nonchalance.
“It’s a bit ugly, if I’m being honest.” He rumbles by way of greeting, gesturing to the broken Spire that sticks out like a sore thumb among the rest of it. But it’s all kind of drab and pitiful here in the Hollowed Grounds, is it not?
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
It may be hot as hell, but she’s still dressed largely like a Halovian. She’d traded in the thick wool of her usual clothing for something lighter, acquired in the marketplace here with a few fat birds. Her skin isn’t used to such brutal sun though and as such, she’s kept it largely covered beneath pants and long sleeves. The cut of her top is low though, a thing she can’t resist when given the opportunity. Not too low, but rather just low enough to encourage the mind to wander. Things were more tantalizing when you only gave away the barest glimpse of them. The wing of an ink-black bird peeks above the collar-line of her shirt, but the rest of it is hidden beneath fabric. All of her important bits were, after all.
The man who finds her, however, is on semi-full display, though she doesn’t quite realize because his arms are covered in feathers. Attuned, then. Probably, anyway, because most anything was possible in Caido but she usually just hopes that the basics presented themselves in front of her. His height is obvious enough, the man towering over her. She is not tall by any means, but she’s not a midget and it’s a bit unsettling to have to look up at the man that talks to her now with a nonchalance she knows all too well.
It’s the same armor she wears, finding nonchalance to be a rather useful thing to weild. She gives him a wicked, amused sort of grin - not unkind, but playful - as her amber eyes take him in briefly. The ring on his finger doesn’t go unnoticed, but then again, Weaver always looks. It’s presence or lack of it changes her behavior. Not a lot, mind you, but just enough. Weaver is many terrible things, but a knowing homewrecker isn’t one of them.
“Rather phallic,” she says, turning back to the black tower, “So yea, rather ugly.” The amused curve of her mouth is still obvious, not trying to hide behind the joke that probably will only amuse her. “This thing trapped a god? Shitty prison.” Weaver turns her attention to him fully now, because he might be more interesting than the tower with his nonchalance and feather-covered arms. “Weaver,” she offers.
He glances to her as she nears, spots that wicked and amused grin – playful in nature and he returns one easily enough. His gaze returns to the Spire before them while she takes him in, feathered arms folding across his chest, not minding or not caring – either one. But he continues to focus on the Spire, head tilting slightly when she begins to speak, lips curving into a slight smirk as a rumble of a chuckle leaves him. “Gods, true that.” He agrees, accented voice reaching her as he turns his head back down toward her.
The mention of it harboring the Voice, though, has him nodding as she goes to turn back to him far more fully – and he turns to face her a bit more fully as well, abandoning the feathers that coat his arms – unsure why they’d appeared in the first place, though there is much to learn about his new abilities and forms… When he’s not quite so sick, dealing with a very awkward marriage situation, and the rest of it all.
“She stayed in it for something like three hundred years?” He offers, though the smirk curving his lips remains as he takes her in as well, the briefest edges of a tattoo along her skin as well. Perhaps they’d get along well after all. And when she gives him her name, he inclines his head to her. “Sunjata.” He glances back to the Spire briefly before his steel gaze returns to Weaver.
“I’ve only been in it once to go to Halo. Other than that I mostly steer clear.” He offers, crooked smirk returning. “What about you?”
rely a bit too heavily on alcohol & irony
BASE INSPIRED BY ODD <3
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
01-12-2020, 04:59 PM (This post was last modified: 01-12-2020, 05:01 PM by Weaver.)
She laughs at his response, glad to find the man had the same terrible sense of humor as she did. His voice is accented, something she doesn’t think belongs to the Hallowed Grounds and he was not, by the looks of him, a Fae. Outlander then, she assumes, though really here she was the outlander, in a sense. A native to Caido, sure, but having been trapped in Halo until very recently the rest of Caido was still a mystery to her. She’d spent some time here recently first and foremost gathering, hunting, and collecting things she could not so easily get her hands on in Halo. Secondarily though, she was simply gathering information, history, an understanding of what had been happening in the world that had been barred to her until recently.
The feathers disappear from his arms, and she can see the tattoo on his shoulder now, the wing that trails down it. Well well, apparently they had similar taste in ink. Between that, his humor, and the easy demeanor that he wears she suspects they might get along just fine. That, or try to kill one another. Weaver tended to live in extremes like that, being the sort of person that tended to elicit extremes from others. You loved her or hated her, and there was very little in between.
“I wonder if that only feels like a blink to a god, though. What is three hundred years when you live forever?” she asks, though she can’t fathom it. She was not ascended, not ageless, not damn hard to kill. She was lucky, mostly, when it came to being alive, because that’s all living was - a gamble. There was a fifty fifty shot you’d wake up each morning and make it through the day.
He mentions that he has only been in once. “Same,” she offers, willing to give information in return for information freely offered. “Though I was coming from Halo. I suppose soon it’ll be twice so I can go back.” She was starting to miss home and she was sick of the melting heat and burning sun. The Hallowed Grounds seemed a more pleasant place to live, probably, than Halo, but she loved her home even if it was a frozen wasteland.
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
The question she muses is granted with a brief inhale of breath, head turning back toward the Spire as he squints slightly at it. “I’d imagine it means little.” He agrees, looking back to her with a small shrug. “Aside from plenty of years plotting revenge and trying to perfect it?” At least, had he been trapped in a tower for years, he absolutely wouldn’t have been sitting still. And he wonders if perhaps that’s where the blight came from, a small act of revenge against those that put her there – starting off small and growing bigger and bigger until people reverted to their more primal natures.
But ah, that’d be getting a bit too intense conversation for meeting someone new, wouldn’t it?
A nod is given to her at the mention that she’d be returning from Halo, and his gaze drifts along her again in curiosity. “Compared to Halo this must feel like the fires of hell, hmm?” He crosses his arms along his chest, head tilting briefly. “I gotta say it's just a bit too cold for my tastes. Not a fan of the snow.” A hum of a chuckle leaves him at that, faking a brief shiver before he settles to see what she has to say.
Is she, too, a Natural? Or an Outlander that had the misfortune of arriving on winter’s doorstep.
rely a bit too heavily on alcohol & irony
BASE INSPIRED BY ODD <3
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
”Because we need more plotting from the gods?” her eyebrows quirk with the question. She doesn’t know that they actually mean for things to go awry, but they always seem to. No good deed goes unpunished and all that. Or maybe, for all their time, they do not think to see past the immediate and into the future of what might happen. Or maybe they just don’t care. She doesn’t want to think about what revenge might be in store for a bunch of people that had nothing to do with the past. She’s unaware of the blight, as of yet, but what did anyone in Halo do to deserve revenge? As far as she knows, nothing, because no one had been alive three-hundred years ago. At least none that she knows of.
And yet those left would pay for the crimes of others long dead and buried.
She laughs slightly, pointing to the sweat on her neck which is definitely not what ladies do, but Weaver is not quite a lady. ”I was not aware a person could sweat this much.” she says, entirely unconcerned with whether or not this was just gross. ”When you grow up in the snow and cold you just get used to it. I don’t mind it so much, but it’s normal to me.” She doesn’t mind telling people she was born there, had been trapped there. It explained why she knew so little of what had been going on in Caido outside of Halo all this time, at least.
“Are you from here or elsewhere?” she asks, and the question is just vague enough that it doesn’t quite touch on natural versus outlander. She knew the prejudice. Hell, she felt some of it herself, simply not sure how she felt about a bunch of newcomers in Halo (particularly the ones trying to boss her around). Otherwise though, the truth was that she didn’t much care about the difference. It didn’t seem that important, really. They all lived here now. Granted, though the question was vague there weren’t a lot of 'elsewheres' to be from, because he probably couldn’t tell her he was from the Greatwood and get away with it.
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
“When don’t we?” He offers back with some amusement. He agrees with her – that it’s ridiculous to him that they all must suffer because of something they’d had no hand in. But at the end of the day, they couldn’t change it, it was what it was. And that’s how they all adapted. If the gods wished to wage war, they were simply soldiers within the middle of it all. Casualties at the end of the day. But that’s far too dark of a topic for now, and he looks to her as she points to her neck where beads of sweat rise on her skin.
“You’re wearing too much.” He winks back to her, taking a moment to gesture to the sleeveless shirt he wears, and only a very minimal amount of sweat along tanned skin and a freckled face. But the humor dies a little bit as she comments about the cold and snow, something of which he nods to in a bit of concession. “I’m from a place where this sort of weather was normal.” He offers briefly, to answer the question she asks after.
“I came from a place called Korofi. Fell in here last year.” He shrugs, glancing back to her. “I walked over a threshold between the bedroom and the rest of the house, ended up in the labyrinth.” He squints a bit as he gathers some sort of direction before pointing. “Over in that direction. Was pretty shitty if I’m being honest.” He chuckles with a small shrug.
rely a bit too heavily on alcohol & irony
BASE INSPIRED BY ODD <3
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
It was true that they couldn’t change it. Perhaps this fact should make her less bitter, perhaps she should just resign herself to that truth, but she couldn’t. Weaver didn’t just give in, not entirely anyway. And yet for all her bitterness she would end up playing the game, she knew. It was open to her now, and curiosity and desire were more powerful drivers than bitterness and pouting. Though bitterness, if used correctly, was a powerful motivator as well. Anger had many faces and many uses.
They stick to lighter topics though. “Trust me, I agree.” she says, rolling her eyes toward the scorching sun. “But as it turns out the skin color tomato is not sexy even if you are wearing nothing.” She is envious of the neck lines she could get away with in such heat, of the lack of sleeves that the sun demanded here, and yet still she is covered like a northerner. The fabric is much thinner than anything she would wear in Halo and here she does not wear her usual black cloak with it’s collar of raven feathers, but it is still not the garb of a southerner, not really. “Someday, perhaps, my skin will grow used to this for I envy you.”
Besides, she would look damn fine with a little less clothing on.
The topic shifts just slightly to answer her question, and he tells her where he is from and how he ended up here. She softens, if only a little bit. “Yea, I imagine it was shitty.” That’s about as empathetic as she gets, but she doubts he’s the type looking for pity. “I’ve been avoiding the labyrinth. It does not sound fun.” Getting lost in a place that’s highly likely to eat her didn’t seem like the most fun thing to do when she was hoping to return to Halo in one piece, after all. “What have you done with yourself here? Hopefully it hasn’t all sucked.”
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
As she agrees, there’s a hint of his smirkish smile that turns almost feline at that. And he can’t help the chuckle that leaves him when she mentions that tomato red is not a sexy look. Indeed, it wasn’t, but you got used to it when you were exposed to it a bit more. As evidenced by tanned skin and not patches of red, flaky sunburns. “You get used to it.” He teases back, a consolation to her own agreement. That her skin would grow used to it. “Provided you come down from the mountains long enough to toughen it up.” Another playful tone to his accented voice, before he’s off and gesturing to the labyrinth and the shit that it was.
She agrees that it was a shitty way to arrive, and he nods lightly as she comments that she’s avoided the labyrinth. “If you find your way around and decide to go for it, just ignore the squirrels. They’ll drive you insane.” A small shrug to that. That was probably the most annoying part of the labyrinth. Well, that and the shifting of the trees increasing confusion along the way. But it was what it was, at the end of the day.
The question of what he’s done with himself though, has him pausing as he regards her a bit more. “Well, I made a bar after the last one burned down, among other less than favorable things.” A dark brow raises toward her with that. She seems like the type that might prefer the interior of a place like that.
rely a bit too heavily on alcohol & irony
BASE INSPIRED BY ODD <3
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
“You know,” she muses, “I have realized I rather like my mountains.” There is truth to that statement, but something teasing and playful beneath it as well. “I might need good reason to come back.” Which was now just teasing and no truth. There was plenty of reason to come back, first and foremost the simple fact that there were many more people in the Grounds than there were in Halo. As such there were more trading opportunities, products she could not get at home, some weird Fae festival to attend to, and information to be gathered. It seemed with the portal open that she would likely spend much of her life traveling to and from now, because to stay only in Halo was to limit her opportunities.
Still though, she cannot help but tease.
He mentions squirrels in the labyrinth, and she laughs at that. “Perhaps I should just keep to the Ursurs.” Which was vastly untrue because no one picked an Ursur over an mind-boggling squirrel (unless they were giant or man-eating, both of which were entirely possible). Really though, Weaver had no love for Ursurs. The scar in the shape and size of one of its tusks, hidden beneath her extra clothing and her braid, was testament enough to why.
He pauses, and he seems to be regarding her. Her amber eyes grow curious, a bit more intense, as if she knows there is a test in his next statement. His brows raise as he finishes and she grins slightly, one corner of her mouth curving into something mischievous. “Both things sound rather fun. Though please, please tell me the liquor in your bar doesn’t taste like piss. What I wouldn’t do for a good drink.” Truth. A terrible truth, but a truth.
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
A quiet chuckle leaves him at her thoughts, a slight dip of his head in agreement. “There’s always something to bring a person back.” He jests, smile crossing to something akin to a smirk before his gaze lingers on her once more – talking about the talking squirrels of the labyrinth, of the maze that constantly changes, to lose your mind and get lost within it. “Ack, Ursurs.” He rumbles, feigning a shiver down his spine.
But he regards her carefully, considering her whether she could be trusted to tell the inner workings of a guild that caters toward the less than favorable things. And she seems as though she’d do well with it – given by the mischievous grin that crosses her face. The mention of the alcohol, however, causes a deep hum of a chuckle to leave him. “Ah, much better than piss I can assure you.” He offers, opening an arm to gesture back toward the domiciles.
“Drinks for you today are on the house.” He teases, turning toward her and flashing her a wink over his shoulder toward her, stepping toward where his bar is. It’s not too far of a trek, but far enough to get toward the shelter of the houses surrounding the street, the people bustling out and about to try and capture the sun through the alleys.
rely a bit too heavily on alcohol & irony
BASE INSPIRED BY ODD <3
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
He was right, of course. There was always something to come back for. She only grins at him though, a sideways glance, “Is that right?” It is a challenge with no expectations, the sort of thing you know you can respond to without walking into trouble. The truth about Weaver was that she was far more bark than bite, that she lived to entertain herself and that she believed life was too short to be serious. But she was not all that bad, not really. She was unafraid of the seedier things as long as they felt like the right things to her. She would spy for the sake of her home, if she had to. She would kill for the sake of her life or those she cared about. She didn’t lack a moral compass. She simply didn’t believe that good and bad were all that black and white.
His next statement alone, though, would be enough to bring her back. The Hallowed Grounds could have been literal hell, but oh, booze that tasted good. She didn’t blame Halo for it’s terrible booze. They’d had a lack of the appropriate crops for booze making, really, and she was just impressed there was anything consumable in general. Maybe with the portals open they could import some better booze…
“Oh, be still my beating heart,” she says in an exaggerated manner, leaning back and clutching her chest as if her heart might explode at the mention of free drinks that don’t taste like piss. The gesture is entirely ridiculous and purposefully over the top, for Weaver is often both of these things. Remember, life is too short to be serious. “Lead the way, good sir.”
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
A hum of amusement leaves him as he inclines his head. “Of course. Though the something varies from person to person.” He teases briefly, offering a small wink, leaving it vague as possible for her to decide. But soon enough, he’s explaining about his bar, and the wonders that thrive within it, excited to show her a place that had good alcohol, good food, a place to stay and recoup should she ever come to visit.
She exaggerates and he can’t help the grin that crosses his face at that, beginning to walk toward the VlamVloed, finding that it isn’t too far of a walk from the ebony obelisk that pierces the sky. And soon enough, they arrive, the bar looking not more than a house reimagined, redesigned, but when he opens the doors to reveal the bronze and navy interior, the varying bottles of liquids on the back wall, the booths and chairs along a wonderful wooden bar top, he steps aside to let her in.
She’ll smell the wonderful scent of good food, and he lets her decide where to sit as he moves to the other side of the bar, his griffin Haai darting from her nest that made her appear as some sort of gargoyle, leaving it to land on his shoulders, emerald eyes peering at Weaver through the darkness with a small yip of hello. Sunjata doesn’t notice too much with Haai, a pulse through the companion bond to tell her how he appreciates her being there, before he braces his arm on the bar and peers at Weaver too. “Are you looking for something strong or something for sipping?” A wry smile crosses his face.
rely a bit too heavily on alcohol & irony
BASE INSPIRED BY ODD <3
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
