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!
i'm tired of the weight of mortality, i want to tear it from my veins
until i bleed silver and gold
Once the meeting was over, Rexanna made it a point to try and get Deimos to remain for a few more moments — a comment of militia duties that certainly didn’t mean what she claimed. No, this was more of a friendly meeting, a get together, an update as to why she’s so exhausted all of the time now. And her gaze focuses on Deimos as soon as the door clicks shut and she takes one of the left behind scones from Amalia’s bakery to snack on despite not needing it.
It was nice to fall into those old habits again.
Her green gaze finds Deimos again with a small mischievous grin. “I have some big news to share.” She says quietly, after the moment to pause and swallow the scone she snacks on. “It’s why I look like I haven’t slept in a month.” She teases, despite the fact she hadn’t ever slept in the recent year or so since she’d Ascended.
maybe one day they'll chant our names
and name galaxies after us, and we too shall be eternal
He stalled, lingered, from leaving the fringes of the meeting, kept there by the exhaustion in Rexanna’s stature, by the unknown, by the enigmas, by the surrounding, pervading entities of apprehension beginning their coiling predilections in the center of his ribs. The latter hinged on the frequency in which he presumed the worst – an unfortunate side-effect of all the lives he’d led – and when the final council member left, he arched a brow directly at the Penumbra. The weight of a hundred possibilities mired and rooted itself over his shoulders, elongated his spine so he was ever the rigid counterpart, some days of old impossible to erase.
The mischief embedded along her features left some of the misgivings and doubt behind though, and he eased a sigh from his lungs, pervading into the artist’s sanctum, reaching for a scone himself, before settling back into his chair. It could’ve been like old times, though there clearly was nothing left to plot and devise, to scheme and undermine, their conclusions and plans from before already immersed into his mind – action to begin and instill once the first press of Deepfrost began its chilling chase. “Big news,” he snorted, the arch to his brow remaining. The last time she’d had any big news she’d Ascended, and along the middle lines of those moments had been chasing down monsters during LongNight, becoming impaled, and a host of other conflagrations. “What are you up to now?”
i'm tired of the weight of mortality, i want to tear it from my veins
until i bleed silver and gold
“Big news.” Rexanna repeats with a brightly fanged grin despite her exhaustion. Still she can’t help the snort that leaves her with the question — the implications of what Deimos tells her when it comes down to it. What did she have up her sleeve this time? So she tilts her head a small amount, smile softening into something gentle as she looks to her best friend.
“Bastien and I are expecting a child.” She says quietly, almost beaming despite the dull aura she gives. But she quickly moves on, to avoid the certain question of how that even worked. “We asked the Voice if it were possible, and she’s making us one.” Made. From scratch. Her head tilts up as she lets her emerald gaze scan the ceiling a brief moment, a deep inhale of unneeded breath. “She took some of our strength to make it happen.” Her gaze finds Deimos again, nothing but excitement lingering in her gaze, in her heart.
maybe one day they'll chant our names
and name galaxies after us, and we too shall be eternal
His expectations ranged from mild to severe, an all-encompassing range of Rexanna’s capabilities. The past had treated him to plotlines and machinations, to fortified regimes, to specious, duplicitous cloak and dagger measures, and somewhere along the way he might’ve been half-hoping they were diving straight into another deluge of tempestuous storms.
Which…was not what came out of Rexanna’s mouth.
At the second line, he immediately choked on the scone. His initial reactions were to sputter, cough, and wheeze as the pastry wound its way into his throat, ruining all careful countenances of stoicism or mischief. By the time he’d found a drink to wash it down, his eyes were watering, red-rimmed, bewildered, opened wide merely to stare back at her in obvious confusion. The initial series of questions gaping from his slackened jaw and pulsing wildly through his head were answered by her. Despite the mild insinuations, his face still managed to scrunch into disbelief and uncertainty, shaking his head once or twice, as if the notions and sentiments would suddenly rampage into something whole and tangible. “I thought -,” cutting himself off, because Ascended couldn’t have children, and they’d somehow bartered for one on their strength. No need to sink further into those ruminations. “Is that wise?” came out of his mouth instead, not really stopping despite her aura of excitement.
He was already helping raise one of her offspring, and who knew where the remaining ones were. Though he was dearly devoted to Rexanna, her mothering skills had been left a little wanting in the past – and he cringed at the implications. Maybe Bastien would be able to handle the majority of it. “My apologies. Congratulations.”
i'm tired of the weight of mortality, i want to tear it from my veins
until i bleed silver and gold
The excitement she has within her doesn’t falter are the surprise that crosses Deimos, at the choking on the scone and searching for water, at the watering eyes and the gruffness of Deimos’ voice when he does manage to speak. And honestly? It’s what she expects to hear. But this version of her isn’t the same as Helovia’s version. That branch had split off, had left her here with the tangible memories of Halyven and the destruction there, flickering memories of her time in Helovia as a poor mother who chased after the heart of a man that didn’t have all of his in it.
But Bastien did. He still does. And they soon approach their wedding anniversary, one whole year since. A mark to be made, to be celebrated, and her smile doesn’t falter when he recovers. “It’s something I wanted to try… I gave it up. The option. When I ascended, and yet Bastien knew I wanted to try still.” She murmurs thoughtfully, reaching forward to fill his cup with more water — using a bit of new found magic to help. “He asked her if it was possible, gave us the idea… Months ago. And with Fiat Lux and everything, we planned on waiting. Just to see. But… I don’t know when a better time might be.” She lifts her gaze to him then. “We should be expecting it in the middle of Deepfrost.” Her voice edges a bit softer with this, a smaller smile crossing her face.
maybe one day they'll chant our names
and name galaxies after us, and we too shall be eternal
He took his time in recovering the complexities of his composure, a few easier breaths beyond the sharp inhales, permitting his lungs to remember how to work properly, rubbing the excessive saline out of his eyes. While she spoke again he took the opportunity for more water, arching a brow at it being full once more (something else she was hiding?), listening as he drank down the remains of the scone.
Beyond the notion that it was possible for the Ascended to simply make their offspring away from the atypical normal and foundations, Deimos hadn’t known she’d wanted to try again. That she would’ve strived to achieve another nuance she’d had in Helovia – though with a far more suitable spouse. Bastien, for all he knew of him, seemed responsible compared to the likes of Tembovu or anyone else Rexanna involved herself with. The assertion of waiting for an opportune time was understandable – no moment in Caido seemed quite right. Even those traditionally harbored in some elements of repose had been quickly undone, Fiat Lux forgoing the contented circumstances and heading straight for the rest of the disastrous overtures. The middle of Deepfrost made him wary though, too many other circumstances winding over the edges, meandering their way towards LongNight’s descent. “What did you need to do to acquire it?” For some reason he imagined misshapen body parts, and fought back a grimace.
i'm tired of the weight of mortality, i want to tear it from my veins
until i bleed silver and gold
Her gaze finds the panes of his face when the question is uttered, a soft smile crossing her face with it as she almost looks past him, because she wasn’t sure exactly what it would all take when the child was born, made? “She just took strength from Bastien and I and told us to expect it in the middle of Deepfrost.” No long, intense quests to get the result they sought. Just… A part of them which certainly seemed fitting enough.
So she’ll traverse through the snows in Deepfrost with her husband, slipping away toward a shrine to retrieve their child and begin to raise a new life and hopefully atone for her previous mistakes. Only time would tell, however, and she focuses on the here and now – setting the cup down that she didn’t recall picking up but must have at some point. “So it’s… Been a long couple of weeks. But I’m excited.” She chimes, a softer smile as her gaze finds Deimos’ again. “It’s almost Bastien’s and my anniversary, as well. Seems a fitting gift.” A smaller, softer smile crosses her face.
maybe one day they'll chant our names
and name galaxies after us, and we too shall be eternal
The unknown seemed almost a graceless proposition now – for all her soft smiles and excitement, Deimos’ own sentiments were filled with something akin to apprehension and dread. Not for the child itself, because that’d be another enigma to navigate when the time came, but for the way in which they’d been altered. Strength taken, snagged, and absorbed to grow and nurture something (and what would this infant even become? Even be?), while the rest of the world prepared for Deepfrost. While monsters stalked, hovered, and waited. The overprotective nuances of his existence swallowed down the consternation threatening to mottle his otherwise reticent brow, eyes falling to the floor, not even certain what to say. Had it been nearly a year since they’d had similar conversations – his concern still there, still present, still vitally, bindingly real? “And you are keeping yourselves safe?” His gaze reached back up, the tilt to his head known, his words bypassing over a thousand others that could’ve fallen from his mouth.
He listened to the rest, about anniversaries and gifts, about second (or third, or fourth, or fifth, if they’re being truly honest) chances at renewing life. The beast didn’t want to diminish or quell her excitement either, not when opportunities to grasp happiness were sometimes so futile, so low, acts of desperation, fleeting and gone. “I am happy for you,” and very worried didn’t make it into his tones, but the ruminations were in his stare, regardless. “Is there anything you need?”
i'm tired of the weight of mortality, i want to tear it from my veins
until i bleed silver and gold
The question that leaves him is met with a bright nod from Rexanna, a softer smile that crosses her face. “We are.” Though despite the trips she’d taken to Torchline as of late. She keeps those mostly under wraps, unsure what Deimos might mention toward Amalia, and already knowing the footing she holds with the Shield by simply being as she is. So she bites her tongue on that, gesturing to the Artist’s Guild around them, of the paint and projects scattered about that certainly suggested that she and Bastien remained inside most of the time. “We started working on a nursery.” She says softly, quietly, a bit of a brightness in her heart with it – a thing she’d never had before, not with any of her other self’s children, nor the first born of this life.
But she explains the anniversaries, and her head tilts a small amount as her gaze flickers on him again. “Thank you.” She says softly, a bit more honestly. A gentleness that she knows it’s a risk they take and how it might look. But it was something they both wanted, something the Voice was willing to try to do, and she couldn’t help but to look forward to what the result would be like. A life to live, a child to rear, one to fix the mistakes of her other self’s making. “I think we’re okay, Deimos. Really.” She says, reaching out to give his hand a squeeze, her own lukewarm in comparison. “Just my best friend, there.” She teases with a wink.
maybe one day they'll chant our names
and name galaxies after us, and we too shall be eternal
The notion of children within this world came with its own set of drawbacks. His mind hinged on the amount they’d lost recently, fragile and insubstantial, as if they were nothing during the Fiat Lux barrage (air, dust, ash, fragments and filaments, returned to the ground and naught more). More cataclysms, more disasters around every turn, and the most vulnerable seeming to be amidst the onslaught of victims. He clenched his jaw for a moment, hand contorting over his glass, placing it down along the table while he steadied and attempted to reframe his way of thinking.
Shouldn’t he have been content for her? To have this opportunity to try again? To let go of all the yesteryear parameters, let the bygones sweep away? To regrow and prosper, without the weight of history dispersed across her shoulders?
She seemed far more capable of that than himself, who lingered with his soul split in half, sometimes firmly entrenched in the past, amidst ice and snow and chilling ramparts, sometimes in the present, regarding strength, fortitude, and might.
Then there were proclamations of working on nurseries, with brightness and softness, and he sighed, released the tension from his bones, looking back towards her again on the boundaries of reassurance. Maybe he’d be able to make them something anyway, grant some notion of good will and prosperity, of new beginnings, instead of loitering on the threshold of foreboding, ominous toils. Maybe the child would be safe, and so would the mother, and everything would be fine.
Still, he nearly snorted when she took his hand, the careful arch to his brow remaining, an impish grin winding its way along the edges of his mouth. He squeezed in return, half-inclined to be obnoxious and put far more strength into it than necessary, but this wasn’t Kiada. This was Rex. “If you are sure,” allowing her a moment to rethink it.
i'm tired of the weight of mortality, i want to tear it from my veins
until i bleed silver and gold
It was an attempt to make things right, to fix the wrongs that she’d made when the one child she did have here would never forgive her – and she was okay with that. Deimos looked after and cared for Kiada, and that was enough for Rexanna. His willingness to, at least. Kiada was strong and she’d be able to make it without him if she so chose that route, but in all the memories Rexanna had from the Basin and Helovia and the like of it, Deimos had been the one pillar that Kiada rotated around, if it weren’t her brother.
And the rest of them? She doesn’t know where to start, where to try to look for them if she’d ever been given the option. There was still that other version of herself out there, somewhere, too. Perhaps wiser and searching, she has no way of knowing. All she knows, is that that version of her had made quite a few dire mistakes, had chased a man that half loved her when she could have lived as she did now. A life, full of love and opportunities at her fingertips, friends and family nearby to surround herself with.
She was happy. The happiest she thinks she’s ever been.
So she reaches out to grasp his hand gently, to squeeze, to spy the small raise of his brow and the slight grin that forms along his mouth. He squeezes her hand back, and she can’t help her own playful grin at that, fanged and brilliant in comparison to the rest of her muted exterior. “Absolutely.” She agrees, before withdrawing her hand. “So tell me about the wedding, has it been planned?” She chimes, wondering when the reception might be, if they need any help with it. Anything and everything.
maybe one day they'll chant our names
and name galaxies after us, and we too shall be eternal
They’d always known how to insinuate chaos, bedlam, and mayhem, a few turns of revolution, sedition, and insurrection, undermine and plot, scheme into diabolical regimes, come out the other side with bruises and maelstroms at their back. But happiness had been fleeting; one of those things they’d had to grasp firmly, and maybe never quite understand or dive fully into. Rexanna had left them behind and strived with the monolithic Edge King, and Deimos found the rain and couldn’t hang on tight enough to the cascades, to the drops, to the ripples, twisted and turned himself right back into demolition and devastation.
It never stayed. It never stuck.
Perhaps they’d both learned their lessons then; new discoveries, new aspects, new people without the barrage of damnation hanging over their shoulders. Blessed and graced and consecrated with beginnings that startled and surprised, that bewildered and befuddled, away, away, and away from soulless platitudes. It was strange and bizarre, every moment he thought about it, to find themselves (especially him) loved and cherished, instead of hated and reviled.
She withdrew, likely understanding he could only handle so much affection, lifting his gaze back to her, away from floors and other things. Weddings instead; and he permitted another warm chuckle to stoke in between the fibers of their ways, how worlds and kingdoms had molded and contorted. “Yes. Before the season ends.” Another little smile for her rested on his lips. “You and Bastien are more than welcome to attend the reception.” A celebration before everything churned over into something else, with the loom and dread of Deepfrost hovering in the midst.
i'm tired of the weight of mortality, i want to tear it from my veins
until i bleed silver and gold
She does understand it, his need to not be fully embraced or touched, but when it comes to this version of her old friend it’s a habit she’s picked up. Where once before he was a pillar of strength, a monolithic person who guarded his kingdom, one that remained introverted and warded off anyone who deigned to try and touch, embrace, love.
At least this version of him had the magic capable at will. Still, Rexanna was never great at following instruction — painting his skin in the past with a feeling that had left her weak, mind spinning with just the simplists of touches. And Rexanna had always been the touchy sort of person, focused intensely on the idea that she might be able to show her love for people in more ways than one.
She focuses on him with a bright smile, lifting her tea to her lips as she listens to him answer her question, her head tilting a small amount though she doesn’t lift the cup to drink from it yet. “Oh we would love that!” She chimes brightly before actually going through with the sip. “I have the perfect gift for you two I’ve been working on.” With Bastien’s help here and there of course.
maybe one day they'll chant our names
and name galaxies after us, and we too shall be eternal
Deimos had come a long way from the days of Reaper tendencies, where he hadn’t been permitted to touch anyone or anything without death knells crossing, pressing into their wake. Here, where affection was applied in readied doses (how and why and when he’d earned them was beyond his comprehension), he tolerated a fair amount (depending on the individual), but it was difficult to fight down the age-old habit of reeling away from others. From guarding them and himself, from striving to protect and rigidly refuse, blend into shadow and darkness at will. So it wasn’t so much discomfort as whims and raptures he’d simply have to get used to, a learning curve, instead of unyielding, unattainable lines.
Rexanna knew him well enough to comprehend his forbearance levels, despite yesteryears and past lives where she’d crossed too far, and he was left with bright smiles instead. He arched his brow in the way she chimed, suddenly, eerily suspicious, narrowing his eyes in silent speculation. “You do not have to give us anything,” shaking his head, an assurance level. Just the company, just the celebration, just the grandeur of the moment.
