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!
It had always been a dream, somewhere in the heralds of her ambitions and aspirations, a stinging nettle, a crisp thorn, she’d roam over before slumber. Something under her breath as she stared at crumbling ceilings, counting cracks in corners, fingers scratching at skin. Before deaths. Before desecrations. Before the slow, withering decay of her family, one by one by one, until it was only her and Evelyn.
She’d wanted claws. She’d wanted anything and everything. She’d wanted the power to defy and cheat demise, the will of Mort.
Then they obtained fangs.
Her tongue ran over the pointed edges one more time, as she lifted her hood, as she drew it around her features, her face, into the dimming light, opening the door of their creaking farmhouse, listening to the wicked, wild cry of the evening's wind. Taking a step forward, no looking back, no thinking of the destruction warring in her blood, nay, fluid now, lifeless and alive all at once. Not to be taken, not to be outdone, not to be a tragic mess like the rest of them.
Oh, they’d howl now; no more crooning, no more murmuring, no more hushed, listless stokings.
“C’mon, Evelyn,” and her hand was offered to her twin, so they might venture into the Outskirts and learn to live without anything holding them, moored, anchored, any longer.
Full lips stretched into a dark smile as life persisted, despite the odds that were stacked against them. Starvation, dehydration, famine, disease - all of these things threatened, beckoned, and yet they existed despite them all - they were alive, but not by the blessing of Vi, or Safrin.
It would be strange to live without the sensation of touch, without the sun heating their skin or the wind stealing their warmth. They had no warmth, except for the fire of their ambition, and oh, the twins had ambition. Determination to survive, to thrive, to bring others into the fold of the Voice - it would all happen in time.
A howl was on the wind, supplied by a lupine somewhere in the distance. Oh, how they had hoped to become Attuned for so long - but being attuned wouldn't have let them or their family survive. No, they would have to learn what it was to live as a machine instead.
"Coming," her soft, lyrical voice chimed, a hand reaching out to grasp her sister's, missing the physical sensation of touch, but accepting it in exchange for this life with her.
Together, they would face the night.
Together, they would rule the night.
cross me once i dare you it is the only chance you will get
she tied you to her kitchen chair she broke your throne and she cut your hair
The two of them might be a little disappointed to find that there are quite a few steps between Ascending and ruling the night, but Wessex would applaud their enthusiasm.
She would also understand why they did it, the havoc wreaked by starvation and disease, prayers to the Old Gods and their heralds left unanswered, life as they know it slowly eroding away until there’s nothing left. In fact, the Wraith has often wondered why there weren’t more Ascended, given how hellish the Grounds was right before their liberation. But that is neither here nor there - now is for joy at more sisters, for welcoming them into the family.
Rather than pop in and out of her shack - which is truly falling apart now that she doesn’t live there much anymore - Wessex takes the old-fashioned away, revelling in the way she moves in the snow, in the shadows of the skeleton trees. Bare-skinned save for some old leather armor, she welcomes the cold that is nothing compared ot the bite of Halo. She walks through the night with confidence, avoiding houses and lights like the monster they call her. Ah, but she isn’t alone, is she?
Somewhere out there is the brief lilt of voices, the crunch of footsteps. Faint and distant, but at this point her ears pick up a lot more than they used to. “Hello?” Wessex calls into the night, following it up with a simple, Ascended or - ? Silence would be her answer. Any other reaction would be telling.
That was the thing about aspirations and ambitions. They could have as many as they wanted.
Habit formed in the grasp of her twin’s hand, even though she couldn’t feel her, no warmth between laced fingers and enveloped palms, but they could guide, they could unite, they could sense and contort one another – and perhaps that would be enough. For now, for now, for now, while they explore their abilities, while they wandered into the threads of the evening, while they ventured forth into the unknown, sliding mercurial, capricious intentions into something more. She wouldn’t miss the sun. She wouldn’t miss the gnawing feeling of hunger. She wouldn’t miss the biting, clawing, ripping, tearing feeling of knowing she was about to die, just the same as the rest.
In between their marches down the road, there was another sound. A call into the void, and Mabel stilled, pondering which route, which direction, they should maneuver within, to ignore it completely, to rampage off into the woods, or to stand their ground.
And then it was in her mind, sharp and poignant, and she thought to hiss automatically, to intertwine like an asp, like a cobra, like a snake. Would it be too telling, to give herself entirely away?
Ascended, she responded instead, a neutral tone (was that possible, within her own brain?), careful, cautious, wary; squeezing Evelyn’s hand on impulse.
Ambitions. Dreams. Aspirations. They had had such things before too, before the call of Mort had become so loud they could no longer focus on their dreams. And what of their family, their friends? Had they not survived the trek to the shrine, the Spire, had they perished along with the rest, they wouldn't have the chance to dream, to aspire, to reach for something more than the simple life that cocooned them for so long.
Hunger no longer clawed at her stomach, dehydration no longer caused her to feel breathless and dry, exhaustion no longer slowed her down. No, instead an intense clarity filled her vision, as she viewed the world through new lenses, watching the cold warp the world, the wind pull and tear at everything except them, the sisters, the twins who would survive this trial just as they had survived the last - together.
She heard the call too, glancing at her sister with a silent question, the same options dancing through her cranium. But then their motion paused altogether, as thoughts intruded, pressed against her mind. Muscles tensed, coiled like a tightly wound spring, ready to leap into action at the nearest threat. Who are you? her own thoughts demanded in return, sharp, acerbic and directly to the point.
cross me once i dare you it is the only chance you will get
05-27-2020, 12:34 AM (This post was last modified: 05-31-2020, 04:14 PM by Wessex.)
WESSEX
the wraith
she tied you to her kitchen chair she broke your throne and she cut your hair
Too far to hear Mabel’s reply (which was her own fault, she’d forgotten they had to be closer for her to hear them), Wessex curses herself and then tries to quickly close the gap between the three of them by teleporting to where she thinks the sounds are coming from - the hunter she’d once been ever sharp. And oh, the advantages of such a gift, the evidence of the Voice’s love at work, as she’s able to catch the tail of Evelyn’s query, are you? echoing in her head. She smiles to herself, fangs hidden by the twisting lips as the demi-god revels in finding new ones.
Wessex. The Wraith.
Had they not been Ascended, she would have offered to get them home anyway. Still a familiar, but far less present face in the Hollowed Ground. How these two would react interests the former Queen to no end, as she saunters through the barren trees towards them. A thousand questions spring to mind.
“And you are?” she asks aloud, expectantly, gaze shifting back and forth between the girls. So young. Twins. Naturals? They had to be. Two Outlander girls wouldn’t be out here in the dead of Deepfrost. Not by themselves.
They hadn’t been so isolated from the world that when the Wraith appeared, Mabel could at least hone in on a reaction other than surprise. Their farm had been small, meek, and weak to begin with, livestock on the brink, crops with a few fair seasons before dwindling to almost nothing but barren fields. But Naturals were Naturals, tending to one another before Outlanders arrived, names and faces prominent when one lived within a bubble. Wessex might have known their parents far better, or only seen them and their hoard of siblings scattered across the town. They’d only become more and more secluded, desolate, and stark, when the world churned and burned, opened up.
Mabel wasn’t complaining; just an observation, a rudimentary motion in her eyes as she surveyed Wessex.
She must’ve enjoyed embodying the night, giving forth to the legend of her title. The youth could understand it, the way the veils and shrouds chased and cajoled, the way they now had to walk only amongst its throngs.
But she and Evelyn could do the same, and she drew herself to her full height, the depths of her eyes flickering over Wessex, as much at home in this void. She wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t alone. She wasn’t forlorn. This was their chance, their opportunity, to run amongst the wolves. Her clear, concise voice moved along the winter air, cold and chilled, measured, uncertain how far to go and where to fly, ensuring she stayed grounded in this moment. “Mabel Occidendum.”
The Wraith resounds in her head, causing a shiver not caused by the cold to dare intrude on her form. She thought she had abandoned such sensations, but the woman's sudden appearance, her name, and the hints of memories dancing in her mind's eye have her on edge.
Overheard conversations, names dropped in passing, third- and fourth-hand information - somewhere in their past, she had heard the name before, as most Naturals would have.
Azure eyes behold her, as she mirrors her sister's posture, standing tall before her. A chance has been given to them, she wasn't going to waste it - they needed her, her wisdom, her experience, if they were going to survive this, their first step out in this new world they had fashioned for themselves - or was it the Voice who had given to them? A smile touches the girl's lips.
"Evelyn Occidendum." She supplied a beat after her sister's is given, wondering what question would come next - what was their next step, their next trial or task?
cross me once i dare you it is the only chance you will get
05-29-2020, 01:32 PM (This post was last modified: 05-31-2020, 04:14 PM by Wessex.)
WESSEX
the wraith
she tied you to her kitchen chair she broke your throne and she cut your hair
Occidendum. Admittedly far less familiar with children than with adults, Wessex takes a deep dive into her brain to try and remember names and faces. Faces are much, much, easier - but even these girls’ escape her as she tries to find a likeness. There was a large family out here in the Outskirts that she didn’t see much, oh, what were their names? Wrinkling her nose in an effort to recall correctly, the Wraith replies, “Daughters of Phil and… Flo...rence?”
Now that she thinks about it, how long has it been since she’s seen the pair? No longer tasked with taking care of her people (a people who voted her out, but that’s neither here nor there), Wessex has avoided making the rounds she might have usually made at this time of year.
And they let these two Ascend? As children? Was it an act of teenage rebellion?
Something isn’t right.
“So young…” she murmurs, thinking aloud. Not that she can't work with that, but ah, the growing they would miss, the experiences, the regrets and anger that might come! What could prompt such an extreme act? “Is everything alright at home?” The Voice wouldn’t change anyone who didn’t want it, but watching Sam and Nate tailspin in their heads, she can’t help but ask. Was it about being able to feed them? If so, she needs to speak to Rex, let her know there are people still starving on her watch.
She waited, their names offered into the void, into the crackling precision of beings who knew far more than they – the youth could bow to greater, grander wisdom, and utilize it when the time was right. Not so stupid or defiant to be incapable of understanding that specific art, after all, it was how they’d survived while the rest of their family stubbornly held onto their Old God sanctities, bent their heads at their decrepit shrines, and sunk, withered, and died.
The names of their parents resounded on the Wraith’s tongue, and the girl steeled her shoulders, fortified her measures. “Yes.” No one else to claim; Phil and Florence, father and mother, given over to Mort. She didn’t give the names of her siblings, the rest of them gone too, because it scarcely mattered. There was naught more to signify from their battered bones or sunken chests.
Wessex must have been piecing things together. There wasn’t a point in keeping a secret, not from potential brethren, and the world would discover it eventually. They were young, Ascended, alone, and the farmhouse, far off in the distance, was falling apart. Like the rest of their lives had before Brightness and potential. Her voice was a still thing, cold, numb, disembodied from the rest of her. “They’re all dead.”
The names of their parents passed through the lips of the Wraith, and Evelyn's posture stiffened, not expecting someone to mention it so soon, to have someone remind them of where they had come from, what they had left behind, what they had lost. It was much better to simply embrace what they had become instead, to look ahead, to stride forth with confident steps and focussed intentions. Evelyn nodded slightly as her sister vocalised the confirmation of their parent's identity.
Ultimately, Evelyn knew she would be glad that the Wraith had found them at this time, had come to ensure they survived this, their first venture into the world in this rebirthed skin. "We chose life," she said, her words following her sister's again, her tone harder than before, a fierce determination, a dismissal of their past, lest it weigh them down and hinder their steps forward.
Curiously, she tilted her head to the woman, considering her with quiet seriousness. "Is that why you Ascended?" she asked suddenly, the question coming to her on a whim, and voiced directly, without hesitation as it fluttered through her mind. What indeed, would drive someone to Ascend - they had their answer for themselves, were they alone in that, too?
cross me once i dare you it is the only chance you will get
05-30-2020, 09:55 PM (This post was last modified: 05-31-2020, 04:13 PM by Wessex.)
WESSEX
the wraith
she tied you to her kitchen chair she broke your throne and she cut your hair
“Ah.” It’s unexpected, but also not. This was their reality. Her reality for the past thirty eight years. “I’m sorry.” Bowing her bed briefly, she refrains from saying anything about them rest peacefully in Mort’s realm, or whatever. Afterall, if it’s all true, the girls won’t be seeing them again. She is about as tactful as she can be with these two, unsure how to move forward after her condolences.
About to awkwardly transition into something more about the present, Wessex is momentarily spared by Evelyn’s question. “Yes. My family died from the wasting sickness.When I came down with the symptoms, I said fuck that, I’m not ready to go. Went to the Voice… and two and half years later, he we are.”
How far she’s come.
Looking at the two of them again, she tries to offer some source of consolation. “But if you want it, you have a new family.” Offering a hand to each of them with a thin smile, she adds her usual caveat. “We’re as dysfunctional as any biological one, but we show up when needed.” And then some.
Evelyn’s boldness crept into her bones and ignited her own, a defiant rise to her chin, we chose life settling into the void, crawling like roots and gnarled vows, promises, and convictions. They’d always choose survival, a way to ensure they remained on this damned earth (she’d gnaw, she’d scrape, she’d tear, she’d rip – marrow from flesh, flesh from bone). They’d move forward, not back into the glimpses and crags of desolation; and it seemed this was a pattern here, in the footfalls of nothingness, bubbles, and domes, a spiraling conflagration of conspiring efforts over and over and over again.
For the same had happened to the Wraith; no other chances, no other opportunities, starving for another chance when everything else deemed it impossible, improbable. They’d owe it all to the Voice, and Mabel wasn’t sure how to pay her favor back.
A new family haunted and loomed, and her eyes went instantly to Evelyn’s, to determine her measure in this script too. Then the cold gaze went to Wessex’s proffered hand, and she hesitated, only because the world was overwhelming, and the known was there, beside her. On measures of ferocity, on packs of wolves not meant to be lone figures, she sighed, stilled, and then finally moved, her fingers lightly taking Wessex’s fingers, grasps in grasps. Her words followed, brief and curt, uncertain of how massive this dysfunctional accord was; how powerful, how potent, when they’d spent so long trapped in their own nightmares. “How many are there?”
How many others had been in their shoes, lived their experience, before venturing to the Voice? How many others still did not choose the Voice, and instead chose Mort, the Old Gods and their cruel and finite end? The Wraith gave her condolences, empty words that Evelyn expected would become a common occurrence going forward, annoyingly so. While they strove to move on with their new lives, would they be constantly reminded that their family had chosen not to move on with them?
The girl was unaware of grief and all its complexities. Perhaps tomorrow she would cry about it, but today she would just rage quietly at the words that merely called to something within her she didn't want to focus on right now.
Then the woman confirmed that she too had chosen this life, had said fuck that to death's very own raggedy face and denied him her soul. Evelyn felt a sudden surge of fondness, of comradery rise for the woman - they were the same, she wanted to believe it, to welcome it, to find comfort in the justification of another's actions being so similar to theirs'.
Evelyn was only too ready to look to her sister's waiting gaze at Wessex's final words, to give a single, firm and deliberate nod of assent, before she too reached out for the woman's hand. She was still clutching her sister's, so that they stood in a sort of circle.
"How far across Caido do they roam?" she followed up, the idea of exploring the world a new option they never had before, being isolated as they were.
cross me once i dare you it is the only chance you will get
