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!
Strength; yes, Wessex had it in spades. It pervaded and loomed from her presence, the ease of her confidence, the righteousness of her words. If she were that formidable, she pondered if she’d be much the same – not afraid, not hesitant, just emboldened and audacious, or calculated, measured, biding her tide? Because she wanted it, craved it, that illustrious power, that blooming, beckoning vice, and now that they had the Voice’s incantations gathered within – what would stop them?
Time. Misfortune. Weaknesses.
But she wasn’t going to sell herself short before they could get there. Patience and persistence; it was how they’d lingered on for this long, willing to put in the extra effort, the miles, the wiles to obtain what they so readily yearned and longed for (life). And now she was going to have it. No matter what others costs were damned and doomed to stumble along their path.
Another clunk of wood in her otherwise silent reverie, and then pulling the sled along, leaving makeshift prints on top of the frozen snow. “I think we could learn a lot from her.” And then use it to their advantage, to snag and take and receive as much as they could.
Would they grow, perhaps not in body anymore (frozen in place in these sixteen-year-old-forms, forever?) but in mind and soul, to become as all-knowing as the Wraith seemed to be, as the very Goddess whose shrine they visited regularly to sustain themselves were?
"I think many could learn a lot from her, and the Voice too." She mused in an almost sing-song tone, humming as she continued to work, the sled past the half-way mark of its capacity. A pause in her motions then, as a look of consternation, followed swiftly by excitement touched her features. What if…?
What if it were they who helped others learn about the Voice, about the possibilities, the potentials walking the path of the Ascended could unlock? But how…?
"How can we help others learn, do you think?" Another question, another sharp, piercing glance, as she hoped to stimulate the same excitement, the same idea in the mind of her twin.
Evelyn was far more poised, far more refined, than Mabel, than the measures of her mettle conspiring, curling in her form. That her twin had somehow managed to wedge, to perfect, a natural outline blooming, blossoming, then rooting in her configurations wasn’t surprising – their connections were paramount, first and foremost, monumental in their regard. They had one another, and for now, that was all she needed.
The excitement, the enticement, the temptation bounded through her too – so that her flattened lips outlined in a most feral smirk, wolves and thieves, predators and prey, daggers to hearts and lungs and bodies. “I think the next time we go to the Voice, we should ask.” Her hands grasped another log, turning and twisting to place it within, the echo not so loud, not so broad, not so carried. “How she think we could serve her best. How we could spread her message.” Through force and violence? Through vigilance and praise? Through word and song, refrains and candor?
It was all a game, a dance, a march through this life they had woven with each other - what steps would the take next? It was as if they had started anew, refreshed their game to find themselves with a vast array of options, of possibilities, to explore and eventually decide on, to commit to. They had already committed their mortal lives to this change, had they not? It only made sense that they contribute their now-extended existence to furthering the Voice's cause, to sharing her gifts with the many, to recruiting, to demonstrating, to growing and expanding her empire.
"Yes, you're right." She nodded, pleased to have her sister's agreement and enthusiasm thrown into the mix. "We must remember that one must choose the Voice, even if she would choose all to receive her gift." Softly spoken words, a gentle reminder not just to herself but her sister too - it was easy to think that force and coercion were the most straightforward methods to choose, to inflict upon the others. No, they needed to embrace more of the Voice's ideals within themselves, to show to the masses what her kindness and generosity can offer.
"I think we simply tell our story. About how we chose life, for starters. After the Longnight we will ask for further instruction." From the Voice, from Wessex, from any who would give it - would they find more like themselves at the Longnight? The royalty who resided in the Grounds? Wessex herself?
A small stick was in her grasp, tugged free of the remnants of its brethren, and then she dug underneath, shifting through snow and powder, another thud and echo to follow. She listened, apt to linger in the fold of her sister’s thoughts, nodding along. “That she’s available,” and anything else the Voice yearned for the world to consider, the vast plains of potential disciples. “That most are worthy of her grace and power,” pondering, mulling and musing out loud, to the drums of nothing but the sounds of winter vestiges around them. It was calming and eerie all at once, rendering them capable of the nuances and ruminations of what to say, what to do, where to traverse, how to sojourn forward. And while Mabel might have preferred to coerce, to obliterate, to do something with her hands, her limbs, her lack of pain – Evelyn’s tactics would’ve been far easier.
“Yes, we tell our story. We let the world hear.” They could shout from the rooftops, the pillars, the auras of the Grounds, so everyone could know, could understand, could fathom how lives benefitted from these alterations. How many others had nearly died out there, underneath the Old Gods’ thumbs? How many hadn’t been noticed? How many had been beneath their heralds’ time, affections, and love? These would be opportunities, chances, and instances to alter and sway minds – especially after LongNight, where no deities could muster any strength, any accord, to fend off the monsters. That should’ve been a hint to the Voice’s powers and might – that even her weakest of experiments, her imperfections, couldn’t be conquered or smited away.
Oh, how she longed to enact change, to see it, to feel it, to wield it with her hands, to wave the banner for the Voice, to announce Her magnificence to the world, to recruit and welcome the masses into her embrace. How wonderful would it be, to share this midnight existence with everyone, to solve the riddle of supply and demand for food and shelter - one did not need to eat in this form, did not need to sleep, did not feel the cold, and developed resistance to the heat from the sun. One day, she and Mabel would be icons of survival, idols of Ascended grace and power, sharing their story and demonstrating their prowess to all who would listen.
It excited the girl beyond comprehension - at least, beyond the comprehension of those outside of her sibling.
"We'll make this the best Longnight yet!" Happily she danced from one piece of wood to the next, collecting it up and placing it into the nearly-full sled. Soon, they would be dragging it together, towards the township, the settlement, to offer them their resources, to seek their shelter for themselves for the incoming week of darkness. And now they had a new purpose too, a promise to spread the word, to share their story, to recruit and welcome more into their fold. It would be difficult to achieve, as monsters clawed at the doors and windows from outside, trying to lure them, to ruin them - they would need to put their best performance of Ascended might on.
The best LongNight yet might be a ways off, but Mabel wouldn’t disparage her sister’s enthusiasm for the wicked contortions, for the twilight turned horror, for the midnight doldrums damned and doomed to haunt. Maybe it was due to their somewhat connections to the monsters now, but she didn’t hold the same apprehension, the same consternation, her Old God family intervals had instilled within them. They were strong and better now – fortified within familiar measures. “Sure,” she prompted, the first intervals of a grin managing to concoct and wrap around her mouth. A sense of finality, of things meant to come.
Her eyes went to the sled, no longer hollow and empty, filled to the brim, and they’d be able to slide it along the powder and rime back to the settlement. “Let’s bring this to the Temple.” An extension of their good will and faith, support for the upcoming days – and an opportunity.
