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!
05-26-2020, 02:39 PM (This post was last modified: 05-26-2020, 03:08 PM by Mabel.)
MABEL
A rare moment of grief came over her.
It wasn’t readily apparent by her features, nonchalant and stoic, unmoving as she drew across curtains of darkness, as she tucked back into her cloak of well-worn furs. Instead it was hastened in her heart, in the soft sighs as she maneuvered along the fields, as she twisted and turned over familiarity, over grounds she’d known for so very long, but could no longer share with the rest of her brethren – just Evelyn now.
It wasn’t particularly for her parents, they’d chosen their lot in life, to wither and decay slowly, at the feet of heralds and gods who didn’t care in return (no pleas heard, no begging answered, no reprieve given). It was for the other children, her smaller brothers and sisters, the large family with extended hands and wobbly smiles, who called out in the night over the hunger in their empty bellies, who curled up in between their oldest siblings and wished for something more.
They didn’t have time – but she and Evelyn had.
And so, for the evening, instead of hunting or gathering, she simply remembered and recalled. The snow before her was illuminated by the moon, luminescent fixtures hastened on powder, and though she couldn’t feel the chill, she knew it was there, corresponding around her palms as she crouched, hands maneuvering the powder and rime. Perhaps it was a poor attempt, to try and piece together a tiny, snow castle her brothers would have cherished and loved, the roof misshaped, not quite as grand as one would imagine. But when she pulled her hands away, there it remained, memories pressed into its wiles.
Amun had somehow gotten through an entire Deepfrost and several travails through Halo without managing to actually mess around with memory snow. Even after seeing a monster made of the stuff, he'd treated it as just normal snow. Today, though, his heart lighter than it had been in a long time and his evening shockingly free, he'd taken to playing with it.
Heading down to the Fields, where it was thicker, he tried rolling a ball of it. Watching as it unrolled, he grinned. Making another sphere, this time he blocked it as it tried to return to its former position, using his feet to kick and corral it in the opposite direction.
Which just so happened to be in the direction of a woman who seemed to have the same idea as him. Letting his snow go where it willed, he gave her a curious look. "Evening." Grinning, he sketched a shallow bow. "I don't think we've met. Amun Arlun, at your service."
Crouching down, he gestured at the snow she was working with. "Nice castle you've got there." His tone was friendly and bright.
If her eyes were wistful, even the tiniest bit sad, forlorn, or downhearted, she wouldn’t have admitted it. Instead, she created as best she could, contorting breathless hymns beneath fangs and wilderness, songs her mother included on their trips to voyages, journeys, and myths in stories, her brothers’ fondness for knights and castles, hoping this one replicated them well. Perhaps that was all she could give them now, after everything else had decayed in the midst, time and space having dual meanings, nothing but ether now.
She would’ve stepped back to survey the work of misshapen art, had another not approached. Instinctively her guard went up, rigid assemblages of spine and shoulders, regarding her features into nothing more than a soulless void, her stare narrowed, promises of predilection if the stranger wasn’t careful (all she had was her bark now, but later, later, later, she promised herself, she promised Evelyn, they’d be more than just infantile cubs).
But then the newcomer bowed, and she tilted her head, trying to fathom how to measure him. A hesitant hand drew out, as if to shake his. “Mabel Occidendum.” The name held no meaning, not anymore (had it ever; save for a decrepit building and people striving to survive?). She breathed and loosened considerably under his praise, stare going back to the castle. “Thank you.” Already launching into explanations, assuming he was some sort of numb Outlander. “It’s memory snow. So when I let it go,” and then she did, hands releasing, rising to back away, “It will stay in place.”
Taking Mabel's hand, Amun gave it a firm shake and released it. "It's a pleasure to meet you Mabel." His tone was friendly, his expression was open, inviting, and warm.
Smiling, he nodded as she released the snow. "That's quite a useful trick." Standing up, he circled the small structure, before returning to crouch in his previous position. "And some quite nice workmanship. Have you considering joining the Artist's Sanctuary?" He grinned, fully recognizing how ridiculous the question was.
However, his features softened. "I don't run into many other people out here at this time of night. Couldn't sleep?" He cocked his head to one side as he waited almost expectantly for the answer.
Mabel didn’t come from open, inviting, or warm people, perhaps Evelyn being the exception. She arrived from desolate hardships, weakened, frail systems, and a patched up, shoddy excuse for a farm. With survival, with coping, she’d learned to be all the more manipulating, tactful, or calculating, uncertain where to depict or place this Amun. “I suppose,” she glanced back at the castle, narrowing her eyes at it, the predilections conspiring, delving and roaming within her mind.
And the Artist’s Sanctuary? “I never thought to…” and she trailed off. There’d never been time to enjoy fine works of craft, sculpting, painting, or otherwise; not one to say if she had, contained, or could unravel rudimentary skills. Her brows furrowed, deep in contemplation, before Amun’s next inquiry unraveled.
Then she wondered just how much she was supposed to let loose – to run amongst the wolves, or to stay hovering, lone on the siege. Quieter, patting at a few flakes along the castle walls, she murmured. “It’s the only time I can go out now.” She half-smiled, the glint of a fang poking out over lips.
Not at all put off by Mabel's less than open demeanor, Amun just continued grinning. Winking at her, he gestured at the castle she'd made. "No time like the present! And you've got talent, obviously." Voice bright, he gave her an encouraging look.
Then he began shaping his own snow, though it stubbornly refused to stay in place at first. Eventually, though, it formed into a mounted figure, a knight, sword raised overhead, proportional with the castle.
However, at her words he paused. Lifting his gaze from his work, he gave her a considering once over, gaze lingering on the flash of teeth she gave him.. "Is that so?" There was more than a bit of interest glittering in his eyes. "Not many people can only go out at night. You wouldn't happen to be an Ascended, would you?" He smiled broadly, showing off his own fangs to let her know he was one.
But she wasn’t in a rush to join in amongst Outlanders and their so-called sanctities, where they’d meandered into the Naturals’ wake and created, contorted, things of other cultural influences. Tucked inside herself, in the things she knew, understood, and had comprehended was so much easier. She wouldn’t know about talent, artistic or otherwise, and so she just nodded mutely, preparing to either let it go or to mull about later, once she and Evelyn regained their bearings. A different world, a different life now, that neither of them would be able to avoid for long.
Her eyes managed to slide away from the castle, ignoring how one of the buttresses was leaning precariously inward, and to Amun’s knight, something else out of stories, legends, and myths. “Have you ever seen one?” She gestured and pointed to the figure, with its waving sword. Such a warrior, ready to defend the realm?
He hadn’t missed the insinuations of her fangs and mercurial intonations, the garnished interest and intrigue reflecting back at her. Mabel was half-tempted to demean herself for letting it slip so easily, uncertain whether to keep things furtive, secret, aloof, or to let it all out into the world, explode, fierce, and ferocious.
But then Amun showed his fangs too, and she breathed a little easier, hands going to the snow again. “Yes,” ensued with the barest hint of a smile; more and more family, not deceased, not crumbled, but alive.
Amun smiled slyly at Mabel's question. Nodding, he settled into a cross-legged position, heedless of the snow. "I have." His tone took on the familiar cadence of a practiced storyteller. "In my world, there was a shining citadel that housed an entire city within its walls. It stood as a beacon against a world full of monsters and mayhem, and its knights were known by all to be stalwart defenders of law and order."
Then he smirked. "Of course, laws aren't necessarily just, and sometimes a little chaos is key." There was something wicked about his expression and his tone.
Grinning broadly, he gave her a pleased look. "You must be new. Welcome to the family, so to speak." Clearly excited to meet a fellow Ascended, he winked playfully at her. "I'm sure you've gotten the whole rundown by now, but if you have any questions, feel free to ask."
Amun must’ve been an Outlander then; somewhere else where the mythical stories rang true, and out of habit, out of routine, days long since lost when her mother would read them stories before the fire, she tilted her head to listen. She could nearly imagine a shining citadel, a city sprawled and contained within walls, within ramparts, within fortifications. Figures fighting against monsters, demons, infidels to the kingdom, knights to slay dragons and rescue those in distress. The girl only arched her brow at the indication of chaos. “We have that here in spades already,” a shrug to justify the measures; that it was always in existence, no matter who or what occupied the region. “Were you a part of these knights then?” Half a tease, half mere inquiry.
Another welcome flickered and followed, just as Wessex had done. A family, of twelve the Wraith had said, including the twins laden in the clutch and brood. “I’m not sure if I have received the rundown,” another lift of her brows, before her eyes went to the dark horizon, the elongated shadows, the rush of cold air she could no longer feel. “But I’ll take any information.” The first hint of a smile bloomed then, rather than her chilling, vibrant nonchalance.
Amun nodded at Mabel's words. "We do." Grinning at her, he shrugged. "But complete order and complete chaos are just as bad. You need a balance, as with most things in life."
When she asked if he'd been a knight, he barked out a laugh. "Me? No." Chuckling, he shook his head. "Do I look like a knight in shining armor?" His eyes practically sparkled with mischief.
"No, I was a sailor, and then a potter. Now I'm a little bit of both." Giving her a curious look, he smiled. "How about you? How do you spend your days besides making snow castles?"
When she mentioned that she hadn't been given the rundown, he raised his eyebrows. "Really?" Clearly surprised, he frowned, then started ticking off his fingers. "Alright, well, no sunlight for a while, which you seem to have figured out already, no fire ever, we can't feel unless we bite people, biting other races lets us copy their abilities, and the Voice is more than happy to upgrade us if we ask nicely." He paused to see if she had any questions about that.
Complete order and complete chaos; she might’ve preferred the latter, if anyone asked, if anyone cared about her opinion. Maelstroms and bedlams, the world on fire, after everything she’d suffered through and survived – over the machinations of the Old Gods, ready and emblazoned to unfurl, uncoil, unleash the accord of the New. She didn’t say any of this, too new, too fragile, too fresh, but kept it in the back of her mind, amongst the thousands of other thoughts not spoken out loud. At his question though, she snorted. “No.” Not the ones in her books and legends, anyway.
But he wasn’t one, so the insult likely wouldn’t stick. A sailor (and she’d never even seen the ocean, inclined to ask just how much he’d been able to view from his place upon a ship), and a potter (what did he craft? Make?), before the sentiments were sent back her way. Any figments or fractions of a smile ceased and desisted, gaze going back over the memories laden in snow. “My family had a farm.”
Then she was granted the rundown, eyes widening as the information rattled forth. Some she’d already known, the lack of sunlight, no embers of flames, and the biting. She nearly inclined down into the fangs questions, but sidelines them for a moment, snagging at the last bits instead. “I…the Voice has already done so much for us. I’m not sure if I could ask her for anything else.” But maybe – what they could do for her…
Chuckling, Amun grinned at Mabel. "Good." There was a good natured and teasing tone to his voice, and he found himself relaxing in the woman's presence.
When she mentioned her family's former farm, he raised his eyebrows. "Well, if you're looking for a change of scenery I'd be happy to help you figure out what you want to do." The offer rolled easily off his lips.
"Alright, I'm going to stop you right there." He smiled encouragingly at her. "Nothing brings the Voice greater pleasure than helping her children to achieve greatness. Besides, the worst she'll say is no. I've asked her for many things, and she's always been happy to listen even if she couldn't grant my request."
She found she didn’t mind the man’s teasing; it was jocular, rather than scalding or searing, as her parent’s scoldings or rebukes might’ve been. Mabel relaxed a bit more, flexing her fingers in the cold, out of habit, incapable of feeling the chill, reaching for more snow as it slid between her grasp, constructing and compelling a little princess along one of the buttresses of the castle. Her voice was quiet and steady, despite the uncertainty around it, the way life maneuvered at a frenetic pace when they were left without supervision, when they were allowed to be free. “That’s all I’ve known.”
The girl wanted to reach out and embrace that liberation, that deliverance – she just wasn’t certain how yet. A shrug followed suit, as if it were nothing when it was quite possibly everything, swallowing down what might’ve been bile or a choking noose.
But then Amun surprised her with an encouraging grin and the slightest of lectures – only in the face of her apprehension. Being allowed to dream of these makeshift things had been an impossibility before – and she was still getting used to the wake of it all. “Oh? What are some things you asked for then?” Because she had an inkling, in the back of her mind, the next time she came to kneel before brightened wares and illustrious fates.
Watching as Mabel began sculpting again, Amun grinned approvingly as she made a princess for the castle. His own hands began working the stubborn snow once more. Creating a mound around the outside of the fortress, he started adding features and details once the main body was completed. Eventually, it began to resolve itself into the image of a dragon.
"Doesn't mean it's all you're ever going to know." He shrugged. Shooting her a quick glance, he studied her features, wondering how she'd take that suggestion.
Grinning at her question, he took out his belt knife. "Oh this and that." Laying a finger on the flat part of the blade, he activated his newest upgrade. The metal began to shift and morph, until finally settling into the shape of a flower, which he held out for her.
