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!
To say that life had been hard for Robin would be an understatement.
At first he tried to be social, really, went out and talked to the other outlanders and those who made names for themselves... but nothing really stuck. Nothing felt right. It was a betrayal of his old self to go out and pretend like nothing was wrong with the situation. It left him with being a recluse, finding simple mundane things to do. The largest thing Robin found himself doing was reading. Books upon books were read and exchanged in hopes of finding a way back home, but he still missed so much.
One thing he desperately missed was the feeling of cold.
Maybe that's why he was in the woods, wearing a light jacked in hopes that maybe his senses would return and he'd have to rush inside for something thicker. Kneeling down, he shoved his hand into the snow, praying to God that he'd feel the snow on his finger tips, his body shuddering, and a biting sensation on his nose as his cheeks would glow a bright red.
I can give you freedom from your guilt with a flick of my wrist
Humans are devastatingly easy to read at times, even with their ability to lie in a way she physically cannot. Her side still holds the wound Sunjata had left upon her, but Naavi's healing and time in all its wonders has at least set her on the path to healing. As such she returns to her new, varied duties. Attempting to make friends of sorts with the Grounders, keeping an eye for more Ascended targets, trying to round up Fae to talk with them slyly about the coming changes.
She is not expecting to find another man in the place where she had found the young Ascended who had led her so trustingly to her most recent target. As she flies lower, intending to make another friend for their cause perhaps, her sharp intelligent eyes rice over the chosen apparel and the hand outstretched into the deep snow. Her mind goes still like a glassy lake. Surely she cannot be this lucky?
Ludo's rags are a dark void where they wrap in elegant drapes around her figure, keeping her tucked away from any cold that seeks to dig its fingers into her bones. Reluctant as she is to soak her feet in the snow, she lands a few feet away from the young man, intentionally crushing the snow beneath her heel to announce her presence. Affecting an expression of concern and curiosity as she approaches slowly, as if hesitant to come near. Using her diminutive size to her advantage as she ensures Lasracha is concealed beneath the rags, ready and hungry for further destruction. "Um...are you alright?" Golden gaze flitting down to his hand in the snow, making it clear exactly why she's concerned. Or why she would be, were she not already envisioning his death at her hand.
A sudden voice jolted him and he stood up immediately, rubbing his hand on his jeans. Fuck. He couldn't even feel the wetness of the snow, let alone the cold. Being a vampire was a misery and all he wanted to do was go home.
The individual infront of him was something he never saw before. Wings, large ones, protruded from her back. The girl was small, very dainty. Tiny. Weak. Fragile. Too small to ever be considered a threat to him seeing as he was much larger than her and most likely far stronger, even when he had trained very little. Robin had no fears in this moment.
"I am fine. Why?" He wasn't a fan of being pestered or ask questions- he was miserable, okay? Isn't a guy allowed to fucking stick his hand into some snow without being accosted or accused of random things?
I can give you freedom from your guilt with a flick of my wrist
His reaction is boorish and terse, and she allows a small wrinkle of her nose, believing this to be an allowable expression that any other person would have displayed when met with such wretched manners. Not as vulgar as others she has met at least, though that's a small mercy.
"Because people who claim to be 'fine' do not often look despaired while plunging a single hand into snow for no discernible reason." Her feminine voice is succinct and she manages to reel in any excess sarcasm that might startle her prey into flight. "You don't have to tell me why, but I am admittedly curious." Giving him the option to reveal it to her or not, wanting to engage him in some kind of conversation first. She's not inclined to attack him head on, if she can avoid it at all. Lasracha is more than powerful enough to make up for physical disparity between them, but Nephele would prefer to avoid further injury to her person.
This winged girl was unnecessarily sassy as well as invasive. Robin saw no point in her invading in on his life, but if telling her the honest truth would get her off his ass then fine. Fine. He could give in a bit and tell her what was really bugging him. "I am not despaired. I'm simply trying to get a breath of fresh air." He let out a huff of annoyance before continuing on. "I arrived here a bit ago and life has been hell. Just wanted to feel the damn cold, alright?" There is a growl of annoyance to his voice and it's obvious to anyone when he speaks that he has a beautiful set of fangs in his mouth.
Taking a step back he watched her with a squint on his face. "If that's all then I'd like to be left alone." Once more he seems to growl with his response, annoyed and ready to just finish this stupid conversation.
I can give you freedom from your guilt with a flick of my wrist
Well alright, pretty boy wants to play hardball then? Already Nephele can feel the anger and frustrating building in her breast, never one to allow such pigheaded vitriol regardless of what race the man is. Her face changes immediately, draconic and fierce as it twists into a rictus of revulsion at his disgusting manners and acidic tone. More than ready to let the whip of her tongue lash him, lips parting to tear him to shreds. And then - the penny drops. The man's hissing anger reveals undeniable fangs in the space of his useless mouth, and Nephele knows what he is. In that moment she know she could stalk him as she did the doctor. Trail him and determine his patterns, his habits. Strike from the shadows, concealed and at an advantage. But she is less daunted by his size now, after seeing what Lasracha had done to the creature in Torchline, and she cannot let the opportunity pass.
So instead, for once in her life, Nephele doesn't think before she acts. Doesn't even speak, lest it spook the man and set him running. Her wings have always made her far swifter than her brethren, and she utilizes that speed now as she flies for the man, hands finding her chakrams unnerringly beneath her cloak. Then she's rising, higher into the air where he cannot reach her with more than those nerveless hands, her body perfectly sustained in the air as her chakrams come free to glint in the solemn grey of the overcast sky.
She will not miss this time, nor underestimate his height. She will not use just one of her weapons. Everything moves just as fast as last time, but she aims her chakrams as she twists in the air, their curved edges seeking the side of the man's throat with one and the jut of his collarbone with another. The magic in each one sings a death knell, the burn of fire ready to explode from the touch of the steel. Hoping to dig into the side of his throat and rip open the artery there, and use the one aimed at his chest to drag him with her backwards into the snow.
No mercy. No hesitation. Only the sudden, snapping desire to kill. And nobody will come for him, not like last time. She'll make sure of it.
The girl doesn't speak, doesn't respond. Robin assumes he is safe to leave before she rises from the ground. Silently, Robin watches her move above him and before he can realize what's going on it's far too late.
Any semblance of a good life here never would've happened, not in Robin's life. He's not someone who ever would've been able to survive here, not with how he views himself in comparison to others. There were little to no attempts to acclimate himself to this world, leading to his ultimate downfall.
Eyes widened as he watched the chakras appear and it was all too late when they crashed into his body. That was one of the few perks of being an ascended: his death was quick and painless. The fear he felt was overwhelming, but it all washed away just as quickly as he died, disappearing into nothingness. Where he actually went, it would be unsure seeing as he had never even met the Voice.
The life of Robin was over, leaving behind little history. Maybe if he had spoken to people, he'd be far more important, but all he'd symbolize was the death of a feud between Fae and Ascended.
06-25-2020, 10:36 PM (This post was last modified: 06-25-2020, 10:37 PM by Nephele.)
I can give you freedom from your guilt with a flick of my wrist
TW // death and dismemberment
If an Ascended falls in a forest and only his killer is there to witness, does he make a sound?
His life - a pronoun and a noun that Nephele would never ascribe to the creature - is so pitiful. So easily ended. There is no struggle, no battle for the dredges of energy that spark in engineered mechanisms of death. She watches, kneeled above his head in a prayerful vigil that only smears and taints what little meaning Robin had in this world. "One more lamb returned to your fold, pretender. May it anguish you as much as the loss of our Máthair did to us." Ripping a chakram free of the flesh it had embedded in, Nephele slashes it down against the creatures throat. Again, and again, and again. Sawing mercilessly at inorganic matter, as fluid sprays against her face and paints across the snow in a macabre display. The odd, jutting hang of the mimic's neck makes her insides shudder with revulsion. But she continues all the same, as mechanical as Robin had once been in his false-life.
Until the head of the beast is removed, dark strands of hair clutched in her small hand as she lifts it away from the brutalized stump of neck. There is no kindness offered, no closing of the eyes as some would. They continue to stare unseeing, the flesh hanging awkward over mechanical structure in death. She tosses the severed head to the side, and begins using her chakrams to dismember the rest. Hands, feet, legs. The longer limbs she piles upon the torso, creating a pyre for the creature to burn upon. Nephele spits down against the creatures carcass when it is all finished, scowling. "You do not even have the decency to feed the scavengers in your death." She stashes the smaller body parts in her bag, transferring out her tinder and flint that she carries now that winter has descended. Her kin are not immune to cold, though she may be now with Ludo's rags around her shoulders. It is useful, now.
She strikes the flint and sets the dismembered body alight. Watches it crackle and consume with golden eyes flickering in ravenous kinship, burning with righteousness. Then Nephele turns away, plucking the severed head from the snow with an idle hand and flies off into the distance, leaving behind nothing but ash.
