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!
06-20-2020, 07:19 PM (This post was last modified: 06-20-2020, 07:36 PM by Wessex.)
WESSEX
Go deep throat a cactus
Is it foolish? Probably.
Is it petty? Absofuckinlutely.
But with no one to stop her, no Gods to intervene and smite her down, the demigoddess decides that an apt target of her rage would be Safrin’s shrine. It isn’t nearly the tit for tat she’s yearning for, but it’ll have to do.
While still in the Temple, Wessex dons the shadow cloak and tries to keep to the edges of the rooms. Looking for some rope and something to hit with, she avoids the LongNight stockpile, figuring Deimos would probably have an idea if something went missing. Sliding a bat and a coil of rope under the cloak, the Wraith heads for the Fields.
Now, she doesn’t know exactly where the shrine is, nor what it’s made of, but in the utter darkness, the starwhale light shines like a beacon. Moving as quickly and quietly as she can, Wessex hopes to avoid the monsters for at least a little bit; there’s no naivety here, she imagines she’ll be forced to leave if she’s even remotely successful in dismantling parts of it. If she’s able to get to the shrine safely, she’ll stand in outside the circle of starwhale light (does it repel monsters? Who knows) to test the hiding capabilities of the shadow cloak and try to formulate a plan.
------------------
Wessex is wearing:
Type: Grey
Shadow-Cloth | A cloak that renders the wearer invisible when in shadow. (Made by Remi)
It isn’t monster repellant. Wessex will realise this as a hefty rock sails through the air and thocks against the folds of her cloak. It does absolutely zero damage, but the implication is clear.
There are no gods at Longnight. She will find no divine intervention at this shrine.
His feet had taken him here, carrying a psyche that was haggard and worn raw after barely an evening in the dark. Shielded from harm by the halo of light cast by his antlers, the half-luxere trudged up the hill to Safrin’s shrine. Rexanna, Clemente, dead. Amalia putting herself in danger to come and check on him. And monstrous apparitions of his dead daughter, lurking always just out of sight. Ronin was exhausted, and just needed bolstering for a moment.
He didn’t see Wessex at all, shrouded and hidden in shadow as she was, and he stepped into the circle of starwhale light to drop to one knee before the stones of the shrine. Reaching out, Ronin brushed his fingers over the markings in the rock; Aoife’s childish drawings made permanent by Safrin.
There was no way to know unless she tested it; Wessex peers into the darkness after the rock hits her, untying her pouch and reaching for the monster repellant - which she’d also never really tested, thanks to the idiots of last LongNight. But as she moves to spray into the darkness, limbs still hidden by the cloak, Ronin comes into view - his head of antlers as bright a sigil as the starwhale light, and Wessex hurls a thousand curses at him in her head.
Son of a pock-riddled, seeping star-cunt - Now? - of all the times and places?
Fine. She can be patient. There are more days and nights still left.
Instead, she withdraws as quietly as she can and makes as if she’s tracked him here, or teleported, or used some other tech.
“There you are,” she says quietly, stepping back into old footprints and into the edges of the dual lights, throwing back the head of the cloak to reveal herself. Looking from his glowing rack to his drawn face, and then to the shrine, a lip curls back in obvious hatred for what the shrine signifies.
Only the sound of her voice alerted him to her presence; Ronin should have been a lot more put together than this, and a lot more aware. Regrettably, there was only so much trauma one could take, and he’d reached his quota for the next few hours. Turning, he glanced up at Wessex and offered her a smile that really wasn’t. ”Here I am,” he mumbled, straightening up and gazing down at the shrine with a good deal more fondness than the Wraith behind him.
”I suppose you have heard?” he asked, figuring her expression for one of grief (another oversight he would undoubtedly live to regret). Rubbing at tired eyes, Ronin inhaled deeply and let out the breath again. ”I’m sorry, for what it’s worth. I started my first patrol just after... I didn’t know anyone was outside.”
“It’s not your fault,” comes tightly, but true. It isn’t. He hadn’t gone to Safrin for a fucking door, he hadn’t asked Sam for fluid, he hadn’t done anything but show up for a week of hell.
Turning to fix him with a gaze as hard as he is weary, she continues. “They're trying to kill us. All of us. First Ludo, now Safrin.” A harsh snort. “I’d bet my life that Ludo never truly stopped.” It’s exactly what she would have done with absent Old Gods who profess one thing and then leave their representatives to mangle whatever they stand for. And though this isn’t the place or time, and though she’d said she would be there to help him, she can’t help the unspoken challenge that creeps into her voice. The silent questions that he may or may not hear: does he condone it?
She won’t say it aloud - at least not now. Instead, she opts for some silence before drudging up another question. “How was the first night?”
It might not have been his fault but that didn’t stop the guilt, the Star stepping a little closer to Wessex to stand just within the circle of starwhale light. The sternness of her gaze was not wasted on him, though Ronin wasn’t in any state to figure out details or subtleties. So he hinged on her words instead, eyes widening a fraction as she spoke so plainly. Running a hand across his face, his shoulders slumped.
”Damn it all,” he growled softly, looking up into the empty night. ”I didn’t know what preparations had been made. This is...” He shook his head. Not the time, not the place, as Wessex had already indicated.
A humourless smile flickered across his lips. ”Terrible,” he said honestly. ”The monsters wear my daughter’s face, and they know all the right buttons to push. Company is welcome, honestly.”
She has her answer, or at least part of it; for now, it’s enough that they both think the Grounders (and Sam) were utter fools.
Grimacing a bit at what Ronin describes, Wessex can imagine how she might feel if Magrethe came for her, bitter and accusatory and sweet and charming. A week of that would be excruciating. And yet he took it on willingly. “You knew it would be like this, right?” she asks, hoping he might have done something to try and prepare against the psychological warfare. Exactly how he might have done that is unknown, but - something, surely.
“Come, sit.” She takes the lead (because he looks like shit and it might be easier to just do as he's told) and bids him conserve his energy, Wessex scoots a bit into the circles of light, offering him either someone to focus on or something to lean against, moving herself wherever necessary. “Do you want to talk? Or sleep? I can keep watch.”
”Yeah, I got a trial by fire from Remi.” Ronin buried his hands in the pockets of his coat; even the thought of the Alchemist was enough to make his resolve flicker, and if a portal had been anywhere nearby he might well have attempted to get to it. ”Not that I reacted particularly well then. But... it’s a week, right?” Just a week. And the reward would be worth the challenge a hundred times over.
A soldier practically out of childhood, Ronin reacted to the order easily, sitting obediently with Wessex before his haggard mind could object. He shifted so they were back to back, giving him something to lean against without risking giving her a concussion with his antlers. ”Sleep, if you wouldn’t mind. Not for long, just enough to reset.” He pulled a knee up to his chest, propping an arm on it, and his eyes were already finding themselves slipping shut.
Something, then. Good. While she’s sure Remi’s efforts were the best he could do, it’s hard to mimic the special kind of destruction the monsters can wreak.
“Just five more days,” she confirms. Days and nights, but it’s less exhausting to think of in one or the other. As Ronin settles in and leans against her, adjusting to keep his antlers off her own head, she agrees. Talking is overrated. “I’ll wake you if anything happens.” And she will, keeping a keen eye on the shadows that move outside their protective light. In this moment she almost thinks there’s hope for them, in their ability to circumvent the Gods’ actions.
When the deep thrum of the special monster rumbles in her body, she reaches around to his shoulder and rouse him, if the call itself hasn’t already.
