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!
She noted his sigh, and scrunched her nose at him, the look she gave was a silent statement, a 'you're the only person who's never abandoned me', sort of statement. She hated that weakness, though she'd just use it to her advantage, eventually. He shook his head, and she smirked, as the wind blew her hair into her face.
"Let's go home." She shoved her free hand through her hair, coaxing it out of her face. "I want a warm bed and a meal." She stated, decisively. And to find some clothes that suited her better than what had been left for her. It just wasn't her style. Though his coat was.
He rolled his eyes slightly at her scrunched up nose. She could be mad all she liked, but weakness was weakness. Her only saving grace was he felt no inclination to use it against her for the time being.
But she was already moved on to the next topic. Food and bed. Well, he could make those things happen. As they entered the Citadel he detoured them to the tavern, knowing they would have hot meals they could have. The seat he chose was in a back corner, where he could view the whole place and not have anyone behind him. Quietly he ordered stew for them both. The temperature wouldn't make a difference to him, but the hearty meal would certainly do Beatrix some good.
Beatrix didn't mind the seat he chose, she could pick the advantages of seeing everyone from the corner seat, and certainly didn't protest the stew he'd ordered for her. He hadn't asked, but it didn't matter. She was hungry and chilled enough to eat anything warm.
When it arrived, she ate in silence, listening to the chatter around them. No doubt people would be talking about them, and she'd rather be on top of any gossip if that was possible. Not that gossip would be bad, but they had an Academy to promote, to run. The wrong type of gossip would bring the wrong sort of people to train with them.
The silence was welcome, and he ate his stew in peace. For the most part. He could of course hear the whispers- some had already caught word of his mysterious reappearance, some merely wondered how two pretty strangers wound up in a place like Halo. Most would have been uncomfortable under such scrutiny from strangers, but doing so would require one to care what others thought, and Jace was far too lazy to get worked up about such trivial matters.
But one fellow seemed bold enough to approach. "Well now, can't say as I've seen such a pretty face around these parts, Miss. What brings you out here? Lookin' for company?" he slurred, breath thick with whiskey.
The man reached out, as if to grab Beatrix, but in a flash, Jace had caught his wrist, holding it in a firm grip. But it wasn't the strength of the hold that made the man stare at him in horror. It was the cold. Icy, unnatural, Jace's goddess-given aura creeped through his hand and into the man's arm - not causing harm but clearly distress. No one wanted to be on the wrong side of the Eirachi's most recent ward.
"Touch my sister, and I will break your arm." Jace said softly, almost disinterested, as if discussing the weather. He released his hold and the man took a few quick steps back, mumbling apologies.
Beatrix peered at the stranger, as she placed her bowl on the table. She could smell the whiskey and her lips curved slightly as if she were amused that anyone would approach her. “I prefer to keep the company of better-looking people, not drunken slobs.” She stated, carefully, withdrawing her closest hand from the table as the man reached for her, only to find his wrist caught by her brother.
Her lips pulled back into a wide grin, displaying her glee at this turn of events, as she watched the man apologize and step away. “You should really be more respectful, you know. Drunken slob or not, not everyone is as nice as my brother.” She stated, matter-of-factly, as if the man might need this advice later in his life, and for all she knew, he very well might. Her smile had faded like perhaps she was hoping for more from the stranger, but it seemed that not everyone was used to Jace’s touch. How intriguing. She filed this knowledge away for later pondering.
“It’s good that you know when to apologize though, there's some hope for you yet, but not with me. Goodbye,” she waved a hand, dismissing the man from their space and her mind, as she turned back to her stew and her brother. She did not thank him, for keeping the man from touching her. It’s a given, or so she assumed.
Jace paid no attention to whatever his sister said to the man. It was probably something pompous, self-righteous, downright degrading or some combination thereof. He remembered her being very loud. And though the volume of her words had decreased, there were still far too many of them. It was probably one of the worst traits she had picked up from their mother. Or perhaps her real parents had been equally loquacious. Either way he still retained the ability to drown out her voice with his own thoughts.
And his thoughts were on business. Things that needed doing in some semblance of short order. He was prioritizing and organizing, his mind a constant whirr of thought that only Beatrix had ever seemed to acknowledge. Soft spoken, introverted, lazy...all traits which did not reflect how much work went on behind his eyes. "What magic can you do?" he asked her. Her memories might be fuzzy but she should know that much at least.
Beatrix studied her nails, as her brother asked her what magic she could do. Without speaking, she pressed her palm against the table and concentrated, the corners of her mouth upturned as the wood began to splinter underneath her fingers. She’d not tested her magic out, after waking up in Whitebrim and had briefly worried that perhaps the spirit had taken it from her. That certainly would have been unfortunate.
She finished the last bite of her stew, and resumed studying her fingernails, “What about you?” There was never a seed of doubt in her mind that Jace had some kind of magic; with his parents, it was practically a given. Beatrix does not hide the splintered section of the table in front of her, though her gaze does briefly survey those around them, almost bored of them.
Jace watched in silence as she displayed her magic to him, leaning back in his seat as he had finished his food. He crossed his arms, brows furrowing slightly as if he was thinking rather hard. "That's it?" he said. A rather rude question, considering he only had one magic himself, but for some reason he had expected her to have...more. Though if anything, the insult ought to spur her to work at it a bit harder. And if she was anything like their mother - which he was most certainly not - then that would be tireless work.
"Water." he said, shrugging, not feeling very motivated to show her at the moment. Why waste the energy after all? "I guess you can be...the Secretary. Or Recruiter. Or something. Make up a name." he said. He didn't particularly care in all honest what she called herself - she could be the Grand Poobah if it made her happy. "What did mother call herself?"
Beatrix’ nostrils flared; the insult clear in those two words. He’d irritated her, and it showed in the way her right eye twitched. She doesn’t speak, just basking in his disappointment in herself—and hers in herself, because she was like their mother. She did want more; and more; and more. The insult would spur her to seek out more—like a bad comment about an outfit that ruins one’s self-esteem, except this worked in her favor.
When he informed her, he had water magic, she’d composed herself. He continued to talk, and she listened, idly picking at the hole she’d made in the table. “Mother was… Grand Sorceress, I think.” It sounded about right—what you’d expect Zariah Launceleyn to call herself.
More compassionate brothers might've felt a bit bad for upsetting their sister, but Jace was not a compassionate brother. He wasn't really a compassionate person period. She could be mad all she wanted, but he hadn't said anything but the truth. One magic, for someone who liked to style herself after the Merciless? Please. She didn't deserve to flatter herself so.
"Then I will be Grand Sorcerer I guess." he said softly. It was a garbage, lofty title that spoke of grandeur and pomp that made him want to gag. Grandeur and pomp actualized nothing. It meant nothing, accomplished nothing. It was no more than plumage on the tail feathers of a wingless bird. But of course, Eirachi had warned him that people held to such ridiculousness so he supposed the title of 'The Guy In Charge' wouldn't do. Ugh. Such a bother.
Jace looked at her bowl, wondering if she was done yet. The noise of the rowdy bar customers was grating his nerves.
Beatrix was still a bit upset with her brother for his comment; even if it was the comment that would fuel her to better herself—endlessly—until there was nothing left magically and she had to turn to other things to better herself. She could just see him, in her mind’s eye, turning to dust; withering away and being blown from her presence on the wind.
But outwardly, she looked composed. When he stated that he’d take their mother’s title, her nose scrunched. “Surely there’s a better title for you than that. I realize you need the loftiness to get people to listen to you—or well… I think eventually, you’ll be able to do that without a ridiculous title…” Their mother had subscribed to that title; used it to her advantage. And Beatrix was certain that their mother had needed the title to get people to listen—to obey—to see her as above them.
But Jace? And herself?
She pushed her bowl away, as he eyed it, and stood. Once again, a hand was proffered. “I like recruiter for myself. Simple, to the point. Nobody’s going to wonder what my purpose is.” She stated, confidently. “Ready to go home?”
Jace blinked, staring at her blankly for a moment. "What should my title be then?" he asked. He sure as hell wasn't going to put any thought into it. If she didn't like it, she would have to be the one to come up with a new one. He simply didn't care enough as it was and would follow the path of least resistance. At least she seemed to like the title he had come up with for her well enough. "Fine. You'll be the Academy Recruiter then."
He stood as well, taking her hand without second thought. At her question he simply nodded. Home and bed to do his favorite activity - sleep.
Beatrix shrugged, “Archmage? Has a nice ring to it—less fuss—and not as modeled after Mother.” She led the way out of the tavern, studying the streets as they walked. Doing her best to piece together the fragments of ‘before’, in an attempt to remember. Of course, there’s not much to remember, but it does not stop her from trying.
They walk in silence, to the Academy; to… Home.
Reaching the building, Beatrix took a moment to study it, before she followed Jace inside. Her steps were easy, leisurely pace. She briefly found herself wishing she had some sort of elemental magic—probably fire—to help keep the fires in the fireplaces lit, and as Jace leaves to sleep, she takes time to gather some wood for fires.
After all, the law says a fire has to be kept going at all times. And she was cold enough to need a fire, anyway.
