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!
Sam had never been delusional about his level of physical ability or fighting skill. He had always been a bookmaker and a gentle soul first and had only gone to fight when it had been absolutely necessary (and often, even then, made things worse than they would have been otherwise or spent most of the time hiding).
However, Remi's visit had shaken him. The news of Ascended limbs showing up in boxes was enough to unsettle anyone and Sam, who was already prone to anxious moments and impulsive actions, had immediately felt the itch to do something about the whole situation to make himself feel better. After closing his shop for the day he had gone to grab the 'staff' Melita had once given to him, which was little more than a glorified stick, and practice some fighting moves in a shadowy courtyard in uptown Haulani.
Hands shaking he moved his feet to step forward, thrusting the staff at imaginary combatants; if he focused just right, he felt he might have a chance at defending himself. With no upgrades anymore to speak of, his only chance of success was with his strength (a terrifying notion), so a special kind of desperation drove his movements, the staff swinging wildly in the air.
dont know where the lights are taking us but something in the night is dangerous
It’s nothing more than coincidence that brings Wessex to this particular shadow-dipped courtyard. Mostly hidden by palm trees and their fronds, the demigod thinks it might be a quiet place to pass the time, to have a solid think about those body parts and the child Nate mentioned and other things well beyond her ken.
Turns out it’s already occupied - the occupier, however, is most unexpected. Oh, one might say they were bound to run into each other eventually, given their mutual circles and the amount of time the Wraith has been spending in Torchline. One might even say she’d even deliberately gone out of her way to avoid Samunel, because she knew she might not be able to control herself. The anger at his actions against their Lady, the pain from the loss of Clem, everything she’d been dying to do to him hasn’t diminished with time; it’s simmered, like the growing tensions of their world.
And he hasn’t helped his brothers and sisters. Not at all. Without her bow and arrow she’s at a disadvantaged. Perched atop the wall and perhaps even partially concealed by palm fronds, Wessex takes the knives from her boots - one from each - and after careful aim, hurls them at Sam’s torso.
07-16-2020, 04:31 PM (This post was last modified: 07-16-2020, 04:31 PM by Samuel.)
Samuel
Hope for the best
Prepare for the worst
Sam had gotten into a kind of rhythm, swinging and stepping back; it felt almost like if there was an actual opponent here, he could have a chance of defending himself enough to get time to run (he had no delusions of beating anybody). However, it appeared there was an opponent: Sam barely had time to realise what the knives rushing towards him were by the time they were there and the wave of the staff was pure instinct, an ungainly swing into the air before him.
By some miracle, he managed to knock one of the knives slightly off course, but in the process of doing so overstepped and careened forward. The knife that he had knocked still breezed past his side, fluid following it in a neat arc as a cut appeared in across his ribs: the other lodged firmly in his stomach, just above his hip. While he couldn't feel the pain, Sam let out a noise of disbelief and horror at seeing the hilt sticking out from his flesh and froze, hands shaking on the staff.
In his panic, he could not look up and identify the attacker. Convinced it was whoever had decided to target the Ascended, he called out: "Please, I'm just a bookmaker, I'm not dangerous, please don't!"
dont know where the lights are taking us but something in the night is dangerous
If the knowledge of inflicting pain can’t be satisfactory, the thwump of one of them burying itself in his abdomen is. Fully expecting that force field to go up, Wessex waits for a moment while he panics, calling himself not dangerous, and she scoffs. Dropping to the ground like some kind of video-game assassin, the demigod stands and stares at the bookmaker. “Our dead siblings would like to beg otherwise,” she says quietly. There’s a moment where she considers just killing him outright, but the Voice’s words stay her hands, the very hands that itch at her sides, ready to flex and skewer him with her talons.
But she doesn’t. Or doesn’t yet. Instead, she stands and demands, “defend yourself.” The angry demigod means with his staff, of course, but then her instructions were hardly clear and precise, and she remains weapons-free for now, confident that she could take him without wielding another blade.
When Wessex dropped down in front of him instead of some mysterious Ascended-hunter, Sam stared with a confused silence. He had been expecting her to make an appearance at some point, to punish him for his mistake that had resulted in Rexanna's death: he had not expected her to outright attack him right away. That she was that angry was immediately terrifying, Sam knowing exactly what she was capable of, and what he had lost.
Before he could find the words to try and defend himself, Wessex was advancing, demanding he defend himself: Sam's eyes widened in alarm and he lifted the staff in his two hands again, trying to ignore the pull of skin around the knife still in his torso as he moved. His hands shook as he held it out, taking steps backwards. "Wessex, we can talk about this -- we both know you can beat me. There's no point..." Sam feebly argued under his breath, too scared to speak louder.
dont know where the lights are taking us but something in the night is dangerous
“You mean the way you came to talk to me before giving your fluid and upgrade to Deimos?” she challenges, voice harsh, sneering, demanding he account for his sins, which to her are manifold. The Time For Talking is over. The Time For Talking was over when he chose to leave the flock. Had he wanted to, she would have tried to talk then, would have tried to make him see the light, see the love their Lady had for them. She would have been a good shepherd if he’d wanted to talk - but now? Now, too much damage has been done and the Wraith begins to see red.
“Or how I'll never get to talk to Clem again?” Baring her fangs with a lip curl, she does not leap at him outright but does jump forward, aiming to land in a squat with her hands on the ground and then sweep Sam’s legs out from underneath him, like some kind of freaky Ascended ninja spider.
"I was trying to help people." Sam insisted; as terrified as he was, he found that he still had to try and defend his decisions; possibly out of guilt, possibly out of a belief that he had still done some correct things. "Your plan to attack the monsters would have killed all of our family, if it had gone ahead." And while he would rather none of them had died, of course, he thought this better than the massacre he had foreseen with a fight against the monsters.
Of course, Wessex managed to sweep out his feet: Sam was not and never had been a fighter or had quick reflexes. He fell to the ground on his back, raising the staff and his legs over himself to try and prevent her jumping on him as he got back upright. "I know you're angry-- but-- It's not as simple as all being my fault."
dont know where the lights are taking us but something in the night is dangerous
“We agreed to wait,” she growls back, emphasizing the agreement they’d come to with the Voice. To try again the next year. Which should have satisfied him, but for some reason, it didn’t. What putting her plan off had to do with the door, she’s isn’t quite sure. “Did you even think it through?” she jabs back, after he falls and she tucks her leg back underneath her, rising to continue the assault.
“The heralds would do anything to get rid of us. You know that.” How he could have forgotten that, having lived as an Ascended for a decade, is beyond Wessex’s ken. She stalks towards him and releases her talons in her right hand, aiming to cut through the staff with a downward swipe that would purposefully miss him - this time. “You’ve done more damage to the Ascended than anyone who’s ever actually tried to kill us.” Snarling, becoming everything she didn’t want to be, the Wraith feels control of her anger and her grief slipping away the more he protests to being a good guy.
“What ELSE have you given away?” she yells, trying to physically keep Sam down on the ground.
"It won't be any better next year!" Sam insisted, still not sure what Wessex didn't understand about that failed endeavour; when he looked at the Ascended he didn't see an army getting ready for battle, he saw a family of lost and alone people, most of whom had limited control on their new bodies and powers. Yelling as she struck him he tried to scramble back now, giving up on getting up for the moment; sheer terror kept him moving.
As the talons came down towards his face he pressed his body to the ground, taking in a panicked breath. "I never meant to hurt anyone!" Sam insisted, knowing it to be the truth: while indeed his actions had resulted in pain, he always acted with good intentions. Whether or that that mattered was a different issue, but he couldn't think of anything else to say: as Wessex pinned him down to the ground he tried to fight and wriggle out of her grasp the best he could, but she was clearly stronger.
"Nothing! Nothing. I went back to the Voice - she's taken me back into the family. She won't be pleased if you kill me." He tried to change tactics, hoping Wessex might stop if she worried about repercussions from their Goddess.
07-20-2020, 07:12 PM (This post was last modified: 07-20-2020, 07:13 PM by Wessex.)
dont know where the lights are taking us but something in the night is dangerous
He has so little faith, she thinks, but refuses to rise to what she sees as bait - an attempt to distract her into an argument that shares its roots with this current blaze of anger, but little else - at least right now.
With Sam pinned, she tightens the grip with her thighs as she reaches for the blade that’s still in his abdomen, trying to yank it out if him none-too-gently. “That’s the problem, Sam,” she says with what seems to be a calm settling over her. “You never mean to do anything, and yet you do. You’re always sorry, but you never do anything to try and fix it.” Even though he’d yet to apologize for his, all his needless breath used in pathetic defense of himself. Leaning down, Wessex tries to solidify her grip with a forearm across his shoulders, leaving one arm and hand free to wield the knife she’s hopefully already pulled from him.
“You don’t ever fucking learn.” Attempting to move the blade closer to his head, the Wraith’s voice gets ominously quiet. “You’re a danger to the rest of us, Sam. And I have a duty to protect the family.”
Sam couldn't move. He'd known when this had begun that Wessex was going to be able to overpower him; she was Demi Goddess and trained for fighting her whole life, he was a bookmaker that hid in the shadows to avoid parties. All that was left to see was how merciful she would choose to be: he felt sick to his stomach, knowing he would be shaking far more if not for her strong grip on him.
He had no thought behind his words now, they simply fell out of him automatically; full truth and instinct. "I don't know how to fix it! I never know how to fix anything!" Sam shouted back, giving one last push of his wrists: no luck.
When Wessex fell quiet and began to move her knife, he shut his eyes tight, tears forming at the edges; he too spoke quietly, last hope breathing out of him: "If you tell me how I could fix it, I could try. Try to make it better."
dont know where the lights are taking us but something in the night is dangerous
The cold, hard truth of the matter is that no matter what Samuel does, he can’t bring Clem or Rexanna back. He cannot undo the destruction he’s wrought, much like she cannot undo the Mathair portal. Only time will heal those wounds, provide a distraction to the Fae, perhaps - a bigger enemy for them to focus on than the Ascended.
This was what her goal had been, of course, before she lost control, to get Sam to be useful again. The Voice might have been forgiving, but the Wraith also knows she would have been disappointed and for now, they are too few to waste a life - even one such as his. Wessex closes her eyes for a moment, staying the blade in her hand until she can wrestle her emotions back into their box. When she feels like she can look at the man without wanting to cut something off his face, she tosses the knife to one side, out of both of their immediate reaches. “Fine.” Pushing herself up, the warrior removes her arm from his chest, but remains straddling him.
“You’re going to swear to never give a physical part of you to anyone who isn’t Ascended. You’re going to keep this encounter between you and me. And you’re going to find out what they did with that door - if it’s been destroyed, and if not, where they’re keeping it. It can’t be allowed to exist.” Wessex, for one, had wanted to burn the door down post LongNight, but she’d arrived to late - it had already been taken down, taken somewhere, or perhaps they’d done the right thing and burned it themselves. An improbable, but possible turn of events. And yet some other part of her knows, that deep down, a weapon has been made that will not be easily unmade. And it may yet doom more of her family.
“Do you understand? Ascended first. If you even think for a moment that whomever you’re dealing with can use something against us, you stop.”
There was a long moment where Wessex's eyes were closed and the knife was still pressed to his neck: Sam wondered if she was gearing herself up for the kill, apologising to their Goddess in her imagination perhaps; he closed his own eyes and with a tear-logged breath, tried to think of anyone he wanted to mentally say goodbye to - before he could decide, the sound of the knife landing jerked his eyes open and he stared up, surprised to find he was not dead.
When he listened to her demands, he found they were not unreasonable; though he wasn't sure he could actually find out about the door. "Alright. Alright, I can do that. I don't have anything else to give away, and um, I can ask Deimos about the door..." Sam tried to make it clear in his tone of voice he wasn't sure if that would come out with results: after the failure, Deimos had to be hesitant to do anything about the whole ordeal and the man seemed like he was difficult to gain the trust of anyway.
"I understand. I came back because I understand." He insisted, trying his best to keep her gaze to see if she would understand he was serious.
dont know where the lights are taking us but something in the night is dangerous
“Do you?” the Wraith almost immediately challenges, clearly refusing to believe that last statement. Arms fold across her chest as she looks down at the man who is doing his best to try and convince her. The eyes that look back at him are hard, yes, and accusatory. But there is also a flicker of pain, of guilt and frustration and vulnerability, as if every thing done to them as a whole is also done to her. And it is, in a way, ut she doesn't anticipate such empathy from him. “Tell me what you understand,” she commands while perched atop him, as still and strong as a statue. She doesn’t expect her 'brother' to understand her and her motivations, no - that would be asking too much. But to have changed his mind on their Lady? Yes, that is a legitimate expectation, she thinks.
Nay, not only an expectation, a requisite for being useful to the family again. Some of them have excuses still - by virtue of age and origin - but Sam does not. Sam has run out of excuses.
