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!
As the heat of spring chases away the lingering chill of winter, Nephele is more inclined to visit the waters that thread through the Greatwood like uninterrupted thread woven by a hand far greater than her own. The water's noise helps soothe the thoughts inside her head, that which collects and creates chaos in infinite cycles as she tries to determine the best way to serve her newfound purpose. There is still much to be done, and it unfurls before her like a trailing ribbon, crimson and damning. What more can she do but walk that path? Aware that it will surely end in her own demise.
The water is cold enough to pebble her skin when she dips her feet into the shallows. Voice rising against the burbling current to sing in the old language that she was born to. Letting her thoughts recede, where they can untangle in her subconscious as she allows the here and now to be consumed with lyrics and melodies. The answers will come. Perhaps not today, but always in time.
In the hours after she leaves the shore, the remnants of her mistakes echo and rattle like skeletons in her head. A restful vacation it was not; Amalia has been left more uncertain than ever, wrapped in her doubts and unsettled in a shifting world. Her marriage, her place in the world, her friendships, her family... the Shield doesn't know where she stands with any of it.
But one thing she knows for sure - perhaps the only thing, today - is that she has to speak to Nephele.
There's whispers in the trees of where the Fae can be found. Quiet and stealthy as her kind is, even Nephele cannot hide from the birds in the woods, and Amalia in this instance has no qualms about using them to find her query.
"Nephele. We need to talk." Stepping out from the canopy, the Shield holds no illusions that the woman does not know she's there. Only this time, unlike their last encounter, the baker stands with her back straight, dark eyes serious and severe. She has made a mistake she needs to rectify; she is searching for control.
Nephele is not expecting company. This shouldn't be surprising, as Nephele is generally not expecting company as a matter of principle. Even her own people had learned she'd rather have her nose in a book or a set of vials than listening to them ramble or twist words. Nephele may have a deep pride and protectiveness for her people, but she is a solitary creature at heart, and irritation swiftly follows in the moments after she is startled out of her idle singing.
Wildfire eyes thin as she slowly turns to gaze upon the one intruding upon her private time. Taking her time, careless of the tension that is practically visible on Amalia's skin, like smoke rising where water touches scorched earth. And Nephele thought her people were called volatile. Nephele leans backwards, propped up by her hands to stretch along the flat stone like a lazy cat, staring up at Amalia's disapproving expression. Oh, she can certainly anticipate what this will be about.
"Do we? I have nothing more to say to you, Shield. This sounds more like you have something unfinished or unanticipated to levy upon my shoulders." Perhaps she's jumping to conclusions, but Amalia is no actress, her emotions flickering like sputtering embers even as she tries to conceal them. But okay, she'll bite. "Speak your piece, Shield. You have clearly found my ear."
The ease with which Nephele responds to her presence sets the Shield somewhat on edge, not anticipating this level of laissez-faire while her own mind is a whirlwind. Like a cat the fae extends upon a sunlit rock, the scene idyllic under other circumstances, a halcyon moment Amalia cannot savor.
"Very well." Stepping barefoot to the bank, Amalia approaches Nephele. She does not squat or bend, will not insult the woman like that. "I made a mistake. I never should have agreed to allow your mission of vengeance. Not at the cost of life." Life, as malformed as it may be. Remi's anger springs to her mind, and it is all she can do to keep from wincing.
"I know it was you who killed that Ascended and sent his body to the open lands. That you attacked Nate in Torchline. I haven't told anybody, but if you continue down your path of violence know that I will do all I can to stop you."
08-11-2020, 08:21 PM (This post was last modified: 08-11-2020, 08:23 PM by Nephele.)
I was born in a big gray cloud
screaming out a love song
Nephele still does not compel herself to move as Amalia comes closer, looming more than anything now with the difference between their positions. Instead she tilts her head back, long copper hair tickling against the insides of her arms where they prop her up, gold-cast eyes sharp and crinkled at the edges with an amusement that she does not deign to explain to the annoyingly moral woman.
"A mistake. Hmmm. So now you seek to blame me for your own lapse in morality? You are ashamed that your heart spoke whispers of darkness that your beloved Gods found sinful, I assume. And so the child runs to clean up their mess, hands red from the patronizing slap. But are the whispers truly gone?" Her voice is svelte and mocking in turn, coming across almost empathetic and pitying if it weren't for the serpentine sweetness of antagonism. She stands slowly, stretching like a willow limb in the breeze, letting Amalia's threat wash over her before laughing brightly to the skies. Only then does she lower her sharp gaze, smirking.
"Do you now? And what is your proof that I committed these actions, Amalia? My word alone, a threat more than a promise? You, who assumed to know Ludo's mind and what they instructed me to do, in all your arrogance. You, who boldly claimed yourself that those who killed my people were not innocent and yet condemn me, chase me down for justice when you refused to give my dead brothers and sisters that honor?" Something that Amalia still has not done. That she will never do, for her racism is clear. "Do you think I would not drag you down with me, Shield? That I would not spread that you believed yourself entitled to demanding that your own kin be spared, but nobody else? Your power has gone to your head, and you are a short-sighted foolish child, whose years could never compare to mine." She's on a roll now, smirk growing sharper, practically alive with an electricity that leaves her veins buzzing as she moves closer to the waif of a woman. Undaunted by their difference in height. "And where is your proof? Did you see me attack this Nate character with your own eyes? This, which happened before I even came to ask your permission? Would you condemn me without evidence? Tsk tsk Amalia, you certainly seem to have outgrown that head of yours." Admittedly despite their different sizes, Nephele can only see the woman as a mere babe, so few are her years and so arrogant her actions. Deplorable, really.
"Violence you call it, and yet you were the one to give me the approval. Your hands are as bloodied as mine - and you can't even be sure it was me." Nephele knows that. Gods word or not, she had hidden herself perfectly. "So how will you stop me without revealing your biased, racist hand my dear? For surely if you value life that is a bare mimicry at best, you do not have the guts to kill me." It's a venomous, gleeful whisper as she leans towards Amalia to impart it.
"I don't blame you. As I said, I made a mistake." Nephele falls upon her in a deluge of judgment, and Amalia stands beneath the onslaught as one made of stone. The truth is that for all her accusations, her condemnation, her condescension, the Fae is not telling Amalia anything the girl hasn't told herself a hundred thousand times. Guilt and shame have hardened into armor, a shield to protect her from the crushing weight this otherwise would be.
And so Amalia stands still and silent, listening to Nephele speak and holding her own tongue. To an extent, at least. "You're right," she agrees quietly to the accusation that she put her kin above others, closing her eyes for a brief moment. "Sam is not the only one who deserves to live. They all do."
As for approval, as for blood- Amalia has already acknowledged her guilt. This is not an attempt to undo what she has done: the stains of that will remain firmly printed on her heart. "Can you tell me, honestly, that it wasn't you?" she asks, looking at the wild woman and meeting her with steel. "I know what I did was wrong. If my part in it needs to be revealed to stop more death, so be it." Fear ripples through here, the inevitable rejection, and yet the Shield holds firm.
"You're right, Nephele. I will not kill you. And I am sorry for those you lost - your brothers and sisters did not deserve to die. I still believe the Voice must pay, and I still intend to hold her to trial for her crimes. But the Ascended were once Vi's children just like you and I, and to rob any of His gift is something I can no longer abide."
