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!
"Ah..." Bastien paused, trying to think of how to explain the complexities of history, race and politics to a toddler (and also telling himself off for even mentioning it in the first place); he'd always made a point of not lying to children, but trying to explain things in a way they could understand. "The Fae and the Ascended haven't been getting on well for a little while. We haven't been allowed in their forest for a long time, but maybe now things are getting better - it's the first step." He desperately hoped it was, anyway.
Laughing at the next, much easier to answer question, he nodded. "Yes, but at the end you have a nice picture of yourself and I'll take you out to the Oasis...and maybe we can go see Mother Voice." Bastien promised, thinking of things Azrael might like; The Voice had an odd role in their parentage, a surrogate, parent and Goddess in one, distant but always close.
"What kind of flowers do you want to use? Do you know the names of any of them?" He asked.
There's just no telling all the things that you’ll become
As Bastien goes to explain, Azrael listens with all their attention focused on their father. “First steps.” They croon, a chimed response to Bastien’s optimism, picking up on it and letting it guide them as well. “So… I must be good?” They question with a tilt of their head – no running amok, no shenanigans, simply on their best perfect behavior.
It sounds a little less fun, but there’s a hint of excitement that lingers within – at seeing the outside world.
It’s dimmed only by the fact they have to sit still for a fair amount of time in order to get their picture painted, and they idly reach for a toy to turn and twist in their small hands while they focus on it. “Can we? Please?” Comes the quiet question, the optimism glimmering in their gaze, softening with the question.
Their head dramatically drops to the flowers splayed out, lifting hands and toy to their lips while they consider it. “Roses… Like the red.” Like the petals they had just crushed, bright ruby red.
"You were planning to be bad?" Bastien asked jokingly, wondering if Azrael ever went into situations thinking they didn't want to be good, though he swiftly switched back to a serious tone, wanting to make sure this sunk in: "But yes, you must be very good. Don't take anything, don't be rude to any of the Fae and don't hurt any of the flowers or trees. They won't like it, and we'd have to leave very quickly." If we got to leave at all, he added in his head.
It was nice to see Azrael so excited about seeing their Goddess; he nodded. "Yes. Let's say tomorrow afternoon, I will paint you. If you sit still the whole time, then we will go see Mother Voice. She might even read you your book for a while, if she is not busy." Bastien had been touched by how nurturing the Voice could be with Azrael like a kindly grandmother (who also looked to be under 10 years old).
"Roses? My, you have inherited my flair for the dramatic." Grinning approvingly, Bastien stood to pick a rose from the flower store at the top of the shelf and making sure it had no thorns, went to push it behind Azrael's ear. "Beautiful!"
There's just no telling all the things that you’ll become
“A little.” They admit with a sheepish smile, a shake of their head as if their curls might block the amusement that begins to blossom across their face. It’s gone in an instant with the seriousness of the conversation, however, their focus going entirely on their father, head bobbing up and down as they commit it to memory.
Be good. Be good.
And with that seriousness over with, the prospect of seeing the Voice has them smiling wide again. “Okay.” They chime, an easy agreement to make for now, at least until they were in the position of sitting still and trying to remain as such. They’re thankful when the subject changes to flowers, however, picking a red crimson rose just the same as the petals they’d just crushed.
Bastien places it behind their ear, and they beam up at their father, eyes wide, crinkling a bit on the edges. “Red!” They chime, a brilliant grin spreading across their face with it, their little hand lifting to touch the velvet edge of the rose bud.
Mock-gasping at Azrael's confession, Bastien put his hands on his hips, doing his best to put on a scowl. "Are there any other plans to be bad that I should know about, hm, piccola scimmia?" Despite his good humour though, he did still worry a little about the impression they might make on the Fae: while Azrael was a toddler any misbehaviour would likely be cute enough to be forgiven, but when they were older? He had no idea.
At least seeing the Voice was good influence in their life and he laughed at their reaction to the flower, nodding and reaching down to kiss his child on the forehead. "Indeed. Ah, Azrael, you remind me of myself; if you are lucky you will keep down that path." With a wink, Bastien stood up to continue mixing paint, chattering away to his child about whatever they might be curious of.
{FIN}
There's just no telling all the things that you’ll become
