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!
better get to diggin' while my body's getting cold. i keep tryna fight it so just promise when i go, you'll bury me low
A quick glance to Nate is dashed away by the scent of the ocean – something that both worries and calms him, a place where he’d ventured out for the freedom of being among the waves, but also a place that he’d succumbed to the waves, drowned and washed up on the beach fairly recently. He mulls it over, steel gaze lifting as Locke steps over toward the silk pouch that he stands beside.
A dark brow raises, and perhaps it’s a bit of the challenge of the table that makes it so he focuses on seeing what it decides to give. He stays by the silk pouch, casting a glance at Locke curiously, before folding his arms across his chest and looks back over to Nate, sending a brief question across the bond. Mine smells like the ocean. What’s yours like?
Sunjata stays by the starry silk pouch!
SUNJATA
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
she tied you to her kitchen chair she broke your throne and she cut your hair
Standing in front of the white, glowing crate, Wessex is sure she’s made the right choice for her until all of a sudden, the feeling of laughter - or someone laughing? - washes over her like a warm splash of water. Or so she might describe it, remembering what warmth feelings like. It’s nice, but it isn’t for her. And as the faithful demigod turns her head, she realizes that there are other feelings coming from the rest of the boxes and bags.
One by one, the Wraith wanders up to them, until she finds herself at the warm paper bag. It makes her pause, this feeling of cool shadows. Calling to her - for she is a creature of the dark and and many shadows. Smiling slightly to herself, Wessex chooses a new treasure.
You win a lot, but you lose just a little bit more than you gained in the end
It should be concerning, how quickly the table steals his focus, but it isn’t until the vice rings out in his head that Mate even realizes he’s looked away from Sunjata. His head turns quickly, trying to catch warm steel with a warmer smile. Its like it was made for you, sonskyn. The question has him focusing more intently on his own chosen prize however. There’s no smell emanating from it, no sound like what leaks from some of the others. There’s simply a sense of contentment, of security. I dunno. Comes the silent hum, Nate’s head tipping back and forth. It feels... right?
Already, Nate considers the bag his, which makes it a problem when Wessex saunters over. ”Oh, I already picked this one.” A wide grin accompanies the words, Nate’s head tilting as he levels his gaze at Wessex. ”Whats wrong with the one you had before?” The words are accompanied by a lifted brow. The grin still spreads wide and tooth across its face, but it’s hollow brightness has vanished from Nate’s eyes, replaced by a challenge.
Nate stays by the paper bag, and challenges Wessex a lil bit
Paint doesn't taste great, and Jack can't help but wrinkle his nose as he realises that's the sensation he's getting from the shiny blue bag he's bet his stakes on. He can see others realising similar attributes about their own choices, and instinctively - of course - it's the starry silk pouch that draws his attention, smelling like the sea and all that Jack actually enjoys in his life. But the Governor has chosen that one, and a couple of others seem to be posturing for it as well.
For the sake of bags and pouches at a Night Market that's just as crooked as the rest of Torchline, though? Jack decides to let the Flood have what he wants. He can smell the sea any time he likes, after all. So, after a moment of deliberation, he stands by his first choice, come hell or paint water.
Jack stands by his shiny blue bag.
you wanted perfect, you got your perfect but now I'm too perfect for someone like you
Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!
Jack being an Abandoned is common knowledge these days, however his Telepathy remains a well-kept secret:
Magic: Passive Telepathy | The user can read the surface thoughts and emotions of those within a 30ft radius. Control is excellent. Note: "Thoughts and emotions" include anything written in a character's narration in a post.
Type: Grey | Rank: Mastered
Also branded with a small star tattoo beneath his left eye.
It hits her square in the gut, stealing her breath and the heat in her cheeks. The chill is obvious. Death. It sinks into her being from the close proximity to the otherwise plain box. She takes a step back without realizing it, the fear forcing her away and instead she's drawn towards another. Sweet smelling florals fill her nose and her eyes drift towards the humming red box instead.
It reminds her of the garden. Her room. Safety. Warmth fills her again and she draws in a much needed breath. Maeve moves towards that box instead, uncaring if the Table is unhappy with her decision. This feels better. It feels right.
Maeve moves to the red humming box instead.
With her sweetened breath, and her tongue so mean She's the angel of small death and the codeine scene
how do you wanna face it? when the end is so close you can taste it
The chilling clang of metal-on-metal shudders through her. Her gut reaction is to say no, not that, that’s not what she wants. She wants the laughter of the glowing white crate, the ocean in one’a the other bags. But the world’s changin’, ain’t it? And what are you gonna do ‘bout it, Raz?
Hide in yer bar forever? No, no she doesn’t think so. Grittin’ her teeth, she looks pointedly up at Rigby, who’s also happened to ‘choose’ her leaves. Tall, but scrawny, the older Torcher imagines she can take ‘im if it comes to that. Tensin’ for a fight without makin’ much of’a real move, Raza scoff-growls at the kid. “Fuck off. This one’s mine.”
and this is why i have decided to leave your house and home unhaunted
All at once Rigby's opinion of the leaf bound box changed. It felt, or rather radiated metal, not the crunchy earthen aura he'd first perceived. He screwed up his nose, glancing to the shorter woman as she barked and snarled his way. He glared, half tempted to stay just because she'd challenged him to. But the ghost didn't care that much, so he slipped away from her, instead heading towards the purple wrapped box.
This one was admittedly worse in aura, but everything here tonight seemed a little wrong. This felt no more wrong than the presence of this fucky market, so with a huff he stood by the purple box, an unpleasant scowl on his face.
So, you've made your decisions - and changed them - based on a package and a feeling. The yellow bag and the orange towel lay neglected and unclaimed. A shame, because now they're off The Table, quite literally. Just, gone.
Well. Seven items still remain, and ten of you to claim them. You sense that The Table isn't sure which of you should have what. And so it poses a silent question: Guess.
Guess... what? What you'll do? What it is? Does The Table want a correct answer? A funny one? A dreamy one? Who knows. That's all you get, that one word.
Guess.
Final round! Make a guess about the item you chose!
Please post your guess in the footer of your post. You have 48 hours.
Guess, the Table says (Jack supposes anyway), and he's supposed to make a stab in the dark on the basis of what, exactly? A shiny blue back and the taste of paint? Raising his eyebrows and looking just as thoroughly unimpressed as he imagines the rest of the group clustered around are, he starts to consider his guess. Honestly, though, he's not even sure whether or not he wants whatever it is this disembodied... thing at the Night Market thinks is worth winning.
All of this, naturally, does sweet fuck all to get him any closer to being away from the Table or leaving with his 'prize', and so with a long, deep breath, Jack waves a hand imperiously and takes a stab in the dark.
"Is it a set of blue paints?"
Jack guesses a blue paintset.
you wanted perfect, you got your perfect but now I'm too perfect for someone like you
Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!
Jack being an Abandoned is common knowledge these days, however his Telepathy remains a well-kept secret:
Magic: Passive Telepathy | The user can read the surface thoughts and emotions of those within a 30ft radius. Control is excellent. Note: "Thoughts and emotions" include anything written in a character's narration in a post.
Type: Grey | Rank: Mastered
Also branded with a small star tattoo beneath his left eye.
03-22-2021, 07:03 PM (This post was last modified: 03-22-2021, 09:26 PM by Rigby.)
RIGBY
and this is why i have decided to leave your house and home unhaunted
He was able to stick with this gift, nobody else fighting over the purple package of death. Rigby was eager to unwrap it and get to the prize already, to see what the catch was if there was any. There was a prickle of anxiety that settled in his mouth, he chewed lightly at his cheek, missing the cigarette that was usually stationed there.
But the wait would continue as they were now told to guess. Guess the contents of their boxes or bags, Rigby scowled and looked down at his violet box. "Your mom," he grumbled, running his fingers across the dread box. He didn't care to actually try, that wouldn't influence the contents probably.
Others scrambled and muttered, and she remained steadfast, solid, in her choice. The youth guarded it, waiting for something else to occur, for another to be drawn into its aura – but naught occurred. A single challenger and defendant, which was fine with the honeybee too. All that came thereafter was a word clambering through her senses.
Guess.
Guess what? What was contained inside? What they were all doing here? What this thing was truly even about?
But she hadn’t cared, and the lure, the enticement, was too great for her avaricious mind. She went for the former, and wondered, pondered. Was wildflowers too obvious? “Perfume,” she answered instead, before conjuring any further thoughts.
Guess? A whimsical instruction from a whimsical event. Theo didn't know what might be in the box, but he assumed it was something magical, from the glow -- and the laughter, which he wouldn't imagine a mundane item could convey. What could it be? More than that, what did he want it to be?
"A spirit," he offered, with a wry smile: he doubted his answer would be accurate, so he might as well go with something fun. "A merry, jingling little creature, bringing joy and fun everywhere it goes."
Was that something Theo would actually want to find in his box? What use would he have for such a thing? Good thing he was almost certainly wrong.
Theo
"Poker" by ND Strupler is licensed with CC BY 2.0.
how do you wanna face it? when the end is so close you can taste it
Guess?
Rolling her eyes, Raza looks at the rotting leaves and tries to imagine anythin’ other than a weapon inside of it. Sure, it could be somethin’ fun like… handcuffs. Orrrr a fancy, high-brow bracelet. But those things aren’t chilly. Not really. Then again it could all be bullshit, because Torchers an’ spirits alike like to pull these kinds’a stunts. Listenin’ to a few guesses, she runs her tongue over her teeth before takin’ a deep breath an’ announcin’ “an enchanted knife.”
Could be a steak knife. Could be a stabby knife. Could be a butter knife. Hell, it could be a spoon, for all she cares.
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she tied you to her kitchen chair she broke your throne and she cut your hair
What Wessex wants to say to Nate is something along the lines of: well I’m a monster and an insufferable cunt and this is what cunts do, so fuck off and take someone else’s.
What she actually does is something more along the lines of shrugging and ignoring his challenge. Something seems different about him, but she doesn’t feel like paying close enough attention to figure it out, blaming it on his recent muzzling or something. It would be enough to change anyone. “Felt like laughter,” she says. “This feels more like me.”
And that’s really all their is to it. Wraith. Shadow. Shadow. Wraith. Obviously.
As for what could be in it? Something as simple as a cloak, or that thing that Rex had - a parasol? But what’s weird is that the bag is warm but what she senses is something colder.
“A roof tile,” she says. Hoping it’s not, but what else could be warm and yet cast coolness? And still fit in a bag?
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