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.
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05-05-2021, 08:02 PM (This post was last modified: 05-14-2021, 07:27 PM by Varus.)
it's an all or nothin' play, though, ashes settle when i say so
It’s a confusing mix of emotions, ones that draw him back to the Ruins. Ones that have him perusing the empty destroyed streets and decaying buildings, covered in a thick layer of vines until he stops at a sprawling one, torn apart, broken and battered. He can’t help but to stare at it, to walk around to the backside of it and see the space where there might have been a large backyard, where there was a specific statue that was wrecked and ruined far before the destruction of this place had taken hold.
He’s dressed as he would be were he to train – and it’s a familiar space he goes to in order to complete said training. Because the ruins of this place he steps into had been his home so many centuries ago – wrecked and destroyed. He almost wonders if there’s anything of interest left underneath the rubble, but he’s a bit too nervous to find out. So instead, he makes his way toward the statue he’d used as target practice when he was training to become a soldier, running his metal hand along the nicks and curves of a blade along the arm of it – one he had given it so long ago.
He doesn’t dive in just yet, instead, returning to the middle of the once-courtyard, shedding the sword and bow from his back onto the ground, and closes his eyes with a soft inhale of breath to run a scan and make sure he’s fine physically before he dives into dealing with the whole ordeal of this mentally.
It isn’t Wessex who initially finds him in the ruins, but Loki, a not-so-tiny figure flying at about a four-story height, who ends up screeching a greeting from on high before diving down to meet the Ascended man. At some point she pulls back up out of the dive and climbs into the air again, looping and flapping about in playful acrobatics whilst letting her bonded know that someone is out there.
Wessex, however, is a bit behind her companion, and receives the impression that it’s someone Loki knows, but is not very familiar with. Which could be any of half a dozen people. So the Wraith thinks towards the Ascended (who isn’t that far away now, blocked by some rubble and climbing quickly) feeling him out with her mind and speaking directly into it. Care for some company?
it's an all or nothin' play, though, ashes settle when i say so
The trill of a dragon pulls him out of his meditation fairly quickly, gaze snapping open, chin tilting up as Loki dives down toward him. A small smile manages to find its way onto his face, reaching up to run his hand along her side if she lets him, before she’s diving up and playfully flying around him as if he’s some sort of pillar she can center herself around.
Ah, no, she’s using him as a beacon. A beacon to tell someone where he is. He doesn’t mind that, actually, not even as Wessex’s voice slips into his mind and Varus wonders if he can speak back through it. Yknow, after a second of overcoming himself from the voice in his head of course. He clears his throat, remains in that meditation position as he tries it out. Don’t mind at all. He tries to reply mentally, before he’s trying to settle in the meditation again, eyes closed, trying to center himself and get a feel for the new arm. “Might be nice.” He offers aloud, sure that Wessex will arrive upon him any second now.
“Do you know what this place is?” He asks, fully prepared for the answer of “ruins”. Oh, but it was so much more than just ruins.
Cal continues to impress her - she can’t remember more than one or two who took it upon themselves to see if they could answer the same say. You catch on fast, she sends back as she tops the pile of rubble, throwing one leg over and then the other, and then half-sliding and half-running down the other side.
And since there seems to be acceptance, she flashes him a quick grin while Loki trills and moves on to exploring something else in the area. His question, however, makes her pauses. Why would he asking that? Looking around her, she recognizes the ruin as one of the places she’s passed by multiple times - mainly because of the statue (how rare to survive all this time and still be recognizable). Her eyes narrow in thought and her lips purse thoughtfully, but Wessex can’t come up with anything obvious so she sticks with, “More than just some ruins?”
it's an all or nothin' play, though, ashes settle when i say so
Catching on fast kept me alive so long. He retorts, pleased to find that the mental voice and conversation between the two of them actually worked for starters. Besides, what was the harm in trying? It isn’t like he was saying anything aloud to look a fool anyway. So his gaze lifts as she arrives, sliding over a fallen beam into what used to be his backyard. His head remains fairly even as he tries to still himself as much as possible, listening for her answer, his metal hand slipping into the pocket at his side to pull out a throwing knife, one that within a few seconds he’s wielding and once he’s sure that both Loki and Wessex aren’t in the way, he turns ninety degrees and launches the throwing knife into the statue’s broken hands.
Once that’s done, he rolls back on his heels before his bright blue gaze lifts to Wessex with a nod. “Yep.” He pauses, huffing a sigh he doesn’t need, moving himself to stand beside her so he can accurately point out the pieces. “The Ruins used to be a sprawling city, not unlike Stormbreak.” His head tilts a fraction. “We’re standing in the ruins of what used to be my house.” He frowns, reaching up with his metal arm to run a hand through his hair, before he casts a glance back at Wessex. “Now it’s nothing more than overgrown rubble, dubbed the Ruins, with little treasures of past lives I’m sure people have stumbled upon.”
She slips down the embankment and Cal reaches for something - she isn’t alarmed by it, but the double flash of metal and metal is more than enough to draw her curious eye. Loki is up and away, exploring the skeleton of the house, well out of their range - which is probably a good thing now that weapons have come out. “That’s an improvement,” Wessex offers with a grin, admiring the sleek appendage from afar - and the way he flings the knife with ease.
The revelation that this is his house makes her turn in a circle, taking it all in as if she could imagine it being something else - something living and as grand as the ruins make it seem. “Can you… tell me more about what it used to look like?” she asks while heading for the bow - arguably her favorite weapon - and testing the string.
“Is it - this must be hard.” Trying to empathize with a bit of a grimace, the demigod takes an arrow, nocks it, and then points to a high window. “In there.” Letting it fly, she waits to see if the arrow makes its target.
it's an all or nothin' play, though, ashes settle when i say so
“Yeah? You like it?” He asks after the knife is thrown, flashing a fanged smile back the Queen’s way. It’s a smile that fades as the conversation delves into darker, sadder territory. He finds himself standing beside the Wraith, watching as she takes a full circle, peering at the ruins of his home, of where he’d grown up and thrived, before he’d chosen to go to war, before he’d chosen to Ascend and fall offline for centuries.
He steps away from her to go and grab the knife out of the hands of the statue, mulling over the options of where to begin. There’s a lot, so he spins the knife in his metal hand, before returning to Wessex’s side, watching the arrow as she nocks it back and watches it fly into a high window. It curves just enough to land through the window, through a broken pane that clinks it into the inside. “Mm, well, that used to be my parents room.” His head tilts as he considers it. “We’re standing in my old backyard. It was kind of like a courtyard of sorts.” He flips the knife in his hand again before throwing it at the statue once more, watching as it shwings off the edge and flies into the ground, sticking straight up.
He steps over to retrieve it again. “The Ruins were huge. Tall buildings and everything you could think of. Cafe’s, shops for clothes and books and everything you’d ever needed. The stone streets were always full of people walking to and from where they worked and where they lived. Parties were huge.” He grabs the knife, letting the blade clink against his metal fingers. “My family was a small one, but we were pretty well known at the time. I had agonized about telling them that I had Ascended, given that I was their only child. I think they had expected it and supported it, much to my surprise.” He hums a soft laugh with that. “And to think I was worried about it for weeks, but dad recognized the fangs before I had a chance to say it. Not like it mattered that much, really. I was twenty.. five? Twenty-six when I Ascended? Fully capable of making my own decisions, but... Y'know.”
“Mmmm,” she affirms with a quick hum. “It’s so blatantly Ascended.” And all the better that she knows what his arm looked like before, so that he now has a story about trading something that had been destroyed for something even better. An upgrade that is truly an upgrade. Those are the kind of things she finds delightful.
And so is the fact that her arrow has now landed in his parents’ room. That vague sense of teenage rebellion has never truly left Wessex and it surfaces again with a short huff of amusement as she lowers her bow to grab another arrow, listening intently to his description of the Ruins. It makes her stop what she’s doing and look around at the surrounded rock - heaps of it in someplaces and flattened in others, some houses still standing while others boast nothing more than the foundation. But it’s hard for her to imagine it all being tall.
“As tall as the Spire?” she asks, brow furrowed ever so slightly. She can imagine a Haulani here, a Snowcloak like place, but huge parties? That was - they say you don’t miss what you don’t know, but Wessex can imagine something better and always has, and a sort of wistfulness invades her face as Cal describes what she can only imagine as a utopia.
“I’m the last of my line too,” she says with a small nod. “A lot of us are. The Occidendums, the Theskyras, Athanasias… were they upset that you Ascended? Your parents. I mean, was it more acceptable then?” Once Cal clears the statue, she nocks her arrow and aims for the crook of the statue’s arm, giving herself a very small target. “Through the armpit,” she calls, and then lets it fly. At this range, her aim is pretty damn good so it sails cleanly through with a bit of a whistle, but leaves her wanting a bit more of a challenge.
it's an all or nothin' play, though, ashes settle when i say so
His arm is blatantly Ascended and he adores it for that fact too – something that the two of them have in agreement. So much so that a smile does break through the somberness of the conversation, something to tuck away for later. How much of himself could he change yet stay the same? Likely everything, given all the time in the world. But would he want that? Well, for now the arm was good enough.
Her question of the Spire has him pausing a fraction, unsure when he goes to pick up his knife and return to her side. “No, not quite. The Spire’s… A thing unlike anything else I’ve seen. Except Stormbreak, maybe. The Spire wasn’t around when I was.” He flashes her an apologetic smile as she explains about her own family and sends her arrow flying.
He watches as it slips through the armpit and a whistle of impressiveness leaves him as he palms the knife and pinpoints the armpit too – sure he can sink the knife into it as well. The hilt of it is a bit too big for it to slide clean through, but he thinks he can mirror her, even if he is a smidge rusty. “It was more acceptable, then.” He hums, flipping the knife before rising it to throw it, watching as it sinks into the crevice of the armpit. A smirk crosses his face as he turns to look at Wessex. “Was friends with a few Theskyra’s back in the day. You definitely have the looks and the spirits of them.” A casual shrug as he retrieves that knife.
“No, of course it wouldn’t have been,” Wessex immediately realizes. “It was made to be a prison for the Voice.” A prison inside a prison. Traps lain for the Ascended to dared to try and get her out, a tower hiding a portal - it was the stuff of stories, not real life.
Whistling quietly at his knife-skills, she’s in the middle of laying the bow downwhen the topic turns to her family. “I’ve heard a bit more about them recently,” she admits, an uncharacteristically shy expression creeping in, hidden as she makes a show of extracting the new discus from a pouch. “Not all of it good. I wish I knew more about them. By the time I came around, we were almost gone. Had lost so much.” Shrugging, she tosses the disc with one hand, catching it and holding it up for Cal to see.
“This one’s fun.” A flick of her wrist sends it towards him, fairly straight, headed directly for his chest if he doesn’t catch it.
“I don’t know, families are weird. Maybe I’d have been different if there were still lots of us.” But her tone says it doesn’t weight too heavily on her mind. She could have done with a little less opposition and a little less fighting for survival, but in the end, Wessex mostly likes who she is.
“So have you been to Stormbreak? The Voice said Ascended and Abandoned can’t go there anymore.”
it's an all or nothin' play, though, ashes settle when i say so
His lip feathers in distaste at the realization the Spire was a prison. A prison that the Voice had thankfully broken out of at some point, given the fact she was still around today. That all the Ascended were still around, himself included. But the knife is thrown and he moves to retrieve it, turning back as he watches her pull a disc out of a bag.
Color him intrigued.
The metal hand rises to catch it as it’s thrown to him, the metal plates in his arm shifting and clicking with quiet whirs as he inspects it. And then he’s tossing it back to her. “They were a big family. Didn’t live too far away from here, actually. I used to walk by their block on the way home most nights.” He says with a nostalgic smile, waiting for the discus to be thrown back toward him to catch it. “I wouldn’t exactly call it a party, but to watch the Theskyra women debate on the end of the block was one of the best types of entertainment we came across back then.” He hums a soft laugh, a shake of his head.
He remembered being a boy and standing on the corner of the road just watching and listening.
“And from what I knew of them and what I’ve heard of you, you seem like you’re a chip off the block.” He doesn’t know if it soothes her any, but he wants to try anyway.
Dark brows raise at the mention of being unable to go to Stormbreak now, and the smirk that flickers across his face is both amusement and a sneer. “Yeah, I’ve been to Stormbreak. It was before I ascended, we used to go occasionally to get new clothes and things.” He shrugs casually. “They’ve always been the prissy sort, not exactly my cup of tea.”
Not too long from now, the discus will become a chakram, wedded to her hand and razor-sharp, but for now it sails safely between them, made perfectly smooth and cylindrical by their maker. And if there’s a little edge to it that catches them unawares, it’s nothing a couple of nanites can’t easily handle. Wessex catches it, far more practiced than she was at the end of Flowerbirth.
She can’t hold back the sudden laugh at the news that the women of her family were great debaters. Is it code for getting drunk and yelling at each other? Fighting through their opinions? Or were they truly smart, articulate debaters who used words instead of weapons? Wessx is quickly caught up in Cal’s description of her family, and the oddest thought drifts into her head. What of her uncles and grandfathers? Did they marry mild men - and did the menfolk of the Grounds know what they were getting into when they married one of her ancestors?
Coming back to the present at the faintest hint of a compliment, the Wraith’s brows arch incredulously. “Oh? And what have you heard about me?” Which is not to say that she’s surprised he’s heard anything, just that she’s terribly curious what the gossip is.
“Come on - the good, the bad. All of it.” Grinning a big, she encourages him again by continuing with passing the discus - though this time she purposefully aims it high and past him.
it's an all or nothin' play, though, ashes settle when i say so
Oh, had she asked he could’ve told her exactly what kind of men the Theskyra women chose. She’s correct in her assumption of whether they knew what they were getting into – but that was part of the charm. Even back then, there were those that loved their strong women, able to handle much of everything else while the Theskyra women went to fight. It was quite the opposite of what homelife had been like for Varus, but it had always been an intriguing notion to be sure.
At the present, though, the question that arises as the disc is thrown back and forth and Varus sends it careening toward her again, has a bright fanged smile crossing his face. “You’ve been queen twice.” He comments, distracted as the discus comes flying back toward him, higher and past him and the ex-Assassin jumps to try and catch it, metal fingers screeching against the material as it zips through and he finds himself turning and using his ability of speed under the cover of night they find themselves in, to try and chase after it with a breathy bark of a laugh.
Once he’s retrieved it, he does much the same, aiming it toward her and throwing with his left hand with the metal arm, with a bit more speed than anticipated. “Heard about LongNight – which is still a bit surprising to me. I think all in all though, despite how it destroyed some of the Grounds, the end result was worth it.” He wasn’t here for it, but the end result speaks for itself. “Sounds like you care a lot about the people, but much like what your ancestors dealt with, it’s hard to get through people’s heads that your stubbornness is just how much you care about them.” It had Theskyra written all over it.
Cal is able to catch it and a low “Nice” whistles from her lips. “Did the Grounds have Queens and Kings before?” she asks as he launches it back towards her, one eye behind her and the other on the disc as it slices through the air, fast and furious and into the palm of her hand as she crests a small mound of rubble. Turning back with a satisfied grin, she looks back at the other Ascended. “We didn’t have them in the bubble. Couldn’t get anyone to band together, really. We were just… surviving. Hard to care about anything when you’re hungry, y’know?”
And then there’s LongNight, and it hadn’t really occurred to her that the week of terror might not have existed for Cal. He is obviously of Aamu’s time, but sometimes she forgets about the quiet weaponsmith. “Yeah, LongNight…” focusing on the disc instead, she suddenly sends it his way again, this time aiming towards his knees from her slightly raised position.
After he’s either caught it or not, she waits for him to send it back, hawk-eyes and catlike-reflexes at the ready. “I do care - very much. It’s a learning curve, sometimes I feel like I’m making everything up as I go. So I wonder if you might help me with something.”
