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!
They search for sea glass - smooth as she can get it, the Voice advised - by the light of the moon on a balmy evening in Torchline. The Miana Pool seemed like a good place to start, given the frequency of the tide, the way it sucks out and deposits treasures for explorers like the two of them to find. None of this explains why Isla is on Varus's back, her bare feet locked gently around his waist, her arms draped around his neck, but she doesn't feel like a reason needs to be justified.
"It says here," she murmurs, cheek to cheek with her fellow Ascended, "that if the torches that line the beaches of Torchline ever blow out, the islands will sink into the sea." There's a sunbleached (and maybe a bit damp) book open in her fingers, Isla clearly believing that a moonlight stroll is a good time to indulge in some light reading as well. "Was that the case three hundred years ago? Have they really been burning allt his time?"
we're gonna separate ourselves tonight we're always running scared but holding knives
tell me father, which to ask forgiveness for? what i am, or what i'm not?
There's a joke in here to be made, or maybe he’s already made it by the time she’s clamored onto his back for a piggy back ride. Perhaps he might have joked about being a royal steed for the duchess, or about how it’s great he doesn’t feel exhaustion, or about how it could be considered part of his training by carrying her. Regardless, it happens, and his arms are easily looped around her legs, gaze scanning the edge of the Miana for any sign of something shiny and glimmering.
She’s reading a book and involving him in it, which makes for a brilliant combination of Varus’ own distraction in search of the sea glass as well as trying to figure out how they got on the subject of torches. “Hm, sounds like Halo if I’m being honest.” He pauses his words, head tilting a fraction to blurrily look at Isla’s face. “Torches were always burning but some of them went out occasionally. Hard to keep them going when monsoon season hits, I imagine. Hasn't sunk yet, though.” He hums with a soft laugh, continuing down the edge of the Miana. “Isn’t it a crime in Halo to let the fires burn out?” He muses thoughtfully, wondering if the legends had overlapped at some point.
tell me mother, which should i regret? what i became, or what i didn't?
"It does? I was only in Halo briefly, at the Festival of Lights when I got back," she admits, smiling to him and closing the book so she can focus properly on their conversation and their sea glass search. With a lighthearted laugh, she nods in agreement. "Yes, I suppose it's difficult to keep them burning what with the gale force wind and rain," she agrees, waiting until they're at the Miana proper before she shifts to clamber down from his back. "Thank you, sir," she murmurs with a kiss to his cheek.
She hasn't heard the legends about Halo, but they certainly are interesting, Isla humming out a thoughtful sigh and kicking about the sand. "Maybe that book you got me will explain it. We can get a similar book from Torchline and compare."
we're gonna separate ourselves tonight we're always running scared but holding knives
tell me father, which to ask forgiveness for? what i am, or what i'm not?
“Unless they’re magical…” He trails off as he pauses so she can slip off his back. He leans into the kiss to his cheek, metal hand running along her arm as she departs to kick at the sand and Varus picks a space a bit further away and closer to the Miana to do the same. “Hope the ride wasn’t too bumpy.” He teases her with a soft laugh, turning his attention to the sand where his boot scuffs through it to try and find anything of note.
As for Halo, though, there’s a hum of delight that slips from his throat. “Yes. I’ve always wondered what kinds of traditions spilled over.” He says, dropping to a knee in the sand to run his hand through the edge, pulling up a rock instead of a piece of glass. Tossing it into the pool, he looks back at Isla. “I imagine the things we’ll find now will have erased us…” The Ascended, that is. “When before we were quite involved with a lot of things. Would be fun to kind of see what’s changed.” Or heartbreaking. Whichever. “Oh, how much glass do you need?” He asks curiously, turning his attention back down to the sand, both hands now running through it in search of anything.
tell me mother, which should i regret? what i became, or what i didn't?
"Not bumpy at all - then again, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised given your profession." Moving smoothly and stealthily was kind of par for the course for an assassin, right? Isla shifts forward through the sand, her bare feet skimming it before she's dropping to her knees as well to try and search. "Oooh, I bet they are magical. Do you think we could get close to them to take a look?" Not too close, obviously. They'll end up catching fire.
She is constantly surprised by his nerdiness delight at myth and legend and the books that contain all of those tales, Isla smiling to herself and nodding. "Oh? We were?" she asks, surprised to hear it. "I can't even imagine what that must have been like." As for the glass, Isla straightens up and moves over to search with him - she's having no luck. "Only one piece, but the Voice said to try and get it as smooth as possible."
we're gonna separate ourselves tonight we're always running scared but holding knives
tell me father, which to ask forgiveness for? what i am, or what i'm not?
“I suppose all my years of training paid off.” He snorts, a crooked smile nearly glued to his face at this point as he searches. He pulls up a starfish next, inspecting it, before setting it aside nearer to the Miana’s waters. “Of course we can.” He hums to her, not troubled with the idea of trying to see if they were magical. He trusts Isla enough to know that they wouldn’t intentionally be setting themselves on fire with their curiosity.
Besides, they both were a bit nerdy and wanted to get to the root of things, if only to understand. It’s something Varus appreciates more than he can say.
He picks up a shell this time, one that’s adorned in oranges and purples, that he sets aside to keep for some random reason, when he starts moving down the sand a bit more, searching for the parameters that the Voice had described. “Well, at first it was nice. Asked to help out a lot given that we don’t tire the way everyone else does. Then it became protection, given we don’t sleep. We were versatile and useful and people loved us. And then some got it into their heads that we were like gods among men.” He puffs out a sigh, pulling out a broken piece of sea glass now, dull and muted, not at all smooth. “Then the Order was formed and all this… Propaganda went out. The war happened.” Shoulders rise and fall in a shrug before he’s peering back at her again. “Don’t remember much else, yet. Some of it is coming back though.”
tell me mother, which should i regret? what i became, or what i didn't?
"It's a plan." Isla murmurs with a smile - it's not a date because they're already on one, but it's certainly something to do with the rest of the night. Varus has turned up a starfish, a shell and a rock, and Isla has a tiny crab and a piece of driftwood to show for her search so far, and she takes a pause to listen as he explains. "That's... very sad, when you think about it," she admits, rising to her feet to move a little further into the Miana to take another look around.
"I have always found the Voice nothing but reasonable," she admits. "A little intimidating at first, but... I don't know. I always feel comforted when I see her. Like everything is in hand, like everything will fall into place in the end. I can understand some being put off or unnerved by it, but I suppose it's different for us, right?" Then, glancing down into the water, her eyes light up. "Oh, I think I found something."
we're gonna separate ourselves tonight we're always running scared but holding knives
tell me father, which to ask forgiveness for? what i am, or what i'm not?
A sigh passes from his lips as she comments on the story, his head bobbing in agreement. “Yeah it was… Not great.” He admits, internally cursing himself at bringing the mood low with the sudden spark of a memory in his mind. But as always, she lightens it, Varus pausing in his pursuit to focus on her and what she says of the Voice, and somehow? Somehow it alleviates things for him.
“She’s always been like that.” He comments with a soft tinge to his smile, trying to filter through his block of memories. The Voice had always been kind but firm, with a mission and a goal and Varus had fallen in love with the idea of it, the ability she could give him and the rest of them, the life it held. But he focuses on what she says next, pushing himself up from the sand, as his hand slips on a slick piece of coral and he face dives into the sand with a small oomph of surprise, picking himself back up and rubbing at the sand caught in his beard.
He makes his way over to her, trying to wipe off the sand, before peering over her shoulder into the water. “Sea glass?” He teases, rubbing at his beard again to get the sand out.
tell me mother, which should i regret? what i became, or what i didn't?
"Mm... I can imagine." It's already starting to go that way now, Isla realises, though without the golden years that preceded it in Varus's time, it doesn't sting so much. "Has she?" she murmurs of the Voice, finding a smile creeping across her face to hear it; there's something incredibly reassuring about that, to know that their lady has remained unchanged in her ideals and goals for all this time.
Regrettably, Isla is not so engrossed in thoughts about their goddess to miss Varus faceplanting the sand. No, she sees the whole thing, snorting in a very unladylike fashion and trying to stay focused on the sea glass she's fishing out of the water. "Mmhm," she manages, rising to her feet to show him the smooth triangle of green glass in her palm. "You okay?" she asks, reaching up with her free hand to help wipe the sand off his face.
we're gonna separate ourselves tonight we're always running scared but holding knives
tell me father, which to ask forgiveness for? what i am, or what i'm not?
He wants to tell her all the things he can remember of the Voice before the war, but he’s too busy getting a face full of sand to truly comment, and he does his best to ignore the laughter that’s incredibly unladylike from Isla, even if his amused grin betrays him. “That isn’t very duchess of you.” He says wryly, his voice taking on a playful pained hurt, all dramatics before he’s rubbing at his beard and the sand flecks off of him in small waves.
The unfortunate thing is that he can hear the crunch of sand in his teeth when he closes his jaw, too, and he spends a moment trying to corral it all to spit it out, before she’s showing him the green sea glass. “Ooh, quite smooth.” He compliments with a laugh, gaze finding her face. “Fell in the sand. It’s fine.” He says in a matter of fact tone as if she hadn’t watched him literally eat shit on the beach.
His arm slips around her, though, once most of the sand is out of his beard. “Got a safe place to put it so it won’t break or get scratched?” He asks curiously, cocking his head toward her.
tell me mother, which should i regret? what i became, or what i didn't?
"Duchesses aren't usually field medics in a war," Isla points out with a sly smile, though she does duck her head apologetically for laughing so obviously at him. "I have learned more swears from soldiers in pain than I care to remember. Add that to the things I've seen, the things I've smelled, and we're getting further and further from nobility all the while."
Raising her eyebrows to hear that it's fine, Isla chooses not to mention Varus's apparent decision to eat the beach again, turning her attention instead to the smooth green glass in her hands. "Mm, I think it will do nicely, don't you?" She smiles. "Though I don't have anywhere to put it, no... You wouldn't happen to have a spare pocket?" It's with an innocent glance up at him that she starts to try and search out those pockets, and if her hands ghost by other places along the way? Ah well.
we're gonna separate ourselves tonight we're always running scared but holding knives
tell me father, which to ask forgiveness for? what i am, or what i'm not?
She points out quite a good truth, one that has Varus’ smile growing a bit more crooked. “Mm, see, I think that’s why we get along so well.” He pauses, his grin shifting to something more fanged and playful. “I knew you were my kinda girl when you didn’t even flinch when I asked you to remove my arm.” This is aired with a hum of laughter, his arm slipping around her to draw her in so he can inspect the sea glass and try to get more of the sand off of him and from his mouth.
She seems to ignore his comment on it, which is probably for the best anyway. “I think it will.” He agrees, the Ascended scanning the glass before it disappears in her hand and she’s running them along him, searching for a safe space to put it and the ex-Assassin absolutely sees through her lingering hands. If his hips wiggle a bit, he doesn’t draw attention to it. “Hm, I think the back left pocket would do nicely, don’t you?” His metal arm tightening around her middle, his arm made of flesh rising to tilt her chin up so he can catch a sly kiss.
tell me mother, which should i regret? what i became, or what i didn't?
"Oh? I thought it was because of our kindred love of literature and philosophy," Isla says with a dramatic sigh, though the banter definitely helps, and that's definitely come straight from the battlefield - probably for the both of them. "I'll take off the other one if you ever need it. Maybe we can actually give that one a proper burial," she suggests, turning her head as he tilts up her chin with that very same arm so she can kiss his wrist.
"Mm, I think it will do as well. I'll have to inspect it first though, make sure there are no knives lurking in there. A blade would absolutely scratch the seaglass," she remarks, grinning. Their lips meet and Isla happily carries out her inspection, making extra sure that the back left pocket is empty before she slips the glass inside, giving it a little pat for good luck. "There," she murmurs into the kiss, "I think we're good to go."
we're gonna separate ourselves tonight we're always running scared but holding knives
tell me father, which to ask forgiveness for? what i am, or what i'm not?
“It helps.” He teases with a rumble of a grin. As for his arms, though, his brows rise in amusement, a dramatic flare overcoming his face as if he’s intrigued and somewhat surprised at the thought. “I dunno, I quite like this hand.” He was right-handed, after all, and the arm he’d lost had already been an adjustment enough. “We could always make a fake arm and send it off. Pretend, as we’ve become very good at.” A grin spreads now, thumb brushing along her jaw, before the hand slips to the back of her head.
He’s more than content to let her inspect his pockets, diving in and pressing a kiss to her before he pulls away and she makes extra sure his pocket is clear. “I’ll have you know the only blade I have on me right now is in my boot.” He says matter of factly – completely prepared to lift up his leg and show it off to her, should she ask. But their lips meet again and she’s mumbling into his lips and he squeezes her a bit tighter to him. “Want to go look at the torches, now? See what else that book has to say?” He suggests when he pulls away, nose brushing against hers, a soft glimmer to his blue gaze.
tell me mother, which should i regret? what i became, or what i didn't?
