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!
This is one of the few places in Torchline he’s never really been to. A few times as a child, leaving little trinkets with his mother but he was too little to understand the weight or meaning they may have. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the gods so much as he felt so small, so insignificant to them. Why would they care about someone like him. But here he was, the little box containing the pie he’d made tucked under one hand and a floral arrangement he’d made with Maeve in the other. The Zhenniao feathers he’d gather with Melita are tucked into the flowers too. He hadn’t known what to do with them but this felt right.
He stands in front of the shrine, watching dazzling colors reflect a rainbow of color off the stones. It’s almost hypnotic and he wishes he was on something. But no, it's just anxiety that laces his blood. He sets the offerings down, carefully opening the box to pull out the pie. It’s a peach and cream pie. Get it? He thought it was funny at the time. The flowers were grown in the garden of the Halenani. They’re golds and oranges, colors of the Torchline sunset, to accent the green of the the Zhenniao feathers.
Locke kneels down slowly, taking comfort in the way the warm water swirls around his legs, letting it ebb into his body and trying to calm himself. One hand comes up to fiddle with his necklace, one of the few true tells that he’s nervous. ”Frey. I-” He takes a shaky breath, eyes fluttering shut as he tries to figure out the right words to say. Why is this always so hard? He has a feeling he can’t get away with lying to a god though. ”I know things are going to go to shit soon.. I don’t feel ready though.” How do you articulate a gut feeling to someone?
”I don’t exactly know what I’m asking for but I want to be different.” His face twists in confusion as he shakes his head. ”No. I want to be stronger. I’ve got things I want to protect. I saw Sunjata shift.. The power that he has. I don’t know how to get there though.” It’s unpredictability of channeling that scares him, really. "I don't know what else to do so here I am.."
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Locke is here to (hopefully) attune! He's praying to (nature) Frey! He brought them a peaches and cream pie along with a flower bouquet with Zhenniao feathers tucked into it.
The beautiful bouquet that Locke has brought will appear to sneak in through the prismatic hues in the Rainbow Road. They care not that it's saltwater and rock to sustain them - the flowers take root there, blooming more brightly and taking on, too, the beautiful feathers that adorn their petals. A work of wonder to be sure, but such manipulations are this god's forte.
"I say take a break, eat a slice of pie, and stop to smell the roses. War can wait, sugar."
They appear, naked and comfortably cross-legged opposite Locke, limbs supple and golden with a Longheat tan. Like their counterpart, their appearance constantly seems to shift, though it isn't an aura of sexual desire that the mortal will feel. No, this Frey is sumptuous and abundant, and the water around them seems to dance with delight at their presence.
Gesturing for Locke to cut his pie so they may both enjoy it, they smile across at him. "You want to be different," they repeat. "What would you be, instead of what you are? Speak freely, peach."
He inhales, shaky and unsure as the flowers begin to take root, the voice unfamiliar but comforting all the same. Except it's not at all. Some part of him bristles, annoyed at the notion to wait. All he's ever done is wait. But before him is no mere mortal but a god and maybe Frey knows something he doesn't.
Locke nods though because what else do you do in this situation. Maybe he should just chill for a minute. He's always wound so tightly lately. He looks Frey over, trying to figure out what they remind him of. A ripe fruit maybe? Or a whole orchard? Something but he's not sure what. Again, it sooths him a little, watching the way the rainbow colored light reflects of the god before him.
Another nod as he shuffles forward, drawing the dagger he keeps at his side. He carefully cuts a slice, handing it to Frey before cutting a smaller one for himself. He actually doesn't really like sweets but he takes a bite anyway as he mulls the question over. What would he be instead of what he is? Well that's a fucking loaded question.
The short answer is anyone but himself. The self-loathing is deep and always has been. But for all of Frey's powers, he's not sure they can do anything about that. He bites his lip, a half laugh falling from him as he shakes his head. "Sometimes I wish I was a cat. You ever met a cat that was worried about a war? They don't worry about anything except where the brightest beam of sun is or where the next fish is coming from." Maybe that's why he wants to attune so badly. To escape from the feeling of being human. The urge to give into instinct and forget what thinking is. He knows it doesn't work that way but what if it could, for a minute?
"Don't underestimate me, sugar." Frey smiles, seemingly responding to the mortal's thoughts. "A little self-criticism is natural. You're too cute to be so tangled up in yourself, though." Reaching out for the pie, they hum their approval and dip a finger into it, dolloping plenty of cream up and into their mouth. "And a good cook, too. Sure a cat is your thing, doll? You could make a good chef."
Still, they seem to be considering Locke's response, tilting their head this way and that as if able to see something within the man that he cannot yet see. "It is quite blissful," they agree. "But know what kitty cats also have? Claws. For protecting, for attacking... Perfect for a war once they're all done napping in the sun, wouldn't you say?"
His eyes narrow, unsure if he's being teased or if the god is genuine in what they say. Either way, he doesn't say anything. They taste the pie and he's relieved that they seem to like it. Not that he was really worried but it was in the back of his head maybe. "Don't know how useful a chef is during a war." And maybe once upon a time, he would've been a chef. But c'est la vie. Not this go 'round.
Locke licks his lips slowly, watching the way they regard him. Nerves bubble up and he looks away until they speak again. "Yeah. Suppose they do. How disarming, right? Been bitch slapped by a stray before.." He's telling the truth for once in his life. He has a feeling he can't get away with lying here.
A pause before he's looking up at Frey again, "No dodging the war then? Gonna have to use my claws for someone then?" He shakes his head, a little curse under his breath. He has other questions but it's too many all at once so he stays quiet. Why doesn't this feel more clear? Why are morals a thing?
"Soldiers have to eat, as far as I can recall," Frey reminds him, smiling around another bite of pie. "What's that old saying? An army marches on its stomach?" Locke's pessimism isn't going to cut it with the nature deity, that much is clear, and as he continues, Frey reaches out to bop him across the head, much like the stray cat that might have bitch slapped him previously.
Tilting their head, Frey peels a peach slice from the pie and slips it between their lips. "Sugar plum, if you want me to tell you that you're going to have to fight, you've petitioned the wrong god," they drawl, grinning. "What you do with your pretty little head is up to you. But war is coming, whatever it is you want to think about it. The question is - would you feel safer with claws?"
He's a little caught off-guard by the bop, blinking as he leans back. But a laugh bubbles up in his throat and he shakes his head. This isn't how he expected any of this to go. He's not mad about it but still. They're right though. People gotta eat and he kinda likes cooking. Plus, Frey seems pretty pleased with the pie. Something to think over.
He mulls the question over in his head but it only takes a second. "Yeah. I think I would." He looks down at his hands, flexing them experimentally before looking back up at the god. "So will you do that? Give me claws? To protect myself?" And maybe even the people he cares about because he has those now. "What do I have to do?" Nothing is free, right? The world runs of favors but do gods really need mortals to run their errands?
They're both pleased, it seems, and Frey finished off their slice of pie and licks their fingers as Locke finally seems to come to a decision. Not a maybe, not a I'm not sure, not a what should I do. There's a light within the deity that seems to shine out at that, and they shuffle forward so they might cup Locke's cheeks in their sticky hands, giving them a good natured squish.
"Oh, peach - you've already done it," they coo, and even as they speak Locke will feel something start to thrum through their bones, to rush through their blood; the urge to move and run and hunt. "Pick yourself up from here and run, sugar. Run until you can feel every rock on the Rainbow Road, until climbing is as easy as breathing."
Locke has become an Attuned and has obtained a jaguar shift!
Frey is reaching out again, creamy peach covered fingers coming up to squish his cheeks. It makes him feel incredibly light at first, like a kid, before it settles into something else. He doesn't quite understand what the god is saying but he thinks he gets it. He stands, even before the god tells him so, the primal urge coursing threw his veins is too strong. He takes a deep breath, shaky and uneven before he turns. "Thank you, Frey, for everything." He means it too.
And he does as he's told. The first several steps are loud, boot clad and almost faltering. The next several are something in between. Finally though, four spotted paws hit the earth and he feels something he's always been sure is there. A path of rocks lay before him but he finds his way up it with little trouble. Each pawstep is more sure than the last as he makes his way away from the shrine.
