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!
06-11-2021, 01:21 AM (This post was last modified: 06-16-2021, 01:31 AM by Maeve.)
Maeve
There was very little that Maeve went into the Wilds for. Very very little. After her lash little jaunt into the Oerwoud, Maeve had been hesitant to go back herself, fearing that she could potentially be whisked across the content at the last second. Despite the fact that she's managed a few uneventful trips into the Wilds, her anxiety doesn't ease, but at least this time she has Aidon with her. The dragon is still growing, but he has been doing an incredible job of keeping an eye out for her, ever vigilant when they were out and about.
Maeve adjusts her grip on her basket, the backpack she has on filled with whatever essentials she might need for something to happen weighs her down, but her steps are sure as she follows a nonexistent trail towards the sounds of rushing water. She's intent on harvesting some Blushberries among other herbs that grow along the water. Aidon flies above her, remaining beneath the canopy, sending various views of their surroundings to her along their bond. "Quite the little look out today, hm?" Maeve hums softly, flicking her eyes up to him as he trills in response.
No one wants you when you have no heart and I’m sitting pretty in my brand new scars
we're all stories unfinished and we die to find some fitting words to write
Loki has been more than a little perturbed at being left behind on Wessex’s most recent adventures, so Wessex made her a promise to go to Torchline and the surrounding areas so she could see Haai and Pemota and spend some quality time together.
It seems to have done the trick, because the decently-sized dragon is doing her happy-spirals, taking the dense jungle canopy as a challenge for her to maneuver through, while the Wraith takes the underbrush as a similar kind of obstacle, the two of them delighting in seeing how fast they can make it from one point to the next. A shriek of triumph from her companion make Wessex laugh as she still struggles from a particularly tangled bit of vines in her way.
“Well go on then, go fishing,” she encourages the winner, as she snaps through the last sticky bit of greenery. “I’ll be right there.”
So Loki goes on ahead of Wessex, diving down to a small stream like an bullet, before fanning her wings out to slow down and land of a bit of dead tree hanging over the water.
Finding other people out in the Oerwoud isn't uncommon. It really shouldn't be a surprise that someone else might be traipsing through the greenery, but it catches both herself and Aidon off guard. Instantly the dragonling is sending a warning along their shared bond, urging Maeve to slow down just as she steps through the thickest of the underbrush, boots finding the edge of the water. Just as quickly as the warning comes its gone when he spots another dragon. Not having learned to take caution yet, he streaks towards, warbling out a greeting to the female perching on a branch above the water. He makes a show of swooping, spinning, and dancing through the sky as if to entice her to play.
Maeve's brows knit together, scanning along the shoreline for another individual and her eyes eventually fall on Wessex, bringing a hand up to her chest and letting out a breath of relief. She recognizes her from the trial. The woman having stood near her and Ronin. "I wasn't expecting anyone else out here. Guess I should know better than that." Maeve says with a soft laugh, offering the Wraith a smile that can be considered nothing but warm.
No one wants you when you have no heart and I’m sitting pretty in my brand new scars
we're all stories unfinished and we die to find some fitting words to write
Loki is never one to say no to playing, especially not to her own kind (and other dragons are rare enough in her Ascended-heavy world), so it doesn’t take much enticing before the older dragon forgets about fishing entirely. The log shakes a bit as she launches herself into the sky, leathery wings pumping to carry her higher, to show the hatchling how those spirals are done properly. Or something like that.
The Grounder chuckles softly at both her companion's antics and the observation. “It is odd sometimes, how we have all this wilderness and yet people always seem to find each other.” Maybe it was the way of Caido, that people are never truly alone unless they want to be. “I’m Wessex,” she says, offering a hand and stepping towards the other woman, a pleasant enough, practiced and diplomatic expression on her face.
Aidon eagerly follows after the elder dragon, mimicking the spirals and dips that Loki performs in the open space above the water, feeling daring enough to dive towards the water's surface to kick up a spray. The Madame tears her eyes away from them, focusing back on the Wraith, the smile still on her lips. "They do... I don't think I've come out here once and didn't manage to run into someone. I suppose this time is no different." Maeve laughs softly, taking her hand to give a firm shake, "I'm Maeve. I've seen you around before, I think? At the trial between Sunjata and his father?"
Her brows lift, head cocking to the side as she waits for the confirmation, drawing her hand back as she spares a look towards Aidon and Loki to ensure they're still doing well. "What brings you out here?" She asks, spotting some Blushberries just past Wessex, slipping past her to start carefully plucking the berries off the branches.
No one wants you when you have no heart and I’m sitting pretty in my brand new scars
we're all stories unfinished and we die to find some fitting words to write
“Oh Gods, that drama?” she replies dryly, bold in her position on the many aspects of the Flood’s life. “Yeah, I was there. I pop in and out of Torchline a lot.” Literally. But of course, there’s no need to reveal that.
Coming closer to the river’s edge, the Wraith squats down to inspect the stones on the bank, turning one over here, another over there, palming a third and then discarding it. Doesn’t feel right. “Out here for some quality time with Loki.” She points up at the acrobatic companion with a heartfelt smile. “Life’s been a bit too busy for her liking.” And she’d made that very clear.
“And you?” she asks in return, finally standing up with a chosen rock in hand.
The response draws another another laugh from Maeve, short and quick, but not lacking in amusement. "Yes, that drama." She huffs, a small smile playing on her lips as she picks her berries, placing them carefully in a small pouch that rests in her basket. Sparing a glance back at the Wraith. "Makes sense as to why I've seen you around then." Maeve hums easily, curiously watching her pick through a few stones, palming one and releasing one that apparently doesn't satisfy her criteria.
"They can be rather demanding when they want to be." A smile curls on her lips as she shifts her attention to her own companion, watching him give chase to Loki in a game of tag. Her eyes slip back to Wessex, holding up her basket which is already fairly full of various herbs, "Just doing some gathering. There are things out here I use for medicine and such. Nothing too uncommon, but plenty good for small ailments." Aching muscles, sunburn, sore throats, and the like.
She's also looking for flowers, hoping to find the perfect one to compliment the perfume she's creating for Safrin. "Plus an offering."
No one wants you when you have no heart and I’m sitting pretty in my brand new scars
we're all stories unfinished and we die to find some fitting words to write
Tag might just be Loki’s favorite game, and she’s eager an eager participant with the hatchling, leading him on a merry (albeit loud) chase throughout the canopy.
“Yeah, but like kids, they’ll wear themselves out and sleep all the way home,” she points out with a bit of amusement. Wessex was more than happy to raise Loki, but now that the dragon is older, having an ‘adult’ companion is much more fun. She has a partner. A friend. A protector.
The mention of gathering medicines piques the Wraith’s curiosity and she peers over at what Maeve seems to either be gathering or have gathered. “Oh? What do you do?” Clearly, she isn’t familiar with the whorehouses of Halenani, or with the Madam herself. Somewhere in her head, Phoebe is still the Madam - even though she’s also Frey’s demigod. Or something like that.
And an offering? Cue the red flag that Wessex likely isn’t in the company of a friend. “For who?” she asks nonchalantly, sending the stone in hand skipping across the water. It bounces three times before finally sinking, and then the tall blonde is squatting down again to search for another suitable rock.
Aidon has plenty of growing left to do, but if his size is anything to go by now, he'll be rather large once he finishes. The comment from the Wraith earns her a soft laugh and Maeve nods easily in agreement, "Isn't that the truth? I wouldn't trade it for anything, though." She sighs softly, smiling as she feels the happiness buzzing along their shared bond, letting it warm her chest.
"Oh, these are really just for personal use. Sometimes my girls get a little under the weather and I just like to have them on hand." She shrugs her shoulders, allowing Wessex to pick through her basket where she will find a number of different herbs. Some dried and some fresh. A small pot filled with what looks like clay, another with ash, and a few bunches of lavender. This wasn't the Madame's only stop today. "I run and manage the Halenani. I'm the new Madame there." Maeve waits for her brow to arch or lips to twitch, ready to catch the surprise or judgement in her expression, knowing it's likely to come. It always does.
The question has Maeve pausing for a moment, trepidation suddenly stirring in her belly, "I'm not sure. One of my girls asked for help making a perfume. It isn't for myself..." She replies smoothly, hesitant to give it away that she is a follower of Safrin herself. "I haven't really made a choice of who to follow... Everyone always seems to have something bad to say about them. What are your thoughts on it all?" Maeve asks curiously, drawing closer to the Wraith and selecting a stone of her own.
No one wants you when you have no heart and I’m sitting pretty in my brand new scars
we're all stories unfinished and we die to find some fitting words to write
If only Maeve knew that Wessex doesn’t give a rat’s ass about what she’s got in the basket or making, so long as it isn’t poisonous and won’t fuck up her people. Perfume. Herbs. Potpourri. The Madame could have it all and the Queen would likely just give her the same reaction: oh, that’s nice.
And since she isn’t really pawing through anything, the older blonde really does nod, the information going in one ear and out the other. “Oh, that’s nice. Perfume’s always seemed like such a luxury to me. Is it easy to make?” It’s so outside her realm of expertise that for a moment, Wessex is really, truly curious.
Until her question isn’t directly answered. Offerings for the heralds would be quite specific, and finding a toy or game out here for Ludo isn’t likely. Her guess is Frey or Safrin for the Madame, with Sex!Frey coming to the forefront. But who has anything bad to say about Sex!Frey? Quiet for a long moment, the demigod once again hurls her rock out into the water, where it skips four times before sinking to the bottom. A small, satisfied grin flashes across her face before she turns back to the young woman and her question.
Did she really not know who Wessex was? “Have you ever thought to heed the warnings? If there’s always something bad to be said, perhaps what they're saying is true.”
Neither of them know each other well enough to actually be aware of where they stand. While Maeve might be a follower of Safrin, she's not jumping to harm the Ascended. Truth be told, she'd rather avoid it all, but there won't be avoiding anything. A time of do or die is quickly approaching whether the Madame cares to acknowledge it or not.
"I suppose it depends on how complex the mixture. It's a bit of a process, but I find it relaxing. There is something special about hand picking all of your flowers, creating the blend you want, and putting in the effort to make it special for someone." Wessex likely doesn't really care. She might find the process interesting simply because it isn't something she does, but Maeve isn't under any illusion that the Wraith actually wishes to know the ins and outs of it. Therefore she makes no real effort to share the technicalities of it.
Seaglass eyes track the rock that's skipped across the surface of the water before giving her own poor attempt, only managing two skips before it disappears beneath the glassy surface. "Of course I have... It's part of why I haven't made any attempts to go myself." Had she known who the Queen was, perhaps she would have spoken more carefully, but as it is Maeve truly doesn't realize who it is she's speaking with.
No one wants you when you have no heart and I’m sitting pretty in my brand new scars
we're all stories unfinished and we die to find some fitting words to write
There is indeed something special about working with your hands, and even if her own have never personally dipped into perfume-making. “I know the feeling,” she hums. “Making your own bow and arrow is a process, but a satisfying one.” If you do it well and it actually works.
Anyway, she eyes Maeve’s stone skipping and offers a gentle adjustment. “Try with a little more, um, flat underhandedness.” Turning a bit so the Madame can see her demonstration, she makes like she’s going to throw a stone again with a wide, lateral swinging arm. “Yeah?” It’s hard. Skipping stones is no easy thing, but she’s happy to teach for a moment before returning to look for another good stone.
Whilst down there, the Wraith begins to wax poetic about her opinions of the heralds. “Well, I don’t hold them in high esteem. They were trapped in the Grounds with us and let the bubble go to shit. Safrin’s a murdering, manipulative cunt and Ludo’s a wannabe murderer. The Freys are fine, but I have a little lingering resentment from watching my people nearly starve to death.” All quite matter-of-fact, she’s prepared for either pushback or questions, because she has strong opinions that aren’t always voiced aloud.
She'd never strung a bow or fletched an arrow, but they had a bit of an understanding in this regard. Even if they differed greatly in other aspects. "Exactly." The Madame agrees softly, wincing as her stone disappears beneath the water and she kneels down to find another stone that was flat enough to skip across the water. The suggestion is taken and she tries again as the Wraith begins in on the heralds, her distaste clear as she speeps, coloring her words with bitterness.
The Madame arches a brow, eyes widening a fraction, "You aren't the only one I've heard say such things about Safrin. Frey... I have a bit more knowledge of them due to Phoebe, but I know nothing of Ludo. Have you met them then? When you were in the bubble?" She asks curiously, glancing over at the Wraith before she tries skipping her stone once more, three short skips before it disappears beneath the water once more.
No one wants you when you have no heart and I’m sitting pretty in my brand new scars
we're all stories unfinished and we die to find some fitting words to write
“Safrin in group settings,” Wessex says with a nod. “Ludo more up close - one Festival of Lights it chose to bring the souls of my mother and sister back for the night. Presumably to show me what I’ll be missing. My prayers were unanswered before the Outlanders came and once I Ascended and came to a shrine afterwards, they tried to kill me with sunlight. Called me an abomination.” And she’d learned her lesson then; it wasn’t worth her life to try and reach out to the heralds. In a group she was safe.
“But Safrin has easily done the most damage, and that I’ve seen up close and personal. Unless you count Remi as Ludo’s chosen weapon, it’s efforts have been far less effective thus far.” Thus far is the key phrase, as the Wraith has no doubt that there will be something coming down the line: an order to Remi, or an order to its devotees. She knows nought of Nephele and her fiery chakrams, but Roana’s clumsy attempts were the first blatant attacks. Perhaps its learned to be more subtle.
The next rock Wessex throws only goes two skips before plopping into the water. “Oh, come on,” she mutters at the sinking stone before dipping down in the familiar search for another.
