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!
she tied you to her kitchen chair she broke your throne and she cut your hair
Girding what feels like every bone in her body for battle, Wessex walks through the market of Haulani as prominently as she can - out in the middle of the street, in the sun, and all that. Typical places Ascended avoid, but not her, and not for a while now.
It really is a beautiful, Leafchange day. The heat around Torchline has broken, though the wind from the south is still a warm, caressing hand that protects the shore-city from the vicious northern press. She spots an empty stall and commandeers it, leaping easily atop the counter and taking down the awning that might hide her from sight. No hiding today.
She can’t help but wish Amun were here, with some quip about what she looks like, maybe an eye to change this or that. Soften the edges a little. Practice her points on. She flies solo now - except for Loki - who perches herself like the Queen of Cats on the wall behind her, ever watchful of her soulmate. Awning discarded, Wessex can feel something akin to nervousness shooting through her - though her hands will never shake and adrenaline will never pump, she is perfectly capable of psyching herself out. Maybe no one will come.
Maybe they’ve all decided and don’t need convincing. The General sighs to herself before taking a deep, needless breath and addressing the shoppers, the vendors, and anyone else in the general area. “Torchers, my name is Wessex Theskyra and I’m here on behalf of the Voice and the Ascended in your city. If you have questions, I hope I have answers. If you’re curious, on the fence, or simply not a fan of the Old Gods, I want to talk to you.”
----------------
This is an ME to gain supporters for the Voice. Attendees need not be Ascended or actually convert.
stop, what the hell are you talking about? ha get my pretty name outta your mouth
Nate is still lingering around, wrapping up loose ends as neatly as he can, just none of them go dragging after him when he leaves. When they leave. He’s flirting around the market today, making deal and exchanging handshakes for some lumber, some panes of glass, when he catches sight of a shadow so wholly out of place in the Torchline sun that he has to do a double take.
Pemota drifts effortlessly above the doctors shoulder while he drifts effortlessly behind Wessex, a wordless curiosity cocking his head. He doesn’t try to interact, merely pausing in front of the stall, smiling distantly up at his fellow Demi-god. It’s only when she speaks, voice impossible to ignore where it washes over the shoppers, that understanding dawns on Nate’s ace, and he shifts to leans against the stall instead, facing out with his bonded starwhal at his side.
Maybe if he’s not a friendlier face, he’s at least a more familiar one.
we are not the same with or without don't talk 'bout me like how you might know how i feel
There's another shadow here, one not molded and shaped by the New but the Old. The organic to their machine. Her frame slinks along the outskirts of the market, impossibly stealthy, blending into the real darkness that exists between stalls, following the two Ascended while also giving them a wide enough berth that her steps and movements are lost to the natural hubbub surrounding them.
Nothing would happen in the city without her knowing. Without those shadowy green eyes watching, even if they do so from the sidelines... for now. The last time something like this had happened, the streets had come alive with not only voices but actions as well. Actions that, if taken again today, could not be taken back.
Perhaps she's here as nothing more than a guardian. Although she doesn't make herself known yet, crouching behind a stall when Wessex comes to a halt and letting her gaze rake across the grounds to see what would happen here, what her people would do.... if anything at all.
There's a game they play that I'm not part of Tearing at the weaknesses and all the faults they know
This was a bad fucking idea, but Adam liked to watch disasters, so he'd shown up to see the carnage. It was either going to be a mess or boring, but he had all the time in the world nowadays; at least this concerned his family and therefore he supposed he ought to watch it. Not that he felt in the least welcomed or a part of the Ascended gang.
Leaning back against a wall across the street, bathed in the shade, he waited to see if anyone would actually be convinced by Wessex's little speech. Had he heard it prior to Ascending, he wouldn't have been, but then he'd always been a contrary little shit, he supposed. Kicking a pebble over the cobbles, Adam watched with a skeptical eye.
The busy marketplace found Theo up to his usual tricks, grabbing a snack here, a trinket there, all under the principle of the five-finger discount -- even if often it was his telekinesis, not his fingers, that did the actual grabbing. When Wessex spoke up, he stopped scanning for targets long enough to pay attention.
Theo had never been much for gods, New or Old, and he doubted anything Wessex could say would make him defend the Voice. But she'd asked for the curious, and that he was. He didn't usually draw attention to himself, for fear that someone would recognize that guy who definitely promised them a boat or whatever. But he did wind his way through the crowd towards Wessex -- and Nate, whom he recognized quite well -- picking a spot from which to listen and watch.
Theo
"Poker" by ND Strupler is licensed with CC BY 2.0.
07-12-2021, 01:39 AM (This post was last modified: 07-12-2021, 01:46 AM by Wessex.)
WESSEX
the wraith
she tied you to her kitchen chair she broke your throne and she cut your hair
No takers yet?
That’s fine. It would make her job easier, to say she’d genuinely tried, but you can’t convince those who aren’t willing to engage. Nate wanders near and she flashes a smile at her brother and his companion, which gives her an idea.
“Alright. Let’s start with the basics. Lots of us go to the Gods for help with something, right? We want an item, we want to be able to do something, or we want help? Understanding? The Voice is there. Wanting people to exceed their potential. She doesn’t make people feel like shit or less than for being born with magic. She isn’t cruel.” Pausing, the Wraith reaches into a pouch and pulls out her chakram.
“See this?” Holding it above her head, she tries to angle it so that the light glints off the sharp edges of the disk, so that the burnished material shines above her. Those that can appreciate weapons might be able to see the sharpness of its edges, its perfect circumference. “Made from the scale of a leviathan. It’ll always return to me. And it’ll never cut my hand.” And then she launches it into the air, high above the people’s heads, watching it with calculating eyes until it turns and starts spinning towards her, singing through air.
She catches it - or maybe it catches her palm, and she holds it aloft again, before pocketing it. Then Wessex taps a corner of her eyes. “I can read any language and see through God-created illusions. Nate has an arrow he can control with whistling. We can protect ourselves if we’re caught out without swords or knives - force fields, special blades.” Chuckling brightly, the Wraith pauses for a moment in her weapon’s recitation. “Fuck, one of us even has a hoverboard. I mean that’s just fun. She even made us a whole, big-ass ship, to sail wherever we want, even in the daytime. It’s not all weaponry.”
Looking back to Nate, again, she adds. “We’re healers, too. Just as good as Healing magic, or a unicorn’s horn. You want it? Need something unique? She can do it, and won’t make the task hard because you asked the 'wrong god.'”
-------------------
Feel free to join whenever! You don't have to be in before now.
Theo let out a low whistle as Wessex demonstrated her chakram. OK, that was a pretty good sales pitch. Could have been delivered with more flair, but whatever. Still impressive. And she had a point. Theo had never gone to the Old Gods for anything, knowing that his Abandoned birth would likely make such an exercise pointless, perhaps even harmful. He'd never really cared that the gods didn't like him -- lots of people didn't like him -- but if the Voice could really offer all that ... It certainly piqued Theo's acquisitive interest.
Of course, there was one question always uppermost in his mind, a question he now called out to Wessex: "What's the catch?"
Theo
"Poker" by ND Strupler is licensed with CC BY 2.0.
07-13-2021, 10:42 AM (This post was last modified: 07-13-2021, 10:49 AM by Aurelia.)
Aurelia
As she surveys the scene, she takes notice of Adam's presence, and she's panged for a moment. If she were to let her emotions take precedent, she might go to his side, to let him know of her presence, to let him find some comfort in it. But she thinks, logically, that he would not find that with her. Especially since none of the people present know of her new shift. In fact, most of them are unaware entirely of her Attunement.
So she locks her limbs in place, remaining still, remaining hidden, even when she notices Theo too. Even when Wessex grasps onto the tiny crowd she's drawn around her, showing off the weapon she had made through the Voice.
Her jaw sets, fangs clenching together and muscles feathering as she lets the words fall aside. Torchline has always been dedicated to Safrin - at least, as far as Aurelia knows - and surely Wessex knows this as well. She has also not forgotten the woman's perspective of the war; the want to minimize casualties, the lack of bloodlust. She knows this is not an attack. In fact, it looks a bit like a cry for help.
Help that Aurelia wishes she could offer, but cannot. So she merely remains, and she remains ever-vigilant. But she will not interfere if Wessex's endeavor here is successful. Let people choose the side of the line they want to fall on. The sooner they do, the better.
There's a game they play that I'm not part of Tearing at the weaknesses and all the faults they know
She hadn't planned to be here today, hadn't planned to encounter Ascended whose presence made her literally queasy; she'd just been coming to the market. But perhaps the gods had placed her in their path, because no one else seemed about to step forward and counter the Ascended's argument, and someone ought to. Someone ought to make sure that the people to whom Wessex appealed fully understood what they were getting into.
So Arialla found her own empty stall and climbed onto it, despite the merchant next door's attempts to shoo her away. She needed the height if anyone was going to actually spot her in the crowd. Also, she didn't like the idea of getting too close to Wessex or any other Ascended.
"It's a lovely offer," Arialla conceded, then paused. Life as a priestess had given her a certain sense for the dramatic, so she let silence fall before she continued: "If you don't mind becoming a monster -- forfeiting your immortal soul! Those who choose the Voice over the Old Gods will never see their families in Mort's realm; they will spend eternity as her playthings."
She had more points to make, but for the moment she simply glared at Wessex, waiting for the Wraith's counter.
she tied you to her kitchen chair she broke your throne and she cut your hair
“The catch?" she echoes, for a third time. "Drama like this," she says to the man who first asked the question, "People have strong opinions, but if you don't give a fuck -" Shrugging, Wessex turns to the vaguely familiar redhead to direct the rest of her answer.
“Now, you only get monster status if you Ascend. Preferring the Voice to the Old Gods without Ascending still gets you a one-way ticket to Mort’s Realm. Which…” her gaze falls to Adam, who’d returned as an Ascended. He might know what it’s like, if it exists. “There are some people who can tell you what Mort’s Realm is like, if it even exists. If it’s worth it or not.” She shrugs. “I’m just offering alternatives to people who might want some help.” And she is - no one here can say she’s pressuring anyone to take that big step towards Ascension.
Scratching idly at her chin, Wessex hums at the rest of it. “As for playthings… Got any evidence to back that up? If you don’t think the Old Gods are playing the people, you must be pretty naive. We’re all pawns in this war.”
stop, what the hell are you talking about? ha get my pretty name outta your mouth
Nate is happy to stay quiet, to simply be a prop for Wessex. He even manages a smile when she gestures towards him, wiggling his brows at the crowd and offering waves to anyone he recognizes. It’s not true ease though, a miasma of stress and paranoia hanging over him. At least until Arialla’s voice rings out. If there’s one thing that will always get his attention, it’s a good argument.
Oh, that’s the game they were playing was it? Commit atrocities in life, follow blindly, just to guarantee a place in an afterlife? Nate chews his tongue for as long as he can, stopping just before it’s a shredded fluidy pulp in his mouth. “An afterlife is worth destroying people now? It’s worth ripping apart families?”
It’s the playthings comment that raises his hackles though, Nate baring his teeth while Pemota sinks closer to him. He has sense enough still to wait for Wessex to finish, but only barely. “And last I checked the Voice hasn’t sent any of us out on random assaults.” The words boom from his chest, indignation dragging his accent up over the words. “I know from experience the opposite isn’t true.” He doesn’t need to gesture up at the scar bisecting his face, sure that most native torchers remember it as just one of his many low moments, but he does anyway, making aure to straighten up, to square his shoulders first.
we are not the same with or without don't talk 'bout me like how you might know how i feel
Adam watched it all unfold, not expecting to be involved - when Wessex called him out specifically, he straightened up from where he was leaned on the wall, looking back and forth as if expecting to see someone else that she could be talking to. No dice, she really did mean him.
"Uh--" He scratched the side of his head, trying to work out what the fuck he was meant to say here. Not all that caught up on convincing people to Ascend, the temptation was to mess with Wessex and say Mort's Realm was the fucking bee's knees, but really his memories of that time were so vague it was hard to describe it as anything but 'general warm happy gooiness'. "I mean, I dunno what the Voice's afterlife is like, to uh, compare, but Mort's Realm is fine I guess, if you like sleeping and um...I mean you're not really conscious for it--"
He shrugged, helplessly looking at the people around. "I'm willing to see what the Voice is offering instead, I guess."
Theo just smirked at Arialla's tirade, shaking his head slowly. Fucks most definitely not given. "Can't say I'm too concerned about my immortal soul -- more about keeping body and soul together. Mort never kept me from starving."
He turned his attention back to Wessex and the other Ascended. In truth, he wasn't satisfied with their answers either. Lots of soaring rhetoric in defense of themselves and their goddess, not a lot of hard facts. Details, people. "But, beyond ignoring pretty girls, what does getting all this nice loot from the Voice actually entail?"
It had to be an exchange of some kind, he knew. No such thing as a free lunch. Only five-finger discounts.
Theo
"Poker" by ND Strupler is licensed with CC BY 2.0.
she tied you to her kitchen chair she broke your throne and she cut your hair
It takes a moment for Wessex to comprehend that the man speaking thinks going to the Voice requires something ExTrA.
Shaking her head, she brushes it away. “What do you mean, exactly? Nothing. Go to a shrine. Ask away. She doesn’t require any kind of offering and won’t get pissy if you bring something she’s, I don’t know, not interested in..” And then a little side tilt, in consideration. “Although I can imagine she might be quite angry if she gave you something and then you used it to hurt Ascended. That might be bad.” But only maybe. She can’t say for certain. Looking down at Nate, who’d since spoken up, and Adam, who added something of value in his own way. They don’t need to add anything, but if they wanted to, there's space.
Though if this was going to be it, she might call it soon.
