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!
If he couldn’t lend his physical strength, which he often strived for anyway, there was always the weight of his words. Sparse and concise, straight to the point, never encroaching on anything but the honesty and veracity of the matter. He tucked a boyish smile after watching her from the corner of his eyes, seeing the steel suddenly pulse and reform. “There was the proclamation of neutrality too, which is a farce. Why does Halo have to remain neutral? Because it is a climate better suited for them? Frey has done more there than the Voice ever has.” Musings out loud, instead of inward, a mind constantly moving; pieces conforming, machinations absorbing and calculations rendering into following crescendos. The cold air wrapped around, plumes of his coiled thoughts immersed and crackling beside the fiery incantations.
Torchline would’ve been prime for picking off, given new leadership, inexperience, and the swift changes. Safrin was embedded in its sea – but even then, weren’t there parameters set in place for Ascended? The Greatwood made sense, only protected and guarded due to Remi and Ronin’s presence. He couldn’t imagine the Fae alone were capable – considering how he’d been helping with defenses in the past year – of holding off any assault or siege. For all the diplomacy set in place, more than once the Voice’s constituents had clearly not cared about the parameters at all. “And they already have the Grounds as a stronghold.” He shook his head, rustling through his bag again, needing to find something to sharpen out of irritation.
And what had the invasion accomplished in the long run? Morgan back in power, with little to surmise and utilize, but the rest of the people who hadn’t dared to leave the mountains?
She didn't catch his smile this time, but it didn't matter. Her mind was somewhere else other than counting the little victories that were the small moments of mirth she stole from him. What would others think if they knew these were moments that could be had with the Sword? Cordelia understood now. Why others often thought him cold or grumpy. His emotions were more reserved, his words measured, and his willingness to be open limited by the betrayals that easily came from others. An animal caught in a trap one too many times and now wise enough to know the best way to avoid such fatalities.
"Many of the Abandoned call it home too. I could see how they might be opposed to it, but I don't know why Morgan persists when it's clear she has ties to the Voice. Although, she wanted me to speak to Frey for her... To ask for the next regional quest." Cordelia admitted this last part softly, worried he might be displeased to hear such things, but it felt important for him to know. "This was before I fled, though."
Her shoulders lifted in a small shrug and she looked back towards him, chewing on her bottom lip, "They do. I'm not sure what Halo gives them at this point."
Cordelia Limore
'Cause they got the cages, they got the boxes and guns They are the hunters, we are the foxes and we run
Eventually he found a hunting knife that needed a whetstone, and plucking that out of the bag too, started with quick flicks to sharpen the dulled blade. It eased the surging restlessness behind his mind, and if he couldn’t slice something apart right then and there, at the very least he could ensure the next dominion of the serrated edges would be something fierce. The smiles and grins had all diminished, furrowing deeply into the set of his brows, in the length of his frown worn tightly, as if yearning to fracture another multitude.
He could have waxed a seething amount of frustration into the notions, depleting any of the charitable comments from before, when she spoke again of Frey. Of things asked prior to fleeing, away from the mountains, and down into the valleys. He drew himself straight again, willing another sigh to pass through instead of biting down on something vicious. “Would you do the same for her now?” Morgan; who’d spurned the Old Gods and spirits, who’d drawn herself to the Voice, who could only rely on her people to ensure they were protected, defended, and shielded. “And what was it for?” The Sword could surmise any number of things – presuming, mostly, on the portal.
Something he didn’t even trust now, given all the other nuances.
He watched her shrug and he could only do the same – shaking his head once more, taking another breath that filled his lungs and extended back into the plumes of smoke and air. “Maybe one more place to hide.”
The conversation turned sour and his mood went with it. Cordelia wrinkled her nose, pacing back and forth before him, unable to stay still now that he's stirred up that fire again. She took a breath, jaw feathering and lips pressing into a thin line, a crease forming between her brows again. "I don't know. Part of me thinks that it would be wrong not to if it's meant to help Halo. I have family there. People I care about and want to protect."
She took another breath, trying to soothe herself, but failing. It was apparent in the way her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides, pacing back and forth like a caged animal, "I don't know that she decided what it would be for, but I think they said something about defenses? In which case, I'm unsure I want to help with that if it will mean giving her more power." Cordelia finally finished, coming to a stop before him, brows still knitted together.
"That must be it." She said softly, meeting his eyes after a moment, unsure of what else she could say about that.
Cordelia Limore
'Cause they got the cages, they got the boxes and guns They are the hunters, we are the foxes and we run
Between the vicious movements of the blade and the whetstone, her erratic movements, and his plotting, the mood had certainly shifted into scheming, into frustration, into the knotted and furrowed brows angling together to conform over his machinations. Understandable, given the people, the place, the land, the need and want to help. It was just everything else clustered together, conforming over the justifications, the persistent edges of rulers who’d already shown they weren’t trustworthy.
Morgan and defenses gave him a deep uttering of a snort. “I gave her many papers outlining defenses and possibilities,” and where had all of those gone? He’d drawn up proportions and portions meant to render the road to the portal cleared. He’d manifested weapon archetypes and ways to reinforce the Citadel walls. It’d been his duty – the construction, the parameters, the thoughts behind how to best safeguard those nestled within. She’d been the one to ride in on her Ascended dragon, to violently rampage into the scene, and terrorize her own. Something deep and dark and angry bolstered to the surface, and he stilled, trying to place it downwards, back into his chest. “I think the distinction will need to be if it aids the people, or aids Morgan and Neron.” His eyes flickered back to hers; imploring, wondering, about this pursuit.
Both of them were too restless to settle. It was clear in her pacing and the brutal insistence in which he sharpened his blade. Their emotions feeding into each other. The younger Attuned struggled to keep a tight hold on her end of the bond. Something she'd grown rather good at with Noah so close by, unwilling to barrage him with her array of emotions given all he was going through, but now the control she typically exhibited crumpled. For once, she didn't worry what it would mean. Deimos was one of the strongest people she knew. He could handle it and that was something she was grateful for even if she didn't have the words to say as much.
Cordelia gave a quick jerk of her head, the motion akin to a nod, jaw feathering as the restlessness of her only shift urged her to flee. "I will wait to see then." The woman finally settled on, lips pressing into a thin line, umber eyes flicking to where he sat. "We should likely return before it grows too late. Noah will worry." This was said with a softer air, unease ebbing away into concern for their counterpart, unwilling to cause anymore strain on him with their absence.
Cordelia Limore
'Cause they got the cages, they got the boxes and guns They are the hunters, we are the foxes and we run
The rampant frustration wasn’t towards her, but all the multitudes pressing down against his shoulder blades, tightening down the bones and notches in his spine. It was a cumbersome contempt for how the world had sharpened and inclined, jaw clenching, muscles feathering beneath his beard. A long-suffering sigh filtered and flickered out of his lungs, until he couldn’t be still any longer, and placed the blade, the whetstone, and everything else back into his bag. Belial tilted his head, and Deimos could offer nothing but that empty, hollow feeling of vexation; barbing and nettling under the skin.
It will not be like this forever he wanted to say, wanted to offer, wanted to place in between the newly-laid thorns. But all he could surmise was a nod, rising from the log, not even glancing at the fire.
Wondering if all they were doing was going to be for naught anyway.
That steely determination strived to glide back through his movements, placing the container back over his shoulder, conceding to her request. “Sure.” Perhaps he’d make his way back through the maze, and allow the warren to take hold of his exasperation before they returned to the shelter.
