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!
It came as no surprise that Belial immediately found one of the more dangerous aspects (at least upon first viewing) of the terrain.
Deimos heaved a giant sigh, and gave Zuriel a look that encompassed a multitude of things at once (frustration, irritation, exasperation, and perhaps a mild dose of apprehension). The unicorn only glanced back in obvious indifference – better and wiser in these moments than the peryton. Even if it didn’t take much effort.
The young deer traipsed and glided around the eerie, spooky tree, as if it were something intrepid and fun. Even gave a few hoots and howls for good measure, baring his fangs at askew branches as the spring wind caused them to move – darting out of the way with wild abandon. While the Sword could admire a bold, daring companion, he also didn’t enjoy outright stupidity, and being snagged, mauled, or mutilated by some timber clearly haunted and disturbed wasn’t in his motives for the day. “Belial,” was a sharp command and order, echoing along the embankment he stood upon – gaze narrowing in the single warning. The peryton sneered, but began to toss his head and wander back over.
The Feverlands was busy at the moment, all kinds of visitors and travellers passing through - some of them in trouble like Aurelia, some of them looking for fun like Mateo and Ever. Mildew had taken to wandering around the swamps outskirts and major landmarks every couple of days just to keep an eye out for anyone fallen in the mud and deserted as Aurelia had been: the Feverlands were dangerous, especially for an unprepared visitor.
She heard the footsteps of something just beyond the trees before her, then she heard the voice. It spoke a name she didn't recognise, but Mildew felt she knew the voice itself; frowning, she quietly stepped closer, peeking around the trees and roots until she saw Deimos. As soon as she saw the man, who had given an impression of being stoic and series but generally dependable and harmless, she stepped out from her hiding and waved, casually leaning against the nearest strong trunk (not the Hanging Tree itself, of course).
"You know dear, they say there's all kinds of spirits here. Ones that might not like your eager friend there wandering about." Mildew pointed towards Belial with an amused smirk on her lips. "You're not lost, are you? Seems to be more and more lost people here nowadays. I've been hosting more than I have in a very long time."
He probably should’ve expected Mildew at some point or another as he ventured along, but then again, the Sword had been accustomed to all manners of unpredictability. All his surmising, musings, and calculations couldn’t deter Belial’s emboldened chaos, nor the outstretch of others wandering into the same midst.
Too drawn to the peryton’s antics, he hadn’t heard or noticed the demigod until her voice lingered over the swamp, and he permitted himself a vague snort; no manner of surprise or bewilderment notched through his frame. If anything altered, it was only his stance, straighter and more defined, as he glanced back over his shoulder towards her, and then returned his piercing gaze to the companion dawdling along the air. “Sometimes natural consequences for his actions are tempting.” A daring enterprise he wouldn’t want to sully from the youth, but there were right times and places; not for the snare of treacherous trees.
Within a moment though, his Mastered Air enchantments layered into the sky, and the peryton found himself ushered quickly, swiftly, efficiently, into Deimos’ grasp. As the companion howled and bleated with indignancy, flailing around, the soldier tucked him underneath his arm, ignoring the follies.
As for her inquiries, he tilted his head a fraction, giving off the actions of an inquiring, curious individual, at times more feline or canine, given the predacious affects. “No. I had been exploring with some friends.” Though perhaps that wasn’t something she’d take kindly to. “My apologies if we disturbed you.” Instead of digging further into those notions, he settled into the last statement, a light, mild laugh rumbling through. “Who have you found recently?” Pretending like he hadn’t hoped, or marked, a certain soul in the back of his mind.
Before Mildew could respond that the consequences of this could be quite horrific or perhaps even fatal, she was amazed by Deimos' use of his air magic. Laughing, she clapped her hands, seeming to find the whole thing rather amusing. "That looks useful. If you're ever a father, it would come in very handy." She could just see him scooping up toddlers going towards a bad idea.
"Exploring with friends? I see. And where have they gone? Or...do you perhaps mean your friend there?" She asked, pointing to Belial, in the absence of any other people in her view. "I'm not disturbed, dear. You'd know if you'd disturbed me." Mildew gave a friendly smile and wave of her hand, but if Deimos read a slight ominous tone into her words he could hardly be blamed.
As for who she had found recently...with a little sigh, Mildew leaned against the tree heavier and looked at the ground. "I found Aurelia, laying down in the mud half dead from an infection. Apparently, Remi and Ronin and a...Sunjata? had left her to suffer on her own. Had I not found her, I doubt she would have had long left. Poor dear was delirious and had to stay with me a while to recover." Shaking her head, rolling her eyes in annoyance, she added: "You'd think two Demi Gods could find it within their busy lives to help a girl on Ludo's door."
The first comment earned very widened eyes – for his thoughts were instantly towards Kiada and the constant reeling of failure – before he tried to laugh the notions away. Instead, he pinpointed on the other proportions, while Belial grumbled and flailed in his grasp. “They went home. But I tend to be curious.” (Nosey.) “We did not have many swamps in my old world.” Just ones layered and littered with bones that occasionally harbored wraiths and other things capable of rising from the dead.
He arched a brow at the insinuation the remaining, small gathering hadn’t bothered her – snorting away at the ominous undertones. Perhaps there was far more to Mildew.
Once Belial had ceased to fumble around in his arms, the Sword eased him back down to the ground, a warning pressing into their bond. What he didn’t expect thereafter was to lift his head at the name of whom she’d found - Aurelia - considering what he’d heard about the fellow hybrid. Or the actions of others (to be fair, Sunjata and Remi not bothering didn’t surprise him in the least – so maybe it was only Ronin’s indifference befuddling him). His brows furrowed slightly, calculating back over complexities and conversations. “Interesting. Last I heard she had been helping them in the desert.” It was where Maeve had claimed to send out guards, looking for the lost sovereign. She’d gone quite a distance, given the lack of proximity. “She is well enough, then? I did not realize you had healing abilities.”
"No? Then you were missing out, dear. The swamp is the best place to be." Mildew said with the utmost confidence, fondly kneeling and cupping a flower in her hands, the rough stalk and spiked leaves seemingly not bothering her as they pricked her wrists. "It's beautiful, but dangerous enough to remind you that you're alive - you don't get complacent. That's the biggest killer, you know. People growing content and blind." It wasn't clear if this was entirely directed to Deimos, Mildew speaking softly and looking at the petals in her fingers.
As Belial began to calm she straightened back out, fingers slowly stroking the bottom of the flower as she left it. "Yes, she mentioned a desert." The story had been difficult to follow, but Mildew remembered that part. As for healing abilities, she smirked and tilted her head side to side. "Not so much ability, dear, but knowledge. There's plenty of things in this swamp that can be used in a potency just as powerful as magic. A little slower, perhaps, but who doesn't want to rest while they heal?"
Anyway - she stretched and looked behind her, the path towards her hut not too far. "Well, if you aren't busy, maybe I could interest you in a cup of tea and a fortune? I've been trying to tighten up my readings. Been a while since I did them regularly."
He arched a brow at the statement of the swamp being the best; given his experiences, he could argue those proportions away. But he could understand it, especially in the way most of these lands worked – all the allure, and all the vehemence. The Sword gave another small smile, tilting his head, watching the flower, the thorns, the nettles interwoven. “That is why I enjoy the mountains.” Same principles – dangerous, treacherous, beautiful, powerful, and potent; combinations of strength, dominion, and supremacy. And Deimos would take the advice, despite being anything but complacent.
The peryton seemed very tempted to stretch out and contemplate some of the flowers, and one more warning threaded through their bond. His eyes flicked down at the little beast, and then back towards Mildew, having misunderstood her capabilities. Knowledge, wisdom, and time. He thought of poisons, and then perhaps antidotes – far more to be honed in from the earth. “I suppose,” with a shrug of his shoulders and no sake of argument; for he’d never been a healer. Zuriel was the mender in their small party.
The offer thereafter was unexpected, and a near-instant balk and refusal clung close to the back of his teeth. It likely shown in the depths of his gaze, bewildered for half a moment with widened portions, before they conformed back to their residual intrigue. It would be very easy to drift away and decline the notions – but curiosity was always instilled there. He’d already admitted it. “I like to believe I control my own fate,” and the soldier gave another light grin, still somewhat uneasy by the notions. “But I will listen.” A pause, considerations, not moving towards the path until she did. “Are you often accurate?”
"I can't say I've spent much time in mountains...maybe one day you can show me." Mildew said with a wink, fully aware that she was limited in her own ways too, married to the Feverlands through and through.
As for healing, he didn't argue, which she appreciated - though she did see the immediate reaction to her offer of a fortune. Mildew knew the look well, that of a skeptic trying to be polite in the face of an esoteric, mystical offer. Once again though he was courteous and agreed, which inspired a large smile to bloom over her lips, the witch pleased with Deimos' attitude.
Gesturing for him to follow her on the way back to her home, she laughed quietly as he said he was in control of his own fate, as if any of them were. "I tell one possible future, dear. The one I see. What you could be - but we are all victim to the whims of the Gods and the land. The purpose of the fortune is more...hm. To give you an idea of your potential, to give you a direction." Whether or not he believed her was another matter, but Mildew didn't seem to mind much, not looking back as she climbed down the root ledge that led to the path over the pond to her home.
Deimos returned her wink with a snort and an arch of his brow, the lingering depths of a Cheshire grin forming at the base of his mouth. “Sure,” as if it that was a promise he’d be able to keep – considering the depths they’d already gone, and far more they had yet to face.
Mildew was far more easygoing than the multitude of other individuals he was used to, and it set him into a lack of reserve, much less guarded, much less restrained and contained. Whether or not that was a good thing remained to be seen. The Sword followed in step, tilting his head, listening to the ways in which her fortunes seemingly worked, gaze settling somewhere along the forged trail, to Belial and the peryton’s insistent antics, or to the demigod, listening all the while. While Zuriel proceeded after him, his brows furrowed, contemplating what the witch meant.
He had a direction he wanted to go in, after all. But the path to it was murky, and lined with more than just the nettles and thorns nestled along the swamp. Long strides and limbs kept to the root ledge, seemingly unbothered by the potential entanglement, surveying the sudden familiarity of the pond. “Potential,” he repeated, amused and teasing, the tone light. “All right.” As if there was a clear indication of this ought to be good. “How do you start?”
Mildew skipped over the pond path and into her door, the old wooden board easily swinging into the hut; no need for locks in the Feverlands, where the environment alone was enough to put off all but the most determined thieves. Inside, small but cosy, there were spots to sit - on the straw and fur bed, the eclectic chairs by the window, a stool next to the large bubbling cauldron. Mildew herself went to perch on the bed, reaching up to a shelf and retrieving a deck of cards, which she began to shuffle between her fingers.
Gesturing for Deimos to sit, she slid the cards out on a tray before her then gathered them back up again for more shuffling, staring as if working out some unknowable puzzle to determine when they would be ready. "Well, firstly I'll need to know what it is you're looking for. Just a glimpse into your future? Or is there some specific concern, something that's been on your mind? The cards can help with all sorts, you know..."
Ever the scrutinizing, analytical, calculating individual, his eyes scanned the hut itself, and then as he proceeded within. When there were no obvious threats detected from the quick, initial piercing glances, though he did make a note to peek into the cauldron, he snagged at the stool beside the metal pot. Both companions were left outside (likely safer for Mildew’s house that way, given Belial’s stunts, and Zuriel’s size), and when he finally settled down – finding he might’ve far preferred outside, the Sword’s gaze reeled back to the witch.
A residual arch of his brow snagged and centered on the cards, and though there was a predilection to frown at the question, the soldier didn’t ignore it. He fought a familiar wrinkle to his nose, some drawn in irritation nettled at the base of his spine, leaning backwards so his long limbs stretched out, gazing upwards at the ceiling for a moment while he measured out a response. For, in all honesty, a part of him didn’t want to believe any of these matters were pre-ordained or winding fate. That he wasn’t looking for anything in particular. That he knew exactly what he wanted to do. Maybe that was the place to start.
“We want to get Halo out of the clutches of its current leader.” A lower rumble, tone no longer light and teasing, but the truth of it. His arms folded across his chest, a long breath unfurling through his lungs. Not a challenge, not a dare, but some manner of provocation in his stare. What did her cards have to say about those actions?
Mildew often told fortunes about romances or grand fates, whether or not her visitors would one day be heroes; she was less used to using her skills to determine the results of complex political goals, but with an amused smile, she spread out the cards and thought about what he had said. "I see. Well. Let's ask the cards what they think of that. Though...I seem to remember someone telling me you tried before, didn't you, dear?"
The question could have been sarcastic or mocking, but Mildew spoke with such a genuine tone and expression it would be impossible to know her intentions. With slow, deliberate movements, once a seemingly arbitrary amount of shuffling had been done, she set out the cards in a pattern: three in a row, and one above.
"These three are for the current state of the Citadel. The one above is your answer for the change you want." She explained, pointing to each. "Flip the cards."
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Please go to this site and chose 3 cards, then 1 card, then PM them to me in those groups :)
If she was trying to get a rise out of him, Deimos had no intention of faltering. He arched a brow at the tone, at the inquiry, not even bothering to muffle his snort. “That does not mean we cannot try again.” Determination, tenacity, and an unyielding, unbending sort of predilection had long since been drawn over his essence – instilled from seasons and cycles, from rebirths and renewals, from lives shifted over time and space. Even if once before he would’ve willingly sunk into stones and rubble, it wasn’t a consideration now.
His resolve was a steel fixture as his eyes followed the movement and track of the cards, even if he had no idea what lingered beneath. “Sometimes failure is a starting point.” Where they’d errored, where they’d misjudged and miscalculated (because the Sword had never believed Morgan would’ve been willing to attack her own people). Where they’d drawn things well, and where they’d misconstrued the edges. “If I had given up after initial setbacks, I would not be here.” Nor would many of them.
When Mildew seemed done, and a pattern set, he studied the particulars. Were this some battle situation, he might know what laid ahead. But with this, he could only follow the chord of directions. First to the three, and then to the one above, and he flipped them over in turn. Thereafter, he leaned back, sitting stoically on the stool.
Mildew grinned at Deimos' refusal to be defeated, liking his spirit; it was so rare to find a mortal willing to pick up and keep going, nowadays. She had spoken to so many with broken dreams and no ambition in the last Seasons. "Brave. I like that. Well, let's see if I can't help you work out a plan..."
First, the three that represented the Citadel, wide and sturdy underneath the airy possibilities of the future. The first card showed an Abandoned casting a spell, raising their arm and the elements circling around. Mildew nodded, then looked to the second: A stoic man holding two cups, looking measured and calm into the viewer's eyes. Finally, there was the third card, which bore two lovers; nude and clearly in the midst of a tryst. "Ah. How interesting." Was all she said at first, fingers hovering over each card for a moment.
"This first card...it is telling me that the Citadel is not being used for it's full potential, right now. That you are correct - something there does need to change. Though..." Mildew hummed, her fingertips brushing over the second card. "This one means patience, balance, finding a medium. The third is telling me that this is a difficult choice for you. I know you must hide it well, but something tells me you have lingering affection for the people you will have to strike down." She glanced up, to see if she hit her mark.
Finally, the fourth card. As he turned it over Mildew laughed and smiled, nodding. "Well, this is certainly you. Strength, determination. You just showed me that. I think this means you are indeed the right man for the job...but the other cards are saying that maybe you need to rethink your approaches. Brute strength may end in a disaster, but a mind for deals and strategies will fare better." She leaned back up from the cards and waved a hand over them. "So. Any thoughts about that?"
