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!
you may not want to change but the world is unforgiving and will do it for you anyway
Apparently, there's some shit happening out at the Feverlands. Ronin knows this because the dragoons who have returned from there this morning keep talking about it while he's trying to train them (it has resulted in more than one bonk across the head with the hilt of a practice sword). Truthfully, anything that sounds like Fiat Lux makes his blood run cold, but he finds the tension bleeding from him somewhat when part of the shit happening seems to involve making food.
Unfortunately, being soldiers, the dragoons are the Caido equivalent of basic bitches when it comes to culinary delights, and he goes from shooing them out of the training area to shooing them out of the kitchens soon enough. If you want something done right, and all that.
And so it is that Safrin's demigod, the Huntsman, the Commander of the Storm, finds himself beating eggs in his training gear on a cool Flowerbirth morning. Luckily, he's learned not to question this sort of chaos. It only hurts his head.
Life had certainly gotten a lot more interesting since he'd expanded his delivery area.
A few short years ago Stormbreak had seemed an impossibly distant place, far beyond his ability to reach. Now, between portals and airships, he was walking down its streets for the first time, gawking like a tourist and then scowling when he caught himself at it.
Boreal trotted along at his side, broad, blunt head swinging back and forth at all the dragons, and she snorted and shook her wings from time to time in wordless bemusement. Tal kept one hand resting lightly on her tall shoulders as he checked his map and after a few stops for directions he found himself at a big damn tower.
Then there were more stops for directions when the office proved empty.
Finally he wound up at the kitchens, scowl faded to mere confusion as he peered inside and saw...
Well, not what he'd heard the legendary Huntsman and new Commander looked like. He was definitely less then eight feet tall, and Tal couldn't see any horns - antlers? - from his current angle. So he rapped his knuckles firmly on the lintel and cleared his throat before shuffling in. "Uh, Mister Ronin Taliesin? Delivery for..." he trailed off, sniffing the air appreciatively. "Say, what're you making?"
you may not want to change but the world is unforgiving and will do it for you anyway
The beaten eggs have become a batter in the time it takes for Tal to wend his way through Stormbreak to the Dragon’s Nest, and Ronin has completed his eclectic attire with a streak of flour by now as well. He’s about to start ladling the batter into large muffin trays, in fact, when his name hits the air, and engrossed as he is in his work, the sound makes him jump a bit.
”A delivery?” he repeats dumbly still holding the bowl and the ladle as he turns to face Tal, looking for all intents and purposes like a soldier who had gotten lost in a kitchen. Plonking the ladle back into the batter, he dusts his hands off (leaving flour prints on his pants) and turns to face the courier. ”From who? Oh - I’m making cheese muffins. It’s for that festival going on in the Feverlands. You’re welcome to have one if you want to stick around until they’re done. I need a second opinion anyway.”
Nope, no horns - or antlers - from the front either, and Tal had to take another look around the kitchen to make sure there wasn't any other Ronin Taliesin perhaps hidden in a cupboard or behind a counter somewhere. He shuffled awkwardly further in, giving a slight shake of his head at the question of the sender, but was thoroughly distracted by the mention of cheese muffins.
"Oh shit, I need to figure out something t'bring to that, too. Uh. But first--" The courier hastened to unbuckle the large pack on his shoulders; bulky in size but apparently quite light. "The sender is anonymous, sir, but I've got the box right here for you." He set it gently on the floor and opened it to lift out the large white container of thin cardboard marked with the words 'Fragile' and 'This Side Up ^' and set it carefully on a clean section of nearby counter. "It's safe," he hastened to add, remembering what Finn had told him of last year's violence. "I can get it out of the box for you, if you'd like?"
you may not want to change but the world is unforgiving and will do it for you anyway
"You okay?" Ronin asks with a slow tilt of his head, unable not to notice the way the courier is glancing around the kitchen as if he's looking for someone else. In truth, the antlers that the Huntsman does possess are due to shed and drop any day now - such is the nature of the season, after all - and so they won't be looking all that impressive soon.
Still, distracted by festivals and muffins, he flashes the other man a smile and gestures to his bowl and muffin cases. "If you can pick up a spoon and help out, you can take some away with you," he offers, only to be thoroughly side-tracked by the item that's being unboxed before his eyes.
"Uh," he says helpfully, because when someone has to point out that something is safe, it usually isn't. "Sure. I... why would someone send me something?" Is it a bomb? Poison? Ronin bets it's a bomb.
"Really? That'd be great, sir!" Tal looked infinitely relieved that there would be an adult in the kitchen with him before returning to his task.
He glanced up from the box to offer the Commander an awkward shrug. "Well, tis the season an' shit. Sir," he added hastily, remembering that this guy was a demigod who could squish him. Even if he was kind of a floury demigod at the moment. And indeed, as he wrinkled his nose and pulled the lid off the box and removed the contents they turned out to be:
A bouquet of stunning flowers in a small vase. The blooms were the unmistakeable Psychotria Elata and Phallus Impudicus, and there was a short note attached.
Long have I thought of you in this way. Meet me in the Undergrove at the next full moon.
xo
Your Secret Admirer
Looking decidedly uncomfortable and with an awkward blush on his cheeks, Tal cleared his throat and backed away from the vase, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot and looking anywhere but at the package's recipient.
you may not want to change but the world is unforgiving and will do it for you anyway
"Please, just Ronin is fine," the Huntsman says with a small smile, and he'd rub at the back of his head if it wouldn't cover him even more thoroughly in flour. "My father was sir, and I am not nearly as strict as he was." As he speaks Ronin sets the muffin batter aside and steps back automatically so Tal can finish his unboxing. And whilst the courier is abjectly embarrassed (rightly so, were this anyone other than who it is), Ronin scoffs out a laugh.
"My sEcReT aDmIReR huh," he says as he reads the note, having approached at realising he's received flowers. "I think I might know who this is. Thanks for the delivery." And, spending a moment to admire one particular Psychotria Elata, he moves the vase to a more suitable location where it won't get covered in suggestive, sticky batter.
"Anyway. Muffins." He clears his throat, gesturing for Tal to join him.
Tal nodded cautiously at the invitation to informality, but since there was the possibility of getting kicked out once Ronin saw the package he didn't reply just yet. Not until the other man relaxed enough to laugh did the courier dare to ease up a little and give the commander a sheepish grin. "Yeah? Glad to do it, s-s-sssRonin," he corrected himself with only a little stutter. Nearly as smoothly as a snake!
He didn't say that he was just as glad to have the suggestive flowers out of easy sight, but he breathed a little sigh of relief when Ronin shifted the vase away from the danger zone. Shuffling over, Tal peered into the biscuit batter bowl on his way to the sink to wash his hands.
At least two of his sisters would spontaneously appear and hit him with wooden spoons if he didn't do that first, he was absolutely certain.
"My dad was the same," he admitted a little wistfully to Ronin's earlier comment as he scrubbed under his nails. "Was yours military, too?"
you may not want to change but the world is unforgiving and will do it for you anyway
Sronin is enough to make him grin even if he wasn't already in jovial spirits, and he continues to spoon out the batter into the muffin cases while Tal washes his hands. "Nice to meet you, by the way. I didn't catch your name," he says conversationally. He knows it's because Tal hasn't given it to him yet, but it's an invitation for an introduction nonetheless.
He sets the bowl with the remaining batter out for the second tray of cases, trusting Tal to take over where he leaves off while he goes to set the first batch into the oven. "Mm? Actually no," he says of his father, tilting his head as he searches his memories. "My family had a military background, but my father was more for politics. And he might have been strict, but he had nothing on my mother." No, she had been the matriarch of the family for sure.
07-08-2022, 04:10 PM (This post was last modified: 07-08-2022, 04:10 PM by Talyson.)
Heat rushed to Tal's ears and from the doorway the muscular dragon let out a rumbling chortle at her bonded's discomfiture. " 'm Tal," the courier mumbled awkwardly, having once again neglected to introduce himself. Just because he usually knew the name and address of who his packages were going to didn't mean the recipients knew him! ...A fact he usually forgot.
Much to Boreal's amusement.
Shaking water off his hands, Tal took up the bowl and the spoon and began glopping batter into the empty muffin cases. Some were definitely going to be a bit bigger than others, but most of the batter ended up on the inside of the cups rather than the outside while he listened to Not-sir Ronin.
"Politics?" he repeated, wrinkling his nose. "Ew--uhhh, oh, that's...nice." He put extra effort into sounding polite to try and make up for the gaffe, seeing as he was talking to the Commander of all of Stormbreak. "My dad was a Deepfrost Shield, an' my mom ran the general store that's kind of a family thing." A proud answer, Tal's skinny chest puffing out a little before he surreptitiously tried to even out some of the batter overflows.
you may not want to change but the world is unforgiving and will do it for you anyway
Offering a companionable nod to hear the courier's name, Ronin's gaze flicks past him as if noticing the dragon for the first time. "Ah, forgive me. I was too focused on..." He gestures to the plants, the muffin batter, and so on. "A pleasure to meet you too." Inclining his head to Boreal, Ronin straightens back up from the oven. From the eaves above them, if they listen close, perhaps there's a half-hearted trill from Sugar. She's snoozing while Ronin messes about in the kitchen, as is her right.
Chuckling to himself, he waves off Tal's attempt at politeness. "Boring," he corrects. "It was boring, especially for a kid." And in comparison, the courier's humble beginnings are enviable, Ronin smiling to hear the pride in his voice. "Does she still run it now?" he asks, before pulling a face as the question is fired back at him.
"She sat around gossiping with her social circle mostly, when she wasn't gushing over my brother or telling me to straighten my tie," he mutters with a wince. "As a baroness is wont to do, I suppose."
Tal just snorted, a sound echoed by the big, boxy dragon as she plopped herself down in front of the entrance to the kitchen and made a general nuisance of herself to anyone else trying to come in. She looked entirely pleased about it, too, and Tal rolled his eyes at her. "Oh, you don't need to apologize. Boreal's pretty laid back," he reassured the Commander. Which might have been slightly ruined by the disparaging rumble from the doorway.
A sound caught the courier's ears and he glanced up curiously, but a potential spill of batter forced him to focus on trying to even the muffin cups out before Ronin saw the unique character each one was turning out with. He hid a grin as the other man agreed with his initial opinion of politics, but the cheer faded at the question, and he swallowed a sudden lump in his own throat. "Uh... no. She died two years ago. My older sisters run the store now."
A subdued courier listened to the tale of Ronin's own mother, interested in the little tidbits right up until he looked to the other man with wide, startled eyes: "Wait, does that make you a baron, uh, ling? Ette? Whatever junior barons are called?"
you may not want to change but the world is unforgiving and will do it for you anyway
"Makes a change," Ronin remarks of Tal's dragon being laid back. "My companion is a lot more highly strung." And does he lower his voice to a whisper with those last couple of words? You're damn right he does. He doesn't want his ear nipped for his trouble.
But anyway - back to politics and military and mothers. Ronin's eyes widen a little to hear of the courier's loss, and he offers him an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry to hear that," he murmurs, casually moving to rescue the tray of muffins before Tal fixes them to death. They go to wait atop of the oven while the others cook.
"Mm...? A baronette?" A warm laugh spills from the Huntsman's lips, and he shakes his head. "Just a baron," he corrects. "Albeit a little one at the time. And I'm not that any more - and I'm not sorry about it."
A quick grin flashed across the courier's face at Ronin's whisper and he risked an upward glance again, trying to find whoever - whatever? - was lounging up there. Though, Commander of Stormbreak and all, he guessed dragon.
While fixing fussing with a few more muffin cups, Tal just shrugged awkwardly at the rote sympathy, however sincere. He hadn't known what to say to it two years ago, and he clearly still didn't now. Instead he focused on the task in his hands until Ronin rescued the tray from him.
Which just left him with the bowl to roll between fingers that twitched against it just short of tapping. A faint flush of embarrassment, a darkening of brown skin, crawled up his neck at the laugh and correction, but there was too much warmth in Ronin's humor for the courier to prickle up in defense. "Guess bein' a Commander outranks it, huh?" he guessed. "D'you have any sisters?"
