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!
we're all stories unfinished and we die to find some fitting words to write
“Thanks for coming with me,” the wrinkles at the corner of her eyes crinkle in warmth as she looks back at Ophelia, offering a hand to steady them in case the teleport was a bit disorienting. Once they’re okay, she adds, “I’ve been meaning to check in, but -” but everything. Wessex knows she doesn't necessarily need to explain, so she just shakes her head and shrugs. Life. Life happens. And she has a feeling that Phi doesn’t particularly mind being left to their own devices some of the time.
“We’re looking for a succulent, which is a… fleshy looking, mostly green-blue rose, I guess. It has various shapes and species, so many of them look like flowers. But it’s usually smaller and grows very close to the ground. Sometimes has a pink tinge around the edges of the plant. There’s another kind that looks like green tubular coral.” Hearing herself, the Wraith knows it's not the best description, but she’s only recently learned about succulents and so is probably not the best person to expound on the varieties. And here, in the Tanglefoot, they might actually be difficult to find. “I guess we should just take a look around, see if anything pops up.”
So, Wessex starts meandering along, eyes trained on the ground, kicking up larger leaves every now and then. Why did this feel like trying to find a needle in a haystack?
“Of course, I’m happy to spend time with you,” Ophelia responds in their normal happy, dreamlike tone, sounding completely at ease even as they gratefully reach for Wessex’s steadying hand as they come out of the teleportation. Their other hand comes to pat gently at the top of the Wraith’s before they release it, something they’d seen their mother do many times to comfort worried minds. “You’re very busy, Wessex. I am happy and safe - I don’t need to be on your list of burdens.” Phi is loyal to their family, and has little desire to roam and adventure, making them one of the easier sheep in the proverbial flock to tend to.
Succulents are far out of their wheelhouse, but they listen with an open and attentive countenance, and nod primly as their directives are given. “Pink is hard to find in plants that aren’t flowers, so I’ll try to find that first,” they note aloud, though it’s unclear if it’s spoken to Wessex or the world at large. They begin to wander around, staring at the ground curiously, making large loops to ensure no missed ground.
Feel the storm every night, hope it passes by Hallucinate a shady grove where Judas went to die
we're all stories unfinished and we die to find some fitting words to write
“You’re not a burden,” she replies reflexively. Defensively, almost, though the demigod knows there aren’t any hints of insinuation in Ophelia. They didn’t seem to be the kind of person to wield passive-aggressiveness like that. “I’d rather spend all day with the family than spend all this time relic hunting, or preparing for this fucking war.” More than a little grumbly (and who can blame her?) the Wraith growls to herself whilst hunched over a giant fern, poking around the base of the fronds.
Gods, if she didn’t have to be a weapon - there are a thousand cooler upgrades she could have if she knew she didn’t have to try and kill monsters and people and shit like that.
Anyway. Wessex isn’t hear to lay all her woes as Phi’s feet. So she straightens up, casting a glance towards the sky, and in the meantime, catching a glimpse of something interesting in the tree. “Huh. What’s that?” she muses aloud, moving towards the behemoth, staring up at the shrine.
Ophelia’s smile is beatific as it’s aimed towards Wessex, and if their expression wasn’t so peaceful most times it wouldn’t be clear in the slight changes that they were amused. “No, I’m not. And I don’t want to be; I’d rather our time together be spent as we want it to be. Aside from preparing of course.” Ophelia doesn’t want to be another name on ‘Wessex’s Worry Roster’. They’re the equivalent of a robotic limp noodle, effectively useless in war, but they aren’t dancing in sunbeams or learning to eat fire. Hopefully that basic level of self-preservation can ensure Wessex doesn’t have to tend to them; they want to help the family, not take precious dwindling time away.
Wessex’s gaze draws Phi’s own, and they wander over to stare up into the tree. “Is it like the homes the Fae build you think?” they ponder. Obviously having never entered the Greatwood, they can only rely on knowledge passes down verbally and written in the Atheneum’s books. A gleam of intrigue enters their pale eyes and a small, impish, childish smile is leveled towards Wessex. “Shall we investigate?”
Feel the storm every night, hope it passes by Hallucinate a shady grove where Judas went to die
we're all stories unfinished and we die to find some fitting words to write
Scrunching her nose and side of her face into an odd shape, Wessex peers up at the thing in the tree and shakes her head. “Ehhhh probably not. No Fae out here that we know of… but on the other hand, seems more than an animal nest.” Which leaves everything in between - from a child’s tree house to a spying fort to a smuggler’s stash. Turning back to Ophelia, she can’t help but note their impish smile, the obvious spark of curiosity; it’s so familiar, it’s like looking in a mirror. The General grins in return, revealing the tips of her fangs. “Yes. Obviously.”
Out come a pair of wings, bursting forth from her shoulder blades in a silent flurry of feathers and bone. She once again offers Phi a hand, “Climbing or flying?” If her sibling chooses to climb, the Wraith will meet them up on the bough, and if they choose to fly, she’ll pull them in, wrap an arm tightly around their waist, and haul the two of them up past the brush and greenery, to whatever lies above.
The intrigue is in the possibilities, and Ophelia is both biddable and curious to a fault. Whatever they may find can’t harm them - or at least not Wessex, in Ophelia’s eyes - so why not poke the hornet’s nest?
They’re like two sides of the same, fanged coin as they grin at one another. Ophelia makes a noise of wonder as the Wraith’s wings unfurl where once there’d only been empty air, and though they long to investigate the appendages, the demigod’s voice holds more command over their attention. For now.
“Fly of course!” they chirp airily, and step into Wessex’s hold easily. The sudden rush of air against their face and through their hair makes them laugh, childlike and wondrous, and though they have no organs to feel it they still swear their stomach swoops. Finding their footing as quickly as they can once they’ve entered the boughs, Ophelia clings to one with a single hand and leans over to peer at the…shrine?
A scowl plays on the young Ascended’s face. “What a terrible place for a shrine. At least ours aren’t ridiculously placed.” Impossible to reach for a non-Ascended perhaps, but not ridiculous.
Feel the storm every night, hope it passes by Hallucinate a shady grove where Judas went to die
