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!
"Every landmark has a bunch of bullshit attached to it," Fox agrees, smiling around the rim of his coffee cup and settling back again on the grass to find something to look at while Morgen kindly sketches him out a map of King's End for him. "In some cases," he adds, "the bullshit is current. Or mostly current." He's thinking of the Spire, naturally, and everything attached to the obsidian menace that still dominates the Grounds' skyline.
Trying not to peer over at the developing map despite his curiosity, a smile tugs at his lips to hear of the things that might or might not eat him, but certainly seem dangerous enough. "I'd hope not," he says, not particularly wanting to imagine what a basilisk fucking a bird would look like, but there it is in his mind nevertheless. "Thanks for this," he adds. "World feels a lot bigger since the war."
Looking at the marks he'd made on the parchment with part of his upper lip tugged up, Morgen eventually adds an arrow next to the word GROUNDS just in case his orientation had been so shit that Fox didn't know which way was North. Or, you know whatever we're calling North in Caido.
"Sure enough." Giving it a final once-over, Morgen rolls the parchment up and hands it over, before wrapping his hands around his mug once more. "Feels...I dunno, tense? or maybe just...brewin', you know? Been so long without some sort of conflict, I guess I'm just waitin' for another."
Speaking of brewing though...
Using a stick (he hadn't Fox's powers, alas), Morgen raises the lid off of the pot and gives it a sniff. Frowning with approval, he glances toward the other man, eyebrows raised. "Smell done to you?"
Nodding gratefully and taking the rolled up parchment, Fox makes a mental note to scour it later that night. For now, though, he slips it back into his bag, though he leaves the last of the coffee grounds as a gift for Morgen. (There's only enough left for one cup, and he can manage, he thinks).
"Took the words right out of my mouth," he admits, riding the last part out on a long sigh that drags his shoulders down in some forced attempt to relax. "Says something about us though, doesn't it, that we're more stressed in times of peace than when there's a full blown war coming our way?"
Smiling without feeling any humour in it, he's luckily distracted by the smell of food. And it absolutely does smell done to him, Fox's stomach rumbling loudly before he can give a real answer to the question. Scoffing at himself and rubbing at the back of his head, he nods. "Smells good," he adds.
"Better the devil you know an' all that." Morgen agrees with a similarly weighty sigh. Or something about being a frog in a pot? Gods, he can't remember but he's sure his da' used to say something like that.
For what little was added to the pot, not only was the smell enough to have Morgen nearly salivating as he scooped out their respective portions, but even between the two of them there would be substantial leftovers. During the course of their meal the wrangler would ask if the jerky Fox had put in was magic, which would lead to conversations of travelling merchants and the sorts of fuckery each man had seen during his lifetime.
