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 can take the boy out of the Ascended, but you can't take the Ascended out of the boy.
It makes zero sense, but it's still the soundbite that plays over and over in Fox's mind as he heads south out of the Hollowed Grounds with rations in his pack and sturdy boots on his feet. He forgoes any heavier layers - or indeed any layers at all, given the season - and so as the days wear on and his trip takes him down into King's End, it's with new freckles on the bridge of his nose and a deepening tan developing along his bare shoulders.
Shifting his pack on his shoulders, he only realises he must have reached the Barrows when, you know, the barrows start to appear. Letting out a long sigh that puffs out his stubbled cheeks, he plops down on a nearby boulder to take a rest. And to watch.
Watch for what, you ask?
He's heard tell of another Ascended living around these parts; perhaps the only one left now. And while Fox isn't to know that said Ascended has already joined the ranks of Ancients (Isla would be very amused to meet him and confirm this, no doubt), he's heedless to tug at that thread once he's noticed it start to fray.
With the arrival of Longheat, wildflowers had sprouted up all the hell over the place, not unlike the rainbow sprinkles y'might have spilled on accident when tryin' to decorate cookies. Wearing a t-shirt that might once have been bright white but was now the creamy no-colour that came with sweat and age, the wrangler cast a glare up towards the sun, spit, and then removed his hat to wipe his brow with the back of his arm.
Morgen wasn't the sort of man to have many thoughts and feelings about things, and so as he moved his herd toward the ribbon of water he knew flowed in trickles and spurts up ahead, there really wasn't much going on behind his dusty denim stare, aside from thinking about what to have for lunch.
Not needing to use his body or his bond with the unicorn mare on which he rode to tell her to do her job, it was only as he caught sight of the man ahead sat down on a rock that he picked up his reins at all. 'Afternoon.' Morgen called out once he was close enough not to have to shout. 'Y'lost?'
Having begun his break on edge, expecting some deranged Ascended to burst, half smouldering, from the beds of flowers all around, by the time Morgen and his herd even comes into view, Fox has relaxed considerably. Indeed, one might arguably say that he's also thinking about what to have for lunch as he watches the herd of unicorns amble closer, and it's with a soft blink of his eyes that he realises he's never seen one of the mythical creatures, let alone so many in one place.
"Hey," he rumbles in response, resisting the urge to say something more along the lines of howdy, because he'd want to punch himself in the face for doing it. "Yes and no, I suppose?" he replies as to being lost. "I'm looking for something. Or someone, I should say." Reaching up to rub at the back of his neck (there isn't a drop of sweat on him, naturally), it's with a flick of a leathery tail that he shifts to hop down off his boulder.
"Are all these yours?" he wonders, nodding at the unicorns.
05-01-2023, 05:07 PM (This post was last modified: 05-01-2023, 05:07 PM by Morgen.)
MORGEN
Come down from your fences
The man's answer receives a slight frown from the wrangler, though it's entirely possible that the set of the sun and the slant of his hat casts enough shadow over his mouth to hide it. "Uh...huh." The wrangler comments, the sound itself a dry and impartial thing not unlike the man who'd uttered it. "Yer'gonna burn if you stay like that much longer." For his part, the wrangler's lower arms had already started to turn the colour of a blush you might see on a young girl's cheeks following a raunchy joke, but the rest of his complexion suggested he wasn't the type to burn. Nah, he'd turn into leather before that ever happened.
The flick of the tail catches Morgen's eye, and had he noticed it before, he'd have kept his commentary about the sun to himself. 'Much as any herd of wild animals can be, I guess." He answers, resting his hands on the horn of his saddle and twisting his head over his shoulder to eye the herd which had come to a lazy stop a few dozen feet behind him. There were thirty or so, ranging in colour and size, and luckily for both men, the heat had burned most of the fuckery out of them for the time being.
"Mm?" Gazing down at himself, Fox's tan has already started to take on a soft bronze colour that will only get deeper the longer he lets himself stay in the sun, and he can't help the smile that tugs at his lips at the realisation. "Thanks for your concern," he says, "but I'll be alright." And that makes one helluva change from just a year before.
As for the herd of wild animals, Fox follows the other man's gaze across to them, reaching up to brush his hair out of his face and revealing, for a moment or so, the two bonelike protrusions that mark him as an Ancient more than the tail that sways listlessly at his heels. "I've never seen so many," he murmurs. "Or even one before now," he adds.
Clearing his throat as he realises he's verbally walked himself away from the point of his trip, the hunter lets out a sigh through his nose. "Depends on your definition of dangerous," he says. "To me they are, especially after the war. They're Ascended." His voice pitches lower even to admit it, like it's a dirty word. "I'd ask if you'd seen them, but I doubt they'd go around advertising it."
"Plenty of 'em around if you know where to look. More 'round here now that everybody's quit fightin' one another." Morgen notes with a one-sided shrug. Sure unicorns were capable of healin', but that didn't mean they wanted to wander into battle after battle, especially when it seemed to them there weren't no rhyme or reason for it. At least, that's the message Morgen had picked up from his mare.
For a moment the wrangler says nothing as he tries to decide what brand of shit this man is full of. Deciding that it was probably the most dangerous kind, i.e. the genuine kind where you believe your own bullshit, Morgen sighs as well and offers up another of his lopsided shrugs. "My definition of dangerous says that a race without a god to heal 'em up and lots of sunshine around, says they shouldn't be much of a problem."
Briefly Morgen considers saying he had in fact met one but that she was dead (would that put Fox off of Isla's scent?), he decides that keepin' Isla's identity to himself was all he actually owed her. Gettin' in the middle of whatever quest this man was on wasn't his place. 'Ain't seen none around though, advertised or no. Seen some of your kind actually, but that's about it."
"First time in King's End," Fox says with a small smile, "so it's safe to say I've got no idea where to look. Pretty sure this'll stick with me, though." He nods at the herd, obviously meaning the sight of so many unicorns gathered in one place. As for Morgen's definition of the Ascended, Fox huffs out a laugh that's as self-deprecating as it is disbelieving. "You're probably right, but then I imagine that's what a lot of people said after the first war, too."
How dangerous could the Voice be behind that big old barrier? All of her creations are useless now that they're cut off from her, yadda yadda yadda. But the man says he hasn't seen any Ascended around and Fox has zero reason not to believe it, so he nods gratefully at the response. "My kind?" he adds, before it dawns on him. "Ah, I see. You've probably met more of them than I have. I'm Fox, by the way." He'd reach up to offer a hand to shake if it seemed appropriate.
"Hah, just wait until you come across one of the Enera. The wail on them'll do your ears in like you wouldn't believe." Morgen chuckles. 'Make you forget all about your own name let alone a herd'a unicorns." He adds still grinning.
Not one for politics, Morgen merely huffs a noncommital sound, and were he not sat atop his mare, he might have offered to shake as well. "Morgen." The wrangler answers, before pushing the brim of his hat up with a single finger and popping out his lower lip. "That a fact? Huh." He remarks, not sounding terribly interested by the fact. 'Well, we're just on our way over that ridge. There's a little stream I was gonna make camp by. I got some jerky and vegetables for a stew. Yer welcome to join if it suits." All of this is said in a voice that might have been reciting a grocery list for how welcoming and interested in sounded, but then it wasn't as if Morgen was going to go out of his way to try and bribe or otherwise encourage this man. They'd only just met after all.
"A what?" Fox asks, unable to help himself. His eyebrows raise to hear Morgen's description of the creature, the hunter shifting his pack on his shoulder. "Gods. Sounds like the banshees we get up towards the Grounds and the Greatwood. Hearing those crying at night isn't a sound you forget easy."
Following the wrangler's directions over said ridge, Fox's shoulders relax a little in relief. "I was going to ask if you knew anywhere worth making camp," he admits. "If it's not too much trouble I'd not say no to joining you. I can offer a little jerky of my own, and some fruitcake and coffee." A veritable feast, you might say.
"Feel free to go at your pace - I'll catch up," he adds, not wanting to keep the man and the herd from his work.
"These things make banshees sound like they're singin' a lullaby." The wrangler boasts, and just how much of this is true Fox can judge for himself if he ever has the misfortune of being in a position to compare to two.
"Mayhap I got a little whisky too." Morgen adds, softened by the mention of fruitcake and coffee. Not one to argue to micromanage, it's with a slightly unsure stare that the wrangler decides to just let Fox go as he pleases. If he falls behind it ain't like the ridge is hard to miss, and the unicorns were sure to lay down enough of a path for him to follow if his eyes decided to fail him. "There's two youngsters in the back, spotty things with a mean streak a country mile long. If they come t'bother you, just wave your hands at 'em and it should send 'em runnin'. " More than likely it would only antagonize them, but by then Sweet's would have alerted Morgen to their fuckery so that he could do something about it.
Not needing to cluck or kick his mare on but nudging her with his seat just the same, the big dun pinned her ears and squealed under her breath, a signal both to her bonded as much as the rest of the herd that she was now in charge.
"Oh? They give the locals much trouble?" Fox asks, more than willing to take the boasting at Morgen's word. His world doesn't much expand beyond the Hollowed Grounds for the most part, but he's a hunter at heart and if there are monsters causing immediate mayhem, then the Ascended will have to wait.
As for the offer of booze? "Mayhap I can coffee up your whiskey if you can whiskey up my coffee," he suggests, and if he were any good at flirting it might well fucking sound like it. As it stands, Fox merely listens to Morgen's instructions with a soft nod, glancing back at the aforementioned spotty youngsters and planning to give them a wide berth nonetheless.
"I'll see you up there," he says, giving the mare beneath the wrangler an even wider berth at the ear pinning and squealing going on; another thing a country mile long is how little Fox knows about equines, and he's not pushing his luck with anyone after such a long journey.
And so, giving the herd time to start moving, the hunter soon sets his pace somewhere alongside them and behind. Morgen will have time to peak the ridge and start making camp before Fox joins him, but when he gets there he's already opening his pack to take out his rations, offering a share of his jerky to add to the pot. "There many like you out here?" he asks curiously. "Herding unicorns, I mean. Or anything else."
"What locals?" Morgen snorts under his breath before glancing around as if to say, just us chickens 'round here. "They don't go near that demigod sanctuary thing if that's what you mean." He adds with another shrug.
Deciding based solely on that one turn of phrase that, bullshitter or not, Morgen liked Fox well enough. So thinking, Morgen let himself be carried off by Sweets, content to let the mare bully the herd into submission while he acted like nothing more than a glorified saddle ornament. It all goes smoothly enough for which the wrangler is grateful. It's far too hot for fuckery in his opinion, not that there was a temperature that would make him happy about it.
Dismounting, it's with quick fingers that Morgen tugs and unloops the various leather fastenings holding Sweets' saddle to her body, and no sooner has he heaved it off of her, then she fucks off a few steps to roll in the grass. Setting the saddle down and then tugging a few bags off of it, Morgen plops a large blackened pot down between them before kicking together the makings of a fire. "Nah." He replies with a shake of his head. "My mama and daddy did it before me, but they're long gone now. I dunno if there ain't enough unicorns for it, or if folks just don't care as much anymore. I seem t'do alright, but I think that's just 'cause folks know me." As for the anything else bit?
"That Frey demigod started a brothel not too far from here."
"Ah, so that's still around," Fox says of the demigod sanctuary thing, though he'd have added a couple of colourful words before it, too. It's not that he is or was ever against people being kept safe during the war, it's just... no. You know what? It's far too hot for any fuckery, his own included. And so with thoughts about the Hollowed Grounds, it's once-upon-a-time leader and whateve refuge he'd made bitten back behind his tongue, he joins Morgen at his fire.
Setting down the jerky next to the pot for Morgen to make the stew, he fishes around in his pack a little more and withdraws a neatly wrapped parcel of fruitcake and a near empty package of coffee grounds, though it will make more than enough for the two of them to enjoy. "Pretty niche business, huh?" he says with a half smile. "The quiet must be pretty nice. I come from further north in the Grounds. It's not busy there, but it still feels loud."
Tilting his head to hear that the very same refuge-making-demigod is now a brothel-making demigod, Fox can't help but snort out a laugh. "Wonder how much business it gets," he says dryly.
"Ayup." Morgen mumbles conversationally enough, though his focus is on the ground by his hands, where his fingers are working a piece of flint and some kindling into a warm burst of heat. "Spark-a-dark, where's my sire? Will I lay me? Will I stay me? Bless this camp with fire." No sooner are the last of this odd rhyme spoken, than a flame appears, gobbling up the kindling.
"Different kind of quiet, but yeah." Morgen agrees as he moves to fill the pot with water from the little stream. "The ponies can be quite loud, but it beats the hell out of the sound of'a city, I can tell you that for free." Mention of the Grounds has Morgen exhaling through his nose as he adjusts the pot over the growing flame. "Yeah, and how's that? I always thought the Grounds was a bit of a ghost town after everything." Everything being, you know, the war.
Shaking his head wryly, Morgen just grins as he adds their jerky into the pot before reaching around to fish some herbs from his bag. "Dunno. Maybe it's one of them..you know, tourist destinations."
