From Attuned to Ascended to Ancient, Kiada Njovu-Reyes has been reborn several times throughout her short life, but her fighting spirit has never once been diminished. With beauty, grace and a quick wit, Kiada is the whole package wrapped in an infectious smile. Recent endeavours have found her in the heart of the Hollowed Grounds, aiding the region and bettering it for her new Ancient kin, and whatever she does next, we know it's sure to pack a punch.
Congratulations, Kiada!
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!
i don't belong among the angels // and baby that's just fine with me
When in Rome, or so they say, might as well take in the sights. That’s exactly what Astaroth is doing – content to soak in the warmth as much as he can. Dantalion is off doing something (or someone, he doesn’t know nor care at the present moment) and it gives him some time to simply explore all the changes to the world since he’d fallen into his stasis.
Especially as he stands right now atop the cliff face, watching the waves roll and crash against the shore below him. His tail waves idly in the light breeze and he tucks his fine coat a little closer, like a statue and a gargoyle watching from the base of the lighthouse. The sand around him sparkles like stars and it’s such a strange feat that he realizes there has to be a shrine up in that tower, but he doesn’t drift toward it. It isn’t his goddess, he cares far little for it.
No, Astaroth is simply just here for the view of the waves, tall enough to cast a long shadow from the pale sun that hangs, watching the waves and that strange dark purple shape in the distance he can only assume is the meteor he’s heard so much about.
Astaroth
the things i did up there were high school // but now i'm going for my degree
Her steps are light but purposeful as she makes her way to the lighthouse. The sun kisses her cheeks while a chilly breeze rustles her wave of dark curls that cascade down her back. It's such a juxtaposition to the icy breaths of Halo or King's End. She basks in its warmth, grateful that she has business in the area.
As Thal approaches the edge of the cliffs, she notes a figure staring out into the waves. They continue to call to her with their crashing song of violence and powerful depths. Their sparkling mists and hypnotic sways are traps to tempt unsuspecting visitors. It doesn't help that their shores shine like a king's coffer. The way the man gazes out to the horizon with no regard for his surroundings makes her question if the siren song has taken hold of him.
Creeping up cautiously, she joins him in looking out at the water. The small purple dot is the only interruption to its captivating beauty. That, and this random Ancient interrupting her. With an accusing glare and sarcastic tone, she asks, "Is there not someplace else you could be?" She has work to do and she'd much rather not have an audience.
He had been told that Torchline would be warmer than the Grounds when the seasons changed. While everything south of Halo was balmy to the vagabond, he was abruptly reminded of his newfound dislike of snow when the first storm of the season nearly buried him under a blanket of the stuff. Hibernating over the winter might not be half bad, but he was no bear; he had jobs to find and family to meet.
But being a vagabond and all, there was nothing that kept him from visiting. Just to see what it was like. And lo and behold, not only did he find vastly more pleasant weather, but a fellow Ancient as well. Jackpot.
The Fyrhund burned pawprints into the turf as he ambled up the hillside. Having spotted the solitary figure from a distance, he made the stranger his destination and halted a polite distance sway, haunches sinking to the ground. Scrawny and underfed, the beast showed every sign of the nomadic lifestyle he led - yet the look in his eyes was calm and patient, the tongue that lolled from the massive jaws only friendly as he waited to be noticed.
i don't belong among the angels // and baby that's just fine with me
She doesn’t sneak up on him despite how she might wish to, and Astaroth remains precisely curious over the edge of the cliff face, scanning the diamond hued sands and the meteor in the distance, the fuzzy blur of what he can only assume to be strange gulls swooping about the large meteor in the distance. Thalassa ’s voice is sarcastic and snippy and her glare is not unnoticed by Asta’s dark gaze, meeting her with a pale grin of a response. “There are many places I could be, my dear.” He offers unhelpfully, though it’s evident he isn’t making any changes to where he’s standing.
And why should he? First of all, he doesn’t care what she does or what she tries to hide with her ship. Nor, are they alone as the fyrhund prowls up from the edge of the grasses, a creature that captures Astaroth’s attention, and it’s what finally gets him to move ever so slightly – gesturing to the canine as he leans toward the much shorter woman. “Besides, I am not your only company tonight.” The cane shifts hands and he gestures for Isar to approach, should he wish to come closer – his own fyrhund shift under his skin prowling in agreement.
Astaroth
the things i did up there were high school // but now i'm going for my degree
The annoyance threatens to radiate off her skin in waves. How is she supposed to bury secret treasure with witnesses? Although he seems uninterested in her or her purpose, the quiet ones usually squeal the loudest. She won't have greedy thieves coming to steal her bounty. So the only alternative is to patiently wait for his departure.
At his words, Thal watches the Fyrhund approach, suspicious of the "coincidence" of so many Ancients in one spot. Did they known I was coming here? She doubts it. After all, she hadn't known herself until about an hour ago. And why would they care about her small boon? Are they meeting each other? Her head swivels between them in silent skepticism. They don't appear to know each other, but there also hasn't been a lot to go on.
Settling on restraint and observation, Thal sneers at him in disgust. "Don't call me 'dear'." She then proceeds to find a rocky outcrop on the side of the lighthouse where the sun has soaked into the surface. With the grace of a stalking cat, Thal takes a seat and resolves to bask in the sunlight until the interlopers decide to leave. Her back leans against the stones, absorbing each degree of heat, while her legs cross in expectance. A look of disinterest disguises the irritation lingering beneath.
He had not seen the woman until she spoke, and it nearly had the Fyrhund jump out of his skin with surprise. The massive tail, heavy as a young tree-trunk, flicked uncertainly along the ground. The mood around the other two was strange, and he wasn't sure he really wanted to get involved.
But when the tall man beckoned, Isar melted into his two-legged form, and approached with a wary sort of curiosity. Dark of hair and even darker of eye, the ratty clothes hung loose on the emaciated body. All sinew and bone and wiry toughness, he looked every bit the starved vagabond that he was, and there was a hunger etched into his expression that overshadowed everything he did.
"Hello," he greeted in a rich, deep barytone as smooth as silk; charming, and entirely untrustworthy. "Didn't expect to see any ancient outside the Grounds... is something happening here?" Bottomless eyes turned slowly from one to the other, as though the answer might be found in their expressions.
i don't belong among the angels // and baby that's just fine with me
He has no use for whatever secret treasure she’s deciding to bury – nor does he care what she does with it or doesn’t. He doesn’t live here, keeps to himself relatively well, and has found a place to stay in the Grounds quite content and comfortable. Whatever Thalassa does is of her own volition and Astaroth cares far little for what she gets up to on these shores.
But he does find her sneer amusing, letting a deep chuckle slip from him in response. “Aren’t you fiery.” He hums, thinking briefly for a moment of just how similar she was to the Ancient’s he’d known so long ago, back when the Climb was the true epicenter of everything. He flashes her a grin as she steps away, though, basking in the sunlight, tearing his dark gaze to look to Isar as he approaches, chin dipping in greeting to the shorter man.
His accent is vaguely familiar, yet Asta doesn’t speak on that. Instead, offering his own kind and gentlemanly “hello,” in return, his own dark gaze meeting Isar’s with a knowing openness. “There was a tournament happening here between demigods and other people of power.” He offers the information easily. “I am simply enjoying the warmth before I make the trek back to the Grounds.” And staying away from Danta for the moment, not wanting to be too much of a shadow on that parade.
“What has brought you out here, then?” He asks, inclining his head, flashing a sharp toothed grin – feeling a bit like a Disney princess attracting wildlife, but instead of birds and squirrels, he’s attracted a younger crowd of Ancients.
Astaroth
the things i did up there were high school // but now i'm going for my degree
Thal flashes her fangs at the Ancient in response to his words but stays attached to her new warmth. It isn't worth it to start a fight - yet. So she lounges back and watches the Fyrhund transform into an emaciated man, her eyes narrowing at his suspiciously smooth voice. The inky darkness of it is at complete contrast with the unkept appearance. Why is someone with such a silky voice looking like a gypsy? That kind of tone can get someone places easily. Her immediate instincts are to keep a close eye on him.
She listens closely as the taller man explains the tournament. It was appealing enough to her that she had dropped in for a short look, enjoying the shed blood, underhanded blows, and ultimately, death. A desire to compete has built in her, such that she hopes to participate next time and maybe draw some blood of her own. She hides a smile of bloodlust and instead focuses on his mention of warmth. Apparently, they have been frequenting the same areas recently. How they haven't run into each other yet, is an interesting question. However, his comment makes her appreciate the heat of the Torchline sun all the more as she remembers the bitter cold blanketing most of Caido. Thal nods her head imperceptibly in agreement with his words, although she refuses to admit as much out loud.
As he begins the usual "polite" conversation, she rolls her eyes at a deafening volume. She may be curious about their purposes, but the obnoxiously bland pleasantries have her wanting to scream. In a sickly sweet voice, she says, "Oooh! How fun! Can we braid each other's hair next and talk about our crushes?" Thal scoffs and waves her hand in dismissal. "Why don't we all just state our business and be on our ways?"
The woman's attitude was hostile and abrasive, but he did not mind in the slightest. No one was keeping her there on the rocks save for her own purposes, and Isar was not the type to let himself be moved by mere barks. He did give her a second look however, as she complained about the quality of the conversation, and a slow smile grew across his mouth, in appreciation at what he saw.
"If you want me to braid your hair, you should come closer," he suggested mildly, somewhere between an invitation and a challenge. "I only came to see if the view was different from the cliffs. With so much family to acquaint myself with, however, I see no reason to hurry away."
Throwing the tall man a look of amusement - perhaps shared, perhaps not - Isar felt better than he had for... well, for longer than he could recall. Even though the wind was strong and held a bite of chill that wasn't too pleasant, a warmth was starting up in his chest; like fire, like belonging, like he was exactly where he was supposed to be. Finally.
"My name is Isar Sindri. Of Halo, originally. May I know your names?"
i don't belong among the angels // and baby that's just fine with me
@Thalassa’s flashed fangs only amuse Astaroth further, lips quirking in amusement as he offers the information for Isar to understand why there might be so many of them congregated here for now. He gets the sense that Thalassa is more of a traveling type, however, feeling a pang of nostalgia for himself way back when.
Regardless, her comment sparks a snort that turns into a low chuckle at Isar’s commentary, amused far more than he’d expected when he’d come this far out just to see the waves from this distance. “If it helps, my dear, I have zero interest of whatever it is you are doing.” Treasure or not, secrets or not, Astaroth doesn’t care what it might be. It seems she might be the only one.
Turning his attention back to Isar, though, he inclines his head – fyrhund to fyrhund, shifting the cane a bit to his other hand. “Astaroth.” He drawls in that deep charm. “Of a time that came and went before Halo.” Flashing a knowing wink of just how old he will come off being – it suddenly makes sense to him why the younger man’s accent sounded so familiar.
It wasn’t that far off from his own.
Either way, he draws silent, casting a glance toward Thalassa in case she wished to introduce herself too, or if she’d only harbor more amusing snark.
Astaroth
the things i did up there were high school // but now i'm going for my degree
Astaroth's flippant dismissal of her is annoying, but Isar's offer to braid her hair sounds more like he would make a noose out of it, so she smiles sweetly and tilts her head in Isar's direction. "Only if you let me braid yours first." Her fangs peak through her lips in a returned challenge. She doesn't take kindly to threats. In fact, it usually makes her more volatile and reckless, but she restrains herself with a mocking look before pulling out a dagger which she proceeds to expertly flip between her fingers. "Thalassa" is her only response to their watching stares.
Leaving her answer simple, Thal considers the men's similar accents and parallel origins, wondering as to their resemblance to one another. Yet their differences are apparent in terms of appearance and mannerisms, like relatives from different time periods. At least, that's what Astaroth's words imply. She decides that maybe it will prove entertaining to stay and hear their conversation. To separate herself slightly, she pretends to focus on her knife skills, its blade flickering in the sunlight.
"Hm, tempting," he hummed at the woman, his own thoughts going in an entirely different direction from nooses and violence. "Maybe we should talk more about it tonight." Hunger was etched into his features, undiscriminate and inconsiderate; unlikely to turn down anything or anyone.
Still, he was somewhat distracted by the presence of Astaroth, more specifically by the naggingly familiar drawl of the man. That he was of Halo too, long times removed, was a revelation that had dark eyes widening with intrigue creeping past the amusement wrought by his verbal spar with Thalassa.
"What a coincidence. Was it cold back in your time as well? I wonder how many other things we might have in common..." While it was somewhat pathetic in nature, even the smallest connection had the Fyrhund latching on to people these days. He craved it like a starving craved food and water, ravenously hunting for anything that might fill that abyss yawning inside. Pleasure or friendship or even the illusion of a family connection - it was beyond irresistable.
i don't belong among the angels // and baby that's just fine with me
Amusing childish antics, as far as Astaroth is concerned – glancing between the two Ancients. He half expects the woman to offer no name at all, but the one she offers he wonders whether it’s even her true name. His dark gaze takes in the dagger that flips expertly between her fingers with a low note of approval – his own familiarity and comfort with a dagger something he doesn’t advertise that often, unless the need arises.
He does dip his chin toward her at her name, listening as the two start to have their little bickering. “Now, now.” He chides playfully, sharp grin widening ever so slightly – because he really doesn’t care, but for the sake of meeting so many siblings as it were, Astaroth is pleased as punch to see just how much Dygra’s influence has spread over time.
“It was indeed cold. Though, Whitebrim has always had a chill like no other.” Comes the drawl, dark gaze lingering on Isar to see whether or not he relates. Granted, centuries had passed, and the Whitebrim that Astaroth knew versus the one that the man before him knew, were likely far different. Stealing a glance toward Thalassa, Asta's curiosity wonders how long she might be content sitting here listening to them, or if she intends to join the conversation more fully.
Astaroth
the things i did up there were high school // but now i'm going for my degree
The suggestive comment makes Thal pause in both surprise and consideration as she reassesses the man. Although she loves nighttime activities as much as the next person (possibly more), her standards are higher than... whatever this is. Isar's scrawny, unkept figure is definitely not at the top of her list. She flashes him a snide grin and says, "Get cleaned up and maybe I'll think about it." Her tone is biting, but leaves open the possibility if things were to "improve." The desperation isn't there even if the intrigue is.
Astaroth continues to grate on her nerves, however, the conversation seems to be taking an interesting turn and Thal's ears perk against her will. The toss of her blade slows to focus on their words such as "your time". Before she can stop herself, Thal's mouth is moving. "What was it like back then? Caido?" She tries to keep her tone flat and bored, drawling low without making eye contact. Inside, her heart is racing in curiosity and excitement. There is something about the past that has her jumping to know more despite her insistence otherwise. Apparently, that includes overcoming the unappealing idea of joining in on this conversation, so she adds another question. "Are there others like you?"
