What do you get when two ruthless assassins raise their daughter travelling through the wildest reaches of Caido? Take one look at Theea and you'll get a pretty good idea. Cheerful and tenacious in equal measure, and curious beyond all else, she began her journey on a mission to find those her mother once called family. And find them she did, soon rubbing elbows with demigods, leaders and even ghosts from the past. Her determination is resolute, her thirst for knowledge unmatched. We can't wait to see where her next adventure takes her!
Congratulations, Theea!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
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08-17-2025, 11:11 PM (This post was last modified: 08-17-2025, 11:11 PM by Kaisel.)
C-4, I do that damage—My ego is titanic
He's got a multitude of thoughts running rampant as he walks to Frey's shrine, tray of goods in hand. They haven't stopped since Flora and he had laid amongst the flowers, the ride home painstakingly quiet, to the point where the communal skyship ride from Torchline back to here had felt far too loud despite it just being normal.
Sighing loudly, Kaisel sits cross-legged before the shrine and sets the tray down between him and the waterfall. It's a hot sundae bar, full of various toppings in bowls like chocolate sauce, fudge, caramel sauce, rainbow sprinkles, chopped nuts, cherries, and a bowl of whipped cream that started to melt a bit on the walk over. There's a paper boat of halves bananas and scooped ice cream, also beginning to melt, one for him and one for Frey.
"It's all fucked Frey," he says like he's sitting down for girl's night with a bestie and not a deity. He's got one of the sundae boats in hand, drizzling both sauce variants over it. "I did it all, but I was too slow, and now I don't even think she'd take it from me." His shoulders bow in a bit more at the confession, the most words he's said since talking to Flora. He piles on the whipped cream next. "I should have heeded your first warning," he sighs again, like he can't breathe any other way right now. The finishing touch is the rainbow sprinkles, but he's rather found his appetite has left him, so he just holds the treat in hand, contemplating everything he'd done wrong as he watches the whipped cream start to slide out of shape.
The air at the Mourn’s shrine grows heavy as if the weight of summer heat has returned suddenly. The windchimes still sing, but beneath their notes comes a flush of something else—warmth curling low in Kaisel's belly, a soft, inevitable pull of arousal that signals Frey’s arrival before their form resolves in front of him. They step into being without preamble, bare skin aglow, every line of their body shaped into the exact amalgam of desire Kaisel would least want to admit aloud. A smile curves their lips, wicked and amused as their gaze drops to the sundae spread like it’s an altar of indulgence.
"Well now," Frey drawls, crouching smoothly, their hand hovering over the melting chaos of caramel and cream. "Speed certainly can make or break things." The grin sharpens, innuendo dripping as thick as fudge. "Slow can be unforgettable, but not always in the way you might like."
They pluck up a spoon and dip it into one of the sundaes. Rather than offering it to Kaisel, Frey slides it between their own lips, closing around the metal with deliberate slowness. Sweetness bursts over their tongue, and Kaisel will taste it too—cold shock and sugar blooming on his own tongue as though he were the one licking at the spoon. When Frey pulls it free with a little flick of tongue along the edge, their smile is dazzling mischief. "In person is almost always better, hm?"
The spoon is pointed at him like a weapon, like a joke, before being discarded into the grass. Frey leans back lazily, plucking something unseen until their hand emerges with two tightly rolled scrolls of parchment bound together. They waggle them teasingly, eyes alight. "You went above and beyond my little sugar cube, so here’s your prize: you can lace your parchment with a little more temptation. Sound or scent." They roll their shoulders, the motion languid, the promise undeniable. "So which will it be?"
He'd once told Flora he cries when he masturbates as a joke, but now it seems like Frey is trying to make it reality. The surge of desire running in amid the current of despair creates an oddly brackish pool of horny mourning. He exhales against its intrusion, gaze flicking up briefly at the telltale sign of Frey's arrival, but he has no desire to really look into the face they wear today.
Not usually one prone to wallowing when action can create results, Kaisel is still a bit lost about what action he ought to take next. He's got a few ideas still tossing back and forth in his mind like music on shuffle, not certain what he wants to listen to but positive what he doesn't the moment he hears it. This at least is something he can do, wrapping up something that still matters to him, it just didn't feel like nearly enough any more, and just serves as a reminder of what he could have avoided if he'd been quicker, smarter, better.
Maybe too lost on internal reflections and indecision to actually understand, Frey's words drift over uselessly to him. Speed sometimes yes, but sometimes no. Slow can be good, but also bad. Beneath it all, a sense of double meaning, serious and humorous. His 'brows pinch a bit, wondering if the god of sex just advised him on moderation when they arrive nude and wreathed in arousal every time, which seems to only be an extreme. Or is this...advice on fucking, since that seems to be the only thing he's capable of doing to his life lately?
The confusion cracks beneath the sudden spill of syrup sweetness and cold. This must be what bittersweet is at it's core, because the flare of sugar is surely there, but the residue of all that'd been said at the flower fields lingers still like a bitter taste he can't be free of. He swallows against the mixed flavor, the feel of it steadily fading as the spoon pulls free. "Mmhmm," he agrees, "but not always easy." The admittance is quiet around the idea, because in a fresh light he realizes he'd gone for easy. Not intentionally, not with that in mind, but in the end that's what it had been.
His attention does lift up from the tray and the sweep of Frey's legs and hands as the praise and the prize is offered. Still, he tries not to linger, snagging over gold and teal edges like Frey is a gorgon. "Really?" a touch of excitement creeps in, some sugar layering in over the bitter until it outweighs it. He considers the choice for a moment, lips moving silently as he seems to draw different conclusion and possibilities to whispered life. "Sound," he decides, because if in person is best and written is a hold over, then sound would fall solidly in-between, a voice memo instead of a call, which is better than a text.
Kaisel
I woke up in self-destruction mode—Watch me go, I'ma do it again
The parchment trembles between Frey’s fingers, the movement deliberate, like the roll of hips or the flutter of breath against a sensitive place. Their grin is wide and knowing, eyes aglow as they watch Kai, head tilted just enough that the curls of their hair slide across bare shoulders.
"Mmh, of course there should be rewards for those who go the extra mile," they purr, as if praising him for more than parchment and quests. The paper shivers again, responding to their touch, and then seems to melt into itself with a soft spark, a ripple of sound barely audible—like the first exhale before a moan. "Sound it is. I think you’ll find it...intimate. A voice caught on the page can nearly be as good as a tongue against your ear, if you use the write words."
Their brows lift in mock innocence, the spoon they’d licked earlier now twirling idly between their fingers like it might become a wand with one careless flick. They lean forward with the scrolls, but not before letting their gaze linger on him, wicked humour bright as sunlight on water. Frey offers it over at last, lips curling as they waggle the scrolls between them, waiting for him to take them.
Kaisel as completed his quest and received;
Two-way parchment (Upgraded) | This parchment will replicate whatever is written upon it to its partner-parchment, regardless of distance, and can be narrated in the writer's voice.
08-18-2025, 03:24 PM (This post was last modified: 08-18-2025, 03:24 PM by Kaisel.)
C-4, I do that damage—My ego is titanic
Hearing such commendations from Frey almost doesn't seem real, not when it's been one accusation after another about all his shortcomings and mistakes as of late, from a multitude of voices. It lingers as surely as the heat they've conjured though, and eventually it coaxes a careful smile to his face. He watches the magic settle into the parchment with all the relief of seeing work made real, that at least out of everything, something had been made instead of destroyed.
"You're too kind, Frey," he murmurs, attention flicking to their lips, artfully seductive with their curve even as they speak, or perhaps especially when they do. "That's the plan, but still have to be willing to listen to it." He fights to keep back the tug that threatens to draw his smile down, the bitterness trying to roll back in. As Frey wags a spoon at him, utterly unbothered, he'd be lying if it wasn't somewhat contagious, and his features steady with the grin. "Thank you, here's to hoping it helps."
He reaches forward to take the scrolls, tugging them like he expects Frey just might tease them out of reach if he isn't quick enough, while his other hand lifts up his own spoon like a toast to theirs. He digs into his melting sundae, a little more at ease than when he'd first arrived.
[FIN]
Kaisel
I woke up in self-destruction mode—Watch me go, I'ma do it again
