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!
// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //
Nodding with the confirmation, Astaroth shifts his weight a little, cane moving with it as he readjusts and lets his gaze drift from the water to the Sword, curious to glean more from this mammoth of a man. But it appears as though the question is for him this time, and Astaroth’s smile flickers back to life on his face.
“Bathed in fire.” He offers it easily, before he tilts his head a little. “I had been a statue until Danta found me and brought me back via flame.” Though it had spurred a fight shortly after, Astaroth was unused to not having a leash all the same as the Maverick had. “Bathing in blood helps speed up the process if I recall correctly, alas, I know flame works for sure.” He murmurs, smirking lightly with the idea.
That and the idea of a fire bath right now sounded phenomenal.
He eventually allowed the pebbles to float and flicker across the top of the pool, watching as they seemingly skipped and skimmed on their own. His attention was mostly for the answer though, of baptisms in fire, of statues, of bathing in blood and amidst flame. He nearly snorted at some other insinuations rambling through his mind, but they were mostly for Kiada, and anything that might have to happen in the future, should things turn unfortunate or unlucky. “That is good to know. Thank you.”
Uncertain how best to word his next inquiry, he merely tilted his head, perhaps justified in the curiosity – for unless it was the heralds – he didn’t have many others to ask such intricacies. “What was Caido like before?” Before the Voice, and before barriers?
Out of sight and out of mind
Make everything alright
So let the sky and sea collide
Just not in our lifetime
// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //
“Of course.” Astaroth hums with a dip of his chin. Should anyone wish to awaken them when they’d fallen into that slumber, Astaroth wishes anyone would know just on the off chance. Now, whether or not he needs to know any specifics (such that Kiada and the Sword have quite the relationship) is irrelevant.
The follow up question, though, is one that the butcher expects, and he settles comfortably, shifting his weight and bearing some of it on the cane between his hands as he watches the water ripple and move, before his dark gaze slips back toward the warden. “Far less interesting.” He admits with a soft hum of a laugh. “The Climb was larger, harbored so many of us that it was a treat if you got to see it.” And a threat, though he keeps that tidbit tucked away.
“Fashion and manners were more… old fashioned back then. I was quite pleased to see that particular shift.” He admits with another sharp smile. “Halo was different. Smaller and not as icy, but still quite cold. The Grounds didn’t exist.” He starts to list off the regions he knows now in reference to where they had come from.
The pebbles were eventually consumed by the pool itself, dipping below the water line, before careening back upwards in his restlessness and thoughts. Deimos had multitudes of experience in other worlds – knew the histories and layouts of Isilme, of Helovia, but they were gone; consumed by time, space, and actions of others. But Caido had held different platitudes – souls taken by the Voice and sent here. And while some had committed to her bidding, others, like himself, had done the opposite, and to hear of other moments, far from New Gods, was an opportunity he didn’t take lightly.
So he remained still and silent in his crouch again, save for the moving of his gaze back upon the Ancient. Far less interesting earned an arch of his brow, but so did the rest – a larger Climb, expansive, old fashioned manners, a smaller Halo, and not yet wholly ensnared by Eirachi. The Grounds not existing granted a snort – presuming others had eventually flocked there, leading to settlements. “My apologies for the questions. Not many Outlanders get such opportunities,” and he wrinkled his nose, gaze maneuvering upon the rivulets and miniature tides he’d created. “What about Torchline?” Or the Greatwood – though Deimos could imagine that must’ve always been much the same; inhabited by Fae who would do everything in their power to protect it.
Out of sight and out of mind
Make everything alright
So let the sky and sea collide
Just not in our lifetime
// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //
It’s a similar feeling from Astaroth’s point of view – having been asleep for centuries, since before the cataclysm happened, he doesn’t know of what occurred with the Voice or the wars that spurred it on, or whatever else the trio of gods decided would solve a problem they couldn’t entirely get rid of. At least Dygra had come back, able to help those left adrift from their choices, even if Astaroth didn’t understand entirely the context.
He was a survivor, and he could relate and appreciate others doing the very same.
Intrigue flares again when Deimos mentions that he’s an Outlander, and the cannibal butcher stands a little straighter as he regards the Sword with a fresh new perspective. To answer the following questions before he gets ahead of himself, Asta clears his throat. “No apology needed. This has been quite enlightening.” And it really had been, given that he’d only gotten bits and pieces from the Atheneum so far. (Granted, he hasn’t looked that much). “Torchline were not the islands you see now. It was called something different back then, but was more of a peninsula with more than one volcano.” But, with the continent splitting apart further and further, it’s no surprise that it would have changed and become its own inhabitable thing.
“So… you mentioned Outlanders..? You are not from here originally?” It’s the first he’s heard of the term, and color him both impressed and curious beyond other regards.
The sentiments were well understood – if not in opposing dynamics, the loss of information and knowledge was still a comprehensible frustration. While the Outlanders had been regarded rather poorly at their initial happenstance, for a variety of reasons, nowadays they’d likely find most settled into the fabric of Caido. It might not have been the same for those who’d started here, slept for centuries, and awakened to something almost entirely new; unsettling, enigmatic, and overwhelming, to say the least.
Though with the void, perhaps they were all in the same place, lodged in the dark.
The pebbles rolled and reeled at his discretion, plunging back into the pool again, and he used his silence to motivate them upwards and along the surface level back and forth. Torchline not being the stretch of islands, and nearly something different entirely, had his eyes narrowing, turning vaguely to stare out over the rest of the sea, as if his mind was conjuring images of such a place. More volcanoes. Likely less people. Not the hub of gatherings and population as it was now – even with Starfall lurking in the distance.
With no other inquiries for the moment, he could hear the intrigue in the other man’s voice – Outlander distinctions being one of them. His gaze shifted back to the Ancient, long since having gained peace in the splitting of their lives; it wouldn’t have been the same years prior. “No. The Voice pulled many of us in from other places, and we could not return.”
Out of sight and out of mind
Make everything alright
So let the sky and sea collide
Just not in our lifetime
// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //
A whistle of surprise leaves Astaroth – finding some amount of kinship with the idea of it. Granted, yes, the butcher was from here, but so many years had passed it seemed unrecognizable in some aspects. A thing he’s learning day after day, thanks to Dantalion’s help. All in all, he thinks he’s made a decent adjustment. “I am sorry you had to endure that.” He offers genuinely – but he wonders if it’s a similar thought from him, whether or not he wished he could go back.
The Ancient has decided that he doesn’t want to go back, if given the chance. This new version of Caido was far more suited for his tastes, even if it had taken something like four hundred years in order to see it. He’s thankful to have the opportunity. As such, his dark gaze finds the pebbles that Deimos manipulates as he considers his next set of questions. “It is strange, isn’t it? To wake in a different place with different rules and different things to figure out?” There’s a hint of nostalgia in it, but companionship all the same. A unique factor that he, too, is currently experiencing. “Would you go back, if given the chance?” He asks, casting a glance back toward the Sword.
He didn’t expect the apology, eyes widening as his brows shifted and lifted, before permitting a snort. “I have long since made peace with it,” because there’d been no alternative; the melancholy had been bleak but final. “But thank you.” Much like most of the Ancients would have to realize they’d missed many things along the way – such was the bizarre juxtaposition of how they’d all come to be and exist within Caido’s boundaries.
The pebbles glinted and seemingly stilled on the surface while he listened again – as if they were balancing precariously there – while he turned his eyes back upon Astaroth. “Quite,” and he obliged with a snort, the passing of nuances and understandings mulling their way through. Expected to assimilate, rapidly, quickly, while balking at every other thing that seemed misshapen, odd, and combatting the forces of what they’d known for so much longer.
The question didn’t give him much pause though. “There is nothing to return to.” Helovia was gone, and likely Isilme somewhere in the midst too. “I have found my place here.” Carved it out of nothingness and decrepit eaves for a long, long time, before finally discovering those lights and fixtures, happiness and elation. He gave an inkling of a smile, before his gaze meandered back to the water. “Would you?”
Out of sight and out of mind
Make everything alright
So let the sky and sea collide
Just not in our lifetime
// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //
His chin dips in a you’re welcome to the gratitude offered, noticing a bit of the surprise and wondering if nobody had apologized before. It wasn’t that it would do any good, of course, but the sympathy within it sparked something that he thinks anyone could be capable of, if they cared enough to extend it. And as such, he offers his own little sympathy and understanding – because this world was vastly different than the one he knew, and he was still coming to terms with that.
Humming a note, Astaroth nods again a bit solemnly, but finds that sharp smile returning to hear that he’s found his place here, and the butcher shifts his weight a little when he speaks. “It does appear that you have.” A child, too, if he thinks back to the Tournament. Nothing that the butcher would ever want, but he can extend his happiness to others that did wish for such a thing.
But the question is returned, and Astaroth barks out a laugh before he shakes his head, inhaling sharply only to sigh out a “oh, Dygra, no.” The amusement remains, though, despite his answer. “I certainly enjoy the freedom I have these days, compared to my previous time.” Where they’d all been pawns for stronger Ancient’s, at their beck and call. But, as it stands, his attention flickers toward the pool again, spotting the hint of pink flesh as it bobs to the surface - an encantado curious of the rocks that seem to be floating about.
His place went beyond Erebos – with Evie, with family like Ru, and Kiada, with friends, with a home, a shelter, a sanctity – things built through time, space, and healing. It hadn’t been without the overwhelming ruin beforehand, but he’d learned how to bend paths and find measures worth savoring and saving. A journey, and far from done; coinciding with how he’d processed, mired, and healed along the way. So he gave the barest inkling of a smile again at the remark, turning his attention away to watch the encantados for a moment, narrowing his eyes as they seemed eager to turn their attention upon his pebbles.
To which he taunted and teased, given how often and frequent the dolphins did the same to others, yielding the rocks upwards and out of the marine animals’ reach.
The bark of the other man’s laugh gave enough of an answer even without the following statement. “Were you far more limited before?”
Out of sight and out of mind
Make everything alright
So let the sky and sea collide
Just not in our lifetime
// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //
The encantados are definitely falling for the pebble show – darting up high enough that their pink heads can be seen cresting as they try to battle Deimos’ water magic to pull the pebbles toward them like it was a little ball to roll between them, playful like little sea dogs. It’s enough of a distraction that Astaroth watches them in his own amusement as he answers Deimos’ question, before the follow up is asked.
His dark gaze doesn’t leave the creatures as he gives an answer regarding it, his head dipping in a nod before he speaks in case Deimos is looking at him. “Not in terms of power, but limited in the freedom to do whatever I wanted.” He muses, before his dark gaze glances back toward Deimos with that very same sharp grin. “I was essentially a glorified attack dog.” His shoulder rises and falls with a shrug, taking the cane with it as it lifts and lands on the rocks beneath them with a little clack.
When the upper ranks of the Climb's Ancient's back then had said jump, Astaroth was faced with no other choice but to. Sometimes he enjoyed it, other times he didn't.
As they followed his taunting, he persisted; an ease to his restless quandaries, bolstered and heightened as he surged the Air magic onward. The pebbles soared above the dolphins, before dipping down, as if potentially mired and mauled by their efforts, before rising upwards again in a quick, swift facet.
Smiling, if only for a moment, it dropped the second Astaroth revealed he’d been labeled a glorified attack dog. He stilled, then poignantly narrowed his eyes, pondering over factions when they might’ve been the same. The Reaper had been a guard; though far more cruel, primordial, and decrepit. He’d yielded to some political factions, but not many, and often warnings had been singular. But he’d never been forced, save for in times of soldierhood and war, to siege and lay waste upon a vicious command. And nowadays he took a far calmer approach, even if he was far stronger than Helovian days. The comparisons weren't quite the same, and so he couldn't do much more than empathize with the rogue endeavors. “That is unfortunate,” he offered, head tilting again as he watched the pink mammals bristle and seethe. “And what do you do now?”
Out of sight and out of mind
Make everything alright
So let the sky and sea collide
Just not in our lifetime
// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //
The encantados initially start to chase the pebbles, like there’s a chance they may succeed in capturing them. As it stands, however, Deimos’ air magic pulls it right out of their grasp, sparking their ire. Annoyed and put off, they sink back down into the water, eyes focused on the two men, as a grumble of a storm starts to approach.
To which, Astaroth doesn’t care much for the pink mammal’s display of thunderstorms, not when he’s got such riveting and curious company, and it’s with a nod that he agrees it is in fact unfortunate, before he straightens up with that same sharp grin shot Deimos’ way, an air of pride in what he does. “At the present moment I am security for the Dusklight in the Grounds.” And he pauses to dip his head in like he’s got a secret, but it’s all amusement and playful showmanship despite the words being true. “In exchange for Danta letting me stay there, after he found me.”
The dolphins could bring their storms all they’d like; his ire could match theirs too. Amused, his own Mastered Air pulsated once more, affixed to the pebbles and their juvenile modicums, along with pushing the errant clouds away. Wholly unbothered by the scenario, or antagonizing the creatures, his attention meandered back to Astaroth, brow arched at the job description.
Though he wasn’t surprised, given who Danta was. He had to wonder if the Ancient would run into Noah, given how many issues and circumstances had cropped up there, and the demigod’s supposed necessities in assisting the Grounds. “Sounds like a decent deal,” shrugging, he scattered the rocks again in different arrangements. “It is good to see the Grounds becoming something again.” Different; not so haunted, not so bleak, not so tragic. A regrowth and rebirth, given everything that had happened over the hundreds of years it was kept locked and chiseled away – and thereafter.
Out of sight and out of mind
Make everything alright
So let the sky and sea collide
Just not in our lifetime
