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!
11-08-2018, 01:39 AM (This post was last modified: 11-08-2018, 01:41 AM by Moses-Joel.)
She'd fallen. Why had she fallen? Did he not know his strength? Was he overbearing in his actions? Whatever the reason was, she fell, and he felt horrible.
Nothing but instinct had taken the man over at that point. Without even thinking, he scooped her up in his arms and charged forward. Never looking back at the tower. One moment, they were fine, the next, in certain line of death. Moses-Joel Perfetti would not be foolish. Not again. He made that mistake by lingering once. He would not make it again.
Eventually, they were far from the base of the tower, as far as his legs could carry. They slowed from a run, to a heavy jog, to a quivering walk, to a wobbling standstill. His whole body shook, every fiber of his being tingling with utter terror. There had been few times he'd experienced a cold sweat, and now it manifested once more. Strands of loose hair clung to his wet face, and his chest and shoulders heaved with all the surging recoil of what just occurred.
Mimora was still held in his arms, a white-knuckled grip on that little woman. He wouldn't let her out of his grasp, couldn't if he tried. He may have witnessed the face of death a second time, and had he stayed he would've surely led her to her fate as well. He would not be responsible, not have that hanging over his conscience in a second death. He would not!
Eventually, his knees buckled in his reeling shock, and his thighs fell onto his calves. He still held her, still kept her close to himself. But all the feeling in his legs were gone; he couldn't move anymore. His mouth grew dry and a lump formed in his throat as he tried to communicate, to get past his shock once more.
"Are you alright...?" he asked. His words were barely audible.
Mimora had fallen on the ground. And man did it hurt like a left buttcheek on a stick! She couldn't breathe for a split second and began coughing once she finally could. Ow. that hurt too. Before she could do much else, big strong arms scooped her up and out of the dirt.
Moses-Joel had picked her up and began running from the accursed thing. Fine by her. Other people carrying you was the way to travel. She even dozed a little, tired out by the day's events. MJ falling to the ground woke her up, and she just stared up at him for a bit before squirming out of his arms to stand in front of him.
"I should be asking you that. You look awful," she replied, detatching a cup from her hip. It was mainly used for her job, but for now, it was clean of blood and safe for normal people to drink from. using her ring for the second time, she filled the cup with water and handed it to the massive man. "Here."
It wasn't long before the red-headed girl was squirming to release herself from his grasp. His hands loosed and his arms grew limp, and he allowed Mimora to remove herself. She stood before him, her usual calm and collected self. Yet Moses shook and trembled like a leaf, unable to fully reconstitute himself after witnessing something so horrendous. He was glad they were safe, glad they were out of the range of that... that, thing...
At her response and additional comment, his gaze traveled back up to meet hers. His heavy breathing devolved into a ragged chuckle, a hint of surprise enveloping his features. His eyebrows knotted up and a gaping smirk made it's way onto his face. What a statement.
"I look awful," he repeated. His chuckle quickly dove into a strenuous sigh, and he leaned forward to brace his hands on the ground. He felt awful, if anything. He heard the dripping of liquid and he looked up once more. She was pouring water into the cup she used from her Bloodbag days. And then she offered it to him.
My, what a memory flooded back to him. This was the exact same... everything; the night he awoke from his Bloodfiend conversion. How uncomfortable and odd it was, how foreign everything was to him. And he collapsed to this position, much like the one he was in now. But she had stepped forward then just like today, offering him the cup in all the same fashion. Deja vu hit him like a wave when he received it, a grateful nod sent her way. But he couldn't drink it just yet. Instead, his other hand came to rest underneath it at the stem, and he stopped to ponder everything that was happening. Despite his thoughtful state, he remembered his manners.
"Thank you," he said. "You're very kind." When he'd processed long enough, he took a sip of that sweet, cold water, its crisp freshness sitting him a little straighter. But he didn't wish to leave her in silence either, so he invited her to sit next to him.
"What do you make of all this, Mimora? Does any of it strike clarity in you, have explanation?" If she had an answer it would be a miracle. "I don't understand any of this at all..."
Kind? That was the first Mimora had heard that word spoken of her. It felt weird and she didn't know what to make of it. so he rolled her shoulders to shrug it off before plopping next to the man.
"Your guess is as good as mine. But since I like explanations, the one I am telling myself is that we are needed for something important. That or someone else with conjuring magic figured out how to do a mass conjuring of people. I don't like that idea at all though." she replied to Moses-Joel
11-10-2018, 12:06 AM (This post was last modified: 11-10-2018, 02:58 AM by Moses-Joel.)
While her answer wasn't exactly helpful, it was a better one than most. Honesty never hurt anybody, especially when too many unknowns ripped the rug out from under them. Consider it a courtesy if anyone figured out what exactly was going on. Perfetti would've certainly loved to have some answers. Answers both for his ease of mind and for the settling of others.
Her statements, her assumptions, rather, were not impossible. As one who was well acquainted with magic, Mimora would've had a better understanding of it than Moses. The supernatural was indeed a mystery to such a basic man as he, and convolution was not a favorable thing in his eyes. So he let those who were immersed in it deal with it, and he would handle what he could understand. It only seemed fair to him. Despite the fact that he could not comprehend it, his following comment did reveal what little he did know.
"Well, if it was a mass conjuring performed by some unknown, they must have terrifying skills in necromancy as well. And you'd be right, it is not a good thing to think upon." His eyes traveled back towards the tower, the brave souls who had charged down there branded on his conscience. He felt so guilty, leaving them to fight that horrible creature. He wouldn't have run before, so why did he now? Was this imparted wisdom? Did he not move and act of his own will? Or was he more cautious now than before? Was he thinking things through in ways he never had prior?
He was snapped out of his trance when he heard a spilling of water. His gaze whipped back to the cup he was holding, his grasp relaxing to the point where it was leaning over. His dominant hand tightened around it once more, and he picked it up quickly to stop the water from pouring out.
"Whoops," he commented. He looked back down in the cup, seeing it had nearly emptied. That was fine, he wasn't really that thirsty anyway. He handed it back to it's owner, a grateful smile appearing on his face.
"Thank you, Mimora." When she took it, he attempted to stand once more, to find his legs again. It took him a while to even will his body to move. He wanted to stand, to get up and take action once more, but his frame would not follow his mind. He remained kneeling, a defeated look taking over his features.
Why couldn't he move? He was a man of war, a soldier for crying out loud! Yet this weakness, this reluctancy in his body was frustrating, irritating. Was his conscience guilting him for his retreat? Was his body still in shock and recovering? He couldn't figure it out, and in not wishing to keep her in silence, he turned back to her.
"Some way to start the day. We should really get back to the others, though." It was in that statement that his legs finally wished to move once more. He worked his way onto all fours and quickly forced himself onto his feet. His rise to stand straight was what took a while, however. Eventually, he got there, and when his head cleared of some fuzziness, he offered a hand to the red-haired girl.
Mimora watched as the large man appeared to have some sort of internal struggle. It was all over his face, an ability she had lost a long time ago. She took the cup from the man, reattaching it to her hip for later use. She only gave a nod when he thanked her and took his hand once he offered it.
"By back to the others do you mean to help fight the thing or to all the people who arrived?" She asked. She would rather face the monster than deal with the crowd of people, honestly. People were such a pain.
11-14-2018, 02:05 AM (This post was last modified: 11-14-2018, 02:07 AM by Moses-Joel.)
He made sure to be thoughtful in his dealings this time, being careful to only support her rise to a standing position. My, was she petite, so little in stature compared to him. And he thought himself small, a dwarf compared to the lanky counterparts of his gender. But to every man and woman alike, their frames were only due to genetics and had their own strengths and weaknesses. He was sure there was many a thing Mimora could accomplish that he couldn't even lift a finger towards. All the more to her.
At her inquiry, he heard another snap of lightning, and his head whipped back to the scene unfolding behind them. They were running, and he saw blood. Too much blood. A fear welled up inside of him, what they were suffering from. His haste hiked up considerably and a hand found the woman's shoulder once more. He turned back to the Magic Original then.
"Let us get back to the remaining. Away from the spire. I spot injuries on them and they're going to need all the help they can get. The medics need to be informed immediately." His gaze sharply turned back to the fleeing group. If they could do anything for them now, it would be to prepare the people for their unsightly return.
Mimora watched MJ look towards the fight, and his face get pale. she didn't need him to tell her that direction was a no after that, but he did anyway. he mentioned going back to the main group to help the others get the healing they needed. She nodded at his decision, considering it wise.
"They may need the water from my ring to help clean the wounds," she told the larger man as she held the hand with the ring up. It only had about three more glassfuls left for the day, but with her ability to pull water out of things, they just might be able to get by.
