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!
They believe nothing can reach us
And pull us out of the boundless gloom
The topic of magic had always been an appealing one to the Reaper: something he’d had all his life, born into its balance between fire and water, his father’s flames a burning, beatific image, his mother’s stern, strong cascades a stalwart foundation. Then he’d discovered the lethal aspect of his enchantments, the way life vanished, withered, and decayed before his eyes, neither inferno nor rivulet, but a blistering, scathing sanction all its own. But upon arrival here, settling into the lands, he’d only acquired more. Remi told a similar story, emptiness, limitations, then growth, as if somehow nourished by the expanse – cultivated by practice, by knowledge, or something deeper, something larger, altogether? “Interesting,” he mumbled. “I came here with life drain magic, but have since acquired these creation powers. I am not certain how.” Or why - perhaps he shouldn’t have questioned them at all, but cherished, enjoyed, dug deeper into their nuances and notions. Did that mean one day he’d be able to wield items into magical intonations too? The thought kindled and snapped at his mind, chiseling and sculpting along the waves of factions and possibilities – he doubted Remi would be able to see the smirk suddenly enshrouding his features, but he quickly flickered it away regardless, prospering reticence when his Machiavellian skull swarmed with probabilities. “What sort of magical objects have you made?” Was there a limit there too?
The next set of words baffled the beast, and he blinked rapidly, listening to them over and over again in his head, refrains and repeats. He was being offered a chance to remain within the Artisan’s Guild? The speculation pervaded his membrane again, sizzling and seething in hundreds of directions, brow furrowing slightly.
It haunted him, that semblance of belonging.
The only groups he’d ever truly been gathered within had been friends, allies, and comrades – and a lifetime before, a kingdom, guarded and presided over by his chilly demeanor. But before he could grate or scrape any hopes together, he inquired further, nestled the nettles of aspirations aside. “What would I need to do?”
The alchemist nodded thoughtfully. "I wonder if the lore seekers know anything of it. Though...I think most of their ranks are outlanders, actually. So I am not sure. Amalia, might?" He mused, head tilted in soft consideration.
Twitching his lips to the side, the alchemist tried to recall. "A...staff that shoots fire. Some healing balm for the infirmary...a magnification sort of thing for one of the healers to see very small things with. A staff recently, for Amalia which heals..." For a moment, Remi's teeth clicked together, his smile widening though the emotion was suddenly gone for it. "A few things for Zariah." He mumbled in a low and unhappy tone, shrugging his shoulders slightly. "Two stones that glow red when a button is pushed to signal danger..." Were there more things? Remi could hardly remember at this point.
"Need..to...?" The alchemist repeated, brows furrowing over too-pale eyes that looked upwards in confusion before his sunny smile reemerged. "Nothing at all." He answered, his smile turning boyish as he extended a hand outwards, presumably for the reaper to shake. "Only that you would like to join us."
let the ships roll in
Coding base by Sky!
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
They believe nothing can reach us
And pull us out of the boundless gloom
Amalia might seemed like an indication that Remi knew something else, but Deimos restrained the snort billowing in his lungs and simply smirked, presuming the alchemist wouldn’t see the break in his reticence. It was an intriguing notion – he could always seek out those who constantly sought out information, after all the other tempestuous nuances and discourses, it seemed almost mundane in comparison. However, Remi’s abilities were not, and his eyes took on a more fascinated, riveted position as he described and recalled the things he’d already concocted and created. “Would I be able to do that too? Given enough time?” Or were there other stipulations and factors at work, other enchantments come to play and sizzle in their veins? He took the statement on working for Zariah into the back of his head, a later contemplating to chew upon; before they circled back to the possibility of him being enrolled in the Artisan’s Guild.
Perhaps the inquiry seemed bizarre – the way Remi frowned, the way confusion muddled his features – but Deimos had thrived in the military, where there was more to just enlisting. There was training. There were practice skirmishes. There were duels. There were fights. The weak, the broken, the chaff weren’t permitted past certain regulations – and he wasn’t certain if that was how the rest of the world worked. Would he need to create something else, in order to show them his talents? Would he have to pass a test? Were there other contortions and portions to consider? While he mused, Remi merely stuck his hand out - nothing at all - a breath of fresh air, relief, belonging surging into his chest again, tucking and wrapping around the nefarious chambers of his cold, dead heart. Slowly, as if it was a ruse, a trick, he shook the alchemist’s hand, strong and enduring, and proclaimed his intentions. “I would like to.”
Running a hand up the unshaven stubble on the side of his face, Remi's lips twitched slightly as he peered into his mind to see if there was any other information he might give. "I...honestly, I do not know. Back at home, the mages trained their magic and grew stronger over time. Here I am not sure it is the same. I have almost no experience, but I am sure my abilities have nothing to do with me." He wasn't sure of that, actually. But his humble nature kept any other thoughts well at bay.
Remi's hands while soft, were well-calloused and sure. His fingers fit neatly against Deimos' and the old familiar pang of impropriety rang brightly in his mind. It was something he'd probably never shake entirely. Having Amalia kiss him on the cheek and enfold herself into his arms? Nary an increase in his pulse. Shaking hands with Deimos? Remi could feel colour distantly heat his cheeks as he politely withdrew his hand. "Then it is done. Welcome to the Artisan's Guild."
let the ships roll in
Coding base by Sky!
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
They believe nothing can reach us
And pull us out of the boundless gloom
Back at home chiseled its way into his chest: because, once, he’d had a home that trained their skilled mages too, that prided themselves upon ensuring they were strong and capable, instead of shunning, instead of insisting they were abandoned and desolate, instead of treating them with misgivings and shrugs. But that was gone now, all of it, every inch decimated and cloaked in shadow; here, he was left in the dark, traversing upon unknown paths and embarking along infernal gallows, twisting and turning until he thought he’d found the right one. Maybe, in time, he could concoct his own too – emblems and items that weren’t so uniform, but enchanted, with more purpose, with more potential. The Reaper left the thoughts to simmer, brew, brood, and fume for a later designation, when he’d had more time to contemplate the role, the growth, the enigmas curling their way around each and every form. He did, however, arch a brow, unleash the slightest chuckle at Remi’s last statement on the matter. “Perhaps they have everything to do with you.”
But then hands were shaken, released, and he was pulled into the horde of the Artisan’s Guild – which, remarkably, was something he never would’ve ever thought of doing or accomplishing. He was a warrior. He was a soldier. He was occasionally, a menace, a cretin, a fiend, a wild hound chasing down the decibels of darkness, disaster, and desecration: not a beast meant to manufacture or create. Somewhere along the line though, he’d managed to adhere to these abilities, to forge a new outline, a new trail to sojourn upon. It wasn’t the Aurora Basin, with its blistering, scathing chords and its harnessed capabilities to blister, burn, and wreak havoc, it wasn’t crusades, troops dispatched to unleash terror and tyranny in the name of their king, foreign, but enticing all the same. Like a predator, he lifted his head into the wind and gazed out over the scenery again, suddenly allowed to be enthralled and immersed within its threshold. “Thank you,” he mused, tone dropping into something appreciative and careful, as if one wrong move would ensure he was no longer involved in their ministrations. “Is there anything that needs to be done for the guild?" Did any buildings needed to be converted? Did any stalls require a helping hand? There was an inclination coiled in his sanction, wild-eyed and desperate, continually willing to give back to those who granted things to him (because he didn’t deserve them).
Blushing slightly at the implication, the alchemist merely shook his head slightly, pushing an errant curl away from his eyes. "If I ever do find out what it is, I will certainly let you know." Remi agreed happily, though the bashfulness in his eyes indicated he'd be more than happy to let the topic lay.
Glancing around with eyes that now had a harder time picking things out, Remi let his lips twitch ever so slightly as he considered. "I suppose we could do with different benches and stations for the different sorts of work being practiced here. Sam makes books, Are is a shoe-maker, I..." Laughing at himself slightly, the alchemist shrugged, gesturing to his workstation and the plethora of inventions laid out upon it in various states of creation.
"I suppose I am unsure what everyone needs, and the others are too polite to ask."
let the ships roll in
Coding base by Sky!
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
They believe nothing can reach us
And pull us out of the boundless gloom
Though it hadn’t been tossed out into the ether to be a compliment (and the Reaper was not a beast sent to bolster any egos), but an observation of Remi’s prowess, strength, and regard, it still managed to garner a blush from the alchemist. Deimos fought hard not to arch his brow and chuckle; perhaps Remi had never considered his own might and capabilities. Maybe it would be remedied in the future, when walls came down and individuals united beneath a banner of vitriol and hostility. Maybe it wouldn’t, and he wouldn’t raise his head, wouldn’t see past the shadows and the stark, vivid outlines, incapable of seeing the measure of his worth.
But then he seemed to consider the other implications, about what was necessary for those who frequented the guild, those who remained and worked, those who chiseled and sculpted. Deimos was aware that some tasks were designated in other organizations: warriors in his division had always been delegated other duties when they returned from battle, when they’d rested from their wounds. Benches and stations didn’t seem very difficult: he could craft some quickly, either with his own two hands or the magic instilled, gleaning, below the surface. The beast considered the others’ and their occupations, Samuel with books (and he wondered the subject matter, the scholarly mind his mother had instilled suddenly intermingled with curiosity), Are the cobbler (someone not known to him at all) – and then Remi himself, with his workstation littered with a variety of inventions. “I can do that,” he nodded, considering the booths and stalls, the rows requiring pieces of foundation and tables, places to put more wares, tools, measures and nuances, notes scrawled across outlines and sketches. He could always ask as he went around – he supposed – though inquiry caught him again, probably when poor Remi simply wanted him to go away. “How many belong to the guild?” Who? What did they create? Was it all done by magic, or their abilities, their talents, like his blade, ingrained within them from a young age?
The reaper's willingness was met with a bright smile from the alchemist, who seemed surprisingly charmed by this offer of aid. Indeed, Remi who had spent the vast majority of his life dealing with things on his own, was still humbled when others offered their services.
"Ahh..." Remi squinted one eye as he tried to count up the various names while odd thinks that probably guilds have a 3x multiplier of NPC to PC ratio. "A little under twenty, I would say. I only really started this last season, and with all that has been happening.." The alchemist shrugged apologetically.
let the ships roll in
Coding base by Sky!
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
They believe nothing can reach us
And pull us out of the boundless gloom
The Reaper almost always followed up on his endeavors, on his promises, on his vows. It was a confidence, a conviction, crooned and rendered from life in the mountains, where they either lived or died by the promises of refugees, then the cruelty of their machinations. Here would be different – he’d yet to have to utilize his intentions, his schemes, for anything other than prosperity or protection. It could be the same here and now, amidst the halls of the Artisan’s Guild, where creatures strived to create and enable masterpieces, where he wouldn’t be such a lone wolf howling in the dark. It wasn’t the wilderness of the Aurora Basin, or the roaring cascade of the World’s Edge, the beatific grandeur of the Moonlit Tides, or the marching orders and training grounds of military men. But it was something, a beginning, more than a means to an end, and he’d sink his teeth into it to the best of his abilities. He nodded, noting the information, the change in seasons, the abrupt alterations laying them all to waste, tucking away the sigh, the frustration, suddenly burning its way through his lungs. “That is fine, and understandable.” He’d have to do some investigating for himself, the constant curiosity surging forward, on and on and on into his Machiavellian mind. The Reaper then glanced back towards the alchemist, not yearning to leave him alone if he required any other information or necessities. “Do you need anything before I explore?” Before he sojourned on and wandered into the stalls, into this new habitat, shelter, and sanctum?
Glancing up (his gaze only slightly off of its mark now), the alchemist smiled with boyish ease, shaking his head slightly and causing his curls to scatter. "No, but thank you."
Then, as if remembering not everyone had access to his internal thoughts, Remi cleared his throat with a slight laugh. "I suppose I should also mention that anything here is free for you to use, and our work benches are not just limited to our members. If you ever wanted to.." At a complete loss for words now, having never properly run anything like this before, the alchemist crinkled his nose slightly with a shrug. "...bring others, work on things collaboratively....ahhh, you may. Everything here is at your disposal."
let the ships roll in
Coding base by Sky!
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
They believe nothing can reach us
And pull us out of the boundless gloom
He thought the words completed: those denizens reached and outstretched, gifts proffered and received, and somehow, by the end of it, he’d been accepted into a guild. What the beast didn’t expect, after Remi’s assurance nothing else was required, was an extension of anything there being free to use – an unlimited source of potential, of collaboration (and even that nuance was a foreign concept to him – when it shouldn’t have been, not after battlefields and raids with comrades, not after flour throngs amidst friends, not after startling, terrifying quests in dungeons and caverns). He nodded, thoughtful, as he looked across the expanse, everything at his disposal, like a newly fledged kingdom, bountiful and prosperous, no need to look any further than the gilded reaches here. “Thank you,” he added again, as if was the only thing he said, but meant wholeheartedly. Remi had already given and granted him far too much. The beast thought about reaching across to pat the alchemist on the shoulder, but then presumed better on it – a small smile curled there instead, even if the other couldn’t see it. “I shall consider it.” Then he grabbed hold of his bag, lifting it along his shoulder, eager to peruse, now that he was aware of an endless curiosity and intrigue before him. “Until we meet again.” Thereafter, he was a shadow, embarking down paths and avenues, rapt and attentive, striving to learn all he could.
