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!
Deimos frequently held the pattern of being misinterpreted and misunderstood in his speech, likely due to his lack of discourse skills, the way he snatched words away, the way he only extended what he thought was necessary. The rest of the world didn’t, or couldn’t, fathom his intonations quite as well in such a regard, and he’d landed himself in those measures again – never instigating vehemence as a thing to show off, or instigating some machination of violence, just that they were a strong, enduring faction. It didn’t have to be destruction in the midst of all this misery. “I never said force. Just competence. Proficiency.” He shrugged then, letting it all fall off, because their Long Night preparations could be the distinction they required anyway.
At least this Launcelyn seemed intent on providing provisions and assistance for the people, instead of grating against, shoving and pushing their agendas upon inhabitants and figures who’d rather do anything but. He nodded at the declaration of I’ll take care of it, and he surmised dependability in the not-stranger, listening to the rest of the details and discussion. “Perhaps we should.” It was likely worth bothering the Wraith about, considering the toils, trials, tribulations, and seemingly endless treachery amidst the spiraling evenings. “We can gather some more information and ideas, then go see her.” There was also the notion of finding places suitable in a short amount of time; before they knew it, it’d be here, and they required luxere herds too. He’d still yet to find time to study Amalia’s staff (or what he’d even be able to do with it), and he needed to uphold some nuance of weaponry and defenses, depending on where they decided to stay.
The imprisoning of their blighted friends and family was still a grating thing, made him clench his jaw in reflection and thought. Loren’s additions were correct – they truly had no idea who or how many had been included in the fold, just the vast number of enraged companions. He could name several he’d come across, and perhaps others might as well, but it didn’t mean they’d found the threshold, the pinnacle. He pondered if they could’ve listed something on the notice board, or if it was merely too little, too late, stuck in their muck and mire. “How could we persuade them?” It sounded coldblooded and nonchalant on his throat, anything but, eyes lingering on the ground as brows furrowed, striving and struggling to push sentiments aside.
”Well, we are the militia, so the way we would show competency would be by displaying our martial prowess.” Maybe Loren was belaboring this point, but it seemed that he and Deimos had opposing views on their approach to recruitment. It was probably best to hash out their disagreements now rather than down the line when it might be a real problem, although the Launceleyn would obviously defer to the general’s judgment.
Seeing as the summoner was already supposed to be meeting with Wesex, it wouldn’t be too difficult to loop Deimos into the conversation as well. ”Feel free to call upon me whenever, for any reason. And I agree, the three of us should sit down and hash out the LongNight preparations in more detail soon.” In Loren’s experience, most of the problems people faced in these situations was lack of proper communication. If they could establish regular correspondence, it would be to everyone’s benefit.
Sighing at the question about the blighted, the summoner ran a hand through his hair. ”I’m not sure. I was thinking I might be able to summon a siren, which supposedly can enthrall someone's mind, but I’m not sure how it would interact with the blight.” It was also personally abhorrent to him, taking over someone’s will like that, and he’d only call upon it in when absolutely necessary.
Loren apparently enjoyed talking in circles, but Deimos did not – not a being to procure words and arguments simply for the sake of expelling them out into the open. By the time the fellow Abandoned had supplied the latest tendencies in martial prowess, the Sword had been finished with that portion of conversation, too tired of mulling around the differing expressions for the same exact thing. He shook his head and simply said naught more on the matter, his investments and predilections reserved for Long Night preparation (which shouldn’t have required a single act of violence; competency without some flames and fire). If some were inspired by their notions of protection and defensive measures, then so be it – they’d be free to join. If not, then recruitment and some other way of enticing fellow soldiers back into the fold could come in the spring, after recovering from ominous, foreboding doom and gloom.
Discussions with Wessex would be forthcoming (noticeable absent in the discourse was Ronin – likely blighted and meandering down a far different path, which made him clench his jaw again, the notions of their failure with the plants a harsh course of reality once more – that sometimes, no matter what they did, they’d been damned from the start). At least he could concur on the soon portions. “Agreed.” His eyes fell to the ground again, mind already scheming and reeling on the contortions and measurements – needing to discuss possibilities of the Artisan’s Guild with Remi, ensuring there were multiple places for everyone to go, feel safe, tucked away, out of harm’s clutches. They couldn’t have a repeat of last year.
More discussion of the blighted circumstances had him immersed in fraying multitudes. On one hand, the diseased were an absolute danger upon society: scalding, hunting, preying upon those with roses (or simply cherished beings). On the other, it wasn’t so simple when they were compositions of their own flesh, blood, and family, beneath the layers of pestilence. What was to become of them when the disease grew even more rampant? Would they damn everyone else too? Was oblivion simply around the corner, and their efforts would be in vain? And how coldblooded did it make them, to be promising imprisonment? He sighed, a sign of his misgivings, as his gaze settled back upon Loren. “It is worth a try.” They had so few options as it was. “At least in the prison, we could ensure their safety and ours. Someone could feed them, give them water…” Lock them in a cage. He shuddered. “But would they be safe during the Long Night? Would the monsters come for them too?” Or would they be a part of the mass, the multitude, the hungry, clinging, bestial disasters?
09-12-2019, 02:16 AM (This post was last modified: 09-12-2019, 02:17 AM by Loren.)
They say blood makes you related but
loyalty makes you family
Loren frowned. He didn’t quite get Deimos’ worry about LongNight; in the Launceleyn’s mind, the prison would be the safest place for those who couldn’t be trusted not to get caught out by the monster. ”Forgive me if I’m mistaken about this in some way, but my understanding is that the monsters only get in through openings, doors and windows specifically. While I haven’t been down to the prison yet, I can’t imagine there’s not a way to lock it down. I imagine it was designed to withstand attacks from both within and without.” Zariah wouldn’t have settled for anything less than a defensible structure: to her, force and power was all that mattered, and she had an unfortunate tendency to make everywhere she lived and everything she built fortresslike, or at least vaguely militaristic.
Had Loren experienced Long Night? Perhaps not – he might’ve been amongst the lucky who’d somehow avoided the onslaught of lingering evenings and cloaked demons, schemes enhanced by devilish intelligence. Maybe Deimos’ inclinations were for nothing at all, and it wouldn’t matter, but the threat of their trickery, their snares, their deceits, were enough to warrant issue, some sense of refrain. “The monsters have their own machinations.” He left it at that, the eerie, enigmatic spells of screams that sounded like family members, the echoes of let us in shattered along sealed doors, the time he and Bastien had rushed forward to take Amalia from Edrei’s arms – dead and gone and shouldn’t have been able to return.
Deimos also didn’t mention the fact that they’d already infiltrated the prison. If they were capable, it was likely the foes were too.
They had enough to do and partake within for now anyway – the meeting had been an overwhelming sense of unyielding time and cumbersome events, and he already felt behind in what he’d been tasked with. “We can adjourn for now, and meet with Wessex when we have more information.” When we feel ready might’ve been a well-wish and naught more, because time and moments would only tell if they’d been successful in their exploits and endeavors, if no one was crushed or demolished in the run of Long Night’s zeal. But Loren seemed willing and able enough, one more to add in the rush and frenzy of preparation – they’d require his alacrity in the days to come. Not intending to be quite so abrupt, beckoning to Zuriel with a head movement, the unicorn following with curiosity unfolding on her gaze (as if she hadn’t been listening), his gaze flickered back to Loren. “Thank you for your insights.” Then he turned, avoiding the puddles again for their distracting efforts, intending to dive headlong back into necessary precautions and plans.
