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!
There was some shouting, there was some shifting, there were thunderous outcries and then a god, slapping at yeti arms and conjured in whispers of smoke; the snow creature suddenly safe and secure behind a wall of plumes and ominous, foreboding notions. The Sword’s sentiments remained stupefied in every way, his gaze altering from Kiada, to Remi, and back again, as if struggling to decipher what they were all seeing, doing, or committing to. So he listened instead, for the moment, about the creation, you will leave it be draped amongst rags. It was a warning, to all of them, and so he didn’t move from his perch.
Remi’s intonations coiled through them once more – that Loren hadn’t been here for so long, didn’t understand, remained ignorant of the ways in which they should’ve left well enough alone. It was a lesson they’d all somehow managed to ascertain over time, between riots and fangs, between incantations and deadly, treacherous strikes, Loren’s sagacity and wisdom increasing from the experience. Unfortunately, it was done in public, beneath the watchful eyes of a deity and several grumpy onlookers. It appears he will learn today the Reaper cast with a slight shrug, but didn’t enjoy the plight of anxiety, of consternation, echoing through them at the alchemist’s worries. Instead of rising into the rest of the trepidations, he cast a calm, composed entity, embodying the ice, the rime, the frozen expanse, intending to ease some relief into the dramatic frenzy.
Melita didn’t expect to be joined in her vicious haze; burdened by the blight, by the stature of innocent beings, by the notion of savagery stoking and fanning the flames. But Jigano shifted, rampaging towards the sanction, as ignited as she, and somewhere she sighed some brindled breath of relief –
And then more so as she advanced and saw the darkened rags, the bits of shadow, the whispers of smoke and plumes, Ludo arrived despite her every thought of the god abandoning her (maybe simply not answering, because she hadn’t deserved it). She lingered as her endeavors were brought to life, a slap on the wrist of a yeti, a lecture to Loren. Perhaps she should’ve given the Abandoned more of a chance to explain himself, but on the airs of vitriol, vehemence, and venom, there hadn’t been any thought to the measure. He should’ve known better. He should’ve understood. He should’ve been capable of fathoming to leave well enough alone. On her approach, she didn’t glance his way – eyes for Ludo, a bow, a bob of her head. “Thank you.” For hearing my call. For helping this creature. “Can anything be done for it?” And maybe not – and it would be free to wander, permitted to enjoy its freedom for however long it lasted. She’d rather take credence and advice from the deity, follow in its roots and stead, than cling to anything some of those nearby came up with.
This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
Ludo is there, and despite the amount that the Harpy wishes to hide her frame from Melita down below, she can’t help but swoop a bit lower, a spin of a dance as she feels something akin to comfort and happiness at seeing the god. Ludo. She hums, a small amount of happiness burrowing through the bond between her and Remi and Deimos, despite the anxiety she can sense from Remi’s side.
She has nothing to fear from the god. In fact, she’s indebted to them.
She swoops a bit lower, still staying out the view of most while she watches it unfold, a small amount of pride toward the god before she realizes it was Melita that had called it down. And she clenches her beak a small amount, shifting on the colder winds to drift upward and back toward Deimos. I met them, before I got too bad with the blight. Right after the puppet show. She informs Deimos, mostly, but the information drifts toward Remi as well.
KIADA
Kiada has a large X scar on the right side of her neck.
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Kiada, without killing her <3
Well, Amun didn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t what he got. He’d just been doing what he could to try to bring a little bit of comfort to the forlorn seeming creature. Then that Loren asshole had run up in the arms of an actual monster—fucking neat trick, that, if kinda weird—which had put the blonde dude down, then went for the snow-dragon-thingie, then the red-head screamed, and a horse was there, and then some weird looking masked smoke thing apears around the snow creature and sliced the monster’s arm off, and then the monster disappeared, and then Loren was kneeling (insert obligatory looked good on his knees joke here, despite the fact that he was a stuck up prick) and THEN the red-head was there and Amun decided it was high time he backed up and gave them all a little space. He didn’t know who or what the thing was that was speaking from the mask, but it made the Ascended shiver, so he knew it had to be bad news.
With a muted sort of interest the creature glanced down at Amun, lowering its massive neck as if meaning to sniff at the small facsimile the potter had made. Loren's sudden appearance on the back of something equally as giant however had the creature balking slightly, though not necessarily out of fear. Long ago the capacity for emotions had died away, but still there was some latent instincts at work apparently.
Suddenly swaddled in black cloth some of the vivacity the creature once possessed is sparked anew thanks to Ludo's presence. The memory snow seems to work harder to approximate all the lovingly created scales and muscles; small hand prints appear where the boy had once patted the creature adoringly. It mattered very little how bad the anatomy was: the creature had been created to be a friend after all.
Ludo gives Melita and unreadable look—owing largely to the complete lack of features revealed by its mask—and turned to the creature. "The boy's soul has been with Mort for many years now. I would not pull him away now. But perhaps..." The cloth around the creature's neck plucks at the amulet. With a thoughtful pause, Ludo pulls at it, shattering it in its clothed hands.
As this happened, whatever let the memory snow animate simply stopped. The creature lost many of its features and ceased to move anymore. "There. Enjoy the snow!" Ludo chuckled, reaching out a tendril of fabric to tickle Melita's neck before vanishing.
Sorry for the stall on this. Going to close out RE participation for now. You can all count this a rare animal sighting.
When the god departed, taking whatever had animated the snow creature with it, Loren let out the breath he’d been holding, though it did nothing to calm his pounding heart. Even though he wasn’t quite sure which higher power that had been, he knew how close he’d come to death or some worse fate. And while he wasn’t sure exactly why it had shown up to stop him from taking the amulet, he was pretty sure it had been called by something. Or someone.
Glancing up, he saw all the onlookers. Saw the way they stared at him. Saw how little they thought of him. Saw how they couldn’t seem to see that he had good intentions, or maybe saw that his good intentions were never enough.
Saw that they didn’t trust him, didn’t want him there, would never give him the benefit of the doubt in anything.
Melita, whom had criticized him for lacking control and discipline, and yet seemed to have lost both in that moment. Well, at least she had reason to hate him, even if her comments made her a hypocrite. The white horse, who was presumably an Attuned and could’ve used words as easily as force. And yet, had attacked his creature without giving the Launceleyn any chance to respond. The rest of them, animal and human, all looking at him as if he was something to be pitied or avoided. They stood there, not even talking to him, not acknowledging him, so fully convinced that they were always right and he was always wrong, that he was bad and they were oh so fucking good and nice and pure.
Well Loren had no interest in explaining himself, of making excuses or apologizing, not when he was pretty sure they’d made up their minds. Not to them, at least. He’d already done enough of that, to far more powerful beings, to the one that had intervened. Maybe if the god hadn’t shown up, maybe if they’d given him an opportunity to correct his behavior before lashing out at him it would’ve been a different story. As it stood, though, he felt a fury and darkness unfurl within that overtook his latest efforts to be good and right and happy. So be it, then. They’d made an enemy of him today, though he wasn’t going to act against them, and would still do what he could to help them. But they wouldn’t get to see him unless they needed him. Nor would he express concern over their petty squabbles. They’d lost that part of him.
As always, it was him alone against the world. Or at least that’s certainly what it felt like. He wondered if this had been what it had felt like for Zariah, a circle of judgmental eyes, hostile people, making up their minds about him without giving him a chance to explain, without leaving him a choice. Luckily for them, unlike his cousin, he had no desire to retaliate. No desire to rage against them. No desire to do anything but go home and be left alone. He still had a choice here.
If it was him against the world, he wouldn’t fight. He’d let the world win. He didn’t want any part of it, not after everything he’d been through since his return. Everyone kept telling him that he should just follow his heart, and that as long as he tried, that would be enough. That there was forgiveness for him, so long as he forgave himself and tried to make amends. Guess that was a fucking lie. He was so tired of trying that sometimes he thought it would have been better for him to have stayed away.
Well at least one thing was clear: it would be best for him to leave, now. So, without saying a word, he turned and stalked off into the snow and the cold. They knew where to find him, if they wanted to. He doubted they would. Let them judge.
