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!
Upon their release, back out into the world, away from the void, away from the slaughter, away from the eternity of the spinning night, Deimos regathered his supplies back at his home. There had been a monumental effort to not delve straight into anarchy or angst, into frustration or ire, because gods, how he’d wanted to simply sink into the shadows and lance, lacerate his bones into some brooding contortion. But it was always for later, for later, for later, a pattern, a refrain, repeated again and again. He permitted himself a short respite, ensured the residence was still standing strong and mighty, and then collected whatever items he’d need for the impending journey back to the settlements, back to the ruins, back to ash and soot and cinders.
The wagon he pulled was full of shovels, gloves, and empty space, intending to remove all the other demised contortions of the Monster Hunter’s Guild; like the remains, like the entrails, like a scorched, plunged battlefield, with nothing left but the bare bones, the dried sentiments, the things that refused to break. Zuriel walked nearby, offering nothing but a silent constituent, comrade, as they made their way back to the shell, to the husk –
His eyes drifted over the scene, his chest incapable of refusing the sigh brindling and bristling there. For some reason, he hoped it’d all been some ridiculous nightmare – beyond the fire in his hands, the control in his measures, as he brought the entire thing crashing down upon monsters, upon demons, upon infidels, as the rest of them traversed their way to other sanctuaries and refuges. He thought they’d been prepared. He thought they’d had a chance.
For a single, solitary second, he closed his eyes and inhaled, sharp and keen and blunt, remembering the varnish of smoke in his lungs, choking, heaving, desperate to rid himself of the poison while the walls of infernos scorched and seethed, at his command, at his demand. Then he drifted back to the wagon, grabbing hold of his gloves, his amends, his apologies, in the thickening silence, as he maneuvered towards the debris. Chunks of wood found their way to his hands, and he smothered some of the ones still smoldering, placing them within the threshold of the container, maneuvering back and forth in swift silence, enacting action, trying hard to sway away from the ruminations, the contemplations, burning just as brightly, just as vividly, against the back of his eyes.
{Open cleaning thread - cleaning up the remains of the MHG!}
Now, Amun wasn’t exactly the most generous or helpful person in the world. Indeed, he cared pretty much exclusively about his own wants and desires and how to have the most fun as possible. However, every now and again he decided to pitch in. Indeed, he could be downright helpful. Especially when it meant he could pocket a few things of value: although he wasn’t on the seas anymore, he figured salvage rights were salvage rights.
And there was quite a bit to pilfer clean up after LongNight that no one else was attending to. After being cooped up for most of a week, the Ascended was even willing to risk going out during the day, though he wasn’t an idiot about it; wearing a hooded cloak that covered every inch of skin and sticking to the shadows, he made his way over to the remains of the Monster Hunter’s Guild. The heat didn’t bother him anyway.
Unfortunately, it seemed that others had a similar idea, although the other man presumably had much more altruistic motive. Indeed, the potter smirked as he saw the near giant who’d helped set fortify the Guild to begin with. Guess the stranger had really dropped the ball there. Although they hadn’t been properly introduced, Amun knew the other man was a soldier of some sort. Sauntering up, the potter grinned wickedly. ”Well hello there, tall, dark and handsome. Need some help with that wood?” The Ascended winked for good measure. Actually, the wood in question was still partially on fire, so maybe it would be best if he avoided it.
After hearing the tragic events of what happened at the Guild, Oliver felt so bad. It was nice to know that everyone had made it out safe, but something still rubbed him the wrong way. He didn't believe that it was an inside job, not in the slightest, but he felt bad that worse things could have happened.
Maybe it was his narcissism demanding that he do something good, get recognized for not being useless, or maybe he was a genuinely good human being who just wanted to help others. Oliver couldn't really tell which one it was, but he hoped it was the latter. But either way, he found himself heading towards the Guild. He wasn't entirely sure what to expect, but he had prepared for the worse.
It came as a surprise to see two familiar faces. One he knew very, very little about and the other...okay, he knew basically nothing about either. Whatever. Still, it looked like Deimos was working towards cleaning up while Amun was...doing whatever it was that Amun did. It looked like he was only really flirting so far, what a massive surprise.
Walking over to the wagon with the tools, he glanced over at Deimos. "I can help too if you'd like." He'd really rather not get burnt or die from smoke inhalation, so hopefully things wouldn't go too awry.
As he waited for a response, he glanced over at Amun. Now wasn't a good time to flirt, especially when they were handling such a serious situation. For now he'd try to talk to Amun like a normal person.
Despite her unawareness of everything else that’s gone wrong over LongNight, he’s heard about what Deimos had done to the Monster Hunters Guild as everything fled the flame. So it doesn’t surprise her, when she finds out where he’s gone. She’s soaring above in her vulture form when she spots him and a few others, circling momentarily before she drops to the rubble and shifts into her person directly beside Deimos, a quiet nod sent his way before the same for greeting is given toward Amun and Oliver.
Silently, she slips over toward the wagon, grabbing a shovel for the time being, pausing to shed the jacket she wears along the wagon. Her dark hair is tied back, braided and the clothes she wears are pants paired with a short sleeve shirt. The scar along her neck on full display as she begins to walk back toward the group with her shovel in hand, not saying a word.
She’s not particularly in the best of moods still.
and you wonder why he lets you,
the butcher
touch him
the sun
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
Arms piled and laden with embered sticks and choked flames, the monolith hardly expected others to join, much less extend wicked grins and flirtacious mannerisms. A glance over his shoulder indicated the same ruffian and rogue who’d seared him with some sort of the same bravado before, when they’d been preparing the guild for LongNight, when they’d had etchings of hope amidst the camaraderie. With it stifled, buried, and completely vanquished, so was any of Deimos’ humor. His features were an exact replica of stone, unattainable, unreachable accord, eyes briefly narrowed, pondering the best course of action. In the end, he wouldn’t turn away assistance, and simply ignored anything else spewing from the stranger’s mouth. “Go ahead. Thank you.” He didn’t return the wink.
Instead, he took great strides away and towards the wagon, dropping the amount within its sanction, and then eyeing the rest of the dwindling sticks, lumber, and everything else still slightly aflame. With a twist of his hand, he beckoned contortions of the fissures and flames back to his palms – part of them his, anointed and consecrated by his movements and motions, and they felt familiar in his wake once more. Then they were ultimately extinguished on a singular breath, inhales and exhales and despondent motions nestled in between, furrowed brows and narrowed eyes only flickering over the land on Oliver’s approach. Willing to help, and taking everything they could acquire, the beast nodded in reply, skull extended in the direction of the debris and garbage.
Kiada’s appearance was broached on a more even, exultant notion, thankfulness spread through their attuned bond, stare searching her reticence for something; pure speculation when there was only silence. So he left her to her own devices, all of them in some way or form brandished and bestial from the last withering days.
Wow. Tough crowd. And a growing one: in addition to the unamused tall, dark, and handsome man, they were joined by Oliver and a vulture that turned into a woman. Alright then. The blonde newcomer got a wicked grin and a wink. Whatever had happened in the Temple, there were no hard feelings, at least not on the Ascended’s end. ”Good to see you, Blondie.” Turning to the woman, the potter gave her a winning smile as well. ”Don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting, wings. Amun Arlun, at your service.” In lieu of holding out a cloth-shrouded hand, he gave her a little bow, instead.
This was a far too serious lot. Seeing as he was a far from serious person, he decided to do something to lighten the mood. LongNight was over, Flowerbirth had arrived, and they were alive and free to do as they wished. So as he made his way over to the shovels—there hadn’t been orders given, exactly so he'd just copy what everyone else was doing—he began to whistle a sea shanty. Once he’d gone through it a few times, he added words:
Oh we’d be alright, if the wind was in our sails
We’d be alright, if the wind was in our sails
We’d be alright if the wind was in our sails
An’ we’ll all hang on behind
Oh, a night with some lads wouldn’t do us any harm.
Oh, a night with some lads wouldn’t do us any harm.
Oh, a night with some lads wouldn’t do us any harm.
An’ we’ll all hang on behind
It was a fairly simple tune, and though his voice was more enthusiastic than skilled, that was all that was needed for a song and an occasion like this. Even though his limbs were so weak he could barely shovel any debris out of the way, he felt that this was a worthy contribution. It broke up the somber mood and gave them a rhythm to follow as they progressed with the clean-up effort. And if anyone had any objections, well, they were more than welcome to voice them.
11-03-2019, 08:00 PM (This post was last modified: 11-03-2019, 08:01 PM by Oliver.)
OLIVER
Oliver didn't really hold any hard feelings for Amun, not in the slightest. He was a bit annoyed that the man had foolishly left during the night, but was glad to know he made it out safe. "Nice to see you too, Amun." He flashed the other man a smile, now used to receiving winks from him. No longer did he blush due to such simple gestures, but that didn't mean he hated them.
With permission given through a nod, Oliver checked out what supplies they had to work with. First, he gathered himself up a pair of gloves, quickly slipping them on. Next he grabbed himself a shovel. With that, he made his way over to one of the areas where nobody had started working yet, but also wasn't still burning. He didn't have the luxury of special magic abilities that made him immune, nor was he confident enough to handle such an area.
So, he started work. Shoveling what remained and trying his best to be on the lookout for anything salvageable. Who knows, maybe some weapons or important things had been able to survive the fire. He even started to hum along to whatever the heck Amun was singing. It was catchy as hell and he couldn't help it. It kept him distracted from thinking about some of the negative things that could've come with the fire.
The pulse of thankfulness that Deimos sends her is returned, albeit perhaps a bit more exhausted. There’s bags around her eyes, shadows still haunting her eyes, but she’s trying to be there. Trying to keep her mind off of her failures and uncertainties. She can feel his eyes on her, but she doesn’t reply to them yet. Not as she nods to him, to Amun, to Oliver in turn, before her icy gaze lands on Amun when he directs his speech to her.
“Wings. I like that.” She mutters at first, giving him a wolfish, predatorial smile. “Kiada Njovu-Reyes.” She offers him with a tilt of her head, a slight dip of her head after a moment in her own nod. Icy gaze skate over Oliver once more before she grabs a rake to try and pull the smaller of the rubble into a pile. As Amun begins to sing, however, a dark brow raises and she aims to seek out Deimos briefly, before Oliver began to hum too.
She drifts casually closer to Deimos, breaking apart from the sorrow and wallowing the best she can. “I would’ve been here sooner, but I was trying to get Auni to exercise around the Settlement.” She shrugs, a casual option of showing him that she’s doing things. And like clockwork, the Luxere manages to make it where they are – a light pant as his hooves click along the ground and he aims straight for Deimos for scratches and pats.
“…And there he is.” She says briefly before Auni is before the Reaper-turned-Sword.
and you wonder why he lets you,
the butcher
touch him
the sun
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
Singing hadn’t been an anticipated venture to this sojourn – his eyes widened briefly as he listened to Amun begin his overtures, glancing quickly to Kiada in either exasperation or a fleeting sense of raw humor stifled almost immediately. But he didn’t growl or raise his hackles in protest of the bizarre merriment; but simply didn’t join in (somewher in the past had been drunken songs similar; boisterously proclaimed after little victories shared by brethren and comrades, all but gone out by the time they reached the end of their crusade). The Harpy’s mention of other things, like a sensation of motivation, of efforts, wasn’t unnoticed, and he nodded in assent. A glance upward informed him of Auni’s approach anyway, the lightest smile anointing his lips as the luxere galloped straight for him – hands ready and reaching to scratch antlers and ears when they weren’t full of wood or debris.
Therafter though, there was more to do – he didn’t grab one of the shovels, and instead, applied himself back to lifting the heavier objects, muscles undulating, rippling, eager and content for the applied work and machinations. The beast toiled back and forth, from refuse and remains, to the wagon, intending to fill up the once-empty space and then burn it again elsewhere, ensure it was properly maintained, destroyed, or if some of the portions could be re-used, repurposed, for something else. On another interval, as he crouched and leaned down to inspect something off-color, off-shape, from the rest of the upheaval, he lifted patches of paper that somehow managed to make it through the evening, to discover objects familiar and grave.
Bones.
His brow furrowed, a heavy sigh filtering through his chest, pondering over which unfortunate friend, ally, or stranger still hadn’t found an adequate resting place. Roana? Cera? Caiside? Gently, he lifted the object out of the void, procuring and producing a lengthy piece of cloth between his hands, shaping it so it was slightly weighted, not fluttering off into the wind, before placing the pieces gently onto its sanction.
Amun grinned at Oliver’s words, but for the moment, the potter’s attention was taken up by the lone woman in their group. For once, someone didn’t object to his nickname. People had been so judgmental about his little epithets lately, when they were meant to be harmless. ”Glad you like it, wings.” Thankfully, the Ascended was easy to please, and for now he’d decided Kiada was good people.
Even if she did go talk to tall, dark, and handsome. That was alright: Blondie joined it with a hum and Amun sent another wink Oliver’s way. The other two members of their little crew seemed a less enthusiastic about the music, but that was alright. The Ascended knew that a little levity could make even the most annoying work pass more swiftly. So he kept singing, more loudly now, as he shoveled small bits of debris out of the way.
One of those magic deer showed up, though this one was smaller than most. The potter only had a soft spot for sea creatures, so he mostly ignored it as the woman and the tall man had their conversation. However, when Deimos began pulling bones out of the ground, Amun stopped singing and planted his shovel in the ground. This shindig had suddenly turned somber, and the Ascended watched as the big man started placing the bones in a cloth. Time for a new song.
As I walked by the dockside one evening so fair
To view the salt water and take the sea air
I heard an old fisherman singing a song
Won’t you take ma away boys me time is not long
Wrap me up in me oil-skin and jumper
No more on the docks I’ll be seen
Just tell me old shipmates, I’m taking a trip mates
And I’ll see you some day in Fiddler’s Green
It was an old tale, a happy dirge, though such a thing was a contradiction, it was true in this case. It was a song about a life well lived, about a man of the sea who’d gone on to happier waters. While these bones no doubt belonged to a landlubber, it seemed appropriate. This was a funeral of sorts now.
The winks from the fanged individual did not go unnoticed. Oliver would try his best to glance over at the other and look attractive. Or flirty. Or something. He even threw in a small wink before returning back to his work. Once the unknown girl finished up with Deimos, he'd probably try and talk with her to at least learn her name.
Things were going well...until they made an unfortunate discovery. Oliver heard a bit about what happened to the Monster Hunter's Guild, but he never expected that they'd find these...remains.
The tone immediately shifted and Oliver dropped any signs of flirting with Amun. It would be disrespectful to the dead, especially when they were to the point of being unidentifiable, or so he assumed. As Amun started to sing a song of mourning, Oliver stopped working and held his shovel against the ground. It felt wrong to continue working without paying proper respects to the dead. It was a harsh reality that he had to face, a heartbreaking one as well. It wasn't a pleasant thought in the slightest, not even close.
Oh, the Luxere is pleased to get the scratches that Deimos offers, and from there he goes to inspect the rest of the crew – pausing by Amun to see if he might be willing to scratch a bit behind his glowing antlers, before passing on to Oliver – nub of a tail wagging in his quiet excitement and hope. And while Auni does that, Kiada focuses on helping clear the rubble with her rake, pulling it all into a pile until she spots something nearby Deimos, and she frowns deeply.
Amun’s song changes, and the work starts to take a small shift. Auni nears Deimos now, head bowed as he seems to kind of pay his respects, and Kiada nears with her rake. She sets it to the side, before her shoulder brushes up against Deimos’, her icy gaze glancing over to him with a quiet raised brow. She had known Roana had been left behind, but she didn’t know if there were any others. And so she focuses on helping him, lifting the bigger of the rubble while Auni aims to push a few lone pieces of tree out from beyond.
And when Kiada lifts a larger piece of wall, charred and burned on the side, she finds a few more with a quiet sigh. “Who's are they?” She asks quietly, deceptively light as she frowns and pushes the wall over where Auni props it open. Kneeling in the ash, she begins to pick up the bigger of the bones to add to Deimos’ collection.
and you wonder why he lets you,
the butcher
touch him
the sun
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
The venture had begun as somber and turned, twisted, into solemn routes; the bones in his hands and then amongst the fabric, as he peeled away more and more layers of dirt, debris, and rubble, as the bleached contortions became more than just figments in his palms. His jaw clenched and he could hear Amun’s song change, alter, in either tone or spirit, places people went after they were dead and gone (but he’d been that way too – before, before, before, and he wondered if this had been how it was back then, when his figure was just a gone, wretched thing, the soul no longer occupied, the essence lost and vanquished, hastening to a new form years and worlds away). Would it happen here and now? Would their spirits drift along, until they were snatched by Ludo, or allowed, permitted, to regain some corporeal form, resurrected like Ronin, like himself, like so many others who’d resisted the pull, the lure, of death? Or was it simply their time, condemned by the monsters, by the sedition, ignoring the warnings, the signs, the knowledge, and sagacity of yesteryears passed; either believing themselves strong enough to endure, or foolish enough to fight. His brow furrowed and his sigh softened, lifting the chipped away contortions into the cloth when they were found and discovered again and again, fragments of lives, some known, some prospered, some wasted away too soon.
He could feel eyes on him though, so he remained quiet, lifting to scratch at Auni’s antlers again when he approached, and then shifting back and forth to rubble, to ruin, to lifted timber and sifting dirt; the rubble and ruin colliding against structures that were once human and real. When Kiada asked of their identity; he really couldn’t be certain to pinpoint any exact measures or calculations, just the three that had been entangled in the walls, waiting for some sort of final inferno. “Could be Roana, Caiside, or Cera.” He spread the fabric, the cloth, the woven threads, out further, in case any others came upon the enamel and osseus processes, saying naught more, some honor, some dignity, to come when they were done with their work here.
Oliver’s attempts at flirting were cute. They could use some work, but at least Blondie was trying. Amun flashed a periodic grin Oliver’s way every now and again, but weirdly enough he found himself getting lost in his work and his song. Obviously, all flirting ceased at the first site of bones, though it had mostly been reflex on the Ascended’s part. Old habits and all that.
He finished singing and bowed his head in silence for a moment. However, he hadn’t known any of the three people that had died. ”May they find themselves on calmer seas.” In his complete covering of the black cloth, he almost looked otherworldly, a priest of some religion that no one in this world had seen. Which he had been, in his own way. A disciple of the gods of a world he’d never see again, giving what he hoped was a fitting send off to people he hadn’t known.
With that, he nodded at the big guy (Deimos, whose name the potter still didn’t know) before getting back to work. Amun wasn’t much of a mourner. He figured if those people were still around, they’d want the rest of them to be getting back to life. Still, he didn’t sing, just continued to shovel debris out of the way.
