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!
Arriving at the settlement safely thanks to the generous courtesy of some of the other citizens. Libb's personal start had been, well, rough. Namely, because she didn't remember too much about what she COULD do. Yeah, she had these tools at her disposal, but she didn't remember what they were, or what their names were called. But they did no good against some of the things that they actually needed.. like.. farmers and such. She had been relegated to hauling duty, which worked. Supposibly. But she still had questions.
Which, brought her here. After scouring over the tools with a great deal of diligence, someone proposed perhaps taking them to the Artisan's guild for further inspection. After all, some of the instruments she held looked vaguely similar to that a sculptor would use. Perhaps they would know what the rest of them were used for!
And lemme tell ya, that goal got sidetracked probably within four minutes of walking into the district. Libbs literally bounced from one stall to another- squeaking like an excited school child. But none of the artisans she spoke with could answer her question. Instead, they proposed heading to the guild hall instead for more answers.
And oh did things just escalate from there. Libbs stood within the plaza like a deer caught in headlights, head snapping from one thing to another. She didn't know where to begin. What to do. What to say? And after a few moments, she refocused, and started to visit various aspects of the workshop.. trying to indiscretely compare her tools to that she found on the tables.
Despite being the Guildmaster, Deimos had been pulled into so many altering, caustic, chaotic directions, that he wasn’t frequently around its domicile, its inhabitants. The hall was open to anyone and everyone, but to see him come and go was a bit of a rarity at present, biding his time between here, the militia barracks, the infirmary with Amalia, and anywhere else in between. The only reason he threaded his way through stalls and kiosks now was to grab hold of a particular tool, furrowing his brows, irritated he hadn’t found it, pondering if he should just make another one and carry on – intending to mend some portion of future movements and motions for the Shield.
Eventually, he’d snagged at the implement, chasing it down to another grounder’s merchandise, asking to borrow or wield, trading the slightest of wiles, the long-suffering sighs in exchange; before hastening down the lanes. His form cut through several layers of inhabitants just by its sheer size, Colossus doing naught more than walking with obvious purpose, until he spotted someone unfamiliar. She seemed caught in the crosshairs of everything – too much to see, too much to do, an overwhelming notion. Ordinarily, he might not have bothered, especially as she slunk towards other portions of the workshop, but if he was supposed to be the leader of this area too…
A rumination, a sentiment, close to irritation twisted in his gut, and he eased the breath he was holding. “Are you looking for something?” Maybe he could assist, direct, and then be on his way.
Fe, fi, fo- thumb! Who's the giant behind the lil' smol one?
As Libbs hovered over the table, blissfully unaware at first that she had been seen or noticed, she plucked a nearby instrument that, oddly enough? Seemed familiar. Holding it for a brief moment, a little bit of a memory started to chug. She knew what this was! Holding the little rubbery 'o' in the air. This was a WASHER. It was used to create seals on things to encourage vacuums and regulate pressure! Put this bad boy on anything and-
She stiffened, being acknowledged, and turned around. And she choked a squeak as she stared up at him. Let's be real. Deimos probably could fit three Libbs inside of him. And probably have room for a fourth. She probably held her breath for a good solid thirty seconds, slowly trying to calm her racing heart.
"O.. unm.. I.. It's good to meet .. y.. you. My name is Libbs and I.. I.." she helplessly looked down to her screwdriver. "I am.. uh.. looking fo.. for some too.. tools that look like this. I uh.. I brought them.. and I don't.. remember what th.. i.." she choked. Too much info Libbs! Too much info.. And she swallowed a gulp of air. "D.. Do you know what these are..? O.. Or know who.. might?" she squeaked.
It’d been a long time since anyone had stammered in his presence. Most knew who he was simply by maneuvers and actions around the populace, and were likely no longer intimidated by his presence, despite all the potential for ruin, wreckage, and havoc. In another time, in another world, the beast would’ve been content with a dragooning, menacing, malicious upheaval to his stature, becoming just one more ominous, foreboding existence preying upon the masses. Here though, he was merely General and Guildmaster and Sword; tilting his head, waiting for the nuances, inclinations, and phrasing to cease so he could parse through it.
The stranger was Libbs – small, with tools, and his eyes ran over the aforementioned device, recognizing it for less-than-modern designs, some harder edges and rudimentary models somewhere along walls and merchants of trade. They’d once been cultivated and utilized for pieces of armor, though some jewelers had proclaimed smaller, more intricate ones. “Deimos,” by way of introduction fell from his rumbling abyss, and a nod, recalling the rest of her squeaks and information kindled somewhere between nerves, tensions, and apprehension. Uncertain of how he could convey he wasn’t about to maul her, he simply adhered to her inquiries. “A screwdriver?” Uncertain of any other connotation, title, or namesake it might hold, he maneuvered backwards, inclining on a set of motions, long strides already promising sweeping turns along kiosks and stalls, a twist of his head indicating she should follow. “We have some assembled on this side of the hall.”
She hopped, excited, her eyes lighting up with sparks of hope and perhaps the brimming glimmers of anticipation. In that, she nodded carefully, her eyes would follow and as he acknowledged her, she would quickly shake her head and follow behind like a nervous little puppy. As he guided her, Libbs took study of where she was being led, pulling key landmarks and items- an umbrella rack. A particularly cluttered stall with some unusual colored liquids spattered and bottled across it. A large deer's head in the process of taxidermy.
On some level, it was actually quite amazing the level of creativity and versatility existed in one location. Every table was a chaotic cornucopia of thoughts and ideas threatening to ignite into something. A possibility in every wing that she could see; from paint to carpentry. Something glowed a little bit, curious and bright as she looked down at her toolwrap. Perhaps..
And then- there they were.
Although the purpose or quality probably was nowhere near similar to hers, that was definitely a screwdriver. Libbs let out an uncontrollable squeak of delight and charged forward, placing the screwdriver next to the others, and comparing them. Different yes, but definitely a screwdriver! She bounced on the tips of her toes, haphazardly tossing open the rest of the toolwrap. Because, surely, people would keep like things together right? It made sense. It was a toolset after all..
And in quick movements, she sorted them. And in that process, she was able to connect some dots. Yes some were labeled, but others were coming to her as she held them. "A.. and this must be a wrench! YES!" She clapped excitedly, stumbling backwards as she lost balance briefly in her joy. "Thank you! Thank you Deimos! I.. I know it doesn't make much sense but I am SO GRATEFUL THANK YOU." she chirped, twirling around in joy.
The visual stimuli was likely overwhelming, but inveigling too, rows upon rows of curious temptations founded and conformed by gifted, talented minds and nimble fingers, all orchestrated into their own series of skills and performances. Had he not been split between a variety of other responsibilities and duties, he might have stopped to savor the multitude of things too – but everything had been dashed and pushed aside in the wake of cataclysms and torment, so he spent his hours and days roaming back and forth, rushing on ahead when the wraiths and specters seemed intent on catching up. She still followed, and he still threaded his way into the interior, then the walls, brandishing the noteworthy tools, standing off to the side so she could study and examine to her content.
The extreme ebullience, excitement, and enthrallment wasn’t exactly contagious, but it did correspond to a series of amusements in his chest. At least someone else wasn’t burdened by the heavy losses, by the semblances of other sorrows and distinctions; too fresh, too new, too ignorant of how this world exceeded in raising one’s soul, and then crushing it the next. Might as well allow and permit the joy to settle in amongst these rafters and columns, uninhibited, puncturing eyes only watching as she emitted a series of sounds and movements in avid expression. He remained entirely nonchalant, something another might mistake as a statue, conformed to his unyielding countenance and presence. “You are welcome,” he nodded, crossing his arms over his chest, brow arching slightly, maneuvering off to the side so she didn’t twirl and collide into him on an impulsive, abrupt motion. “Do you require anything else?”
Libbs jumped up quickly, suddenly remembering Deimos was in the room. Oh boy, if he only knew how grateful she was in that moment! Who knew that someone so scary looking could be so helpful? Oughta not judge a book by it's cover. Kinda made Libbs feel a little sheepish once she realized it. Still, if anything, this did make her a little bit more amiable to the giant of a man, taking baby steps towards him, the wide sable gaze bouncing around the room for a brief moment.
She drew her limbs inner towards herself, folding them, and seemingly shrinking a bit, running a few fingers down the side of her forearms towards her below. She took a breath, hope and happiness escaping from the twitching of her toes and the glimmer in her eyes, and very calmly, at least, as calmly as Libbs was capable of doing, she made a simple request.
"I.. I am really grateful! J.. just so you are aware.. But, um, do you know who- who normally works in this section? Can.. can I meet them? I, I am trying to remember things and thi.. this is so helpful but maybe.. maybe if I can watch someone take something apart, or-or-or even put my hands on something myself.. I.. I can figure it out and finally be useful!" Purpose was important to Libbs. She dreaded being dead weight, and dreaded being supported. This was the closest that she had come to solving some of her own mysteries about herself, and she could feel the potential at the tips of the tools she was toying with.
"I uh.. I don't know how one would go ab.. about lessons or something so.." she pushed the two tips of her finger together.
Deimos unfortunately didn’t have all the answers to her questions. Of all his responsibilities, duties, and tasks, the Artisan’s Guild hadn’t been at the forefront of his mind – to his own detriment and errors, despite utilizing and recruiting for the same enterprise and community during Fiat Lux. He’d been torn between too many other things, especially as of late, but the guild took care of itself as a whole, as a unit, a wealth of knowledge and support amongst walls, kiosks, and stalls. Even without him constantly hovering over it, it was effectual, prospering amidst the individuals who carefully cultivated their wares for the rest of the world. “I do not,” and as the Guildmaster, he likely should’ve winced at such a statement, puncturing eyes flickering over to the apertures and thresholds, the mantle of tools waiting to be utilized by whomever required their distinctions. Remi had been the professional at these whims and conversations; not him. Those moments were gone now too. “But you may ask around.” There were plenty of others better gifted and acquainted, especially with the foreign, otherworldly materials than himself; a fiend who merely crafted and created from the magic contained in his blood, in his veins.
He understood purpose though, the weight of it, the wanton craving for it: goals, absolutions, aspirations, and ambitions scouring over minds. Instead of wandering, instead of sinking. So with another wave and torrent of calm, composure, he merely offered parameters and possibilities, where she could linger without doubts, and continue to gain access to this world. “You are welcome to join the guild.” The lightest of smiles appeared on the edges of his mouth, fading quickly though, forgoing, too many other munitions and miseries etching beneath his skin. “You could learn here any time you please.” Concoct, cultivate, and construct, or decipher all the tools she relished.
Libb's eyes widened, blinking a bit. She seemed a bit crestfallen when he didn't have the answers she needed, her shoulders lowering slightly, a bit of the energy floating from her sails. She couldn't blame him. He looked like he was supposed to be doing.. more important things. Bigger things. Bigger then helping a amnesiac with a fixation on tool types and what they were used for. She looked down to the ground, trying to let the the disappointment fly away. And it did.
Something sparked, and her gaze searched around for material. Perhaps she could request some of those books? It may jog a memory, and she quickly looked up to ask when he propositioned joining the guild.
"Oh!" she blinked, a bit stunned. "I.. I'd love.. but, um.. Don't you have to.. to be good at something to join the guild? I.. I don't know a lot of.. artsy things.. or.. things in general I'm actually just.. trying to figure out if- if I did before." she added. "And, I don't want to be a burden. Everyone around here's doing something important.. I think- and I don't wanna distract them."
A wilting; his eyes glanced over the edges of her withering foundations, and hid another grimace behind a stoic, reserved countenance. But then it seemed to cease its descent, and he had a difficult time keeping up with the range of emotions, blinking once or twice in rapid formation, then shaking his head, withholding a snort on her first inquiry. “You do not.” The willingness to learn, to experience, to try was worth a formidable weight than simply being good at something. She could acquire a talent here. She could embrace a newfound skill. She could remember an old one. “You can figure them out here.” A tilt of his head, minute fractions of movement and motion, somehow very boyish in the mannerism, as if he were trying to circumvent a puzzle, piece together what to say. “I did not when I started either.” Creation magic and Remi had brought him there – trying to impart gifts for saviors in caves. “The guild is here for anyone willing to learn, and no one who wants to become better is a burden.” It was for the good of the community anyway, and the Hollowed Grounds, despite their traditional views on Outlanders, despite their slight stubbornness (which he’d probably consider valuable; known for his own obstinance, tenacity, and defiance), had always been a compassionate, accepting, tolerant sort. They welcomed anyone who assisted, who helped, or wanted to have a part in their world.
Okay, in complete honesty, Deimos was very much growing on her in a weird way. Mainly, because one, he had not really been aggressive towards her. And two, he was encouraging her. And both were very unusual in the way of what she's learned from herself lately, and a past life. Libbs was often the bullied. Not the bullier. Folks like Deimos were trained in her to be avoided, like prey from predator.
But in this moment, he was very much acting like a beacon of hope for the little lady. She had lowered her hands, clasping them together. She watched him avidly, devouring every word like a lost puppy. Her head seemed to tilt in understanding, reaching up to push her hair out of her face, as if it was a barrier between her understanding.
"Well, I want to become better. I don't know how. But I want to become better." she nodded. "If.. if I can become better here, then I'd be really grateful! Cause, I don't got much, but I got hands and.. they gotta be used, right?"
Deimos could be a predator, given the right circumstances (threatening those he cared about by and large usually did the trick), the right tactics, the right ways to curve him from icy fixtures and into absolute oblivion. He could be malice, menace, distortion, and devastation, a living, breathing weapon, a manifested machine of damnation and terror. This instant didn’t translate into any of those things, and since the world had settled into his blood, into his soul, and ensured he was pointed in the right direction, the beast strived to do the same for others. He understood the weight of the unknown, the press of ignorance, the gaping, overwhelming, overbearing feeling of too many furtive notes and specious regards all at once. If the guild could offer her solace, comfort, and sagacity, they were all the better for it too – gaining one more member for their prestige, prowess, and capabilities. The efforts went both ways. “You can,” he murmured again, hastening on a nod. Acceptance and tolerance, the anthem of this world. “Would you like to join then?”
Libbs nodded. "Yes, yes, I would like to join I would VERY MUCH Like to join and I would be VERY GRATEFUL AND I PROMISE I WILL BE A GOOD ARTISAN and I don't remember much but what I do learn I will be very GREAT AT even if I try and I wont give up at all-" she squeaked in a really high pitch, probably audible to dogs miles away, in a elongated breath, at him, only pausing for a moment to gasp for air. During her gasping, the tools she was reaching for slipped between her fingers, and they fell to the ground. She squeaked, quickly kneeling down and swooping them right back up, stiffening her shoulders and standing upright.
"Err. Um. Sorry. But yes, I.. I'd like to join!" she finished more.. calmly.
She tensed up, waiting for that moment. Arguably, she was more or less waiting for the 'SIKE'. But still. She looked.. hopeful.
The General should’ve expected the high pitch, the excited refrains, and the entanglement of ebullience – but they still caused his eyes to widen in surprise and bafflement just the same. The temptation to wince and close his eyes rummaged there at the back of his mind, but his reserve remained in place, as stoic as the rest of him. A snort embedded itself somewhere in there too, between the tools falling to the ground, the squeaks, and the gasps for air, likely overrun by the other squeals and measures. He released a breath, then offered his hand, nodding in some indulgence towards her wishes, promises, and dedication. “Then welcome to the guild.” An official declaration, assigning her to the roles of their manifestations and creations. “I trust you will be all right to explore on your own?” He’d likely get in the way – standing around like a hulking shadow while she mused and ventured, with enough of other duties and responsibilities hovering over him; somewhere a noose tightening its grasp. “Once you get settled, you may set up your stall as well.” Uncertain of any other parameters, he tightened his hold on the tool in his hand, intending to hasten off – the small indentation of a smile still poised and there.
