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!
Isuma paused her purring to chortle happily at the attention, then leaned precariously forward to watch Deimos's hands with eager curiosity for what he was doing with them, now that his artistic undertaking had been completed. Jigano looked to the other man with a slight tilt to his head, silent askance until he realized that the General was looking at something past him, distant in both time and space. He turned his attention back to his own hands, setting the small scale down as he sat cross-legged on the sand and began to concentrate on the image he had sketched, focusing on bringing it to life.
Well. Life of a sort, at least.
"It was the same for me," he agreed with sad humor, magic coalescing in his hands, bronze and green and crimson swirling together in a bright symphony of silent music in his soul. "I wasn't impressed with him in Sidhe, but I didn't really see him again in more than passing until LongNight. When Caiside... died... Adam came and dragged me out of the morgue. Helped me clean up and... listened. Let me tell him about my friend who had died, even though he hadn't known him." Jigano huffed a soft laugh, filled more with loss than amusement. "He surprised me. I wouldn't have expected such sensitivity from him, from what I'd seen before. But it was there all along, I think, he'd just done his best to hide it."
His brow immediately furrowed back into concentration, silence rendered between the nuances, the memories, the harpooned decibels. Slowly, as if the magic had been swallowed or consumed by something else, barely a trickle, barely a nuance, small, wooden legs came to life, meant to represent the bony structure of the luxere’s limbs. He almost immediately required a break, a pinch somewhere in the back of his mind, in his veins, and a level of irritation notched its way through his soul; a long-suffering sigh puncturing and piercing, uncertain what any of that, this, was supposed to mean.
Adam had apparently made a similar impression on others; as if he were an individual intending to be either rough on the edges, jocular, or simply foolish, with other fathoms layered and lacquered amongst the ridiculous exterior. Deimos mentioned nothing of any similarities between himself and the joker; because he knew it take a lengthy amount of time to reveal anything of his own soul, and Adam had still managed to try. A snort followed Jigano’s remembrances, then a sigh, as he leaned back into the sand, as one hand returned to scratching Isuma, as his enchantments stilted and stifled themselves. “Hidden depths,” and he shrugged; uncertain where else to go, what to say. “He irritated me greatly.” Which, given the right circumstances, wasn’t very hard to do. Perhaps it went without saying, but he registered it into the ether, for whatever the words were worth. “But he always cared for Amalia.” When he wasn’t giving her drugs – but they’d come to some basis of understanding with that too.
And now it didn’t really matter.
under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed
Isuma hopped down from Deimos's shoulder to investigate the little wooden legs that appeared, curious and gentle in her peering examination of the bone-like wooden limbs. It was the sigh that made Jigano look over, however, humming a faint sympathetic note as he began to pull edges of metal and shard of glass from the aether. "Your magic is unstable, too?" The question was practically rhetorical; every mage he'd spoken to had suffered some sort of disruption recently, it seemed like. Still, gathering information on what and when was what he did, trying to define their new limits.
Lips quirked up at the revelation that Adam had irritated the General; an easy feat to accomplish in the bard's experience, though he kept the quip to himself. They were remembering a lost friend, after all, and Adam had seemed to love the spotlight. "He cared more deeply than he wanted to admit. Amalia, Peter, Coffee... probably others as well." The body began to come together, each scale detailed carefully as Jigano focused on it. "He'd bring beer and cider to the Guildhall," the bard admitted with a rueful smile, though his eyes were intent on his work. "Pull up a chair we'd drink and talk late into the night... about just about everything. Our pasts, our mates... our shared dislike of Zariah," he added with a chuckle.
Isuma receded from his scratching efforts, invoking curiosity over along the wooden legs, but his sigh had also gained Jigano’s attention. “Only creation.” The too presuming the Sage was having the same underlying issues – fire still waged, water still curled, life drain still pulsed. What it meant wasn’t exactly clear either – perhaps there’d been some alteration along enchantments, somehow, someway, but why nothing else seemed affected was bizarre too. He was half-tempted to ask Safrin, but shrugged it away, knowing better. The goddess likely wouldn’t care.
While Jigano unfurled his own memories, Deimos attempted more emblems, more banners, concocting tiny portions of wood again, meant to remain on the legs, formed like the skeletal body. He could always put something within to remind them of the mushrooms growing from the beast, or any other plant life coiling around rib cages. It was small, minimal, but there all the same, and then he took another break, clenching and unclenching his fists. Perhaps Adam’s ridiculous nature had been a front, not willing to betray the individual underneath. Easy to write off or cast aside the jester, leave him be; the Sword’s features formed back into some semblance of reticence as he stared across the sea. “Sounds like he had quite a few to care about him too.” Which perhaps made the whole event all the more tragic and stupid.
under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed
"Mm. Same," the bard agreed with a sigh. "I developed it, only for it to suddenly... change? Fade? barely a week later, it felt like. Then I could only make constructions of wood and earth for a while." He wasn't sure how to bring up his new facility with fire; as Amalia had pointed out, it didn't seem to suit him. Then again, Edrei would probably delighted. He could hear her cackle on the breeze, if he listened closely enough to his memories.
A body, neatly coiled, limbs tucked beneath. A graceful curve of glass-skinned wings swept over the small black iron back. Small enough to fit cradled in the palms of his cupped hands as he continued to build, crafting each scale with care. Isuma trotted over to watch over his own work, growing still and quiet when she saw the small representation of her missing friend. "Yes... we did," Jigano said sadly. "We sang for Safrin together in the Longheat evening, my dragon form and his ridiculously puffed up little robin shape. And we captured the sun, while Coffee and Isuma played in the shadow of my wing... He tried to throw a basket over my scales to catch the sun's reflection," the bard reminisced with a snort of fond amusement at the gall of the man. Then again, Jigano had followed it up by enacting a rather melodramatic death scene at the 'attack.' "He always tried to cheer me up... Amalia too, I think. He didn't like seeing his friends sad."
Fading; developing it only for it to dim – and here Deimos was, nearly dependent on its efforts, having to maneuver into other footholds and methods of old. “Perhaps something is going on.” But what he wouldn’t be able to ascertain, even if enchantments had always been in his bloodline, in his veins, in his heart, lungs, and soul. Explanations were often handwaved away, barely established, understandings and nuances there one day, and gone the next. It was all he had to offer now too, a state of confusion and apprehension, pondering if this was just a sentiment and rumination bound to get worse.
Again, he notched another piece to the statue, a little wooden head, elongated to resemble a skull, placing it surely along the body, long neck combined and contorted. Too mired and immersed in concentration, he didn’t notice the movement of sand beneath his palms, the maneuvering wake as they billowed; could’ve been the wind, could’ve been another alteration altogether.
Instead, his eyes went to Jigano’s assembled, glass wings, pondering if he could do the same for the little luxere’s eyes, or stick more towards metal; darker, darker, darker, to reflect empty sockets. He listened as well, to how the world cared for Adam, singing, capturing the sun, cheering them up by whatever mercurial whims and means suited his inclinations. A snort followed, flickered through his chest, while his gaze went back to the luxere statue, considering hundreds of things within singular moments. “He challenged me to a basket weaving contest.” A shrug, another snort, before applying tiny metallic fathoms in his hands, clutching their miniscule pieces, and then placing them along the luxere’s face. “Showed me his famous gun.” A blast of munitions – that eventually led him to being mauled.
under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed
Jigano nodded, frowning at the thought. "Yes. We're not the only ones, either. Remi, too, has struggled with it lately. I can make things out of wood and linen... and more recently, out of metal and glass. But not out of leather or wool. It's very strange." There seemed to be a connection between his magics now that wasn't there before, as if a fret had grown beneath the strings, linking them together. Some of them, at least.
Moving into the final part of the statue, Jigano painstakingly crafted each detail of the head of the sleeping dragonling, Isuma occasionally peeping softly as she reminded him of the way the light caught Coffee's eye ridges, or the peek of a fang from beneath a scaled lip. Sweat was beaded on the bard's brow when he finished, a slight shake to his hands as he gently set the small statue - almost life sized - at the base of Ludo's shrine. He sat silently for a moment, then drew a slow, deep breath and nodded at the work he had done.
"Who won?" Deimos could hardly drop news like that without more information. It was hard to imagine the stoic General giving himself over to such a game with any but Amalia, or perhaps Kiada and Rex. Hard... but not impossible. Adam had a way of finding even the most unlikely of friends. "Did he let you shoot it?"
Remi struggling was new information, but he hadn’t seen him since the disaster at Fiat Lux. Perhaps they would simply have to keep monitoring it, piecing together information as best they could. It was just frustrating and vexing, and he’d grown used to the power, to conforming and constructing anything he wanted, simply from his mind. Now he’d have to learn all over again. Maybe it was for the best. His thoughts mauled one another and contorted upon each other until finally all he could do was shrug. They might eventually learn in time, things would return to normal, or they’d find more changes, more alterations, in the future.
He worked on the antlers now, after the head, the eyes, had been completed; small contortions of the same metal formation, in pieces, pointing upwards, like their own little makeshift spears and daggers. They didn’t bend, but swayed out, much like the rack on any stag. It took immense concentration, and amidst the warmth and absorption, sweat crawled down the back of his neck; and not noticing, once more, the movement of stones beside his feet, maneuvering off to the right, nothing compelling or maneuvering them.
The General snorted at the question, gaze still on the statue, attempting to work the metal to perfection. “I declared it a tie.” Shrugging, half a smile etched on his mouth, before receding into a pretense of disappointment. “No.” Memories of the shot towards the tree, and the ridiculous nature of the whole charade might have encompassed a more amusing figure – except it had been a likely cause of Adam’s death. “He was very accurate though.” Either towards the timber, or the dragon.
under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed
Jigano settled beside the shrine and the dragon statue, watching Deimos work on his own luxere offering, a creature of wooden bones and sharp antlers, undead and yet once so very much alive. Once, the General had been able to craft wonders with a few moments of concentration. Seeing him struggle with this now was...
Unsettling, to say the least. If someone as skilled as Deimos could find his magic so destabilized, what did that bode for the rest of them?
A grin at the declaration of a tie, either magnanimous on the General's part or else an attempt to mitigate some of Adam's crowing, he suspected. Nor was he surprised to hear that the gun had been held in reserve - for Adam's hands only. Now lost in some dragon's icy hoard in Halo, for better or worse. The bard drew a breath to comment, but the dancing of the stones at his friend's feet drew his attention even as Isuma made a tackling pounce for one of the pebbles, and a silver brow arched in surprise. "You lose some, you gain some," he murmured, eyes narrowing as he looked from the luxere and back to the shifting sand. "When you've got a moment, do you think you could try and lift one of those small rocks? Without using your hands," he added with a rueful smile.
Brow seemingly eternally furrowed, his hands went to his nape, pulling back the mess of mane into a bun, pondering the complexity of the antlers again. His eyes went briefly to Jigano’s statue, with its molded scales and peeking fangs, then back to his, palms rising once more, attempting to put the finishing touches to the rack, exemplifying the scale of the points and tips, hollowing out fixtures so they looked more skeletal, more cadaverous. The finishing touch were wooden thresholds notched along its stomach, meant to resemble mushrooms – and then a tiny bat figurine on its back.
He hadn’t quite understood Jigano’s first sentiment, leaning away from his creation with a molten sigh – uncertain if it was even a great, grand rendering, shifting his attention to the murmuring bard. Isuma pouncing on moving pebbles didn’t register either, some fatigue, some exhaustion, wearing itself in the machinations of his mind, tilting his cranium further to exemplify the confusion. His eyes went to the small rocks, uncertain where this was leading – he hadn’t held any levitation properties before, nor was he capable of maneuvering portions of loam, soil, or earth with his mind. That had recently been reserved for fire, for water.
On an arch of his brow, at the shrug of his shoulders, he attempted exactly what Jigano directed: eyes widening briefly as the stones responded, shifting over the sand, pushed over to the right, then the left. “That is new,” was the only thing he could concoct; the briefest of bewilderment clutching his features.
under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed
Jigano had never really seen Apricum, only heard of the ghostly luxere. Seeing Deimos craft a small replica of the strange creature was his first chance to really get a sense of what an odd and perfect companion it had been for the quiet Peter, and the addition of the bat had him smiling sadly at the crowning touch.
There was something else to draw his attention, however, a shiver in the earth at Deimos's feet that had him intrigued. He grinned as the stones shifted and Isuma whirled to pounce on first one, then another, and the General's simple statement spoke volumes. "I said the same thing recently," he admitted wryly, holding out his hand and letting sparks dance around his fingertips. "Perhaps one of our exercises when we're back at the barracks can involve seeing if we can meld and strengthen our abilities if we work together with them, when we're using a common element?" Not just working as a team with disparate abilities, but as a team with the same. Fire and earth, at least, were two things they now had in common. Perhaps more would follow?
With everything finalized, orchestrated, and constructed, the Sword lifted the wooden statue gently, carefully, and placed it beside the dragon. They matched in height and parallels, meant to stand amongst and with one another for however long the pieces, the memorials, lasted. On a whim, his hands crafted a single, slender piece of wood, attempting to swivel it around the middle, so it appeared to undulate, rounding the top to a tapered head – a carved snake, forked tongue poking through. “May I?” Reaching out, intending to put it along the dragonling.
The notion he’d somehow acquired a new magic in the loss of creation abilities was a strangulation of emotions: disconcerting they’d shifted, and confounding because munitions of earthen wares had never once been embedded in his ancestry. They’d been amidst and amongst a variety of elements, but tended to wrap around cords of darkness, power, and precision, the might of vehemence, fire, or water; his own life drain had been an anomaly. He shook his head, incapable of fully grasping or understanding it, but would likely wield it like he’d done so many others.
The fact that Jigano had much the same experience was interesting, causing him to arch a brow, then withhold a chuckle, maintaining a firm smile on the edges of his mouth – flames erupting from the Sage’s fingertips. “We can try.” He wasn’t opposed to the notion; an intriguing thing to grow and form more and more invocations, continually spiraling around and amongst the unknown.
under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed
Wood and metal, glass and stone. The pair of companions and the bat stood side-by-side in harmony, a fitting remembrance of those who had gone. Or... almost fitting. Deimos added a crowning touch that had Jigano drawing in a shallow breath, nodding silent approval as he forced back the unexpected sting in his eyes.
Magic provided a focus through the sadness, a reminder of who and what was left, and what could yet grow from loss. Earth and fire, endings and beginnings. Jigano smiled back gladly at the willingness to meet again and see what more they could do in tandem, bound by their desire to protect the place that had become their home and the people who lived there. "I'll look forward to it, then. Perhaps something for Deepfrost, to train our defenses for LongNight." Isuma left the now-still rocks behind, trotting over to gently nose her beak at the statues of the companions and the Attuned who adorned them. The bard's smile turned a little sad again as he scooped her up and cuddled her against his chest, running soothing fingers over her back.
"Thank you, for helping with this," he said, voice quiet but sincere.
Together as Amalia had said after she’d visited Ludo: their souls departed to the afterlife, well beyond the frozen tundra, chilling hills, and hostile caverns. So their statues, their representations, their likenesses should’ve been too, and he stood back, staring at the situated pairs. Maybe it would be enough for today. He bowed his head again, tilting it a fraction, nearly a bobbing salute to dragon and luxere, to small bats and snakes, before making his way along the sand, bidding a retreat.
The notion of LongNight pressed down into his shoulders, an additional weight as the world descended back into decaying leaves, cooling air, the press of dormancy. Not much longer until they’d face the agony, the anguish, the void again, and try to ensnare their preparations, their faults, their flaws, their follies, into something protective, shielding, guarding. Last year’s had been burnt and scarring, and the year before that just as damning. The General wasn’t known for being optimistic, and winter carried its harsh overtures back into his mind. “Sure.” Perhaps by then he would have a firmer grasp on the earth elements established in his veins, or had learned how to harbor creation again. “You are welcome,” with another solemn nod, an established wave towards both gryphon and Sage, taking it as his cue to depart, to leave, to traverse elsewhere, wandering back across the sands.
{-FIN}
under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed
