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!
For this round of puns, Deimos looked almost physically pained – a brief countenance of false, feigned anguish furrowing and burrowing into his features, until he was once again forced to shake his head. The regular countenance of stoicism and some hint of a smile returned quickly, but the damage had already been done. “Not for that one.” Another snort; nostalgic reminders of another time and place where they all laughed and pandered more to the ridiculous; before abductions, before tyrants, before rampant, blistering death. And with brutality after brutality, he was never certain if they could drag it all back. He let the ruminations go on a heavier sigh, permitting it to slide and slice through the water, watching the ripple and churn.
Then there were Jigano’s other sagacities to consider. If the merfolk were anything like the Fae, then they wouldn’t want to know them anyway. “Someone will bombard them in the future.” Because that was always the way – their exploring, curious, inquiring noses always managing to render themselves where they weren’t wanted; first in the Greatwood, then Halo, then Torchline, until nearly everyone was an Outlander at some point, and the hisses, the sibilances, the insurrections all sounded alike.
The theory of them contorting and controlling the water made sense, considering their token environment. On those tangents, he lifted a few ripples of water, watching, witnessing, them sort themselves apart as little orbs drifting over the surface. Then he allowed them to plummet, sinking back down as if they’d never moved at all, returning back to their liquid haven. “We will just have to be careful.” Except no one ever really was; no matter what they did.
under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed
They could never go back to what they had been before in that brief time of flour fights and Fiat Lux loaves; too much had happened and the world had changed too drastically since those halcyon days. But there were moments like these, with sunlight on the water and nothing more pressing to their pursuits than an enjoyment of the sea and learning how to swim all over again, when the beginnings of new channels might be forged. Theirs was as complex a relationship as any Jigano had known before, but that their lives were entwined - through Amalia, Kiada, Rexanna, and all the rest - there was no denying.
Hmm. I cod keep fishing for a good one, but perhaps I should call it a day before I flounder too badly. I wouldn't want you getting crabby with me. He arched his neck, watching Deimos slyly from the corner of an opalescent eye.
A pulse of resignedly amused agreement slid through the Attuned bond at Deimos's prophecy. If not them, then another. It was inevitably, really. The only questions were 'who' and 'when,' not 'if.' He watched the General's watery sleight of hand curiously, a reminder of the General's many powers, some like and some unlike his own. Ah well. First times for everything, he murmured mentally, echoing his companion's thoughts unknowingly. Bracing himself as if the words were the final push he needed, he finally plunged his head below the waves and blinked his eyes open, a stream of bubbles erupting from his nose as a school of darting silvery fish chose that moment to flash by him, effortlessly avoiding collision while he snaked his head through the water after them in instinctive chase.
He stared out over the water, like a long-suffering, stoic individual, each pun assailing, and only an audible sigh to respond with. There was seemingly no escape, no ability to not hear the inflections – but he still gave it a try, diving below the depths, with only the attuned bombardment still filling them. Enough, he pleaded with the barest flickers of amusement, extending his arms, his legs, putting space between them with a snort.
As if by his own version of punishment, retorts in power and prestige, rather than words (for they’d never be his forte), as Jigano dunked beneath the undulations and ripples, the General sent forth minor waves. They were meant to construe and rebel against the dragon’s might, more diversions rather than harm, before slinking back upwards to gain another breath.
Truthfully, upon the subject of carefulness, of plotting instead of bombarding, only a few could likely say they ever achieved those goals. Enthusiastic and ebullient in the sensation of the unknown, in the beckoning, siren curiosity was all well and good, until it ended up having disastrous consequences. How many times had they meandered into something far larger, far greater, far more dangerous, than they’d ever thought possible? That for all their strength, there was always something bigger, something broader, something mightier, waiting on the other side? It left him with a sinking rumination: once eager to explore, to dive out farther, to revel in the inquiries, and after several seasons of doing just that, and being bombarded with siege after siege…he treated it with cold calculations all over again. Spurned back into silence, he hastened another lingering dive, staying amidst the lighter contortions of the layers, gazing into the never-ending abyss.
under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed
The flickers of amusement that ghosted so faintly through the Attuned bond were as good as a white flag from a lesser man, and the dragon hummed happily, magnanimous in victory. Enough... for today, he consented. Though when they would have another interlude like this, peaceful and restful, without the weight of worlds dragging them under was anyone's guess.
And their conversation took an unintended darker turn soon enough, one Jigano tried to shake loose by taking the literal plunge - at least of his head. Everything seemed to be going well at first, until a series of waves from an unexpected direction rocked against him and he jerked his head up, snorting as his paddling picked up pace to keep himself upright. He looked around for the source of the disturbance but soon enough realized that the one rocking the dragonboat was an unrepentant General who moved with enviable ease through the ocean's domain.
The mood had shifted, but Jigano had no intention of letting either of them sink too far into the worries that were their usual hallmarks. Ducking his head down once more to keep Deimos in sight he called upon a brightly colored fish a little smaller than his hand to swim after the submerged soldier and try to wriggle up against the bottom of his bared foot to nibble at unprotected toes.
For now might have insinuated an ominous siege or assault, if it hadn’t come through realms of amusement and torturous puns. He snorted again through all of it, leaving the midst of wordplay behind (never his strength, clearly), diving along, stretching his arms, his legs, into a series of perfected, practiced movements. The Tides’ children were always taught to be brave and powerful in their executed motions – never to fight against the roll of the tide, the ripples and adornments of the currents, but to simply become a part of them, strength and strength, prowess and prowess, knowing, understanding, they’d never be as wild, as brazen, as the ocean itself. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t thrive in its fathoms, couldn’t reel along its depths, couldn’t learn to savor the might and glory for themselves in bits and pieces. Perhaps that was why they’d all been emboldened, irreverent creatures, learning quickly what it meant to be lethal, dangerous, and unafraid.
He hid his amusements at the echo of the dragon’s snort well, muffling it down into his lungs, billowing it in strangled strains when he reached the surface to breathe. The beast also expected rebuttal – though perhaps not by way of little fish, who snagged at his feet and toes with ridiculous abandon. On impulse, he kicked back, though his form went through a series of indistinct chuckles that might have indicated he was ticklish, before turning himself over, floating along the current.
And sending, thanks to a potency within his mind, a potent, bestial wave, meant to rise and crash over the top of the dragon’s body.
under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed
Oh ho, there was a surprise! A crack in the great General's armor that Jigano hadn't dared hoped he might find, and he crooned in delight, the sound echoing oddly beneath the water. Victory twice over on this beautiful day, and it was everything he could have hoped for--!
Victory was brief-lived as the water, never quite with him, turned fully against him as a titanic wave (or so it seemed to the ocean novice) crashed over him and bowled him under in a six-limbed flail. Help! Glub! I'm drowning! Glub glub! Surprised laughter with just a small edge of tension slid through the Attuned bond as the dragon thrashed his way back towards the surface, following the light of the sun to reach air again. His whistling laugh wheezed between breaths as he let himself relax again, finding himself floating without hardly trying as he bobbed back to spread out on the surface once more. I surrender! he called, tail swishing lazily through the waves and leaving a trail of bubbles and small vortices behind.
The General watched as the wave he sent went careening over the lizard, rendering the Sage’s previous efforts obsolete. Despite the words loosened throughout the bond, Deimos presumed Jigano would be just fine – loosened a wild chord of laughter as he lumbered and thrashed his way along the surface. It rumbled within his chest and proceeded out into the billowing waves, either lost or reverberating, before floating back along the current again, allowing it to take him along little routes and paths, a push, a pull. The notion of surrender was music to his ears; the sensation of triumph, no matter how minute or trifling, contorted and wrapped its way around his skull for a few moments. It was enough to savor in the instance – mostly because of how little they ever had. Little successes, little victories, little assemblages of something other than bleeding, beating moroseness.
Biting back the fleeting feeling, mind churning over a thousand other inquiries, the Sword likely ruined the connotations as his machinations roamed further into the future. Erupting the balance of amusement and diversions, for one of not too far off in the distance; marring and tarring, eyes on the skyline, on the horizon, while the water maintained his presence. “Do you intend to go out during LongNight again?” A series of calculations, pondering possibilities, how to keep doors closed as Safrin requested, when there were bound to be others locked in another herald’s request.
under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed
The Attuned bond didn't need to translate the theatrical 'glubs' Jigano had thrown in - largely to reassure his companion that it was all in good fun. Slightly anxious fun, as he wasn't as comfortable in the ocean as the Sword was, but still a reason for humor. He was glad he had when he resurfaced to the sound of the General's laughter, which he'd heard far too rarely between trials and tragedies and the tensions that had run between them since Fae and Pits and Spires. He had his own share of pride and vanity, but he knew when he was beat, and Deimos was the unquestioned king of the ocean, at least for today.
The bard had watery puns to prepare for the next assault, content in the knowledge that even if the General tried to drown him, he couldn't escape the pun-ishment cast through the Attuned bond.
Floating relaxed for the moment upon his return to the surface, riding the waves rather than fighting them, the dragon was unprepared for the more serious turn the conversation took. Blowing seawater from his nostrils occasionally, he would have been content to sun himself and paddle after Deimos's aquatic explorations, but the mention of the coming LongNight drew a reflexive shiver and a long, shuddering sigh through him.
I would prefer to stay with Rory this year, he admitted quietly. I don't think I should leave him alone again, no matter what he says this time. But... I asked for the responsibility of Ludo's Lantern, and that means facing the dark at some point. If only we could coax the Spark Bird back this year, somehow, to protect the Sanctuary again... To provide that measure of protection once more, and give them a base from which to extend operations in the safety of her light.
Floating along his back, staring up along the sky, the pressing sun, more cloud manta rising, flapping overhead, they could’ve sunken into silent repose. But Deimos, no matter which title he went by (either Reaper or Sword) never seemed capable of being immersed into peace for very long. The churn of LongNight, especially after last year’s debacle, was a constant weight in his mind with the changing and alterations of seasons, the rest of them ignited by some segment of tragedy or trauma. Winter was usually no different, especially with the final week of its knives and demons.
Intriguing to hear that Jigano intended to spend its time with Rory, and not in the hold of whatever building they chose. Misgivings and apprehensions, always alive and well on the topic too close to their chests, to their memories, and he hastened a nod against the brink of the water, listened to the undulations under his skull.
Ludo’s Lantern, facing the dark, and after his discussion with Safrin, the mountain wondered how on earth they were supposed to keep everyone inside, cage/chains aside. “We can try again.” Another thing, another notion, in their preparations. Even if the Spark Bird didn’t arrive, there were still hundreds of other ruminations to consider – the burst of flames a candid reminder of just how quickly things could go south. “I do not want a repeat of last year.” A stern set to his jaw – Rexanna’s impalement, Roana’s gallivanting, Kiada’s failure, crushing blow after crushing blow.
under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed
Yes. Preparing her perch, setting out offerings before the Night falls, these are things we can do beforehand, without risk, the dragon agreed, snorting a misty plume as a wave washed over his nose. With so many other things to do, I know it's hard to find the time but... we should try. Last year we built the perch, but hardly anyone left offerings. Not like the year before. This year we should try and encourage people to do that again. A notice on the Board, maybe? Now that people knew the Bird might come, but that her arrival wasn't something they could just assume.
Last year... the year before... all the years before, the dragon said with a sigh. The Valairs and Emmett's family didn't leave their homes, and still the demons found a way in to slaughter them. We aren't that much safer inside than out, when it comes down to it. Somehow we need to get as many people as are willing to go through the portals for the week. Maybe Amalia can compel a bear to carry Rory through one, he joked weakly. Any of us with divine tasks might consider that... spending part of the week in Torchline or Halo, or even the Greatwood, and only entering the Hollowed Grounds to complete our given tasks, using the portals to avoid opening doors this year.
He nodded along with the set of arrangements, things they’d attempted in the past or had left by the wayside, offerings they hadn’t placated. “We can try.” Ascertaining that he would, that those striving efforts would always be embedded and enforced for the Grounds. To bring in more too, to emphasize the importance of not only the Spark Bird, but of staying inside. The cretin was so tired of the rampant death, the escalating trauma, and the needless waste (Cera and Rexanna sticking to the back of his mind, vivid details of impaled chests and desecrated forms, if something would stop him from going to them again, if this was all just a hypocritical notion and he was tying himself into gnarled, knotted strands and seams). Notices, perches, proffering, something, somewhere, bound to hold some significant meaning. “Perhaps a meeting at the Temple, for all the residents.” So they could hear the words, the warnings, again, over and over and over.
Not much safer inside than out gave him pause; his first entanglement into LongNight, besides Amalia’s death, hadn’t been rough amongst the Rathskellar; they’d done their best with selections and monstrous contortions. But then the Spark Bird had come too, and maybe things had simply added up to for an easier time in a world immersed slightly underground. Those with god tasks being shuffled elsewhere curled something in his chest too – a forbearing, ominous declaration, perhaps, or simple apprehension for those he loved (and knew wholeheartedly that they’d attempt something grandiose). “We should discuss it at the next council meeting. See what they want to do.” Shuffling others around might not have been the best strategy either; not after last year’s debacle.
under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed
Jigano tried to nod, but the water resisted the dip of his jaw and he settled for a hum of agreement and gratitude, knowing that for preparations of the time to come, he and Deimos would work together to build a perch, to hunt meat, to gather snow moss and reinforce doors and windows, to collect candles and firewood... A meeting, yes. There are new Outlanders to warn and teach... and old ones to remind, he added with an internal sigh.
Perhaps the Artisan's Guild could lead a workshop or something on making Spark Bird offerings? A suggestion, but one he pondered thoughtfully. If we plan it out in advance, the time and place for it and the Perch building could be announced at the meeting, as well as put on the Notice Board. Maybe they could learn and improve their chances against the coming year.
Or maybe they'd all end in fire and ruin again, despite their best efforts.
Agreed. Might as well make use of the machinery now that we've built it, he agreed, wry humor entering his voice again as he began to paddle. Wings were well and good for floating, but he was no goose to get airborne again with wild kicks and pinions flapping safe above the water. It was the old-fashioned way for the dragon, and he turned his tail to the waves to let them help boost him towards the distant shore. We should have a fire out here some night. Roast fresh fish on the beach and remember those we've lost... I can teach people how to make fire lanterns to send out over the sea, where they won't burn anything down if they fall out of the sky too early. Our own little Festival of Lights, he mused thoughtfully.
Best to do it soon, before another LongNight made the too-long list any longer.
Then it was a multitude of notions, of plans, of ruminations, and he wished he could’ve conjured a piece of paper across the sea in order to remember and recall it all when the next season arrived. For now, he’d have to commit it to recollection, schemes, and musings, jot the plans down when he returned home or to the barracks. Another point in time, they’d done the same for Fiat Lux, and the familiar press of failure cut through his mind again – notched another feathering of his jaw, while he stared and listened. “Yes.” A forum, perhaps in the newly-built Temple, to ensure understandings and comprehensions pierced and punctured through. They’d proffer their warnings over and over and over again; and maybe that would be enough.
A part of him already knew the answer – the singular, foreboding essence rampaging down his spine.
“We could,” Deimos prospered in return though, utilizing the efforts and hands of the Artisan’s Guild members. He’d intended to have them making some form of carpeting with the snow moss, and stitching together hides for warmth. The fiend floated along, making a couple turns with arms and legs, adjusting his position along the top of the waves. The other statement, one of fires along coastlines, of setting out lantern lights to blister across undulations and currents, might have caused the slightest smile to appear on the Sword’s face, before he dashed it away, glancing up at the clouds. “You could post a notice about that too. See who might be interested.”
under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed
A return to single words and long silences, the General content to let the dragon chatter enough for both of them. Jigano didn't mind as much now that he'd gotten used to how their conversations dipped and rose, and the affirmations were enough to begin planning again, anew, always, the cycle carrying them through the days and seasons.
The waves and incoming tide pushed him faster than he expected now that he wasn't fighting it to try and stay in place as the dragon sent an occasional glance to the far more graceful human floating effortlessly nearby. It wasn't a promise to come, but it was encouragement and he took it as such, humming thoughtfully. I had been thinking a smaller gathering but... you're right. Maybe I can make it something to share with whoever wants to come. I've magic enough to spare to make the supplies if more people show up than I expect. Maybe I can start a new tradition, he added with a rumbling chuckle. That would be something worth being remembered for. Claws caught sand on the push from one wave, and by the next he was half-swimming, half-walking as he lifted his wings free of the saltwater and then folded them neatly across his back again. I'll think on it. Hopefully the next time I see you will be as relaxing as this one was. Happy swimming, Deimos, he offered, courteous as he waded up the shore before shaking himself off. There were notions to write down, plans to lay, people to speak to... but there was a renewed sense of energy, too, as he arched his neck and lashed his tail with determination to return to the cycle in the hopes of saving a few more lives and souls this time around.
