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!
She just laughs, looking absolutely unconcerned about Loren’s statement. His apologetic smile is hardly needed. ”That he really does,” she agrees, ”particularly lately.” He’s been more of a handful than ever before, and the recent curses have only made it worse.
Her grin is clearly pleased at the mention of her fire, though she cannot take all the credit. Deimos had been there, after all. ”You did summon a bear,” she points out. ”It is hardly your fault the golem had stellar aim,” she says, rubbing at her shoulder and the phantom bruise.
She looks at him at the idea of giving up on being good. ”You define good in your own life. Do not let others define it for you.” To do so is to give them too much power over a life that is not theirs to live.
Smiling, Loren rubbed the back of his head a bit sheepishly. "How's he doing? With the curses and...everything else?" Biting his lip, he gave Weaver a concerned look. Despite whatever difficulties he might've had for Korbin, the healer wanted nothing but the best for her younger brother.
Letting out a huff of laughter, the Launceleyn shook his head. "Maybe not, but my bear failed to actually block anything. It's alright, though. Nobody got hurt and we took care of the golem as a team." He smiled, pleased that particular endeavor had gone mostly smoothly.
Rolling his eyes a bit, he snorted. "Well, I know that now," he pointed out in a wry tone. Still, he nodded slowly. "And I know you're right too." Grinning at her, he leaned over to nudge her with his shoulder. "So what is good to you? Or if not good, feel free to substitute whatever term most appeals to you."
”He is worse than he was before,” she admits, stuffing her hands into her pockets as they walk, exhaling a long breath. ”I didn’t quite think it was possible, but the silence must be getting to him.” He can’t play his lute, can talk but doesn’t. His voice barely sounds like his own anymore. Not an ideal curse, and though maybe there is something to learn from it, he’s clearly not going to learn it.
She shoots him a glance, eyebrows raised. ”Nobody got hurt?” she says, though it’s clear her tone is teasing. However, technically she got hurt. Even if it was only a bruise, and one that she wouldn’t have worried about even without healing magic. Still, she cannot help herself.
She pauses, thinking for a moment. How does she define good? It is a fluid thing, shifting as the situations around her shift. ”It is doing what it takes. What it takes to survive, to help those I care about, to do the least unnecessary damage.” Not unlike what he had said before, and she nods her head slightly in his direction to acknowledge it. Though she adds the word unnecessary, because sometimes, there was no avoiding it.
Nodding along to Weaver's words, Loren frowned. "As far as I'm aware, every curse can be broken." Searching her features, he bit his lip. "Only the gods know what might lift this one, though." He sighed, scrubbing his face in an agitated gesture.
Thankfully, her complaint about their encounter with the golem proved a welcome distraction. Rolling his eyes again, he gave her a playful shove. ”You call that getting hurt? Alright, fine, you big baby." Tone teasing, he grinned unapologetically.
When she explained her definition of good, he nodded again. "To doing the least amount of unnecessary harm then." Smiling, he lifted an imaginary glass in a toast. "Now come on. I'd like an actual drink as payment for my services here today." Clearly joking (though not about the drink) he nudged her with a hip as they headed back through the portal and on to the long walk home.
Weaver shrugs, uncertain herself what might lift the curse. Time perhaps, another visit to the shrine. As annoying as the hiccups were, the deafness was the worst part. He couldn’t play his music, couldn’t really talk to her. She wrote notes, but it wasn’t the same. ”Maybe the gods will decide to be kind,” she says, with only vague amounts of hope.
”And yet you were there to rescue me,” she teases, giving him a playful little nudge. It’d hardly been an injury and she’d hardly needed rescuing, but that was really beside the point.
She nods at the mention of a drink. ”Though sounds like a good idea to me,” she agrees, stepping through the portal with him, the dead banshee, and the rags for Ludo.
