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!
a thousand faces staring at me, a thousand times i've fallen
He’s not particularly used to having a choice, when it comes to things that involve him. And he exhales a low sigh as he hears Loren decide on a flavor. It settles something, being in the face of having to choose something, and when Loren returns to the table he keeps his gaze on the woodgrain, almost as if he’s inspecting it as Loren sits across from him. “Vases are nice.” He agrees quietly. “And… Trophy boards.” For those Luxere with giant racks, for Ursurs slain in the snows.
But the mention of Korbin and how Loren knew him has him taking a shaky inhale, lifting his gaze to glance toward the man before he focuses on the medical bag the summoner had given him. “Th-There’s a hairline crack in it.” He manages at first. “It was… Easy… To fix.” He explains, tilting his head as if he’s inspecting the bag now.
Some sort of surprise crosses over him at Loren’s open admission, pale cheeks growing even further scarlet as he focuses on the summoner again, more so the man’s chest than his eyes. “I… Think I do.” He explains, not quite fully, but enough to hopefully get it across. But he shrinks away further when Loren leans forward, returning his attention to the bag. “Y-Yeah, everythings okay.” He manages, swallowing hard. “I just… I don’t get out much is all.”
At the mention of trophy boards, Astra let out an unhappy bleat and trotted over to the bed Loren had made for her in the corner. As she settled into it, clearly not liking Glas for some reason, the healer shot her an apologetic smile. Then he returned his attention back to the craftsman. "That's fascinating. What sorts of designs do you use for decoration?" The Launceleyn found himself leaning forward, genuinely interested in the answer.
As the other man stammered a response, Loren smiled gently. "I'm sure it wasn't that easy. Otherwise, anyone could do it." Perhaps he shouldn't have attempted humor, as weak as it was: Glas looked about ready to sink into the floor.
The healer tilted his head to one side, brow furrowing slightly at the craftsman's statement. "What makes you say that." As the other man explained a bit of his behavior, the Launceleyn let out a breath. "I see." Drumming his fingers on the table, his eyes narrowed a bit. "Does talking to strangers makes you nervous? And maybe getting out generally?" His gaze swept across Glas, taking in all the telltale signs of anxiety and stress.
a thousand faces staring at me, a thousand times i've fallen
Astra’s bleat causes Glas to fidget a bit more, glancing to the Luxere and mouthing a quiet sorry to the creature before his attention focuses briefly back on Loren’s chest. “S-Stripes are popular.” He begins, pausing to contemplate. “I like… Marble mostly, though.” Marble, because it wasn’t perfect, veins and spiderwebbing in random splotching spaces that still somehow looked beautiful and unique every time.
There is some awkwardness surrounding the humor that Loren attempts, and Glas melts a bit more with it, cheeks reddening ever so slightly and unable to come up with a response to that and so he tries to ignore it – forgetting it instead in favor for talking about himself. Or… Perhaps more accurately, less in favor. The questions he’s asked, he’s not sure how to reply to either but then Loren questions if talking to strangers makes him nervous and he shrinks a bit more inward on himself.
“I… I don’t get out a lot.” He begins to say again. “Not after the accident.” It’s quieter, and he hunches a bit closer in himself.
As Glas responded, Loren nodded. The tea had steeped long enough, so he poured two cups, and slid one in front of the craftsman. "Interesting. What do you like about marble? And what's the favorite thing you've ever made?" The healer curled his fingers around his cup, enjoying the warmth.
When the other man repeated himself, the Launceleyn frowned slightly. However, he smoothed it out, forcing himself to smile softly instead. "Accident? What happened?" He leaned forward a bit, expression still gentle, as was his voice. "You don't have to tell me about it if you're not comfortable." However, he found his eyes narrowing slightly, and he stared intently at Glas.
a thousand faces staring at me, a thousand times i've fallen
What did he like about marble? He focuses on the glass instead, keeping the medical bag in his lap as he reaches for the comfort of the tea, the warmth it brings in the cup and stares into the liquid when it’s offered. “Thank you.” It’s an automatic response, once again, always a please and thank you – yes sir, no sir. Unless you were Loren and requested not to be called as such. “Marble doesn’t have to be perfect.” He answers surprisingly easier than before, no stutter in that though there was a moment of hesitation beforehand. As for his favorite thing? Well, that was hard to pinpoint. “The Kraai… Has pretty cups that I made. Kind of… Kind of like the marble but not.” The ones that swirled, had detailed etching within the glass.
It was a repetition, because that was what he’d been instilled to tell people when it happened – an automatic response even if he stumbled over it occasionally. But most people tended to take it at face value – handing off what he requested or what he gave, turning away and forgetting as he hoped Loren would do. But no, the Healer pries further, and perhaps it’s the fact that he’s an Outlander that he hadn’t heard about it.
He works at his lip while he debates, because maybe it would answer a question or two and get this over with sooner. “There… Was an accident with the c-cannibals. Near Whitebrim.” He says, staring intensely down into his cup, a finger trembling slightly. “They attacked me.” And his family, though it went unsaid, and he hunches further down and focuses on trying to blow on the cup of tea to cool it, to avoid more of that intense gaze, more of those prying questions.
"You're welcome." Loren took a sip from his tea. When Glas explained why he liked marble, the healer smiled. "That sounds nice." His eyes widened as the craftsman spoke about the glasses. "Oh! I've seen those. They're really nice." Tone complimentary, the Launceleyn grinned.
As the other man explained, at least a little, what had happened, Loren found his expression growing sympathetic. Indeed he winced at the mention of of cannibals. "I've had a few run ins with them. They're a nasty bunch." For a moment, he tapped his finger against his cup, brow furrowed in thought. "Would you mind telling me about the attack?" He spoke in a low and soothing voice.
a thousand faces staring at me, a thousand times i've fallen
He nods along with Loren, after the comment of marble hits. It did sound nice, it was exactly the reason Glas liked it so much. However, under the compliments of Loren, Glas doesn’t know what to do either. Does he shrink further under the attention? Does he try and preen and prove that he was the one that made them? Well… Neither, really, because he was the one that made them and anyone who asked would know that. So he shrinks a bit more, though a soft smile hints on the corner of his mouth, the one with the scar before it fades with the next question.
The fact that Loren thought the cannibals were a nasty bunch were a relatively huge understatement, in Glas’ mind. But he asks for more details, and Glas begins to fidget again, a foot tapping lightly against the floor, his fingers rubbing at the material the cup for the tea was made out of. “I-It was dark and we were coming back from getting more… Supplies.” He begins, taking a deep inhale. “And I couldn’t pull the sled so my parents… My parents took the sled and I had to look ahead.” And he’d guided them a bit off course too close to Whitebrim.
“There… There were a lot of them and they grabbed… They grabbed me.” He explains, hopefully that would be enough. He was here now, wasn’t he?
There were flashes and hints that Glas appreciated Loren's words. Unfortunately, they were hidden far too quickly for his tastes as the craftsman shrank away again. The healer bit his lip, then shifted back into a soft smile as the other man recounted his experience. When he finished the Launceleyn sighed. "I'm sorry you had to go through all that. It sounds very traumatic." He gave Glas a sympathetic look.
Loren took a sip from his cup, then set it down again. "Have you been stressed and scared since that experience?" Tilting his head to one side, he smiled reassuringly at the craftsman. "Because if you have been, I might be able to help you."
a thousand faces staring at me, a thousand times i've fallen
There’s a nod given to Loren as he focuses on the tea in the cup. His gaze flickers along the rim of the cup before it lifts a few moments after to look toward Loren but still not quite at him as he mentions stress and scared, working on his lower lip as he doesn’t ask more questions about the encounter, but more questions that make him relatively uncomfortable to answer.
“I’ve… Always k-kinda been like this.” He explains, lifting the cup of tea to his lips to sip from and focus on that in his hands, listening to the question that Loren might have something to help him with. And he’s not entirely sure how that works, how it would, when nothing else had worked. “We-We tried before… It doesn’t work.” He adds a bit quickly, frowning a bit as he focuses on a vase sitting on the table, the flower that sits within.
His brows furrow slightly at it, the concentration given as the flower’s petals begin to wither ever so slightly. His green gaze flickers to Loren then, as if that were explanation enough.
Raising his eyebrows as Glas mentioned he'd always been this way, Loren hummed thoughtfully. "How old were you when the incident occurred?" His finger kept tapping against the cup, a habit he'd never gotten around to breaking.
However, he couldn't help but smile a bit fiercely as the craftsman went on to say they'd tried to help it before. "Well, I haven't tried before." There wasn't pride in the healer's voice so much as confidence in his own abilities.
As the other man stared intently at the vase, the Launceleyn glanced at it as well. As he watched, the flower inside wilted, dying before his eyes. "Ah. Life drain?" He pressed his lips together, though his expression was thoughtful.
"Do you mind if I try anyway? I promise I'll stop if you become uncomfortable." However, if Glas gave permission, Loren would reach out a hand and lay it on the craftsman's own. With that link, the healer would send healing magic through the other man. While the Launceleyn knew it probably wouldn't work, he hadn't tried in a while, and he was a lot, lot stronger than he'd been before.
a thousand faces staring at me, a thousand times i've fallen
“F-Fifteen.” He admits. Four years ago now.
But the confidence of the summoner has him pausing, shifting his attention and not commenting on Loren’s own confidence – something Glas very clearly lacked. But he focuses on the flower, watching it wilt before his eyes, looking back toward Loren as he focuses on the thoughtful expression, averting his gaze toward the cup once more. “My parents wanted crafting.” He admits quietly. And somehow, for some reason, he gnaws on his lip. “I wanted healing.”
Just another quiet admission.
But Loren offers to try, and Glas knows it will not work, but Loren offers his hand out to rest atop Glas’ own and he lets him. He feels the attempt Loren makes, the way Glas body rejects every single bit of everything Loren tries to pour through, and after a few moments of that warring, raging attempts, Glas pulls his hand away with a shake of his head. “D-Didn’t work.”
Although Loren didn't know how old Glas was, he was definitely younger than the healer. Nodding, his finger kept tapping on the cup. Taking a sip, he smiled at the craftsman. "If you want to be a healer, I'd be more than happy to train you. There are lots of ways to treat people that don't involve magic." The Launceleyn gestured at the shelves and cupboards full of medicine.
The healing magic didn't work, sort of bouncing off the other man, and Loren pulled his hand back. "I'm not done yet." Indeed, there was still that intent and focused expression on his face.
Brow furrowing, he took a deep breath. Letting it out, he summoned a unicorn. Ordering it to lay its horn on Glas' skin, the healer targeted the craftsman's mind specifically. The Launceleyn had finally found out that healing magic could help with mental ailments as well, and he was hopefully this might help the other man.
a thousand faces staring at me, a thousand times i've fallen
“No, it’s okay.” He tries to insist, tries to pretend as though the fact that he had life drain and could in theory heal without it was fine to him. Besides, he was a crafter. That’s what he did. He was supposed to take up the name of the business from his parents and move on keeping the dream alive. He has to stay. And so he does.
But the healing magic doesn’t work, just as Glas had imagined it wouldn’t — because they’d tried to rid the scar on his face, tried to fix the wrongs his parents saw in his mind, and nothing had worked. He just had to deal with it.
But there is the surprise of the unicorn appearing, the rattling of a cup and Glas’ heartbeat thundering in his ears as it rests its sharp horn against his hand — and he panics. He pushes away from the table, abandoning the cup of tea and clutching the bag of supplies and presses himself into the corner where he can get the furthest away from the unicorn. “N-n-no thanks.” He says again, because what kind of thoughts might run through his parents' minds if he returned and was somewhat okay? “I’m fine. I-I’m okay.” He tries to urge, keeping his focus on the unicorn.
Still smiling as reassuringly as he could at Glas, Loren nodded. "Okay. Let me know if you change your mind. You can usually find me here, or any of the guards in the Palace can tell you where I am. I'm always happy to make time for you." Voice low and gentle, he took another sip from his tea to let that idea sink in to the craftsman's mind.
However, at the first signs of distress the healer waved a hand to dismiss the unicorn. He stayed right where he was, trying to radiate peace and calm as the other man panicked. "I won't do anything to you that you're uncomfortable with." The Launceleyn smiled again. "But I would like to help you, and I really think I can." However, it was Glas' choice.
