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!
He’d asked and received – except the task was beyond collecting leaves, water, soil, or bones as he’d done in the past – to the point where the more he thought about it, the more awkward the notions became.
How does one approach an Ascended and ask them for an upgrade? Or to drain half their body fluid for the sake of everyone else? Battles and machinations were in his repertoire, but discourse certainly wasn’t.
Unfortunately, the first one he thought of was Amalia’s sibling, someone who’d granted and given them a valuable gift for their impending marriage, and Deimos didn’t have much in way of return. Perhaps once he’d figured out how to enable his creation magic into something more, he could grant that in exchange, some form of an I owe you. But if this didn’t work, and his speech wasn’t convincing, then he could try and find someone else. He merely presumed the options were rather limited.
Zuriel tagged along, somewhat amused by the entire situation or the level of apprehension layered in his bones, and without further avoidance, he knocked on the door of the bookshop.
Sam had been rather ashamed to discover the dust on the back of his books, especially towards the darker end of the store away from the window. He'd been trying to find one specific tome for sale when he'd dislodged the cloud and had to step down to stop himself coughing on it. Had it been in his own personal collection he might have left it for another day, but as they were in his shop, they needed cleaning.
He was invested in this task, wiping down each book with a cloth before he got to the shelf itself, when there was a knock on the door. During opening hours people usually simply walked in, so this caught his attention. Carefully and slowly stepping down his ladder he then tried to quickly get to the door and open it, was surprised to see Deimos. He and his soon to be brother-in-law had gotten along fine in the few times they'd spoken, but he had not ever known the man to be a voracious reader or a great friend.
"Oh! Hello. Would you like to come in..? I was just cleaning in the back, but I could help you find something if you need me to..?" He asked, stepping back to let Deimos into the building.
Greetings received, and the stoic man became all the more reticent and reserved, stepping in through the threshold, eyes flickering as a predator might, quick inspections and scrutinies on the books, on things he might’ve learned or curiously dug through, had he not been here for something else entirely. His mind too sharpened by every other edge, the shop’s interior faded from his machinations. “Samuel,” he indicated with a nod, stiff and unyielding, Zuriel following through (a judgmental snort loudly ricocheting along the walls as she inhaled some dust, then glanced to the Ascended with disdain). His darting stare from the unicorn, with a shake of his head, returned to Amalia’s brother, not even certain how or where to start this particular conversation. “I came to see you, actually.”
He placed himself somewhere along the doorframe, to watch, to witness, reactions to the inevitable. “I went to Safrin about creating a door to keep the monsters at bay during LongNight.” The General wasn’t sure how just those words would go over – how infused, embedded, or indebted Samuel was to the Voice; if it was mere heresy to make mentions of others. “She said we could try, if an Ascended was willing to give up an upgrade, and half of their fluid.” He waited for a semblance of movement, of motion, expecting rage, bewilderment, surprise, or some other mix, an in between gesture that he and the goddess might’ve had a massive amount of audacity. It was, in some part, a ridiculous, emboldened proposition, but Deimos had never been one to not try, or back away from a challenge. “Would you be interested?” Not the greatest or grandest of premises, but the notions, the information, was all there.
Deimos was hardly a warm person usually, but he seemed very awkward indeed as he stepped into the bookshop. Sam could tell before it was said that he was not here for a book; no one entered with such hesitation just to buy something. Preparing himself for bad news he let out a quiet breath and grasped his hands behind his back to hear Deimos out. (Zuriel received a momentary disapproving look right back. Sam did not care for horses in his shop).
What it was Deimos did have to say was so unexpected he let go of his hands and they hung limply by his sides as he blinked and tried to come up with words. "...I...um. How would it keep the monsters at bay? Where would you be installing it? In..the old Medical College?" These questions weren't really that important. They were more of a time filler than anything else, something to say while he tried to think over the actual question.
While the part of him that felt desperately protective of his Goddess and people reviled at the idea of giving away that which made them powerful...it would be a way to protect those in the Hollowed Grounds even as he went away. It would be a way to make the perception of the Ascended better: something Wessex might even see as a suitable 'apology' of sorts for going against her vote of fighting the monsters.
"..I would be interested, but with one condition. I'd like it to be made clear and for everyone to know that this door was made with the help of an Ascended. Maybe you could write something on it, I don't know. But I don't want this to be a quiet sacrifice." If Deimos could agree to this, he would have what he desired.
His expectations were minimal at this juncture, mostly resounding and predicting a firm no, and otherwise he fell to silence, eyes roaming along the bookshop, while Samuel pieced together the information. The questions came thereafter, a pause in the refrain and scope of what was to come, either with this Ascended or another. “My thoughts were to repel them – but I will not have control over the nature of its enchantments.” They would have Safrin for that; once everything was settled, configured. A nod was granted to the second inquiry, pondering over potential objections. “Yes, the College.” No one had said or denied it otherwise – brandishing and bolting it upon the door, everyone else who’d decided to stay safely tucked within. In the end, even if the location was altered, it wouldn’t truly matter – the herald would come when they were ready.
If the faith and belief he suddenly had in those moments segmented and twisted around his mind, strange and bizarre, he didn’t say anything.
There seemed to be more calculations and machinations; pleased to see Amalia’s brother was capable of logic, instead of alwaus launching off into the ether as some of their blood was prone to do (last year’s bizarre circumstances with the LongNight chasm not withstanding). He inclined his head and raised his brows slightly at the interest, and then the condition. Samuel wanted credit for his efforts, an emblazoning, a show, that the Ascended had assisted immensely in the campaign to ward off the monsters, the demons, the fiends knocking upon thresholds. The Sword could comprehend that too, along the nature of sacrifices, of too many other mercurial whims embedded and emboldened between the world, of too many other events contorted in the past. “I could do that.” He offered the slightest of smiles, ideas circulating along his mind, arms folding across his chest. “Zuriel can heal you,” and he lifted his chin towards the unicorn, who’d begun snooping and sniffing down an aisle.
"I see...If...if it'll work, it would be very helpful. I can see that." Some security, some way to be sure the monsters wouldn't break down the door at a moment's notice...it was something a lot of people in the Hollowed Grounds would pay dearly for. In fact, Sam was a little jealous he wouldn't have the chance to set something like it up in Torchline, even though (apparently) it was bereft of monsters.
Deimos seemed surprised that he had agreed: he supposed it did seem a rather masochistic thing to want to do, but he was desperate to improve his and the Ascended's reputations. "Good. Thank you."
Sam regarded Zuriel with a slightly less judgemental look, though he was still not entirely happy about the hooves on his floorboards. To Deimos, he asked: "So...are...do you want me to do this now, or closer to LongNight? You see, I was thinking of staying in Torchline for most of Deepfrost, to familiarise myself with the area."
If it’ll work was perhaps the biggest obstacle. For all their purposes, even if the door performed correctly, who was to say it would stop the individuals from charging outside? From being lured, by far-off cries, by anguishing disturbances, by tricks and turns and forces they still couldn’t quite shake off or ignore? But the notions were something to try; amongst and amidst all the other plans upheld by Naturals.
Timing wise would be difficult, especially with an alteration in seasons coming up, with Samuel already deciding upon Torchline. His brows furrowed slightly, lost in mulling, musing thoughts, a channel of deliberation and machinations. While Zuriel searched and snooped, completely ignoring Deimos’ silent glares, the Sword turned back to the Ascended, weighing his own answer. “Understandable.” He nodded, pondering over the situation. “I will leave that up to you. Would you rather do it now, where we have more time to work with?” As opposed to rushing? Would it give him more time to recover, before heading towards the sea?
More time to work with could hardly be a bad thing, so Sam didn't see much point in doing the thing any other time than now. Besides, it would mean he had less chance to think of every thing that could go wrong with it. Just one last concern. "...You say Zuriel could heal me, but could she restore fluid? Do you have...someone for me drink from?" He didn't dare suggest it could be Deimos himself, rather sure that wasn't on the table.
Assuming Deimos did have some sort of answer to that question Sam would guide them out, get his coat and lock up the shop after putting out the embers in the fireplace. This felt like something impulsive, which was usually a bad idea, but he tried to press that down. "Um...how are you going to..take the upgrade?"
The questions were understandable. If Deimos were in Samuel’s position, he wasn’t certain he would’ve even accepted the assertions and trials; left them to figure out their mess in some other way. His eyes went to Zuriel briefly, a nod confirming. “She can. She helped heal Rexanna.” An action Samuel had been a part of, in the last LongNight debacle. Having someone for Samuel to drink from instigated another arch of his brow; considering he had no idea if anyone would be privy to the idea of donating upgrades or other portions of themselves, he hadn’t seen a need of procuring this rumination in advance (or at all, really – hadn’t even crossed his mind). “No,” confirmed it in a straightforward answer; presuming the unicorn’s abilities would work out fine.
Following Samuel to wherever they were going felt odd, purposefully diminishing his stride, gaze occasionally on Zuriel, who ambled on behind, either unimpressed by the entire occasion or just waiting for her turn in the spotlight. While the Ascended’s inquiries were good, the Sword found himself lacking a lot of information; namely because his understandings of their race was minimal and minuscule, imparted usually by Rexanna or Wessex. How did they keep their upgrades? Were they biological parts stored somewhere? Did they work like everyone else’s magical items, to be taken away and placed back? He shrugged his shoulders, as if the inquiry didn’t bother him. “How do you acquire them?” Where did they go – in case one needed to be removed?
"Oh, yes, of course." Sam nodded, recalling now. LongNight had been such a mess he barely remembered specifics. That Deimos did not have anyone for him to drink from was a slight concern, but he hoped that the unicorn then could refill his fluid...if not, he'd have to try and call in a favour, though he had no idea who from. He supposed if he ran out into the street and offered the sexual bliss of the bite he'd likely get one taker, but he was not the kind of man to serve himself up like that.
Deimos' question made Sam pause as he realised suddenly just what giving his upgrade would involve: he automatically went to hold his hands together. "Um...Well. The one I could give...when I lost my fingers last LongNight, The Voice gave me new ones...with the upgrade. I..don't think I can give you the upgrade without..." The first sign of proper faltering in this task, Sam slowed down til he was barely moving forward at all, staring at his fingers.
The implications of what Samuel was surrendering over gave him pause; not like their magical adornments or items at all, but things imbedded, infused, with their forms. Far more valuable than swords catching flame, or vessels that absorbed incantations, because the Ascendeds were fused into them, real and tangible, but not as easy to pluck away. Likely done purposefully, the Voice’s machinations at work, so her brightened children couldn’t be so easily rendered into destruction.
Except when they volunteered them away.
The weight of the decision, of Samuel’s sacrifices, wouldn’t go unnoticed, and he certainly wouldn’t simply take and leave him with naught in return. “I have removed limbs before,” while not the greatest line, and probably well-predicted anyway, he carried on, thoughts rendered on Amun’s hand. “I can replace them, make you a prosthetic.” He tilted his head, nearly cat-like, a predator’s machinations toiling, mulling over the possibilities. Metallic fingers or limb in general, other figments and fabrications Samuel would prefer.
There were few things that could have effectively totally taken Sam out of his fugue, but the sentenced 'I have removed limbs before' certainly did it. He turned to look at Deimos with wide eyes, though he supposed after a moment it made sense enough, from what he knew of the man's past as a warrior. Still, the thought made him a little queasy.
"A...prosthetic. Right. ..Good enough that I could still make my books?" Because that was really what mattered: he couldn't feel the pain of the cut, nor did he have to use his hands to fight nor did he care too much about his appearance. Without his craft though, he did not know what his life would look like. Slowly getting back into the rhythm of this strange dark conversation he began to walk again towards the college, still cradling one hand in the other.
Hm. Perhaps that line hadn’t put the Ascended at ease, based on the reaction. This wouldn’t be the first, and probably not the last, that another had stared upon him with widened eyes and the briefest traces of fear. As the Reaper, it amused him greatly, to watch the rest of the world scamper and flee at his presence, to place the art of intimidation into the fold well before he’d advanced upon an adversary. Here though, where everyone had somehow found connections and bonds, where they’d earned their footholds, where they’d managed to muster a sense of community, it merely made him silent and quiet again. A shrug of his shoulders, to angle the ruminations and sentiments off and away.
While Zuriel meandered at his side, distracted by movements of others amidst the town, his eyes traversed and trailed over the pathways, realizing they were heading towards the College, the familiar backdrop looming ahead. They only glided briefly back to Samuel’s form, who seemed all the more apprehensive at the inquiry. “I can make it to your liking.” However Samuel required or requested until it was applicable and manifested aptly; maneuvering digits might be difficult, but he could likely render them still enough to hold a book, to copy over pages, to not leave the man without his capacity. Perhaps Amalia’s sibling thought him to be more of an avaricious beast – proficient at snagging, taking, and maiming another for something offered, without anything left in the fringes.
In another world, it would’ve been more than likely. Helovia, and certainly Basiners, had learned to greedily claw their way through anything and everything, and leave the rest for dust, cinders, and ash.
In Caido though, he had no such need. “I would not leave you incapable of your occupation.”
The College was nearing now, something Sam was both happy for and terrified about; he had made this decision so quickly and still felt it was the right thing to do, but the realities of what he'd agreed to were really beginning to sink in with each further step he took. At least Deimos reassured him he would still be able to make his books after...if that were the case (and he didn't think Deimos was the kind to lie) he supposed it wasn't all that bad.
It wasn't like he'd feel the pain, after all.
"How...soon do you think you could make it? I wouldn't like to be out of action too long, especially not with LongNight coming..." He chewed at his lip as the door came into view, forcing himself to glance over at Deimos instead.
