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!
12-29-2018, 01:28 PM (This post was last modified: 12-29-2018, 01:39 PM by Samuel.)
S A M U E L
Communing with the Gods for his life-force was always an unpleasant experience, one Samuel felt grimly obligated to do for no actions of his own. He always shut the shop on days he made the pilgrimage, knowing he'd need a rest afterwards. Usually, he took a walk to clear his head then treated himself to something sugary in the evening; the height of luxury in his simple bookish life.
He had wandered towards the bone bridge mainly by accident, but the structure had always fascinated him anyway and he was always interested in learning more of histories that could transport him away from himself. With a little parasol held over his face to block the sun, it was calming to be alone and in the quiet.
He sat by the edge of the bridge, touching the strange stone with his fingertip to feel the cold white beneath. It was clear why it had gotten the name 'bone bridge' but Sam felt it more resembled pottery; thinking a bridge made of old pots might be a good start for a story, he jotted it down in his notebook.
He peered over into the gorge. Mist curled up to greet him, the effect making it hard to see just how deep it was. Gently, he moved to sit with his legs hanging over the edge, looking out into the mist. It seemed a type of weather greatly close to his own heart, sombre and low. He was so busy contemplating this he didn't notice when the ground beneath him began to crack, just slightly; places where weight had not been put for years suddenly giving way.
Sam managed to begin to scrabble backwards, pushing himself back just in time to watch the rock before him tumble down into the gorge. Deep, panicked breaths ripping out of him, he continued to push back, whimpers most undignified pushing their way through. Of course, even though he had been alone this whole time, as soon as he was being embarrassing he heard footsteps coming down the path towards him.
He didn't have time to get up and pretend nothing had happened; he was sure he had a terrible dirty stain on his pants from scrabbling about in the dirt too. For the moment he just tried to collect himself on the edge of the path, hoping whoever was coming would give him the kindness of ignoring him.
Whilst Samuel would not be so lucky in that he would be ignored, the approaching stranger was at least kind about it. "Hello? Are you alright?" Isla had broken into a gentle trot to reach him, and was slightly out of breath as she came across the man with the parasol scrabbling back from the edge of the gorge.
The healer had been using some time away from the infirmary to pay her ex-patients a visit, in truth. Luckily enough, Remi owned an alchemy shop that was not far from the Bounty Hunters Guild, and Isla had been able to call on both of them without too much extra effort.
Once that was done she had gone for a stroll in the ruins, always on the lookout for something new, some herb undiscovered or some anomaly that needed to be investigated. Instead, she came across Sam.
Isla didn't draw too close, worried that the ground might still be unstable, but she did offer the man a kind smile. "Are you hurt?" she asked.
Sam looked up at his concerned stranger - at least she seems nice, he thought, thinking back on meeting Archebold in the Atheneum under similarly embarrassing circumstances. He had definitely not been nice. "Y-yes, I'm fine." He tried to reassure her, but he did take some effort in getting up with the sun on him and his legs stiff from the panicked move backward.
Dusting off his clothes as subtly as he could he was about to answer her second question similarly dismissively, when he caught a glance of his hand as he reached for his parasol.
There was not a cut, as such - he felt blood or at least something recognisably a wound had to be present for that. But his palm was sliced open, likely on a rock as he had crawled back. He stared at it. There was the ghost of something similar to pain, a tingling feeling along the edges; a sticky clear substance just underneath. It was alien, and he hated reminders of his 'predicament'.
"...I...will be alright. I think." He said, still staring at his hand. "I-um-I'm not. Normal. So I don't need the...h-help. But thank you."
"Are you sure...? I could..." What, exactly, she didn't know. Hold the parasol for him? Help him up? Check him over? All were very valid ideas, but before Isla could settle on any one of them he was already on his feet and dusting himself off. A cursory glance over him proved that he did seem to be alright, but she zoned in on his hand at the same time as he did. Stepping forward, she caught sight of the cut but there wasn't blood oozing from it so much as... something... else. Her lips parted to ask a question, but the stranger seemed more forthcoming than expected, and explained at least that he wasn't 'normal', in his words.
"Oh, I... I see. I mean... I work at the infirmary, so I could still patch it up for you if you like..." Curiosity burned in her - she couldn't help herself, and the chance to see something like this more closely almost never came along. "What do you mean by not being normal, if you don't mind my asking? Ah, but... this might be a better conversation away from the edge of the bridge, right?"
She worked at the infirmary, which meant she definitely would know this was strange. Still, the idea of a proper treatment was a good one, and honestly Sam desperately wanted someone to make him feel better right now. Even the question she asked, which normally would make his heart sink, wasn't so bad because of her kind voice.
Sam stepped away from the edge, getting back to the path proper before he spoke. Holding up his palm towards Isla to show her the cut, he stuttered his way through an explanation.
"Y-you see, I don't have bl-blood. Not anymore. Not since..." He sighed. "They called it Ascended, but I don't feel like I'm any b-better. Not in the way anyone wanted. I just can't enjoy the sun anymore-" He lifted his parasol. "-or feel anything properly. And I have to go to the Gods all the t-t-time."
Isla followed him away from the edge of the gorge, and once their feet were on reassuringly solid ground, she stepped closer to examine his hand. Providing he didn't protest, she would reach out to check the cut over, visibly surprised at the lack of blood. Well, that wasn't strictly true. There was blood, but it didn't look like blood. Or it was something else acting like blood. She didn't know, but she was interested in finding out.
As he began to speak Isla glanced up from his hand, a small frown on her face. "You are bleeding, though..." she pointed out, reaching into her pocket to withdraw a handkerchief, dabbing at the cut and trying to check how deep it was. "Sorry," she said automatically, assuming it would sting.
Ascended, though? That was different. Isla's gaze flicked from the parasol to his face and back to the cut, her mind racing with questions she had to stifle down. "I'm... I don't think I follow," she murmured. "I'm not native to this place. What do you mean, going to the gods?"
"I..suppose I am, but it isn't r-red." Sam pointed out, trying to not feel like an idiot for saying something so horrendously obvious. He flinched as she touched the cut, a memory of pain with no actual weight behind it. As much of a wimp as he had always been, he wished in that moment he could feel the sting of the cloth; the reminder that he was alive.
Her question was innocent, obvious from an Outlander, but it still made him sigh heavily and hold his parasol further over his face.
"Well...um. I was made...different, by the Gods. By my family. I can...do some things." He didn't elaborate on this, not wanting to focus on it and hardly someone who used his God-given powers often anyway. "But it's not good. I can't be in the sun or feel anything anymore and--and-" Knowing he'd get too emotional if he continued this, he took a deep breath and stopped.
"Sometimes I have to go to the Gods to ask for more..um. Power." That was a simplification, an altering of the exact truth, but he didn't want to tell a stranger all about his body fluids. "I don't like doing it.."
He was certainly right about that much, and Isla couldn't remember having treated anyone who didn't have red blood. She smiled apologetically at his flinch, though the reaction contradicted what he said about what the Gods and his family(?) had seemingly done to him. "Oh," Isla said, for there didn't seem to be much more she could say to that. The healer dabbed a little further at the cut and, determining that it wasn't exactly going to kill him, gently wrapped the handkerchief about his palm and let his hand go.
"It should heal without any interference from me," she said warmly, her smile turning a little brighter. "Feel free to keep that, though. It would be best to keep it covered to stop it from getting worse." She nodded at the handkerchief, turning her attention now to what else he had said.
The aversion to light; the inability to feel things...
"Do... I apologise, because this is going to sound incredibly strange. But... do you have fangs, perchance?"
Sam looked at the handkerchief around his hand, turning it this way and that; he did not receive many gifts (or indeed, any) and even the small gesture was enough to make him smile wide.
"Thank you, then. I can wash and r-return it, though..." He mumbled almost automatically, never wanting to be a bother. Still he brought his hand down and curled his fingers around the cloth, his other hand holding his parasol closer. He was about to make excuses to leave, when...he couldn't help the frown at the question.
"...I..um." Isla had been very helpful so far, not to mention kind. He usually hated to discuss his affliction or show any evidence of it, but she didn't know that. With a sigh, he nodded then opened his mouth, pointing to his sharpened teeth. Mouth still open, he tried to speak. "Don' 'oouch 'em. Sharp."
"That isn't necessary. Just take care of that hand, that would be enough for me." Isla smiled to him and linked her hands in front of her, the healer prepared for any number of polite rebuttals in response to her question. She wouldn't have blamed him at all - she was aware that it was a very personal ask, but if she was right about her hunch (and it turned out that she was) then she was about to find out something particularly interesting about Caido and its Ascended population.
Her eyes widened a fraction as he showed her his fangs, Isla nodding at his warning and peering at them curiously, before smiling again and straightening up so he could close his mouth and be more comfortable. "That's... it's strange. Where I came from, people could choose to become something similar to you... they... well, they were named Bloodfiends. A few of them were dropped in this place along with me, and it seems that they might have become... what was it you said? Ascended?" Very curious indeed. "Thank you for letting me see. It doesn't sound as though you enjoy being what you are, though."
Isla looked a little alarmed at first, but seemed to be alright with his fangs after a moment's consideration. Samuel was glad for that; the last thing he needed was Outlanders running from him yelling and bringing lots of attention his way.
"Bloodfiends...? That sounds much more threatening..." He supposed at least here he was Ascended and not a...Bloodfiend. That seemed like a title he'd have a much harder time getting away from.
"Yes, Ascended. And I...did not choose it. It was the choice of.." Sam paused, unsure of whether he wanted to discuss this with a stranger, but she had brought it up and it wasn't a particular secret. "...My family. They thought perhaps the g-gift could correct my flaws. It...didn't. I haven't seen them for a few years now." He tried to shrug casually as if this did not bother him, but he could feel the pained expression on his face.
"It is not common. Usually Ascended choose it and are...in-inordinately proud of it. I think it's stupid-" Sam rarely spoke negatively of things or got angry, but something of that side of him showed through "-to be proud of something you didn't even do. Th-this life is not as good anyway. You can hardly feel anything and you need to do things with Gods constantly."
"Yes, I admit the name could have used a little work," Isla agreed with a soft laugh, tucking a lock of fair hair back behind her ear where it had escaped. Granted, the Bloodfiends of Northwind had been made to be soldiers and nothing more, so it was hardly surprising that they possessed a suitably intimidating moniker. It seemed, however, like things here worked very differently indeed. Not only did Sam not appear to be a warrior, he had not chosen the life for himself and nor did he seem to enjoy it very much.
Isla frowned gently. "Correct your... flaws?" she asked, shaking her head. "I apologise, it is none of my business. But I can't see anything like you would call a flaw... if it's something medical, though, I would be happy to offer any advice."
Now that she had drawn the connection between Ascended and Bloodfiends it seemed to make sense a little more, about him not being able to feel very much. It was doing things with Gods that was a little strange to her. "Where I was from, Bloodfiends used to drink from those around them. Hence 'blood'fiend... speaking of names, though, I'm Isla."
"It-It's not medical." This was not a topic Sam broached with anyone, much less strangers, but Isla asked and he found himself speaking before he'd thought about it. "My family did not like me. They think I'm too...soft. A-and quiet. They wanted a strong man...like my father. But being Ascended d-didn't do it. It just made me more..." He vaguely gestured to himself as if it would be clear what was wrong with him.
His name was something that was much easier to talk about. "Oh! I'm Samuel. Wordsworth. I sell books at the settlement. And..." He rubbed the back of his neck, knowing of the possibility of drinking from people but never having done so.
"We can drink from people but...we can also get our fluids from the Gods. Wh..which is what I do. Because I don't want to--" Talk to anyone "--Hurt anybody. There are some Ascended who d-drink though. So watch out." He wasn't sure what he was warning her for; it wasn't as if there were Ascended prowling the streets for blood at night.
"Oh...! Oh." Isla glanced away from him, her cheeks colouring ever so slightly at her faux pas. "I am very sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up. For what it's worth, though, there is nothing wrong with being quiet. I find those who speak a lot often do not have anything good to say," she said, shrugging her shoulders and trying on a smile for him. Samuel Wordsworth, then - and a bookseller, too? Isla would keep that in mind, her eyes lighting up.
"Do you know how to read any of the books in the Atheneum?" she asked him curiously. "I have tried exploring there once or twice, but a lot of the books are in another language. I can't make head nor tail of them." She shook her head. It was frustrating, especially for research purposes. And she knew she wasn't the only one to think so.
His concern was appreciated, Isla nodding to him and dipping into a brief curtsey out of habit. "I will certainly watch out. And I imagine if you didn't even choose to become what you are, the idea of drinking blood must be... yeah. But, I must be stopping you from your task. Don't let me keep you, please."
