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!
Everyone needs purpose, particularly in a place like Halo. They spent many long hours inside, hiding from the cold and the snow, from the blizzards that would rage outside through much of Deepfrost. Idle hands did not lead to anything good here, and so people always looked for something to do. She doesn’t mind giving him some purpose, even if he does not want to do it forever. It would be something to keep him from going too crazy over the long, cold season.
Well, that and some decent booze. Deepfrost can turn anyone into a drinker. Weaver chuckles slightly. ”I may have to ration his wine,” she says, amused. For now though, she lets the spider drink away. He likely hadn’t actually had anything to drink in a while since he’d been stuck down here. So she’ll let him drink his fill.
He begins to pour and talk. She listens, waiting till he’s done pouring to start chucking the spices into the barrel without much ceremony. ”Much loved by the gods, the Attuned. Unlike me,” she says with a chuckle, sticking out a now empty hand to let flames burst to life there, dancing above her palm for a moment.
The spider, Buddy, was settling in well, and I was weirdly pleased that he was likely to be a regular feature in the Kraai. I felt like we had a common history - both of us had just stumbled into this place, suddenly, with little knowledge of how we got here, our lives thrust into the kindness of strangers, given a warm place to sleep and a glass of wine for the night. I smiled to myself as I thought of it, and endeavoured to ensure his ongoing survival in this land.
Weaver's comment causes me to raise an eyebrow in intrigue, shrugging as she declared me much loved by the gods. I was still sceptical that gods even existed, though it was becoming hard to deny that some cosmic, magical force was at play here.
Which was further demonstrated when a fire danced in the palm of Weaver's hand. "Huh," I comment with a note of surprise. "'Abandoned', right? Or do you prefer Mage?" I ask out of pure curiosity, hoping I wasn't being too intrusive, too nosey - I simply couldn't hold back my questions, my desire to know and learn and grow. I was always one to ask directly about things I wanted to know more about - subtlety was not a strength I possessed.
The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing
05-17-2020, 12:19 PM (This post was last modified: 05-17-2020, 12:20 PM by Weaver.)
He shrugs, which isn’t shocking. She’s met with plenty of skepticism of the gods, and she knows from Josh that the world Chuy comes from didn’t have any. Weaver would be skeptical too, except that she has met Ludo personally, and met enough people who’d seen different gods to know they are real. The demi-gods alone are proof enough that the gods are back and active, meddling in the affairs of humans. Or maybe the humans were meddling in the affairs of gods. Maybe the difference really didn’t matter.
The fire disappears, and Weaver just shrugs at the question. ”Abandoned is the correct term, though mage is used pretty frequently. I don’t particularly care. Halo has always been reasonably friendly to the Abandoned in general, so I’ve been lucky in that regard.” Though the gods had ignored her until recently, and she still grated against paying for the crimes of The Voice and her followers. Still, all in all, it hadn’t been too bad for her, and as such, she doesn’t really mind the directness of Chuy’s question. Though really, she never minds direct questions, because she is almost always direct. There’s really no reason to dance around the point.
Weaver puts the lid on the barrel, leaving the cider to mull. ”I usually just check on the cider daily and take it out when I decide I like it. I admit, I don’t necessarily have an exact number of days.” There was probably a better science to it, and she always wrote down the number of days it took for each recipe, but she found that different spices needed different amounts of time to infuse and the type of alcohol would affect the length of time as well.
A nod tilts my head as she comments on Halo's general acceptance of those called Abandoned, curious to note the difference between their seemingly easy acceptance versus the struggles that Jigano described in the Hallowed Grounds. But it made sense to me - I could hardly judge anyone for their species, new and uneducated as I was. "I should think being able to conjure fire in the palm of your hand in this kind of environment is a definite selling point." I say with a warm laugh and a smile, wondering what else she could do, but choosing not to ask for a demonstration outright. Not here and now, anyway - perhaps when I plucked up the courage to ask for more training in areas of combat, I would get to see more. For now, I was satiated, and happy to move the focus back to the cider brewing.
"When my mates would do a home brew, they managed it similar," I offer as a way of easily accepting her words, my eyes running over the notes she had taken of past and current brews. "Though they sometimes got impatient and have ruined more than one home brew by cracking it open too early," another chuckle rumbles in my chest as I think back on the memories. "As long as it had alcohol though, they were pretty easy to satisfy." I wasn't a huge consumer of alcohol, I didn't enjoy the feeling of less control over my own body and thoughts, the greater likelihood that I would say or do something that would hurt one I care about - and as long as another's actions didn't adversely affect me or one I care about, I didn't care what they drank either. "How did you come to learn all of this?" I ask, hoping to continue the easy flow of conversation we've been sharing.
The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing
She chuckles. ”Honestly I only learned how to use it recently. My mother was always the better mage.” Had been, anyway. Still was, in many ways, except that Weaver was still alive and Straia was dead, which left Weaver with the opportunity to grow stronger. ”Though we still get some looks sometimes, it is rather useful there. We don’t have a lot of resources, so it’s hard to dislike whatever we do have.” She doesn’t have many other tricks up her sleeve to demonstrate anyway, so he’s not missing out by not asking the question. Healing of basic cuts, the ability to flutter some paper. Nothing fancy. The fire is the best one.
Weaver cracks a grin at that. ”Yea, that’s a good way to ruin a batch. I try not to be impatient.” Though she is impatient in many things, she will wait for good alcohol. That was half the trick to good booze. Time. A whole lot of time. ”The local tavern a few streets away was all we had for a while, and the booze tastes like piss. So I can understand just being glad it has alcohol in it. Though I am pleased to have a proper bar here finally.”
He asks how she learned it, and she picks up the recipe book in answer. ”I had a friend who’s brother new how to brew. He’s got so many notes in this little book. That and I took the time to pick up a few other books. Though really there’s also just been some trial and error. I won’t pretend I haven’t ruined a batch. I just mix that in when people are really drunk and they don’t notice.” She winks, as if suggesting she’s let him in on a secret, which in a way, she has. Little trick of the trade.
Happiness is not an ideal of reason but of imagination
I give a deep chuckle as she talks of mixing the ruined batches in with the good stuff to serve to those already drunk. Honestly, I don't blame her for it, though I make a mental note not to get so shitfaced that I lose my tastebuds in here. Not being a big (alcohol) drinker, that shouldn't be a problem, but one never knew.
"Secret's safe with me," I bow my head in a quick nod, a cheeky grin on my face. "Keeping notes is an excellent practice," I gesture to the ones she has written herself with brewing times, as well as the ones she relies on for her knowledge. "It's almost a way of immortalising not just your craft, but yourself as well." I wasn't usually so prone to such philosophical, artistic interpretations, but it felt oddly right to observe here, given she was using a book left by an old friend who evidently wasn't present anymore.
"Need a hand with anything else for today?" I ask, glancing at the spider, the new mascot of the Kraai, before returning my gaze to Weaver, awaiting her instructions.
It’s not like the ruined stuff was bad, it just wasn’t great. Still, there was a point in the night when no one noticed what you served them, so long as it got them even drunker. She gives him a nod and smile as he says her secret is safe with him. Not that Weaver was very good at keeping secrets.
The topic drifts on to notes, and how you can live on forever in them. ”I suppose that is true. Both Maea and her brother live on through this. Perhaps someday someone will keep my memory alive in the same way.” Though today, at least, was not that day.
”Why don’t you take Buddy back upstairs and get him settled at the bar? I’ve got boring owner duties to attend to, but I won’t drag you into those.” She chuckles slightly. Inventory and the like, which was really easier with just her anyway. ”Thanks for your help, and I’ll see you around soon.”
With that, she gives him a nod, and heads back upstairs.
