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!
Osozo's question reeked of innocence and Josh found it almost bemusing, having grown so used to his own cynicism and constant doubt. "Illusions are easy to create. Especially in this world with such commonly used magic. Come on. You must know you can't believe everything you see." He insisted, narrowing his eyes at Osozo as if issuing them a challenge.
He looked around the Spire as Osozo recalled the Voice being there; he wondered if she'd left behind any kind of trace. God goo.
"Fluid." Josh repeated, closing his fist and opening it again to reveal a small wobbly scalpel in his palm. "Can I take a sample?"
"If everything could be an illusion, how am I meant to trust anything?" It seems like such a circular worry to get stuck in. "I think most things should be believed, until you have reason not to. And," they shake their head a little, "The Voice is not a matter of belief. I know her."
Osozo's eyes, now an almost hazy grey, lift to look around the spire as well, suitably awed by the space, the place that had house the Voice for so long. Could they have still been created, if she had not escaped?
As Josh's hand opens, revealing a scalpel that is doing it's level best to go rocketing towards the Demi-god, the first flash of concern passing over their face, sending the hair and eyes both flashing a sickly green. "Sample for what?'
"You can't. It's best not to." Josh advised simply, this being how he lived the majority of his life. "I don't doubt there's someone that calls herself The Voice. But how do you know shes a Goddess with all the abilities she pretends to possess?" He asked, looking up at Osozo with a challenging expression; he knew how hard it was to escape the beliefs of a cult, but the visitor seemed intelligent.
It was interesting to see that he'd finally caused Osozo some concern. Not moving the scalpel any further, Josh explained: "I have been trying to isolate samples from each race and magic type here to test and study. I want to understand the differences and similarities."
"I know because she created me. She gave me all the knowledge I have, and she sent me into the world." Really, there was no more decisive proof that Osozo needed. Of course the Voice had the powers she claimed, there had been a war fought over her powers. "If she had no powers, why would she have been trapped? Where would the ascended have come from?"
Osozo relaxed quickly, as soon as the scalpel was no longer moving closer to them, they took a breath, eyes remaining green, while their hair settled to a dull red, with strands of purple. Still, even with the explanation, they didn't offer their hand out, not yet. "How would my samples help? There's nothing else like me, not yet."
"How do you know she created you? Were you alive before you were made to see that?" Josh asked, more messing around with asking Osozo potentially confusing questions than truly trying to investigate anything. As much as he liked to pretend his interrogations were always entirely motivated by a thirst for knowledge, they did sometimes stray into wanting to prove idiots wrong. "She could have been trapped because people believed she had powers, just like you do right now."
As for where the Ascended came from, he shrugged. "It's entirely possible to make a race of androids or robots without being a Goddess."
Twirling the scalpel in his fingers in a way that sound likely seem menacing despite Josh's flat expression and casual body language, he raised his eyebrows at the objection. "Exactly. Nothing like you. It'd be the most unique sample in my collection."
"Who or what else would have?" Osozo countered, a surety on their face, a faith that couldn't be shaken by one person's doubts. No matter how convincing he tried to be. They had seen the face of the Voice, and they had no reason to disbelieve. "She gains nothing by my belief. She would be powerful with or without anyone."
The shrug, and the confidence, baffled them, a kind of arrogance they had not seen before. "Perhaps I will have more reason to believe you if you could prove that to me. I shouldn't believe everything someone says to me."
While there is still some discomfort with the idea of samples being taken, Osozo is taken by the idea of being unique, of being recognized for being unique. It was just enough to convince them to sit long enough for Josh to take what he needed, though Osozo did not linger much longer, taking their leave back down the stairs, pursued by all manner of scrap metal.
