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!
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
Deimos took his time, purposefully, to either let the blacksmith stew, consider, think through his actions, or to merely stand, waiting. The Sword retrieved the artifacts they’d left into the snow, maneuvering targets back in their proper positions, remaining in vigilant, intimidating silence, machinations and motions of the meticulous. Nonchalant, his features revealed absolutely nothing – no conveyance of his irritation for Oliver’s earlier antics, no frustration for things remaining unchanged, no exasperation or impatience for incessant whining. His earlier sentiments should’ve made his thoughts clear.
Eventually, once he’d dragged, pocketed, or gathered everything together, the puncturing fathoms of his eyes riveted straight for the younger man. “Inside,” cool, cold, a glacial, frigid grate of his voice, and he stalked forward, into the threshold of the barracks, no need to have their conversation in the midst of winter when they’d already spent hours out in it. Expecting Oliver to follow, he wound his way through the armory and to the front parlor, removing gloves and furs, putting them on the table. The invitation for Oliver to sit was extended with a hand, but the General remained standing, leaning against his desk, arms folded across his chest. “Explain your behavior.” Because from what he’d seen, noted, and noticed, was an individual who ceased trying the moment something became difficult.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
Whilst Deimos worked, gathering the remnants of their battles and cleaning everything up, Oliver remained quiet. His mind stirring with thoughts and eyes following the man as he worked, knowing that if the man had wanted him to help or speak with him during this time he would've been told to join him. Instead, Oliver took this opportunity to think things over, his mind flashing through all his thoughts and emotions as he tried to come to terms with what happened and consider everything that Deimos would be upset with him.
And then it was time.
Oliver followed him inside and only shed off one of his layered. Once seated, the layer went onto his lap. His leg was bouncing and he didn't feel it was right to relax or feel at home. What he had done was wrong and he needed to own up to it.
Deimos was quiet and allowed him to speak, watching with eagle eyes that burned into the blonde's soul. "Snapping at you was... honestly really childish and shitty of me..." Oliver's voice trailed off and he bit down on his lip, thinking over his words meticulously. "I want to work on my magic... and I feel like I've been focusing so much on being an attuned that I've just neglected it. It was when that wave came at me that I realized that I don't know what I'm doing. I reacted like a child. I was scared of looking stupid and I was afraid of failing- so instead of trying I guess I just gave up." It was a lot to say at once and all Oliver could do was hope that his words properly conveyed how he was feeling both in this moment as well as in the time of the incident.
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
This was not the first incident or time Deimos had committed to lectures of fellows, soldiers, citizens, or otherwise. He’d been versed in a variety of excuses, some intending to repel him from pulsing into an absolute rage, some miniscule, ineffective, and ridiculous at best, and then others nestled in between, nodding their heads, apologetic for their behavior. As General, he held a responsibility towards the militia, those who considered themselves under his command, and tutelage, instruction, and protection of inhabitants amidst the Hollowed Grounds. Allowing another to fester, decay, and wither due to weakness, frailty, or incapability, an unwilling contortion to bettering themselves in either skills, technique, or lifestyle, would’ve been acceptable in Helovia. They’d die off. They’d wander into the world and not return. Someone else would find them, bring them into the fold, or merely bear witness to their struggle and cease to care. A numbness, a detachment, a certain nonchalance in realms of survival and wickedness.
Not in the Basin, however, not with his keen eyes and defiance, a roar, a bellow, a howl, a fluid bombardment of ravenous, cretin dedication. He wasn’t going to allow it here either – not when a misstep, a moment of stupidity, a second, an instance, of apprehension or uncertainty, could mean casualties and death for another.
He’d know – because despite best efforts, sometimes it didn’t matter at all. But that also shouldn’t signify never trying, never caring, never committing to anything but watching the world pass by.
The Sword was mildly surprised to hear the first few things come out of Oliver’s mouth; half-expecting a wail of whining proportions. None of this was betrayed on his features, remaining the silent, the stoic, the reticent, the reserved, keen on listening instead of bombarding (just yet).
Deimos knew not everyone had been segmented into fighting, battles, or held inclinations towards the bombardment of arms, munitions, and armaments. But Oliver had also chosen to participate, to designated himself in those roles during trainings, and to impart hybrid qualities into his life. That he should neglect any contortion was foolish, and a bit naïve. “Mistakes are part of learning.” He shrugged at first. The monolith could’ve told a hundred stories of his mishaps, from the beginning until present. “There will always be failure. You should not fear it. It is what you do in those moments that makes a difference.” Pouting and flailing around was not a highlight of any quest, sojourn, venture, or battle. “I hold trainings so you can prepare yourselves for whatever might come your way. You need to care less about looking ridiculous, and more about action and response.” He paused, eyes narrowing a fraction, thoughts reeling. “It is fine to not know what to do. But I will not have someone give up.” Another breath in amidst the composure, along the intertwinings of multiple lives, how they’d been led, where they’d gone astray, and how best to suit those who couldn’t help themselves. “Do you know why?”
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
Once the words left his mouth, Oliver simply looked at Deimos, waiting to be yelled at or dismissed or told to never show up to something again- all worries he had accumulated whilst left to think on his actions. Instead, Deimos spoke rather calmly. It was obvious Oliver had still messed up and Oliver listened to the advice that the man had to provide.
That last question stumps Oliver. Does he know why... what? "Do I know why... you won't have someone who gives up? I mean, I know I wasted your time... and I know I probably should be spending my time more efficiently." There were many other questions that sprung to mind. Why he didn't practice his magic, why he froze up, why he felt ridiculous. What exactly did Deimos want him to answer?
Letting out a soft sigh, Oliver ran a hand through his hair. Might as well answer another. "I mean... I don't know. I got so excited to become an attuned... being an abandoned still felt like a curse... and compared to everyone else, I cant even use my magic right." Looking up at Deimos, Oliver bit down on his lip. "During the attack at Fiat Lux... nothing I did with my magic seemed to work... and even recently, it feels like my magic is so limited... and I just- I guess I don't know what to do... and me not knowing scares me, so I ignore my magic almost entirely... except for the telekinesis, which can only take me so far." It's so much to say and Oliver finds himself taking in a few deep breaths at the end, hoping to calm himself down and recover from spilling out all his worries in one go.
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
For all of the man’s silence, he filled the void with a listening ear, calm, practical, methodical in his approaches. Oliver didn’t seem to understand his initial inquiry – it wasn’t about wholly wasting Deimos’ time (though it was an irritating, vexing measure). Another stoic, reticent breath was taken, solidified in his lungs, clawing along his soul, before an exhale, a release of the mettle, the grit, forged in his bones. “My role is to ensure you are all safe. I offer opportunities where you can enhance your abilities and skills in case of danger.” Like Fiat Lux incident, like the Spire events, like any number of pursuits twisted and maligned instantly, as they all rushed headlong into danger. “You doing nothing, or quitting altogether, is going to get yourself, or someone else, hurt or killed.” He arched a brow, waiting for some assembling of a rebuttal, for some rendering of excuses.
The next topic caused him to narrow his eyes, lean back a fraction against the table, stare off into the walls for a few seconds, conspiring, picking and choosing his moments carefully. They’d had a similar conversation before, back when Oliver was wary of utilizing his incantations, and apparently naught had changed from those conversations or efforts. The Sword was not an individual scared of the enchantments and invocations embedded in his veins; he’d had machinations of their irreverence or versatility from the moment he first drew breath. “Do you believe magic users to be cursed?” Is that what held the man back, or was it another portion in his litany of excuses? Because Deimos never had; no matter which world he embarked within – some kingdoms where it’d been vastly accepted, expected, and others like here, where the gods hissed and spurned. And still, the beast used the tactics, the skills, the schemes, to enhance life in Caido. To ignore them because of parameters, believed constraints, was ridiculous and asinine – how else would they ever become better? “You set your own limits by not utilizing them. By not trying.”
He tilted his head, a portrait in refined, quiet study, in careful, concise examinations and scrutinies. Oliver seemed to be his own worst enemy, believing in failures before he’d even given himself a moment to attempt otherwise. “You give up too quickly.” A pause, before another intake of air. "So what do you intend to do?" No longer regard his enchantments? No longer bother with magic?
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
Oliver knew Deimos' role, or thought he did. The man was their General and held countless events aimed to preparing all of them. While others excelled, Oliver on the other hand seemed to regress. None of his knowledge seemed to help and he never improved.
His words were harsh, in a way, but also the truth. "I understand." He absolutely knew that his inability to act was dangerous, it's partially why he felt so embarrassed about how weak he was. How was he supposed to help others when he still couldn't use his magic abilities properly?
And the next question was unexpected, but maybe he should've thought about it before he spoke. Shaking his head, Oliver continued on, his eyes struggling to look at Deimos' piercing blue ones. "No. I don't..." It was hard to put how he felt into words and at this point, all he could do was try. "This may come out wrong and I'm sorry... it's simply that I feel like I'm not a person who will ever truly learn how to use their magic. I keep thinking that I've finally learned, that a training session went so well that I'll finally do well... and then the next time I just fail so miserably that it feels like I'm back to where I began." It was a childish thing and his softened express reflected his recognition of it. "I.... I think I am improving or I hope I am... just not as much as I should nor in the right areas," So much of his magic had been left neglected and Oliver knew it.
The final questions posed were ones he immediately knew the answer to. It wasn't hard to figure out what to say either, but he could only hope it came out properly. "I want to understand my magic. I want to work more on it, especially alone and with others... and I want to experiment. Figure things out and expand what I do. Push against my boundaries." All of them were things he wanted, but would he be able to achieve them? That was something he wasn't sure of. "I don't want to neglect my earth magic or my illusions... I want to know how to use them." And at this point, it seemed Deimos would no longer be someone to teach him, leaving him with the only option of learning by himself or with other people.
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
Despite the youth’s inclinations of understanding, Deimos wasn’t so certain. Up until these moments, there’d been either a hovering petulance, a whining grate, or entitled predilection to their actions, as if they expected supremacy, and continued to be shocked when it wasn’t immediately obtained. Domination over enchantments and invocations was a skill in precision, in practice, and he couldn’t recall anyone being able to compel it wholly without some fault, without some frailty. His voice echoed and reverberated, deepened tones attempting to crack through the thickened skull, for Oliver just to listen. “No one can claim perfection over their magic. But they can practice, and wield it to the best of their ability.”
But then the rambling notions began, and the Sword stood there, a parallel of silence against a rampage of words that held distorted, and sometimes opposing meanings. There was a tilt of his head in singular confusion over not being cursed, about not being able to learn to use their magic fully, and then wanting to do it all the same. In the end then, the justification was there, and so the General adhered to those parameters. “So do it.” Simple, nothing complex, nothing perplexing – commit to action and correspond readily. The more he practiced, the more he’d react by muscle memory, instead of getting stuck in his thoughts, moored and anchored down by minute manifestations.
He paused, considering. “Have you done as I instructed before?” With watching cats, larger or smaller, with how they moved, with how they presided, so he could become a better predator, understand the motions in his attuned accord? Or had that been ignored as well – his advice scorned, forgotten, and not given any other thought the moment he left the training grounds?
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
Gods, he understood that practice would help him, but at this point practice hadn't done fucking shit. Did he know new ways to use his magic? Nope! It was frustrating but no matter what he said, Deimos never would understand how he felt and would only say the same exact thing over and over. "I'll just keep practicing then." It felt fucking useless. Any sort of anger or resentment had left Oliver, leaving behind pure exhaustion and defeat. The fire had died and he saw no point in arguing- no use in arguing back. Practice helped others... but how could he know that it'd actually help him? That he could be useful in the future?
The topic changed swiftly and Oliver found himself letting out a soft sigh. "Doing what exactly?" There were quite a few things Deimos had instructed him to do. "I've tried to work more on my attuned stuff, yeah. I watch birds all the time, seeing as I'm not exactly the most elegant in that shift... I also watch animals so I can better learn how to climb things and how to be quiet and agile... I still have a lot to learn, but I have been watching and trying to learn. Even tried to hunt a rabbit or two." Both times had failed for different reasons, but at least he was trying.
Leaning back, he looked up at Deimos. "How did you learn how to use your magic so well? What sorts of training did you do?" Because maybe his personal training wasn't working simply because he wasn't doing it right. He wasn't challenging himself enough or maybe it wasn't the proper choices. All Oliver could do was hope Deimos didn't misunderstand because he wanted to practice. He wanted to fucking try, but from everyone else's point of view he had just given up entirely.
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
He scrutinized and examined, the same narrowed contortions to his furrowed brows; watched as Oliver’s recent flailings turned to naught but the same, an indulgence towards the Sword perhaps, but not himself. It might’ve been a method that worked on others: to agree, to nod one’s head, to hope and pray they moved along, but it would only be Oliver’s follow-up actions that would riddle or rankle any truth from the words he sought to exude. Deimos had heard excuse after excuse, but not commitment. Not promises. Not conviction. Instead, the blacksmith seemed apt to petulance, and the General was left uncertain of what else to say or do, to accomplish anything. They felt like the same tides roaring in, a grating zeal, a fixture of nothingness, before receding, empty, vague, and hollow.
That Oliver had apparently forgotten what he’d tasked him with in their last individual one-on-one training was disappointing, and another long-suffering sigh trailed through his lungs. “I asked you to watch members of the same species as your shifts. Like cats. How they hunt. How they move. How to better acquaint yourself with possibilities.” But that the other man had managed to do something within his shifts and observations was enough for the moment, and he gave a quick nod, figuring that’d be enough for the moment. A step forward, rather than a hundred back.
The inquiry layered upon him in return caused the slightest arch of his brow, but otherwise he continuing maintaining the nonchalant poise. “I was born with life drain.” Refined in its deadly prowess from the beginning, but not honed, not mastered, until well after. “We practiced much the same as I strive with all of you. Targets, mobile or immobile. Skirmishes. Duels. The militia ensured we were ready for battle through weaponry and magic.” All his other incantations and enchantments had come from here; and he’d utilized them in sojourns, in quests, in dangerous dispositions. “I failed frequently. I still do. But I do not give up.”
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
Right, right. His eyes widened slightly and he made a wincing face. "Yeah, sorry... I just couldn't tell which thing you were referring to." Safe to say, he was embarrassed. His mind was a cloud of nothingness and thinking was becoming harder and harder thanks to a combination of stress and all the training from before. "I... haven't seen many cats recently? But when I do see them, I try to watch. I've watched birds because they were the most common thing." There's an awkward shrug and he continues on. "I... I did discover something if that means anything... my cat form can for some reason climb super well. Like, my ankles move in a super weird way and... yeah, I've been watching climbing animals for that reason." Hopefully that would show Deimos that he was trying and his lack of watching cats wasn't him not trying.
Deimos was willing to answer the question and he found himself nodding and listening. It makes sense- Deimos has known about his abilities since he was a young child. The final comment helped and made the man seem more relatable, but even then Oliver felt like he wouldn't be able to achieve what Deimos had. "I... I want to learn... and I'd ask you to help me out with my magic more, but honestly at this point it seems like the rest is on me... seeing as at this point, I think I just need to learn how to use my magic. How to overcome my weird personal problems that are holding me back." There is a shake of his head and he lets out a soft sigh.
This would most likely be the last time for Oliver to train with Deimos and he needed to figure something out. "Would you... like for me to check in with you again? Next season? So I can train on my own and see if I've been able to grow? I wont know that I've truly learned enough until I face the unexpected, which is what I learned when you threw that wave at me." What Oliver was asking was a lot: for Deimos to do a follow up and hopefully test him more than once to see if he truly was learning well on his own.
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
He struggled with not loosening another sigh through his chest. Listening was not par for Oliver’s course either, though it seemed rampant excuses were. Couldn’t find cats? There was an amazing amount of the animals here in the Hollowed Grounds, one wouldn't have to look far to find them in alleyways. Hadn’t the blacksmith already achieved a level of experience that he’d be able to summon, or compel them? For all his bluster, the follow-through seemed very poor, and for someone who claimed to be willing, craving, to learn more of his magic, of his capabilities, they seemed lackluster in comparison to others he’d come across. Maybe he’d settled into other directions, and adherence to these tasks were mere pretenses, something meant to suit the Sword, before moving on and forgetting, forgoing, his advice entirely. Did Oliver seek to waste the General’s time? When he could be training others who were far more willing, far more curious, for more inquisitive into the possibilities of protection, defense, or any arts hastened into their form? “Good,” was all he could assemble at Oliver’s wealth of climbing information, struggling not to clench his jaw and growl the words out.
“It should be on you. I can only do so much. I wield my magic, and you wield your own. I cannot, and will not, tell you how to do things. I can give you advice, and you can listen, adhere, or ignore them.” Which it seemed to veer off more into the latter as of late, fumbling, struggling, whining when the tasks forced him to think for himself. No one was going to hold his hand; there were too many things to do, too many lives at stake, too many problems to solve. Oliver was more than capable. He held himself back.
The suggestion caused his eyes to narrow, a briefest amount of speculation coiling, contorting, behind them, before a decision came to pass. “I suggest while you are in Torchline, you practice your magic defensively or offensively. You may come back for further training when you can tell me how you used them effectively.”
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
The words are sharp and Oliver understands what he means. Deimos wont always be there to guide him and he needs to begin to think for himself, even though he has no idea what he should do. There's still a part of him that wants to be directly told exactly what he can do with his magic, but he also understands that such a thing isn't possible. It wont work and at this point, all he can do is continue on and try his best on his own.
A soft comment leaves his mouth, a short one. "I understand." And then he listens to the final comment that Deimos has to say. It's a wise one and he knows it's for the best. Oliver will have plenty of time to train and hopefully he will be able to do far more in the future. "I will train and practice to the best of my abilities whilst I am in Torchline. Will it be safe for me to practice outside?" That final comment is a genuine question, one where he actually wants to make sure it is safe. The tone shifts dramatically and it's obvious that Oliver genuinely is trying to obey all orders given by the General, seeing as he has a seat on the council.
"I guess... I should be going? Unless you need me for anything else. I've wasted your time enough and... I'm sorry." Sorry for forcing Deimos to even have this conversation. Sorry for, well, everything.
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
Understanding and comprehending would only be spurred if Oliver actually did as the Sword had bid; whether or not he’d see it through to fruition would only be clear thereafter. The inquiry thereafter was justified – but seeing as how Deimos was not a citizen, nor Natural, of Torchline, he wouldn’t have the answer the blacksmith sought. The tones were plain, factual, giving over to his ignorance. “I do not know about Torchline during LongNight. If you cannot practice safely outside, find yourself a space inside. Samuel should be there. He can help you.” They’d checked in recently, presuming arrangements had been made suitable for all the Grounders seeking refuge from the upcoming tempestuous storm that was LongNight.
Thereafter were more apologies, and the beast shook his hand, manifesting movements away from the table, restless, inclined to further duties now that this one had ceased. “Show me your amends by committing to action, Oliver.” Regrets and rues could be made endlessly – it was what one did after to show the value of their offenses by restoring or correcting them. That would be the measure of Oliver, of his caliber, of his character. The General made to move back down the hall, inclining his head in the youth’s direction, a finality for the foreboding, formidable wake they were all encompassed within. “Stay safe.”
{-FIN}
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
