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!
It seemed that whenever he hit rock bottom (and Gods, he'd been there a lot lately), he came here. To the woods, where one shining tree housed comfort and love. His mother was the only person he could think of that might console him as the realisation of what he had done really hit, stumbling through the portal and over his own feet, tears clouding his vision.
He'd become a monster. It had finally happened, just like he'd known it would, and now there was nothing else to do but simply accept it. He was done trying to be good - no one would believe him now anyway, not with James' body on the beach and the blood seen on his jaw. His hands left red prints on the bark as he ran through the forest, finally falling to his knees in the clearing holding the shrine.
"I - I-- I don't know if you saw that, or how much you see--" Sam began, clear panic in his voice as he tried to work out how to say whatever it was he wanted to. "Mother, I...I just...I had to drink so badly and he was right there and I--I...I think I kil..." He choked on the word, unable to finish it, as if giving voice to the thing would finally make it real. "No one will ever...believe I'm good again. Please, please let me stay here - I don't want to hurt anyone, not again, oh--"
It isn't the Voice that appears to Sam, but another mother entirely. From the shadows of the forest steps a woman Sam has not seen in quite some time, yet knows more intimately than any other: his mother, the Wordsworth matriarch, electric light crackling in her warm blue eyes. It's a version of her that never existed, inviting and kind and loving.
It is everything Sam ever wanted to see in his mother's face.
Towards her son the woman steps, until her hand presses to his hair. She drops to her knees and wraps her arms around him, pulling him into her lap. "Hush now, Samuel, my dear sweet boy. Mummy's here, and everything is going to be okay."
10-13-2020, 08:37 PM (This post was last modified: 10-13-2020, 08:37 PM by Samuel.)
SAMUEL
Stretch out my life
And pick the seams out
Sam's head shot up at the voice, familiar and alien at the same time; he could not remember the last time he'd heard his mothers voice soft and kind, instead of judgemental, sarcastic, harsh...it sounded odd, as if stolen away by someone else. At first his reaction was to attempt to get away, even with her soft words; then he caught sight of her bright eyes, the electricity there not unlike the Voice; it made him pause to see it, long enough for her to approach.
"...Mother, I...Voice, is this you?" He asked, willingly going to lean on her, needing comfort from anyone willing to give it at the moment, especially as he doubted this was actually his human mother. "I need help. Badly. Things are about to get worse."
"They are," the woman hums in agreement, running her hand gently over her son's fevered head. Even with his deprived senses Sam can feel the cool of her skin, pressing through the cloudy heat and offering brief clarity.
"Tell me what's happened, Samuel," she murmurs sweetly, her voice sing-song and soothing. "Let Mother help you, sweet boy."
The cool from his 'mothers' fingers was recognisable enough as something like the Voice to relax Sam, his eyes closing with the touch even after her worrying confirmation of worse things to come. At least he had some comfort for the time being and with the way things had been going, he had learnt to live determinedly in the moment.
"...I...I think I hurt someone very badly." He said quietly, eyes still closed, not wanting to see the reaction. "He might be...dead, actually. I drank from him, but I can't...think right, I drank too much." Sam was sure that if this was the Voice, she knew what had happened next; he wondered if she'd care, or if this was an expected part of her plans.
"He is dead. You murdered him to feed yourself." The hand continues to stroke his hair, the harsh words starkly at odds with the gentle cadence of her voice. Sam will find that even if he wants to leave he won't be able to, too drowsy and soothed beneath the gentle affections.
And then, very suddenly, the hand clenches tight. Gone is the soft caress; the hand that grips Sam's hair has become firm and unyielding, and the voice that comes from its bearer now is still agonizingly familiar, but in a way that will offer no comfort to the Ascended. Sam will be unable to turn his head and look at the figure who holds him, but he won't need to.
"I always knew there was strength in you, Samuel," his father growls. "That you could be something great. Something powerful. You're finally living up to your potential. I'm proud of you, son."
"I--" Sam wanted to object, but he found when it was said as it was, with the soothing tone in the voice, he didn't even mind. She made it sound like something he had had to do, something she was even proud of him for; he closed his eyes and tried to be at peace with his actions, at least for a moment, knowing full well the guilt would return later.
Of course, any peace was swiftly wrenched away by the tighter hand in his hair, the sudden familiar and terrible voice. Immediately, without even really heeding the words (if he had, he might have been shocked to hear his father call him 'son') he began to struggle and yell, instant sickening panic in his chest and aching in the back of his throat as he slapped his hands against the figures form and tried to roll away, to get away from his father; he could not stand to be so close.
The struggling gets Sam nowhere except held tighter, the hand on his hair unyielding, paralyzing his mechanical form. "Why do you keep fighting it, Samuel? You are my son. Everything you hate about me? It lives on in you. Embrace it, Sam. Realize your potential. Take the things you are owed. Stop being such a sniveling child and be a man."
With this last hissed word the pressure that holds Sam dissipates, an the Ascended will find himself free to move. Should he turn around he will see nothing except a brief electric crackle in the air, gone before he can blink.
Sam screamed and struggled throughout all that his 'father' had to say, not wanting to hear a word of it and his sick mind panicking instead of thinking to argue back or try a more calm approach. "I'm not! I'm not!" Were the only audible words he shouted, his hand smacking against the figure's chest as he did (though it seemed he was only able to leave when he was allowed to).
When the grip was finally loosened, he rolled away, for a while laid on the ground just recovering, odd half-finished, unneeded breaths coming from his throat. As soon as he felt he could stand again he did, getting up and rushing off into the woods, not intending to return.
