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!
07-10-2020, 05:14 PM (This post was last modified: 07-20-2020, 04:42 PM by Safrin.)
AMALIA
save some love for yourself, my dear
Safrin. How was your LongNight?
It is too hot for a snow leopard, yet here the creature is, her paws tucked neatly under her as she sits upon the floor, looking with wide dark eyes upon the flickering candles of the Shrine. She'd come here soon after arriving in Torchline, knowing she needs to speak to her goddess, to confirm completed tasks and to find solace from her own darkness.
I went back to the library. The books are in the Undercroft now, as you asked. There's an array of baked goods laid out before her, on a purple blanket. Lavender and honey scones, ginger cookies, cheese muffins- she is not sure what Safrin would like, and so she brought them all. It is the least she can do, for all the goddess has given her, and for the comfort she now once again seeks.
The shrine grows cold. Not unpleasantly so, but Safrin would not see her Shield pant and overheat all because she preferred to take one form over another. Not when she could so easily do something about it anyways.
Appearing on the windowsill, knees drawn up to her chest so that her golden dress spilled down like sunlight all around her, she turned her dark eyes towards the feline and smiled. "It was...dark and quiet. LongNight is a very strange time for us." She explained a touch wistfully, before shrugging her shoulders.
"I did notice that. I hope neither the books nor the fae troubled you too much. Though with Delah's death..." Again she shrugged. With Delah gone, changes were likely to follow thereafter. Whether that would mean more or less freedoms for the Grounders was yet to be seen. "And your queen is dead too, I have learned."
The goddess appears, draped in gold and sitting against the panes of glass. She is beautiful as Amalia has ever seen her, even tucked against herself, and the Shield cannot help the reverent affection that swells within her at the sight. Where do you go, during LongNight? She has always assumed it to be outside the bubble, but of course that is impossible- and now she knows that the longest night spares no inch of Caido's soil.
The fae, their deceased Warchief (a squeeze of remorse; Amalia had felt a great deal of respect for the prickly chieftess, their many differences aside), and more lost queens. Shaking her head, the snow leopard rises, padding closer to where Safrin sits. She is. Deimos blames himself, but... it's the Voice's fault, and nobody else's. If not for her there would be no monsters to begin with, and we wouldn't have needed to protect our people year after year. Vehement and angry, the girl lets a snarl curl for a moment at her lips.
Sitting back down on the now-cool floor, the leopardess looks back up the her goddess. We have a new Queen. My sister, Evie. She's... never been close to the Gods, but she's good, and knows not to trust the Voice.
"We...are not anywhere." Safrin says, brows furrowing. "We become incorporeal. Adrift, I suppose you'd say. We aren't here or there or anywhere at all." It's a concept that mortal minds likely can't understand a plot device that the admins can't explain.
Lowering a hand and leaning her shoulder against the frame, Safrin's fingers curl into the luxurious white fur. "Well, that is a bit like saying that all wolf attacks are Rae's fault, and not the fault of parents who have not kept their children safe...I say this only because I have heard the ascended were given a choice...a choice that would have let them defeat the monsters once and for all, and they declined." The implication laid bare, the goddess continued to stroke Amalia's large skull. "Deimos should have given his idea more thought, but no, he is not to blame."
A sister. That would be on the Wordsworth side, then. "Always a hair removed from leadership, I see." Safrin chuckled, thinking such a position might be one which would suit the Shield just fine, for a long while to come.
Amalia accepts this answer easily, her belief and plot devices allowing her to take nearly all that Safrin tells her on faith. As the goddess' fingers caress her fur Amalia leans into it, purring loudly and tilting her cheek up into the hand. Still scarred from shrapnel she is at least healed, not bleeding or broken as she had been.
Not without, at least.
Safrin's gentle contradiction makes perfect sense, only confirming Amalia's thoughts and frustrations on the matter. Whoever it was among the Ascended, whichever coward valued their own life more than that of the many who die every year... well. And yet it is they, Amalia and Ronin and Jigano and Remi and the others whom the Voice decries, who are left to clean the mess.
Looking back up at the goddess' face, the Shield whuffs softly in bashful amusement. I... suppose. A hair, but no closer. I don't think that path is for me. Leadership, queenship, politics- they are not the things Amalia wants. Both too humble and too ambitious, she dreams of something more.
The darkness lingers, creeping ever inward, and in this cool and comforting place Amalia allows herself to indulge the exhaustion and trauma that has haunted her steps since the longest night began. Closing her eyes, the Shield goes so far as to lean against Safrin's leg. I held a boy in my arms as he died. Her mental voice is pained and trembling, the fractures of her trauma laid bare before her goddess. I saw a father hold his dead daughter... then join her, just to hurt Ronin. The ghost of Aoife haunted every step he took, and I... She could do nothing, but that isn't the point. She is not here to wallow in her own failures.
Not anymore.
If the Ascended won't stop the monsters, then maybe the rest of us can.
"Nor do I." Safrin agrees with a gradiose smile. Her knowledge of things to come glistens like dewdrops on her long lashes, though her lips remain closed. Patience is not one of Amalia's virtues, but nor is she strong enough to pry or pander the information out of her goddess. So waiting it will have to be.
As the leopardness leans close, Safrin leans back. Light bleeds slowly outwards, knitting together torn muscles and bruised skin. Cuts and aches are wiped away as Safrin's fingers continue their lazy but precise ministrations upon the big cat's head. "He told me." She says softly, of the haunts and terrors Ronin had to endure. "Why they have taken such a shine to him I have no idea." Tension ran through her voice and no small amount of possessiveness too.
'You're right you couldn't do anything. Not as you are now. But...you are becomming, Amalia. Much faster than you might think."
Patience is not one of Amalia's virtues; it is good, then, that she does not notice the promise of secrets in Safrin's voice. She is distracted by the fingers in her thick fur and the trouble in her dense thoughts, the juxtaposition of sweet ministrations and trauma making her hazy, calm. Aches she did not realize she still had ease and flow away from her muscles, the last of the mostly-healed wounds closing upon her skin. In the absence of injury and the presence of safety Amalia feels tired, more honest with herself about her own exhaustion than he has been in weeks.
He shines brighter than everyone else, the leopardess answers absently, her own affection for the Star clear within her thoughts. They share a bond forged in hardship and strengthened now by shed blood, made that much closer by their shared oaths to Safrin.
Opening one dark eye curiously, Amalia peers up adoringly at Safrin. Becoming what? I'm your Shield. That's more than I could have ever dreamed. She does not want to be anything more than Safrin's... except, perhaps, for Vi's.
"He does," Safrin agrees languidly. "But shining is not all there is." Amalia shines in her own way, but such isn't her future. One day she will blaze.
Smoothing down the pale fur that acts like an eyebrow above the leopardess's clear gaze, Safrin merely offers a coy smile. 'That is also because you've let yourself stop dreaming.' The goddess notes. "You watch the world around you grow and change, but you keep yourself tempered. Never the strongest, never the first...always there though. And always necessary." How many lives would have been lost with Amalia's aid? How many battles lost? Yet it wasn't her name written in the stars, not hers called to lead armies or cities.
"Shields, by definition, stay an arms-length away." Safrin says after a moment, a touch sadly. "But such is not your future, Amalia, even if your dreams are too small to realize it just now."
Perhaps Amalia's dreams are small, but such has been her world. Small and static, a snowglobe child who's still coming to terms with the sky outside the shattered glass. She doesn't know what to dream of, except that she will be good. That every day she might be better, and that one day, finally, if she strives and reaches, it will be enough.
Until then, though? Amalia is content to continue striving, climbing despite her downfalls, her mistakes. She listens to Safrin with the adulation and intentness of a student at her teacher's knee, thinking of her own dreams, of being first or strongest. Part of her does yearn for that, certainly; she is not without ego, without pride.
But she knows she will never be paramount in the world, just as she knows she will never be first in Safrin's attention. And that, the Shield has come to accept, is okay. She is grateful for what she has.
Then what is my future? The dark eyes blink again at Safrin, curiosity bright within. If there's something else I'm meant for... what is it? And how will I know?
The sadness in Safrin's eyes deepens. For a moment she looks wholly mortal, despite her beauty. Like makeup applied to blemished skin with a skilled hand, there is something cracked and wrong beneath the pain. The goddess's lips twitch; both a smile and a frown at once as her eyes trail upwards for just a moment, searching for words that hover above.
"Your future is with Vi, my loveliest one."
For a moment Safrin does not move. There is a bright jealousy burning in her, for Amalia is her Sheild. Given to her by Vi. That he would take her is something that the goddess has long-known and not let herself think of. Of course she is pleased too that Amalia would be raised so very high, for of course Safrin will take pride in seeing one of hers be so elevated.
But still...there is a dark part of Safrin that would sabotage the Shields' efforts if only to keep her within reach.
"You will absolutely know." She says after a long moment, lowering her chin to gaze at Amalia once more. "Vi is not subtle."
Safrin's silence is heavy and laden, and as she looks up from the goddess' lap Amalia wonders if she doesn't see something dark beneath the skin. A shadow of the cruelty she had once born the brunt of, the sharpness with which the blighted goddess held her chin and spat vitriol upon her. It frightens the Shield more than she can voice, sending a shiver down her spine.
And then in five small words it vanishes.
Your future is with Vi.
Dreams, larger than any she has dared to give voice to, knock upon the doors of her mind, flooding out in a sea of wonder. Is she- could she- will she be-? Even now she does not say it, cannot look at that searing hope. Breathless and baited Amalia stares with eyes that are full of stars, the fruit of her unwavering devotion laid out so close to tangible she can taste it, if only she dares...
But no. She doesn't dare to dream that big, to reach for what she doesn't deserve. She cannot bear to fall. Shutting her eyes, Amalia pushes her broad head closer to Safrin's lap, a deep purr of contentment and anticipation rumbling in her lungs. Then I'll wait until I know. And until then, I'll be yours.
07-24-2020, 05:55 PM (This post was last modified: 07-24-2020, 05:55 PM by Safrin.)
Safrin
Until then...It's the best Amalia can give, but it still spits daggers into Safrin's heart. Until then is a length of time, after which she will be someone elses. Vi's, which is the best the goddess could hope for, and yet...
..she is who she is. Fickle and greedy and vain.
Massaging the thick muscles on Amalia's neck in earnest, the goddess simply nods. "Have you been visited yet by anyone...suitably vague and foreboding? Perhaps dressed far too well for the Hollowed Grounds?" The goddess wonders, having heard rumblings of the Order remerging after all this time.
There is a moment of peace before the shift, in which Amalia thinks she might disappear into the perfect beauty of this tableaux. As much as she longs to be seen by Vi, there is a wonderful thrill in knowing she is loved by a goddess, that she is beloved.
But the world continues spinning, the darkness leaking through. Safrin's question has Amalia lifting her head, surprised but relieved that the goddess is bringing this up because fuck timelines amirite?Yes... A man named Dorian. He said he and others like him need help preventing a war... Who are they? Where did they come from? Can they be trusted? He'd spoken about Vi as well, about her purpose with Vi, and again Amalia feels that hope of a dream fluttering dangerously in the back of her mind.
Humming mildly, the goddess nods. "The are called the Order...an ancient group that was established after the Voice was kicked out of the city, a place called Stormbreak. It sits far to the south, on top of a large cliffside..." Lips twitching slightly, Safrin continues to ease her fingers against Amalia's head and down her back. "They've been...not idle these past few centuries, but certainly they thought the war was done. They are all about your age I imagine and have never actually faced this enemy, though they are well enough trained. Stormbreak allows the use of no magic that isn't handed down to them from us. In fact, the abandoned can't even get into the city. Statues and other devices fix them in place. It's worse for the ascended, who are simply killed."
This is all said with a simple shrug of her shoulders.
"Trust is...well, I can't decide that for you. In terms of their want to stop the Voice? Of that, they will always be faithful. But I doubt if there's anything they wouldn't do to achieve that goal." She adds, warningly.
