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!
Fucking Rosencrantz, sending him to the wrong place...again. That man was going to get an earful when Dorian got back. More over, Torchline wasn't exactly his favorite place. It was hot. Hot meant he had to dress more casually. Not that he didn't look good - oh no, he looks positively sublime in his his breezy linen shirt with his sleeves perfectly rolled and tan shorts, if he did say so himself. But gods he would kill to be able to wear one of his usual suits.
At least it wasn't terribly hard to figure out where Amalia was on is own. He arrived at the Torchline Inn, a bright bouquet of flowers in hand, as well as a bottle of rather fine wine. The innkeeper was kind enough to direct him to her room with a charming smile and slip of valuable bobble. And it was thus that he found himself standing outside a door, with flowers, waiting for a woman to answer. Talk about a situation he never thought he would find himself in again.
Dorian rapped his knuckles against the door then and waited.
The knock at the door catches Amalia entirely by surprise. She has just stepped out of the room's small shower, her long hair wrapped in a towel, the smell of lavender soap in the air. Deimos has a key and would not knock; few others know she's here. Ronin, maybe, or even Remi, or the innkeeper come to express some request.
"Sorry, just a moment." Well, whoever it may be, they can wait for her to dress.
When she opens the door a few minutes later she is wearing a white dress, her damp hair clinging to her shoulders, disheveled and surprised. The man is... certainly unexpected, well-dressed and handsome and holding flowers of all things. It sets her immediately on guard. "Ah, I'm sorry..." the Shield says uncertainly, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I think you have the wrong room."
Patience was one of Dorian's virtues thankfully, or else he might've huffed a sigh of mild irritation. He settled himself into his heels, expecting to be waiting for some time. Dorian knew that line in a past life and though he strove to forget it some things just stuck. But to his most pleasant of surprises, the young woman appeared - perhaps a bit disheveled from having her routine interrupted but lovely nonetheless. He chuckled at her protest of concern and he smiled at her, bright and handsome. "Surprising though it may be, I am quite confident I am not mistaken, Ms. Chandrakant...or will you be Ms. Ignatius now?" he said, asking to both prove he knew where he was and to clarify.
With that bit clarified, he bowed slightly to her. "My name is Dorian Pryor. First and most importantly, congratulations on your recent nuptials." he said, holding out the bottle of wine and bouquet of daffodils and yellow roses to her. "May Vi's blessing be upon you and your most lucky spouse." he added with a grin.
"I do hope you'll forgive my intrusion, but I was hoping to speak with you for a moment or two?"
07-16-2020, 04:09 AM (This post was last modified: 07-16-2020, 04:10 AM by Amalia.)
Amalia
the shield of safrin
How does he know who she is? Honestly, the recognition doesn't perturb her as much as it probably should- stranger than that is hearing herself referred to as Ms. Chandrakant, as though she were someone entirely different, delicate perhaps, or old. "Amalia is fine," she replies softly, somewhat clipped in her mounting discomfort, her confusion with this man who apparently knows her, even here in Torchline.
She's hoped that being near the ocean would make her insignificant, unnoticeable, safe. She supposes she was wrong.
"Ah... thank you?" Utterly perplexed Amalia takes the offered flowers and spirits, not sure what else she's to do in this awkward situation. The invocation of Vi soothes her slightly, though the crease between her eyebrows remains deeply entrenched as her mind whirls to figure out what is going on. The Shield has never been good at these dances, at social graces and insinuations. Even now she feels keenly her disadvantage for not knowing who this man is, or why he is at her door.
So she does the only thing she knows how to: bites her lip and looks up at him, not moving from the doorway, confusion frank in her angular face. "What is it you're looking for, Dori... Mr. Pryor? Was there something I can help you with, or...?" She trails off, jaw set stubbornly, dark eyes keen. She would like to say that strangers don't generally show up on her doorstep with gifts asking for a moment of her time, but that would be a lie. She just isn't used to it, or anything close to at ease.
Dorian smiled at her warmly, being sure to step back and give her space after she accepted the gifts. He nodded, accepting her wish to be called by her first name. Frankly he preferred it as well, as it closed some small distance between them; and it was distance that was his ultimate enemy today. But at her thanks, he lifted a hand and shook his head. "It is the least I can offer, and I admit I am ashamed to not have something more fitting for such a joyous occasion. Rare is the opportunity to celebrate one so loved by Vi." he said with a light chuckle.
"Dorian is fine." he said assured, her questions bringing a grin to his face. "How astute, my dear! Indeed, there is something of grave importance that you alone can assist me with." he said, proffering an arm to her. "If you would, I've arranged a table on the porch where we might discuss comfortably."
Amalia is entirely lost at this point, far too ill versed at social graces and plays on words to hold a candle to Dorian's charm. There's something disarming about the man who stands before her with wine and flowers and praise for Vi that has thrown the Shield off balance- though admittedly, this is not difficult to do.
Still damp, still disheveled, still deeply confused, Amalia places the wine and flowers aside before following him to the porch. She fails to take the offered arm - fails to see it, in truth -instead opting to step out ahead and lead, as though attempting to gain some semblance of control in a situation where she is woefully out of her depth. "You seem to know a lot about me. Why? Who are you? What do you want?"
Dorian was wholly unoffended by Amalia's snub of his arm no her taking the lead - how was she supposed to have learned social graces in a place like Hollowed Grounds, after all? Instead he followed primly, hands clasped behind his back with a light bounce in his step; his joyful nature in stark contrast to her trepidation. Upon reaching the porch, Amalia would find a small table with a plate of yummy little pastries and tea. Ambiance was important you know.
He sat in a chair, after holding one out for Amalia in a most gentlemanly manner. Only when settled did he deign answer her questions. "I am but a humble servant of the gods, my dear. I make a point of acquainting myself with those who are similarly devoted." he said, giving her a charming smile. "What I want is to make your acquaintance - to see if what I know of you is true - and most importantly to offer you an avenue by which to gullt embrace the gifts and ardor Vi has and will continue to grace you with." he said, splaying his handa before him as if laying out a hand of cards.
She takes the offered seat reluctantly, perched upon the edge of it not unlike a bird. Ready to fly, to flee, to spread her wings in self defense... or perhaps to relax. The last option feels quite unlikely, but anything can happen, she supposes.
His explanation does little to actually enlighten her, though the promise of shared devotion does much to sand her sharper edges, help her settle her feathers down. And she would be lying if she said she was not intrigued, curious now with the thing Dorian has offered, entranced by this well-baited hook. "What do you mean, an avenue?" she wonders, watching as the man finds a seat across from her, his smile never wavering.
The offer of tea throws her once more off-balance, her focus startled back to where they are. "Um... yes. Thank you," she answers, more genuinely this time, extending her cup for him to fill.
Good, good - all to plan and order. In the end it was likely best that he had come to speak with Amalia - Cian would have certainly set her on guard.
He carefully poured the tea into her proffered cup before topping off his own. "Why, I mean exactly what I said: an avenue." he said with a chuckle. He gingerly placed little pasteries on her plate for her as well. "My mother and grandmother were always very fond of these ones." he said, tapping the edge of her plate. The pastry he pointed to was a small tartlet filled with cream and various fruits. "We call them Vi's Bounty - one of the best parts of Flowerbirth and Longheat if you ask me." he said with a sentimental sigh.
But back to business of course. He folded his hands primly behind his tea cup, holding her stare with a warm gaze. "A shame I must ruin the mood with such a grim subject...but I believe you are aware of threat that is looming over Caido once more?" he asked gently.
Half of her wants to throw the pastries on the ground, to demand answers instead of sweets and tea and bewildering niceties. Instead she takes one and places it in her mouth, biting down, eyes falling shut in open enjoyment of the sweet, rich taste. "These are good," Amalia murmurs, raising the remainder to eye level. "My grandmother used to make something similar, but not the same. I always preferred savory." Firm flavors. Straightforward.
When at last he grows direct the Shield almost wishes he hadn't. The topic shift is sudden, unexpected, moving from sunlight and tea parties to darkness and war with rather dizzying speed. "Yes." Yes, there is a war brewing, as much as they choose to overlook it, to deny it in the Grounds. It has been coming since the barrier fell, and before.
Since she spoke the word to free the Voice.
"Is that why you're here? Because of the Voice? To rally people against her?"
Dorian hummed, nodding slowly as if chewing on serious counsel rather than preferences in pastries. "A fair sentiment. It is of course always difficult for anything to match that which our mothers and grandmothers made us as children." he said. "Was she a baker as well, your grandmother?" he asked with genuine interest.
As the mood turned he lifted his tea to his lips, sipping from it as she pelted him with questions - which seemed her habit. "Rally people against her? I am flattered, but I am no general who could inspire people to arms." he said with a chuckle. His lips set in a wry smile, watching her with a warm blue gaze. "I am here, as I said, because of you, my dear. You, the one so loved by Vi he bestowed upon you the title shield of his herald." he said, crossing his legs. "It must be difficult, bearing the weight of his expectations, and yet knowing so personally those who offend him. Is it not?" he asked gently.
"She was. I learned from her. She also loved the Old Gods, Mort in particular..." Realizing she's rambling Amalia trails off, color rising in her cheeks as she finishes the small pastry. It feels incredibly surreal to sit here making small talk with a stranger who has managed to hunt her down on her honeymoon, but here they are. Amalia has certainly been in stranger situations, though as she watches Dorian none spring immediately to mind.
He is not a general, not the leader of this... whatever it is. "Are there others?" the girl wonders, superstitiously glancing around as though expecting more well-dressed strangers to pop out from behind the tables and brush.
But as he continues to exalt her supposed merits Amalia can only shake her head, the blush rising as tendrils of lilac curl into her damp hair. "He... he gave me a task. To help heal Safrin." A genuine, childlike curiosity lights her eyes as she peers across the cup at the man, suddenly humbled, shy. "Is it... really so strange, for him to answer prayers?" Finn had made a similar implication, but the idea is still surprising to her.
The gentle question causes the Shield to drop her head, struck through by an arrow of failure and remorse. "It's... not easy. The Ascended... many of them are people I grew up with. My family. For a long time I thought- I hoped- that there would be a way to stop the Voice without... without involving them. That they could be saved."
Looking out upon the water, the girl exhales a sigh. "But now I... I don't know. What... do you and your people intend to do?"
Dorian chuckled low, nodding slowly. "Ah yes, Mort is well loved indeed. Who else could fill our lives with such purpose than the one for whom we will weave our stories for days unending?" he said, sighing wistfully, as if pondering the most beautiful of romances. For it was really, life and death, Vi and Mort, ever entwined in a dance of love so pure no mortal could ever fully grasp the depths of its feeling.
Ah, but for another time. Business was at hand.
"There are broadly, but just I am here at the moment." he said, grinning as she glanced around. But as she continued, he lifted a finger, shaking his head slightly. "He may have given you a task, yes, but he gave it to you because he trusted in your devotion and recognized in you a kindred spirit - a mortal child born with a piece of his soul inside them." he said solemnly, nodding as she continued on. "The only god more aloof than Vi is Rae - I've never met any of the Old Gods personally, just other lesser deities who aided them while their heralds were away. For Vi to have appeared to you is a blessing of the highest honor. It means something." he said.
As her countenance dropped, he felt a pang of empathy. He knew the suffering she felt, the war in one's soul between the attachments of the heart and the knowledge of divine order. He reached out to gently take one of her hands in both of his in a comforting gesture if she did not otherwise pull it away. "It is a cruel thing, what the Voice does, convincing those we hold most dear of her innocence, of the paradise she can give through ascension. And it hurts all the more to wonder if perhaps we had only been more present - more aware of whatever struggle they faced that the Voice so manipulated to turn them against the beauty of Vi, curiosity of Rae, and love of Mort - that perhaps we could have saved them from her influence." His voice was gentle, filled with emotion. His own gaze dropped to the table as he fell silent, expression haunted. Memories, hurts, ghosts of lives long passed played behind his eyes, before he shuddered a deep breath, collecting himself once more.
"We intend to put an end to this brewing war before it boils over and destroys lives and Caido once more - so that none may feel this struggle of heart and mind ever again."
The hand he touches flinches slightly, but does not draw away. Amalia listens with quiet intensity as Dorian manages to cut to the quick, speaking directly to a wound she has harbored since the day she first learned what Wessex had become. She fears so keenly that manipulation and what it might do to those she loves; staring down at the cup before her, the girl can feel the weight of her emotions playing across her face.
A moment passes, and then another, as she tries to take it in. "Safrin said... that Vi has plans for me." Unmoving Amalia stares at the teacup, as though the dark liquid might hold the answers that she seeks. "That my future is with him." Slowly, slowly, wheels are turning, a door of possibilities she dares not look behind creaking open in her mind. Something she wants but has never dared to breathe into life, lest it die on her lips.
Even now she dares not say it, but the fire of purpose and hope and wonder blazes in her face. Looking back at Dorian as though just remembering he's there, Amalia lets the closest thing she can manage fall from her lips. "What will I do?" Because clearly there is a plan for her, a thing she cannot see.
