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.
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She had been loathe to return, having left with the desire to never set foot in Hollowed Ground again. But fate had a funny way of making her face all the things she would rather not. What had once been home was now tainted with painful memories, memories she knew shaped her, but she did not wish to face. Hopefully, in the time that had passed, she had healed enough to handle this trip.
Phoebe had to after all. If there was one person she thought might hear from the Order, it was Amalia. A natural, beloved by Vi, Shield of Safrin - she was as prime a target as anyone for these strange men in suits to approach. The only way she would find out for certain though was to visit. And so it was that the Midwife turned Madame turned Nightingale found herself at the door of the bakery once again, Pim at her side and Branbast on her shoulders.
"Amalia?" she called as she stepped in, looking around for the divinely blessed baker.
It has been such a long time since she saw Phoebe that she does not immediately recognize the woman, especially this version of her. Sun-kissed and confident, it is a different figure than the one Amalia last saw in the Grounds who steps in through the bakery door, opening it to find the Shield seated on a chair, thoughtfully sipping tea and writing in a book.
She looks up in surprise at the sound, dark eyes widening before recognition strikes. "Phoebe!" Amalia exclaims, half-rising from her seat. "Ah- what brings you here? I haven't seen you in... well."
What is time anymore, except a measurement of traumas?
Phoebe barely recognized herself these days, so the hesitation in recognition was certainly nothing she would take issue with. Instead she smiled a little, sheepishly almost, as she fully stepped into the bakery. "Quite some time, certainly." she said softly, looking around the shop. She might've changed a lot, but other things didn't. "I've missed your treats though. Torchline doesn't have anything like this." she said, managing a grin.
The Nightingale glanced at Amalia's book, noting that she was interrupting. "I am sorry for bothering you. I'm sure my...hasty departure wasn't appreciated and I am sorry about that. I really am...but...well...strange thing seem afoot again and I had to come talk to you." She said with a sigh. Hindsight was always best, and she recognized she could have left he Grounds more gracefully, had she only been in a better emotional state at the time.
"Has anyone strange come to speak with you lately - someone who seemed to know a lot about you for no good reason? Perhaps the names Cian, Dorian or Finn ring a bell?"
Immediately her head begins to shake, hand raised in easy dismissal. "No, it's... you went through a lot. We all did. Believe me, if I could run away and leave all this behind..." She chuckles, pushing fingers through her gold hair and not meeting Phoebe's eyes. The tight lines of her face and dark circles under her eyes speak to a deep exhaustion, yet even for that Amalia seems to radiate a new strength.
That there's something strange afoot surprises the Shield far less than it ought. Really, when wasn't there strange things happening in Caido these days? Her expression tightens at the description, though, eyes falling shut in tired recognition- and abruptly flying open again.
"Finn?" Amalia repeats. "Finn is...? Oh, Mort, I'm so dumb." Her head drops down into her hands, shaking as pieces fall into place. It makes so much sense now that someone's said it, but gods if she doesn't feel like a fool.
Phoebe appreciated the pardon, even if it waa just the neighborly thing to do. "Well you could. You just pack up your stuff, out up a closed sign and walk away." she said with a dry laugh, recounting pretty much how she had made her own departure. "And...well it helps...to start over. More than I can express. Just don't wait around for a god to tell you to do it like I did." she added with a laugh.
Though it seemed her words hit home. "You're not dumb, they are just tricky. I asked Frey about them." she explained. "They singled me out because they believe Frey will make me a demigoddess...though I can't imagine for what purpose." She still hadn't nailed down that bit. But they lived in a divinely blessed city, so they might know something she didn't. "But that's why I came to talk to you. You're very devout to Vi so you seemed a potential target." And it seemed she was right.
Head still clasped in trembling hands, Amalia isn't quite sure whether she wants to seethe with anger or sob. Instead she takes a shuddering breath, trying to calm herself enough to listen to Phoebe's continued explanation. Bits and pieces of it pierce her haze; "Oh, that's... wow. Are you... do you feel ready for that?" the Shield asks softly, looking up at the midwife, her expression unreadable. The weight of change, of becoming- well. Amalia does not know what she is, but she knows it is more difficult than she could have dreamed.
As for being a target? Lowering her hands at last, Amalia slowly nods. "One of them - Dorian - he approached me in Torchline. He knew things about me- my name, that I was married. That Vi had spoken to me." Flushing slightly, the Shield fidgets her fingers on the journal. "He said they were looking for people like me- like us- to help stop a war before it started. But he wouldn't tell me any real information about who he was or where he came from or what he expected us to do."
She shakes her head and looks back up, a frown tugging at her brows. "But Safrin told me they're from a place called Stormbreak, which forbids Abandoned and Ascended from entering. That there's nothing they won't do to stop the Voice."
Phoebe smiled a bit, serene and calm, at Amalia's stammered question. But she shrugged as well, clearly unconcerned with the potential implications. "I have faith in Frey's wisdom and trust in their affection for me, so I am not worried about being ready. If it happens, I will be ready." she said, completely confident in her words. "As it stands, I'm not wholly convinced Frey has that in their plans." she added.
The Nightingale listened to her explanation in silence, nodding here and there. "I suspect this Stormbreak is in mountains somewhere. Branbast called Cian a 'cragling'. And Frey said that this group call themselves the Order, and they are the people from which the Voice originated." she said, trying to add what information she could. "Frey also mentioned they will use whatever means necessary to accomplish their goal. Torture, bribery, what-have-you." she said, sighing a bit.
But with regained resolve as she focused on Frey's words and the implications, she looked back up at Amalia, steel in her honeybrown gaze. "I've no qualms if anyone wants to help them, but I don't want our own disorganization or lack of communication giving them and advantage to manipulate us. I was hoping we could perhaps all convene at the brothel to discuss it. The walls are soundproof, thanks to Frey."
Phoebe seems to have the same information as the Shield, though with perhaps more graphic levels of detail that Amalia would have like to hear. And while she may not have been as bothered by the suggestion of nefarious methods of persuasion under different circumstances, the thought of Finn performing torture ties a knot within her gut. "They certainly are masters of manipulation," she murmurs bitterly, trying not to think about the guitar in her bedroom, the man she called a friend.
But when it comes to organization and lack of communication? Amalia glances up in surprise, not sure what to make of Phoebe's sudden steel. "Do you think they're somehow listening to us?" she wonders, trying not to color up at the idea of going into a brothel. "Who... who is we? If it's the chosen of the gods... I trust Remi and Ronin, and I haven't heard from or seen Delphia in some time." Troubling, given the promise the daughter of Mort had extracted for Amalia's aid. "I don't mind meeting about it, but... honestly, Phoebe, if it will stop the Voice, maybe we should listen to them."
"It is certainly possible. Frey indicated they are more advanced than we are, and how else would they have learned so much about us without us ever noticing them before?" Phoebe said with a shrug. Being eavesdropped on seemed within their capabilities and not beneath their methods of information extraction. Regardless, she would rather be safe than sorry. It seemed, however, that Amalia was perhaps not as aligned with her own thinking as Phoebe had thought she would be.
Her lips pulled into a thin line, eyes casting down at the floor briefly. The Voice was a threat, that was true...but Phoebe wasn't sure the full picture was being taken into consideration. Looking back up at her, the Nightingale sighed. "Are you so willing to do whatever it takes to stop the Ascended? Would you willingly kill those you know for that cause, without remorse or hesitation? Wessex? Sam?" she asked her seriously. These were people she knew Amalia had grown up with. Friends, neighbors, family even. "I won't presume to know your mind, nor whatever this Order has promised you... but I don't think it can so easily be boiled down to stopping the Voice. War is never so black and white."
Amalia bristles as Phoebe misinterprets her words, the accusations a painful reminder of the mistake she already made with Nephele. Staring down at the grain of the table, the Shield sets her jaw unhappily, wincing as the Nightengale throws out names that are guaranteed to hurt. "You know that I follow Vi. You know I wouldn't do that," Amalia murmurs, looking up at Phoebe through eyes like flint.
"I want to stop the Voice. The Order hasn't promised me anything," Her alto voice is sharp, hurt by the insinuation that this is somehow an attempt to gain... what? "But they did tell me they wanted prevent a war without shedding any blood or taking any lives. And I can't ignore the possibility of that being real, even if I don't like the men who make the offer."
Phoebe sighed and shook her head. "I know you wouldn't under normal circumstances. But if you truly seek to uphold Vi's values, then I beg you to to be far more dubious of these people despite their wishes, if only for his sake and not your own." she said, wrapping her arms around her waist. It was why she was so doubtful of them herself. They didn't choose to seek her out because of her, the sought her out because of Frey. No matter how enticing the promises were, or how terrified or guilty their words made her feel, she could not simply listen.
"Of course they would offer that. You are a follower of Vi." she said, parroting Amalia's own words. Perhaps it was an earnest truth the order had made but it could just as easily be manipulation. "They know everything about you to win you over. I just..." Phoebe paused, looking away again, this time her eyes finding a window, looking out at the Grounds she once called home. "I don't want anyone playing into the Order's hands unwittingly like the Outlanders played into the Voice's." she said softly.
The anger Amalia feels only sharpens as Phoebe continues to explain, her dark eyes flashing dangerously at the insinuations she hears. Still she holds her tongue and her temper, saying nothing in return.
Until Phoebe brings up Outlanders, that is.
"You are an Outlander yourself, Phoebe." The Shield's voice is low and quiet, anger cracking at the edges. "Your people are the ones who brought down the Barrier. Who played into the Voice's hands. I have spent my life here, following the Gods, doing everything I can to keep my home safe and live by Vi's laws while everything changes around me. While you ran away."
There's pain in her expression, too, but the glint of aggravation drowns it out. Her fingers clench the edge of the table, leaving her knuckles white. "I was born to these lands, Phoebe. These gods. I have given my life for them, and they have placed faith in me. Don't disrespect me - and them - by suggesting that I don't know their values. I understand the stakes more than you ever will."
Phoebe is silent in the wake of Amalia's tirade, lips pulled thin as she gripped the sides of her dress with her fingers - her own knuckles as white as the baker's. Her eyes shut, drawing in a slow breath through her nose to try and calm her own ire that threatened to boil up. She knew all to well now that her anger was not actually that, but hurt, old wounds easily struck and reopened. No matter what she did, no matter where she went, she would always be an Outlander. She would never belong. Never fit in. Never have a real home in this world filled with so many who thought just the same as Amalia.
"You're right. I am an Outlander." she said softly, honeyed eyes opening again to look at the Shield. The wounds her words inflicted shone clear, despite standing tall before her still. "And no matter what I do, no matter how hard I try to make this place my home you and yours will always be around to remind me just how scarce your empathy is for those who wish nothing more than to make the best of an unjust situation." she said, voice tight. Phoebe had attended no great crusades to bring down the Spire. She made no attempts to release the Voice or aid her - she had never even so much as spoken to her. Instead she had sought guidance from Frey, a herald of the Old Gods. She had sought to heal those when the Voice's blight raged in the Hollowed Ground and spoke up about the involvement of the Ascended when she had spotted it in the cells. But it didn't matter. She was an Outlander - and that would always outweigh everything else.
"I'm sorry I came. I should've known you would not listen to filth like myself. You do know everything, after all." she said softly, turning towards the door.
09-01-2020, 09:28 PM (This post was last modified: 09-01-2020, 09:28 PM by Amalia.)
Amalia
why else are we here if not
Amalia's mouth sets itself in a hard, straight line, her fingers beginning to hurt from the pressure with which she holds the table's edge. To be insulted, misconstrued, and accused of bigotry in her own home is more than she can currently bear; it is only through formidable strength of will that she does not rise and flip the table, does not slap Phoebe for her words.
Silently steaming, the Shield watches as the woman she'd hoped to greet as a friend makes her way to the door. Part of her regrets the encounter, but another part - a strong, stubborn part, a proud part despite the failures she's encountered - holds her firmly in place. She makes no protest of the woman's departure, watching with blazing, onyx eyes as the Nightengale places her hand on the door. "Goodbye, Phoebe," is all the Shield says, waiting for Phoebe to disappear before finally letting the adrenaline fade, head dropping down to her hands.
