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!
Finn’s hand has just reached out to touch the metal structure when Amalia mentions it - the land full of fire - and for a second he freezes, his breath catching in his throat. Dark blue eyes focus on something entirely elsewhere, and before Finn knows it he is clenching a hand around iron tight enough for it to bite into the joints of his fingers. He peels himself away, movements purposefully slow, his hands jammed back in his pockets.
It’s an injustice for them both to be caught in their own nightmares; Finn does not notice Amalia’s struggles, and she does not notice him in turn. ”I see,” he says of LongNight, though he can’t help the way his expression sharpens a touch at the Ascended and their apparent plans. ”And do you believe them?” he asks. ”That they will be able to stop this?” As they speak he’s moved to follow her again, content to leave the spark bird and its perch for the rain for now.
& oh, poor atlas - the world's a beast of a burden
"I believe the Voice is a liar, and only does things for her own gain." The words are sharper than she intended, slicing clearly through the rain. Forcing her jaw to unclench, she runs her fingers through damp hair. "But the Ascended lost two of their own this year. Hopefully that's enough for them to at least try."
She's winding down familiar streets again, her feet falling somewhat unevenly - she's become unaccustomed to shoes. They make another brief stop at a merchant's, exchanging two rye loaves for jerky and hide, then continue on their way.
The path turns, the road narrowing as they leave the main market behind. Normally Amalia's trade route doesn't take her in this direction, but she'd thought it might be something Finn would enjoy. At the end of the cobbled road sits a small shop, its windows lit warmly, door slightly ajar. Chords of music can be heard from within, the delicate plinking of a harp.
"I hope you don't mind- I took a detour." Stopping just outside the building, the Shield turns anxious eyes to Finn. "The shopkeeper - his name is Roland - he makes all the instruments himself, him and his granddaughter. I thought, since you said you like music..." Trailing off she shrugs her narrow shoulders, biting her lip hopefully as she waits for his reaction to her surprise.
08-25-2020, 11:24 PM (This post was last modified: 08-25-2020, 11:26 PM by Finn.)
FINN
and into the forest i go,
”Hmm...” It’s unlike Finn to be so purposefully silent, but the reason for it is quite evident. His jaw has clenched too, and it’s a soft nod of agreement that he throws her way, eyes on the cobbled streets before them. ”Do you find it sad, that it is only now that they are losing their own, that they want to try and fight them back?” he wonders, following Amalia’s uneven footsteps wherever she wants to lead them. Finn knows only the way back to his rooms, after all.
He stands by as she makes the rest of her deliveries, perusing stalls and watching the clouds pass overhead, leaving a chill sun in its wake and wet coats upon their shoulders. So it’s not so surprising that he’s distracted when they find themselves down a dinky side street, Finn refocusing with an apology already forming on his lips - then, of course, he sees the shop ahead. The chords reach his ears.
And the Spyglass is already stepping forward and past her to gaze in through the windows, the tension wiped from his expression; he’s crouching, even, to better see an exquisitely crafted violin. At least, he thinks it’s a violin, given that the Hollowed Grounds are probably a bit behind the curve when it comes to these things. ”Thank you,” he breathes, straightening up and offering Amalia a smile that seems to shine out of him. One that lifts the rain clouds and strips away the years. ”Would you like to go inside with me?”
& oh, poor atlas - the world's a beast of a burden
Amalia could spend an unseemly amount of time soliloquizing her thoughts on the Ascended and their flaws. "I... think it's sad how blind they are," she says slowly, choosing each word with an unusual amount of care, though there's a rising fervor in her tone. "And how reliant the Voice has made them on her. They can't exist without her, not for long. That's not living. It's a mockery of Vi's gifts."
She'd hoped that Finn would enjoy the music store. She hadn't anticipated the change that came over him. Amalia blinks in stunned surprise at the man who stands before her now, his smile and demeanor entirely different from the man he'd been a moment before. It feels as though a switch had flipped, illuminating her companion from within, chasing away the shadows he carries so well. It warms her, too, and she finds herself smiling back, a shy reflection of his delight. "Of course."
The Shield lets him lead the way, shutting the door behind them. She watches him like a curious shadow until a voice from the back of the shop rings out her name. It's accompanied by an elderly man with dark skin and keep eyes who wastes no time in stepping forward and grabbing Amalia in a hug. The Shield laughs, flashing an apologetic look to Finn as she's released, face now entirely colored rose. "Hi, Uncle Roland," she greets the shopkeeper familiarly. "I'm sorry I haven't been by more. Um, this is my friend, Finn." Stepping back, Amalia extends a hand indicate the Spyglass, eager to leave the limelight. "He's a musician, and I thought- well. Nobody makes better instruments than you."
The weight of their previous conversation is lost now, on Finn. He leads them into the music shop with eyes keen to take everything in, lingering on small trinkets, on the odd bit of sheet music. He’s still perusing when the owner appears, wrapping Amalia in a hug, and the Spyglass turns to give a less bright, but still markedly warm smile to him. His cheeks colour just a little at the word friend, and he gives a quick nod to the other man.
”It is my first time visiting the Hollowed Grounds. I did not expect to come upon a place like this. Thank you, Amalia.” He turns again, drinking in every shelf, every string, and his ears follow the sound of chords to where a customer has paused to try out a guitar. It’s well crafted but still like nothing Finn has ever seen before. ”Do you play?” he asks Amalia, gesturing to... well, anything at all that surrounds them.”
& oh, poor atlas - the world's a beast of a burden
Both Amalia and Roland watch as Finn drinks in the store, though their attentions are clearly on different things. The shopkeeper chuckles as the young man pauses at the sound of the guitar, squeezing the Shield's shoulder gently before walking away. Amalia scarcely notices: she's still entranced and bemused by the change that's come over Finn. It's only when he speaks again that she realizes she's staring; cheeks flushing even redder, if possible, she clears her throat and turns abruptly to inspect a tambourine.
"No. My grandmother did, but I never had much musical talent." Her delicate fingers pick up the instrument, tapping a simple rhythm over the tanned hide and causing the bells to chime. "You said you write music, though? And play?" Again she's looking at him, eager eyes wide. "What instruments? Maybe Roland can find you one to play- if. If you want."
The chiming of the bells reminds him of festival days and marketplaces; times before Finn was Finn, when he might have been anything. He might have become anyone. Here in the warmth of the shop with the smell of resin and varnish all around, with the hum of music in the air, he can almost forget that. And as Amalia fires off questions, for once they’re ones that Finn is comfortable answering; he nods at the man playing the guitar. ”That is where I started, and it is what I always go back to,” he admits.
Roland doesn’t wait for him to answer - whether or not Finn wants to play, the elderly shopkeeper is already lifting a worn looking guitar from one of the walls. It looks well played, though even at a glance the Spyglass can tell that it’s in need of some care. This one came in secondhand,” Roland explains. ”One of the first I made.”
He hands it to Finn, who accepts it as if he’s holding some priceless artefact, swiftly shrugging out of his coat so he can hold the instrument properly. A few experimental plucks of the strings prove that it’s in need of tuning, and he gets to work on that next. ”Are you sure this is alright?” He glances between them both.
& oh, poor atlas - the world's a beast of a burden
Before Amalia can ask more questions Roland reappears, thrusting the instrument into Finn's hands before stepping back to watch him play. The Shield scoops up his coat as he shrugs it to the floor, throwing it thoughtlessly over her arm and returning to her position in the audience of this impromptu show.
She knows enough to know that the notes he's plucking need adjustment, and to recognize it when the strings are tightened enough to be in tune. Curious dark eyes dart between his fingers and his face, taking in every shift in his fingers even if she cannot understand them, fascinated by the way such small movements can so remarkably change the sound.
"Of course," Amalia and Roland say in unison, the woman somewhat breathlessly, the old man encouraging and warm. 'We love having outlanders here to share their music,' the man continues, using the blanket term of outlander to cover anyone not from the Grounds. 'If I'm lucky you'll be able to teach an old dog some new tricks.'
It goes through his head - I’m not an Outlander - but his lips aren’t at home right now to relay the message. Finn has shrugged the strap over his shoulder to better hold the guitar, his fingers never still, his ear cocked to listen to the notes until they strike true. His hands move like he doesn’t need to think about where they’re going; and it’s true, they don’t. This might not be his instrument but it’s been loved enough to make a good approximation.
”I don’t know about that. I’m mostly self taught,” Finn excuses himself with a boyish, lopsided sort of smile, his stormy gaze flicking up to them very briefly before he returns to the guitar. The strike of the first chord tells him that it’s tuned, and beneath his fingers a slow and careful tune starts to form. It’s a lazy thing, almost like a lullaby, hailing back to rainy days and cool bedsheets, to Flowerbirth mornings and dewdrops in grass.
& oh, poor atlas - the world's a beast of a burden
Amalia is not the only one in the shop who's listening, but she is the most intent. As the chords begin to fill the shop she can feel her mind slip into the story it tells, the clear, languid notes almost visible in her mind. She's still watching him but her eyes are distant, seeing something beyond the music: evenings under the Leafchange moon, the starlight dappled by the leaves of the Glade, her grandmother sitting down beside her in the soft green grass.
She listens until the last note falls and fades into the silence. As the vibrations cease and drift away Amalia's eyes refocus, widening as a smile curls delicately over her lips, softening the angles of her cheeks. "That was beautiful," the Shield says breathlessly, clasping her hands. "You're really, really talented."
It’s more than music; it’s medicine for the Spyglass. The guitar song gives him something for his hands and his mind to focus upon, taking him away from here and away from himself. It’s the rest he can’t get when his thoughts won’t shut down; it’s the dreams he can’t dream when he really is asleep. He lets the final notes fade with a faraway sort of smile, caught quite by surprise at the sound of Amalia’s voice. Red flushes his cheeks, Finn grinning at the ground rather than meeting her eyes, and he shrugs the guitar back over his head to hand it back to Roland.
”I just have a lot of time on my hands, when I’m not out working,” he says, like he wants to defend his talent. It’s only then that he realises that she’s holding his coat, and the apology leaps to his lips in an instant; he only just manages to form it into something else. ”Thank you - you didn’t have to worry about that,” he says, glancing back to Roland as the old man replaces the guitar, is eyes crinkling at the corners.
”I don’t reckon that old gal’s had a sound like that out of her in years,” he says.
& oh, poor atlas - the world's a beast of a burden
There's something magical in watching another fall into their passions, swept away from reality by a love more pure and unwavering than that felt between humans. She passes back his coat with a dismissive shrug, the smile still warm on her coral lips, dark gaze turning to watch as Roland replaces the guitar on the wall.
"Where did you learn to play like that?" Amalia wonders aloud, reaching out to press her own fingers to the guitar's strings. They hum beneath her uncertain caress, aimless notes plucked by unskilled fingers sounding far more discordant than harmonic. Her voice is distant, alto smoke, distracted as she admires the craftsmanship of the guitar. "It seems a shame, for something so beautiful to be kept on a wall... It deserves to be used. Loved."
Finn shrugs back into his coat with a murmur of thanks, turning the collar back up and resting his hands in the deep pockets. The flush is still there in his cheeks, and his curls bounce a little as he nods his agreement with her assessment of the instrument.
”It has seen a lot of love in its time, I would wager,” he says. ”Perhaps someone will come along and pick it up, now that they’ve heard the music it can make.” Perhaps that someone should be him? The thought doesn’t even cross his mind; hyper focused as the Spyglass can be, he knows he already has a very well-loved instrument at home. What need has he for another?
He chews at the inside of his lip as Amalia asks more about him, Finn shrugging his shoulders and looking somewhere out the front door of the shop. ”I learned a while ago,” he says slowly. ”Someone I knew taught me the basics. I picked the rest up myself from there.”
& oh, poor atlas - the world's a beast of a burden
Perhaps he doesn't realize the opening he's made, but Amalia capitalizes on it. Dropping her hand away from the instrument she turns to focus back on Finn. "A family member?" the Shield wonders, thinking of her grandmother's attempts to instill any musical ability within her as a youth. She still knows so little of him, like what the job is that causes him to travel through the realms of Caido, or why he does not seem to open except when music plays.
"Is it hard, being away from home so much?" Again the Shield turns to the guitar, looking up at it instead of at the man. A curious smile twists her lips, mirthless, more tired than anything else. "I think I would like to travel more. It feels like little holds me here, these days," she murmurs softly, as much to herself as him.
