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!
One of the Greatrooms in the Tower, reserved only for Order members, boasts floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a magnificent hearth, and windows that reach towards the rafters and look out on the city. In the middle of this room, placed upon the luxurious red and midnight blue carpet is a long table of wrought ironwood. Inlaid with the Order's insignia, it is where all official Order business and voting is conducted.
Seated at the head of the table where he always is, sits Cian. Dressed in a pressed and tailored suit, the Eye holds a smouldering cigarette between his fingers as he waits for the Order to arrive (including our PCs as well as other spots which haven't yet been filled). Despite the seriousness of the conversation which they'll soon have, Cian looks utterly without care. His posture is relaxed, no lines of tension show on his face, and he smokes his cigarette with all the urgency of a man relaxing on a beach somewhere, without a care in the world.
Dorian arrived promptly, impeccably dressed as always, a few files in hand. As always, his expression is set in a warm smile, welcoming and open. This meeting was serious, sure, but really it did not require a dour countenance. Though when he opened the door and saw his friend sitting there looking utterly careless and devoid of any emotion he was far from surprised.
"Lovely day for a meeting, Cian!" he greeted warmly, grin wrought wide on his face. The Orator set the stack of files in front of Cian for reference - having added his notes as to potential relationships that could be built or strings pulled to earn more favor for their cause. Then he took his seat at his right hand, leaning back comfortably in his chair as they awaited the arrival of the rest of the Order members.
You are not impeccably dressed. Your hair is knotted on the top of your head, your scrubs have stains on them which probably shouldn't be asked after for those with weak stomachs, and you look as though you haven't slept in a solid 2 days. You have patients to look after, and while you know how important this vote is going to be, you also don't have much time for small talk. You hope this is made clear by the way you flop into your chair, giving a brief nod to Dorian and Cian, and go back to finishing the charts that you've brought with you.
09-02-2020, 08:54 AM (This post was last modified: 09-02-2020, 10:21 AM by Gideon.)
Your soul is connected to the world you're in
After waking up early as he always did, lighting the candles and conducting his morning prayers, Gideon was prepared to go up to the meeting. He often found them to be frustrating affairs, thinking that they ought to only make plans when instructed by the Gods, but knowing that the Gods did not always have time for their petty mortal concerns, he had made concessions.
Gliding into the room with his always-steel composure he sat and cast a look silently around the rest of the table, as if measuring the souls of each member arranged there. His final look was given to Cian, Gideon leaning forward and lacing his fingers together on the table as he waited for whatever matter there was now to be brought to their attention: he was sure he would have to pray and discuss it with the Gods later.
You're dragging it down with the weight of your sin
Falke is worried, but does not show it. Not about the vote, no, but about Fian. About Cian. About the unknown contamination that cannot possibly be a good thing. His hip, at least, is feeling as good as new today, so he walks in without his cane and slips easily into a seat next to Tobi, saying hello with a brief pat on the shoulder. The Fixer realizes he hasn’t seen her all day.
Almost last, he cannot help but notice that Finn isn’t there - or there yet? There’s a big difference between the two. Taking out a new little notebook, he jots something down and then closes it again, resigned to waiting to find out what this is about.
THE 'FIXER'
the greatest fear I've ever kept is dying with regrets
Cian also notices that Finn is not present, though perhaps unlike the rest of them, he has anticipated this. The hour he gave the Spyglass to return has long come and gone, Finn having chosen his own fate. So be it.
"No doubt many of you know why I've called ye'all here." The Eye begins. The Irish lilt to his voice is not the upbeat-melodic sound that others possess, but instead is a dry and dusty thing that that twirls like woodsmoke. "Those from the North have found their way into the Climb, where Tanau has been found again. But they've released a ... sickness, into the world." Cian pauses, letting the weight of his words echo out into the vast room before continuing.
"I can tell you that the initial period of contamination seems to be over, however without samples from the infected for Doctor Guildenstern to work on, we won't know much more." How Cian knows what he does has always been a closely guarded mystery, but this group is well used to it by now. "If we offer up our services in helping our Northen neighbours with this problem we might buy ourselves a bit of goodwill...It might also allow us to keep control of any cure we come across." Cian's fingers drum absently on the table. "This has affected everyone. Including the Ascended." He adds, almost casually, the implications clear: if the Order position themselves as keepers of a cure such that no one else seeks one...then perhaps they might easily eradicate some of their ascended rivals.
Gideon did notice the absence of one of their members, his eyes flicking to the empty chair in way of comment to anyone that caught his gaze, but said nothing. Who was in the organisation was unimportant to him, as long as they continued to serve the Gods; he only wondered if Finn had failed to be faithful or competent enough.
What Cian had to tell them was interesting indeed: an illness, potentially a plague of sorts, brought on by something to do with Tanau...immediately he was interested, watching Cian closely with an intent to ask the Gods about this later. Of course, he understood immediately the implications of the cure, of the Ascended being effected, and his heart filled with the mix of pride and fear it always did when he believed the Gods had enacted a plan.
"Are any of our own people affected by this illness as of yet?" Gideon asked, unsure if the cure was merely a political advantage for them to snatch, or a necessity for their people. If a plague was about to hit Stormbreak, he'd have to prepare for a lot of bolstering the people's spirits.
You're dragging it down with the weight of your sin
09-06-2020, 02:33 PM (This post was last modified: 09-09-2020, 09:34 AM by Amaris.)
Amaris
However big, however small Let me be part of it all
The dragon listened. He was perched on a high shelf in the corner, having made room for himself amongst books and other such objects the humans felt needed to be stored. Below, his golden gaze watched his bonded, her slim figure poised on a chair at the great table, surrounded by her peers.
And he senses the excitement that the words Cian offers stirs within her, feels the focus shift as she clings to the information. Hesitating to hear Gideon's question, she pauses once more, having made note of who was absent from the meeting so far - most notably, where was Finn?
"How does the sickness present?" A soft, yet clear melodious voice asked - and for a reason all of them would know. How does it weaken the afflicted? Cian's implications were clear - but Amaris needed more. She made a living from knowing how to exploit the weakness in another, and she wanted to know just what advantage this turn of events might provide her.
The dragon hummed quietly from his position, a hint of smoke drifting from a single nostril at the thought of things to come.
You may be right, you may be wrong But say that you'll bring me along
Ah. The Fixer had expected as much. And though he hasn’t experienced the illness firsthand the way Tobi has, he is already sure it will not be an easy thing to defeat, if it’s garnered the attention of the Order. They’d stayed away from interfering with the Blight, but this must be of another caliber.
What does rankle the usually good-natured man, is that he doesn’t know much about this contamination. The report from the samples leave few, if any clues, and whatever Cian knows has been held close to his chest. With little to add in a meeting where he should be able to provide them with more answers, the good Doctor simply crosses his arms across his chest and leans back a little bit, watching the other members with an observant eye and taking a few notes, but otherwise saying nothing, even as the Blade asks for its clinical presentation.
To those that know him well, Falke’s silence and suppressed nature radiate frustration and anger; this is absolutely something he should have told the Doctor before the meeting began.
THE 'FIXER'
the greatest fear I've ever kept is dying with regrets
THE LION ISN'T SACRED WHEN NOT SLEEPING NEAR THE LAMB
Brecken always felt the weight of history when in this room. It was as if the members of the Order past sat with them or stood peering over their shoulders, silently judging the merit of every spoken word. In such times, he did not envy Cian's position, though he suspected Cian did not feel the same way about the room, or about the Order, or about much of anything. Cian remained cool and unreadable as a statue of a man, and yet possessed only the supple elasticity of the living - of an apex predator at ease in its surroundings. And yet, he had called them together with no glad news.
Sickness — Brecken knew of the whispers. Nothing shifted in his face at the news stated plain, but somewhere in his chest, his heart accelerated just a touch. Was it fear? Excitement? Or pure stimulation, his body chafing at the need to sit still when it could be under sunlight straining against whatever objective Brecken made up for it on a given day? He had never been very good at reading himself. He certainly wasn't very good at reading the others, though he tilted his head toward the sound of each voice speaking in turn, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied their faces. What were they thinking? How much did they already know? How much did Cian know, sitting there in his throne, depthless as the sea? Sometimes Brecken wished he were more clever in the way of politic, but now he just wished a sickness was a thing he could fight with his hands. What good was he, sitting here on his ass, thinking about it?
What good would he be out in the city?
There were things he wanted to know, but he held his silence. The answer to Gideon's question intrigued him the most. It would determine much about how he perceived the news. Afterward, when Brecken understood if the new plague was a direct threat, he would have more time to think about strangling it. Or — otherwise. He did not think such a thing could arise by accident, not with the ever-watchful eyes of the gods peering over their shoulders. So, what had changed? And where did that leave him?
IT IS EVIL WHEN IT EATS UNLESS IT'S FEEDING FROM THE DAMNED.
Dorian listened quietly, eyes focusing down on the papers before him, as he casually perused the files. Those who were contaminated were only of interest to him, really, if they were people of interest to the Order. Thin lips pulled taught, mulling over the correct sequence of strings to pull while the others asked the more mundane questions - how did the illness present, who amongst their own were ill - such boring, predictable responses. The Fixer, in particular, who nearly glowed red with his rage, was not surprising in the least.
The Orator leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs as he lifted his hands up, index fingers pressed together against his lips as he clasped his hands. He tapped his fingers to his lips briefly, before seizing on the moment of silence. "If I might suggest, Cian..." he said, voice light despite the severity of the conversation. "It would be wise for our efforts to focus first on those infected with particular interest to us." he said tapping the files before him. "Let the Fixer see directly to their care - perhaps even bring them here to convalesce - so they might recover quickly and we can get dedicated patients for him to research and cure. The beloved Priest can also attend to them, further convincing them of our righteousness and closeness with the Old Gods. Once a cure is made, we can deploy our other assets to cure the rest - Ascended aside of course - with new champions of our benevolence known within the communities of our neighbors." he said, laying out his thoughts for a plan. This must be carefully orchestrated of course for them to take full advantage of what had been placed in their hands after all.
The Eye turns a slow and intentional stare towards Gideon as he asks the question that, were they all given a bit of time and perhaps the freedom to speak candidly, would have been answered already. Nodding to where Finn's chair is, still empty, Cian returns his gaze to the Priest. "Finn was given explicit instructions with regard to one of the infected. It seems he was not able to maintain an appropriate distance." Does Cian know about the picnics? The walks? The bed shared between the Shield and Spyglass? If he does, he keeps those things to himself.
Turning to Falke and October, the Eye tugs in a slow breath. "Doctor Guildenstern seems to think you a good candidate for field work, Doctor Hart." Despite how he knows this news will likely fill her with excitement, his own expression is blandly neutral. "Your first task will be bringing Finn back. He was last seen at the Inn in the Hollowed Grounds...It is imperative that he is returned to Stormbreak at once."
To Amaris the Eye turns his denim stare. Context is key with Cian; someone else having asked this question might have been dismissed. But for Amaris, capable and clever woman she was, the Eye seemed to have an abundance of patience. "Flu-like symptoms at first. Fever, disorientation, dehydration. As it progresses hallucinations—both visual and audio—and finally a slow and strange descent into madness and confusion. Those affected can become violent, can self-harm without realizing what they're doing, often lose control of their magics and shifts....perhaps most interestingly is a desire for fire. They seek it out, burning themselves as if not realizing what harm the heat will do."
As Dorian pipes up, Cian's gaze moves across the table to his old friend, though despite their familiarity in this room, at this table, Dorian is treated just like any other. "Falke, what say you to this? Shall we try and wrangle them up here? I know of only two who have been infected: Remi Taliesin and Amalia Chandrakant." He watches out of the corner of his eye to see what Amaris' reaction to this might be. Cian can also see Falke's anger but makes no mention of it. He's telling the man now, that will have to be good enough. "Dorian, you'd made headway with bringing the Taliesin's here...what of Amalia? Would she relocate easily?"
However big, however small Let me be part of it all
The dragon watched as the humans below squabbled - at least, it looks very much like squabbling to him. All humans things seemed petty and small to him - unless they directly involved his bondmate. And when the Eye turned his gaze to her, Dramyrth watched and listened, attention bristling as his bonded focussed in on the information provided. He was listening for a different reason than Amaris, of course - he was listening to ensure she was treated as he imagined she deserved, with utmost respect and deference. And, detecting no slight on Cian's part, he settled back in his little nook, his bonded's thought percolating about their heads as she memorised all the Eye provided.
Amaris did not need to make notes, not anymore, not when it came to swiftly digesting information about weaknesses in her potential foes. It interested her greatly, and she took it all in with relative ease, logging it away in her mind, information she could put to use if she was needed to help restrain, eliminate or otherwise interact with their enemies who were afflicted. It was an advantage she wanted to exploit, and the mention of fire in particular stirred a dark note of amusement between her and her bondmate. Fire was something they could provide. A small nod was given in thanks to Cian as he finished, only half-listening to what the Orator had to say as her thoughts turned to introspection.
It hadn't been important for her to know the names in the files before now. Hadn't been relevant to her position - they were not targets for her blade or her dragon's fire. So her attention had shifted slightly, had reverted inward. But then Chandrakant was mentioned, and a subtle shift overcame her as her golden gaze settled once more on Cian, silently questioning the accuracy of his words, or her hearing of them.
So, the Chandrakant line had survived outside of Stormbreak, had weathered the chaos of the barrier surrounding the Grounds, had produced at least one descendant. A cousin, from a faraway great aunt, no doubt. Suddenly Amaris felt that she had a new target for her attention to seek out, though for quite different reasons than before. No dragon fire or blades for this quest, but rather, a quest of the heart. Dramyrth sent a curious pulse across the bond to his bondmate, a soft, almost inaudible note crooning from his throat. A sigh rolled through her lips, as she recentred herself in the meeting, awaiting further instruction. They survived, she thought, her expression unreadable.
You may be right, you may be wrong But say that you'll bring me along
(Bringing this to a close because lmfao what are timelines.)
"So long as the risk of infection remains zero, you may all carry about your duties as you normally would. If you think it would be helpful to visit the capitals, by all means...Though until we know how we might assist in this, I suggest keeping a low profile." Cian's gaze swings to Dorian briefly, an eyebrow raised, before turning back to the group at large.
"Though this began in the Climb I don't believe it will be so easily cured simply by visiting there. But...I have been wrong before." He adds with a dusty shrug. "There is a group planning to investigate. Should I hear anything about their adventures, I will bring it to your attention at once."
OKAY. This is free license to go where you please!
