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!
Well, they were back in the Hollowed Grounds now, for better or for worse. Though, from the whisperings on the winds, it seemed it might be leaning towards worse, some flu rippling through the population.
Sickness is the absolute last thing on Osozo’s mind as they walk the familiar path to the artists sanctuary though. Something else, someone else has been occupying their thoughts, has spurred this journey. Azrael. Another being forged solely by the Voice’s hand, a child, the closest thing they will have to a sibling in this world. Closer than the other ascended. Closer than Wessex even.
Bastien is a babbling, near incoherent mess, filled with delusions Osozo doesn’t know how to navigate, they they ignore easily in the face of their true purpose here. The Demi-god ascends the stairs, ignoring the pieces of a home, messy and alien, and enters rooms at random, until they find Azrael.
”Hello.” They stand at the door, hair shifting between a rainbow of brightness, eyes glowing with the Voice’s own blue. After a moment, they crouch, meaning to get on their siblings level, to seem less imposing.
Bastien had been… Off, as far as Azrael is concerned. They’ve mostly kept to themselves, though occasionally enduring the never ending praise and comfort that their father gives them through random fits throughout the night. But on this day, they’re upstairs, tinkering with a new toy that they heard a man named Deimos had made them – one where they could take it apart and put it back together, fidgeting with the pieces until a new creation was formed.
This is what they’re doing now, as Osozo walks in, carefully attaching a leg of a luxere onto the body of the dragon, before their head lifts to spot the Other one they had seen from the big family meeting. For a moment, they simply stare, waiting until Osozo has dropped down to their level, quiet and watchful with wide brown eyes ringed in sapphire. “Hi.” Comes their soft voice, gentle and easy, an acceptance.
“I’m Azrael.” They say, a small childish and sheepish smile crossing their lips as they focus their hands on fidgeting with their dragon-luxere combination.
It feels strange to say, but there is something Azrael's eyes that makes Osozo shiver, that brings a strange, distant grin to their lips. Eyes that are still a glowing blue look over their youngest sibling, taking in everything, wondering what the differences between them were, what the similarities were. A conversation from when they had first awakened drifts through Osozo's mind, questioning whether they felt lesser for being the first, a question that at the time they could only assume the answer to. Now though, they knew: No, no not at all. If their existence made it easier for those who came next, for Azrael, then Osozo was content.
"I'm Osozo." Though they would never admit it, nerves drag the sounds out even longer than the Demi-god would normally, their name becoming a buzz between their teeth. "It's nice to meet you Azrael." Though their mind swims with questions, the uncertainty showing clearly in the shifting colours in their hair, Osozo's tongue is tied. They've never dealt with a child before. "What... is that you're playing with?" Perhaps simply starting a conversation would help, would loosen their tongue and convince it to work.
“Zozo.” They repeat, whispered under their breath to commit their name to memory. Their gaze remains on Osozo, watchful and curious, enjoying the blossoming of different colors within their hair. And then? As they question what Azrael is doing, they flash a big grin toward their fellow demi-god and hold the toy up for them to see.
They immediately pop the leg off of the creature as a demonstration. “It’s a toy! That I can break and remake.” Their hands fall back into their lap with the toy within, and they move to fit the leg back into place. “Papa got it for me so I could stop breaking the other ones.” Despite their hard focus, Azrael manages to glance up to Osozo briefly, wondering whether what had called them there was the same that had them spotting them in the meeting.
Suddenly, with only one leg attached and three creatures to choose from, Azrael thrusts the toy out toward Osozo with a childish grin. “Do you wanna try?”
"A toy." The older (relatively at least, best not to think about actual time spent alive at the moment) Demi-god repeats, a smile crossing their face as they relax, suddenly, legs stretching out in front of them. "I've never had a toy." They muse, more to themself than Azrael, red suddenly dripping through their hair before they focus again, looking at the mismatched, one legged toy. "Why were you breaking the other ones?"
The response to the grin, the offering of the toy is immediate. Bright pink flares up through their hair, almsot like a firework. "Yes I do!" Their hands might be eager, almost greedy seeming with the haste that Osozo reaches out, but they're careful and gentle as they accept the offered item from the younger Demi-god.
There is a kind of careful reverence in Osozo's hands, fingers moving along the one legged toy as they consider, shifting to grab the pieces they desire. Dragon's legs, a unicorns delicate head, the pieces slotting together perfectly, despite the chimera they form. Once they've finished, Osozo lifts up the newly made beast and offers the toy back, a toothy grin spread over their face.
“Really?” They ask, their voice a soft whisper of surprise and shock as the realization sets in. What did Osozo do with their time if they didn’t have toys? Azrael can’t even imagine how to spend their day if they didn’t have their toys to fiddle with, to tear apart and recreate over and over again. Their gaze is wide as Osozo’s hair begins to turn red, listening for their question as Azrael considers an answer. “Because I make them gooder.” They say, lifting a toy that was definitely not meant to be torn apart and put back together, but had been anyway, and waving it around as if it were their prized joy.
In a way, it was.
But then they’re offering for Osozo to help with the toy that’s built for it, and a wide grin crosses Az’s lips as pink suddenly replaces the red. They hand the toy over to them and sit back in their bed, watching excitedly as someone else seems to harbor the very same interest in their toy that they did. And when it’s finished, Azrael claps excitedly – a signature perhaps of their father? – before taking the toy back and inspecting it in surprise and awe. “I like this a lot.” They say, running small fingers over the different parts. “You’re really good at this!”
"You certainly do." Osozo agrees easily, taking in the chimeric toy and smiling at it. But their focus turns to their own creation, still put together with a kind of intention, something that even Osozo isn't sure they can really voice, not when it's a feeling, an urge to create something different, instead of a process, with each step thought out.
The grin that spreads over Osozo's face is almost shy, ripples of pink running again through their hair and eyes as opposed to spreading over their cheeks. "Thank you." There is no patronizing tone in their voice, no inflection to imply they are speaking to anything other than an equal. There is a sense that though the ascended call themselves a family, though they are all connected, that bond is nothing compared to this one.
Even between Osozo and Wessex, it's different. They are siblings, but Azrael has been made as well, crafted entirely by the patient caring hand of the Voice. It's different. It keeps Osozo close, knelt in the room for far longer than they seem to realize. Not that they mind. They're having... fun.
And they'll keep having fun, until such a time that either Azrael or Bastien grows sick of their presence.
