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!
Finding out that there was a cure actually made Oliver cry because holy fuck they were saved. Not long after reading the posting on the Notice Board, a voice called out... one he had never heard before but he could immediately guess who it was. Oliver knew immediately to not accept such a cure. There were far too many reasons why, but most importantly: Safrin. He loved her and trusted her and accepting such a cure would destroy all of that.
With his temporary cure having been consumed, Oliver was in good enough of headspace to help out with the other cure, the better one. A message had been sent over to Melita, someone he knew wasn't sick and therefore could trust to go with him. She said she'd be willing to help and this was exactly it.
Strapped to his back was a bag of essentials. Medical supplies, containers of water, some extra weapons, the incense, and a few other things they'd most likely need.
And there he was, standing before the area and waiting anxiously for Melita's arrival, ready to search for the cure that they desperately needed.
let us dance in the sun, wearing wild flowers in our hair
Notices upon notices, and despite her closeness with Nate, the firecracker youth wasn’t about to watch as the Voice manifested a cure – not with her own petty thoughts and feelings immersed upon the blight episodes. She willingly followed Oliver, however, on notions of other ways, other methods, alternatives that didn’t relegate to the New Gods’ ministrations.
That’d be enough, surely.
She didn’t allow her thoughts to manifest in any other direction, an established, stern line to her jaw as she practically stomped her way over, Fangorn bumbling behind, intermingling and entangling with the Tundra exploits, and then the heat of the Climb itself. The wild, tempestuous thing had yet to wander her way into Frey’s Breath – having gone into the world of waterfalls before, and the bizarre cathedral structure. This would be another entanglement of adventures. “Ready when you are,” she proclaimed and announced, striding forward, onward, into the threshold. “Do you know what they look like?”
It was absolutely wonderful that Melita agreed to join him on the journey. After knowing her for so long Oliver trusted her, despite the two never really growing all that close. She had done wonderful things and seemed to be a fantastic person. She always seemed to have a good heart and he knew that he could trust her to keep him safe and he hoped he could do the same for her.
Oliver offers her a forced smile and he shakes his head. "Not... really... I know what Lilies look like and I've heard descriptions... plus I know where they are-ish...do you know a lot?" Oliver planned on sketching the flower once given the opportunity, that way they could show others to make it even easier to find them.
With one final glance around them, Oliver begins to journey and heads forward. "What all do you know?" Oliver didn't know much, not at all, but he felt like he knew enough for them to make some progress, hopefully.
let us dance in the sun, wearing wild flowers in our hair
“Only what was on the notice boards.” Her strides were long, crisp, sharp, overt maneuvers of a woman in a hurry. Were she not with someone else, the youth would have raced off, unhindered, unbound, unleashed, eyes narrowed in search of some petals, some blossoms, either sorely out of place, or stark amidst the pathways. “I just…I don’t trust the Voice.” A shrug followed and flickered through; no flames, no cinders, no embers to erupt, but enough to kindle a certainty in her decision. Maybe the goddess was capable of healing those who didn’t belong in her circle – maybe she wasn’t. Maybe the world was full of promises that couldn’t be kept.
But the girl would still put a claim on hers.
Down tunnels, along places where the path lay lightly worn, obviously traveled and traversed by others doing the same as them. No hums under her breath, no modicums of delight – all business, and for once, some form of concentration. Fangorn did his part too, sniffing around, vines extending in various directions, as they continued ambling forth.
They seemed to know the exact same things. "Yeah... I did speak with Amalia a little bit... thankfully, she gave me enough water so I will be fine to just keep drinking it for now." Nobody in the Grounds needed it, but he wouldn't drink all of it, just in case someone from one of the different lands happened to need it. It was the least he could do.
Eyes shift around and he nods in agreement. "Same... she has to expect something in return and if she forces us to Ascend? Or something else- I don't know... I don't trust it... and I wouldn't betray Safrin, fuck no." Oliver had tons he wanted to say but held his tongue, not wanting to be too angry or too negative. To help, he took in a few deep breaths, making sure he kept a calm voice and that his heart rate wouldn't rise too much.
The tunnels around them seem to go on for ages and he's honestly happy to have the gourd along with them, he's a lovely travel companion. "I just hope we can do something... I.... I don't know if you heard, but I was up against Wessex when she was running for Queen."
let us dance in the sun, wearing wild flowers in our hair
At the entrance to Frey's Breath, nearly veiled by the thick mists, sits a perfectly sculpted lily. Bright turquoise veins run throughout the delicate petals.
The youth nodded, gaze not on the blacksmith, but glancing everywhere else – mesmerized briefly by flows of lava, by intricate designs of magma, where everything came together in glorious fire. Perhaps she’d have to visit more often, once all of these trials and tribulations blew over (did they ever?). “You can get more while we’re here.” In case didn’t echo from her lips, but the thought encased and embroiled itself.
Further notions on the Voice resounded along cavern walls, and she could fathom, understand, why it would feel like betrayal on the parts of Old God followers, her reasons were more from experience, what she’d suffered, and been afflicted with. “I doubt she’d force anyone to Ascend. That doesn’t seem to be her method.” But something else? A trick? A layer of deception? Or merely playing the nice one in all the layers of these acrimonies? It wouldn’t surprise Melita. “I had the blight years ago. Which she and the Ascended caused. She didn’t do anything about it.” Let them fester and decay; it’d been Vi’s Roses, plucking them, that had committed to the healing.
Fangorn vined his way ahead of her, sniffing at the ground, and she tilted her head, eyes widening at Oliver’s announcement and proclamation. “Oh, I didn’t – I didn’t know.” A softened smile, somewhat impressed that he’d strived and attempted to go against the Wraith in a political game, but not surprised Wessex had retained her position of power again. What she’d do with it would be anyone’s guess. The notion of her old mentor schismed something in her chest, and she labored on, hitching her bag further up her shoulder. “At least you tried.”
Her gaze settled nearby - and then she saw the flower. A loud gasp, a rush forward, crouching, studying, examining, mouth agape. "Do you think this is it?"
A hum of thought and Oliver offers her a nod. "Yes- that's a good idea." He did bring some water with him- so might as well replace it with the healing one. It would do him some good to have plenty extra should they need it again.
Melita had a much better understanding of the Voice and Oliver wasn't surprised. Hadn't she been here for far longer? Most likely. He wasn't really sure about anyone's timelines with being here, it was hard to be sure of anything really. "I guess... it just feels weird that she'd give us a cure suddenly... it feels funny." Why on earth did the Voice have a cure anyways? Did she always have one? There were so many questions and none would be answered anytime soon.
Her response isn't surprising and he offers her a shrug. "I only found out when someone told me- I was sick and hadn't remembered... honestly? I'd do the same thing now... I don't think Wessex actually cares about the non-ascended... it makes me scared that she will try to use me and never actually try to help me." Oliver seems far from angry or resentful- he's scared. It's obvious that he worries that the ruler chosen won't care about those who aren't Ascended.
Their luck is strong and Oliver isn't the first to notice the flower, Melita is. Following after her, Oliver stands a foot behind her. "I think so- it's so beautiful... so it has to be, right? Go ahead and try to get it." He trusts Meltia to secure the lily, having zero faith in his own abilities.
let us dance in the sun, wearing wild flowers in our hair
She’d brought some vials in her bag too, just in case there were any others not hailing to the Voice’s call. Perhaps they’d have some benefit in being left with Vai too, considering their healing potency – maybe it had some prowess in affecting others with various diseases. Just…not the Ascended.
“Suspicious, really.” The youth nodded in agreement – was this some little cosmic stunt? A way to showcase her abilities, to instill trust in some semblance of a population that had long since lost it? It felt like some game, with mortal lives on the line. Why would she care about any of the ones not amidst her altered, changed race? A question for another, most likely, and she heralded the notions in the back of her mind, for another day.
Oh – he’d committed the actions when he was ill, which made slightly more sense, now that she understood more than just a mere part of the picture. Melita hadn’t been capable of imagining the apprehensive man standing beside Wessex in a political challenge; but that he’d do the same thing now intrigued her. Perhaps he had more gumption, more zeal, more mettle, than she’d ever given him credit for. “She used to care about the entire Hollowed Grounds.” But that had been years ago, when they didn’t have many other options for spreading their wings. “I don’t know about now though.” Not with potency, not with power, not with airs of allegiance segmented solely on one thing. “You can always move. If you don’t feel safe.” Her eyes cast to him briefly, wondering, pondering, if he’d maneuver away from that world.
But then the flower grasped her full attention, face leering and leaning over it, mesmerized, admiring, the slight, subtle confirmation all she required. Her hands reached forward, gently, softly, to pluck the stem straight out of the ground, holding it close, tender and light. “What do we do with it now?”
10-15-2020, 03:29 AM (This post was last modified: 10-15-2020, 03:32 AM by Oliver.)
Oliver was glad to know both of them were on edge and surely, many others were as well. "I... I'll ask Safrin the next time I see her, it wont be for a while because I have things to do... but if you can also ask Ludo that would be fantastic." Oliver remembered that Melita had a fondness for the god- she had drawn It for him and spoke all about It.
Once more, Melita provides comments that Oliver strongly agrees with. Honestly, he's pretty damn thankful he brought her along. It's given him an opportunity to know that he can rely on Melita- and go to her should something go wrong. She understands what he's afraid of and sees the exact same concerns as him. "Yeah... it's all different... I mean, she was demoted for a reason, yeah?" It all frustrates him and in his opinion, it was far from a fair election, but what the fuck can he do? There's no way to stop her from being Queen now.
The mention of him leaving is a tough one and he shakes his head. "Maybe someday... but I don't know if I can leave... all I know is The Grounds at this point. I help people at the manor and then there's me shop-" He'd love to move away and escape all of the drama that the Grounds holds, but to leave those two behind? And where would he go? Loren is in Halo, but he absolutely despises it there... and there's nobody he's ultra close to in Torchline, but that's also where he's happiest. "Maybe someday, if I do move, it'll be to Torchline." There's apprehension and honestly? Maybe moving wouldn't be so bad... but to leave the manor would mean he'd officially be living all alone.
Oliver tried to lean down, but made sure to give Melita some space. "Um.... shit, Deimos didn't mention it in his posting." Oliver leans back and thinks for a long moment. Fuck fuck fuck! "We take the flowers somewhere for sure..." But where is somewhere? Snapping his fingers to help himself think, Oliver tried to focus on things he had seen. "I... I think it starts with an A? An Area... Archway.... Activity? One of those..."
let us dance in the sun, wearing wild flowers in our hair
Oliver wasn’t going to direct her actions towards her favored herald, and she’d rather go when the time was right, when she had other notions gathered. A simplistic nod followed through, hands maneuvering gently over the stem, somehow wishing Clementine was here to observe, to reflect, to grant the plant the generous admiration it deserved. But she wasn’t, and wouldn’t be, and so the youth had to make do in her own way, wandering onwards, pace slowed significantly.
Discussions over Wessex and her previous stepping down didn’t incite a flinch, but something else, stirring along the back of her mind – moments collected in libraries, amongst and amidst books, where they’d likely begun to fall apart. Wessex had been one of her favorite mentors; a powerful, strong, enduring woman who’d taught her intricacies of the staff, but had also been swinging demolition in another direction. “She and some other Ascended attacked the Mathair in the Greatwood. They destroyed it.” And some Fae, if she could recall clearly enough. It had been years ago – and still, the actions stung deep in the hearts of those who fathomed and understood history, pondering if it was damned and doomed to repeat.
She walked along, until they came to the designated springs, a gasp yearning to unfurl from her throat. The youth forgot about Oliver’s resignations about moving – if he wished to stay in the Grounds, suffering quietly, then so be it – ambling towards the beautiful waters, the ample steam, the warmth exuding. “Oh, this is amazing!” She crouched down closer, and Fangorn grumbled at her, possibly a warning, while she tucked the flower into a shirt pocket, and grabbed hold of a vial from her bag. “We can fill up on water, and then take the flower…” her voice trailed off, uncertain, head tilting as Oliver ran off the possibilities. “Hm. I’ve been to a place with a waterfall. Would that have an archway?” A long shot, but the bizarre cathedral area hadn’t contained such a semblance.
Oliver had missed the attack- only hearing tales of what the Ascended did. "And... that's awful... I can't blame the Fae for hating them." Oliver could understand it, completely. Last he heard, Wessex had hardly even apologized, stating they lost someone too so it was completely okay. In reality, it couldn't even be compared. So what if they got portals? Oliver would rather have no portals than to have the Fae be hurt.
His eyes glance away and he sighs. "May I come to you? If... something happens? I worry about what she will do as Queen... and I want someone I can go to if I need to share information" Seeing as he wasn't sure who else he could go to.
Quickly chugging down the water that he had brought (obviously, it wasn't the healing kind), Oliver moved to fill up the containers he had brought with him. "I wish my creation magic was stronger... the stuff I make never lasts long enough, unfortunately." There's a clear hint of annoyance in his voice, frustrated that he wouldn't be able to bring even more water back with them.
Melita continued to speak and Oliver let out a hum. "That... sounds right, yeah... I think that's it... surely we can head over there, right? And if it's correct, there should be other lilies since we certainly aren't the first people to do this." A smart move, absolutely. Hopefully, this was the right spot and they wouldn't be left aimlessly wandering around this hell pit.
let us dance in the sun, wearing wild flowers in our hair
Awful had been a decent way to describe it. The aftermath had been a think of debacles, permissions denied, and only re-granted when they’d helped to heal the creature along the waterfalls. But she let the subject matter go for the moment, filling up her last vial, and placing it gently within her bag, some small pockets outfitted to carry tinier containers. She didn’t expect Oliver to ask if she could be some sort of compassionate benefactor, or a keeper of information, but with a shrug, the youth ascertained it’d be fine. “Sure. I’m going out to sea next season, but if I’m not around, I’m sure my uncles, Sunjata and Nate, would be willing to handle it.” Especially if the Flood was taking on the Governor role, uncertain on where, and how, he’d fit into diplomatic quandaries.
Melita had no notion of creation magic – as the only incantations ever flowing through her were amidst her weapons – so she could only nod, tilt her head, and carry on with holding the flower. The lily was the first and foremost aspect in her mind, and when Oliver had finished, she’d be all the more willing to leave, depart, for the waterfalls immediately. “Ready when you are.” And while movements were slow, methodical, they were anything but listless – a turning towards the space she’d occupied.
