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!
Some nights, I wish that my lips could build a castle Some nights, I wish they'd just fall off
The water had not worked for Neron. In fact it seemed to have damaged him, the moment when he had begun to vomit a particularly distressing memory for Morgan: for just a brief second she had worried that she had killed him, that the water from the Old Gods was so poisonous to Ascended it could shut down their entire systems.
Luckily, it seemed that wasn't the case, but he certainly wasn't better from his sickness. He had occupied her thoughts for the last couple of days and Morgan had decided she had to keep trying to find ways to improve his condition. The Ascended couldn't simply be doomed forever now, could they? The Voice had to come up with some solution, or they'd find something coincidentally that would alleviate the symptoms, as Amalia had found the water in the Climb.
Perhaps it was foolish to try and force such an encounter, but she was getting antsy sitting around not doing anything. She had asked Neron if he wanted to come for a walk in the Fangs (told him they were going), knowing that the cool mountain air and crisp snow had always calmed her. Perhaps he couldn't get all the same benefits...but it was all she had for the moment. She also knew there was a shrine to the Voice, somewhere, in the Fangs; perhaps they'd come across it.
"Do you feel how clear the air is up here?" She asked as they breached a hill near the summit of one of the lower Fangs mountains, Morgan walking easily with a large stick to balance out her steps.
But I still wake up, I still see your ghost Oh Lord, I'm still not sure, what I stand for
Somewhere along the line Neron had changed his clothes (more likely, someone had changed them for him) and he follows after Morgan all in solemn black, as is his way. It’s about the only thing that is his way, currently - his cheeks are still flushed and there’s a pearly sheen of sweat on his forehead, the Ascended squinting out over the snow. But Morgan is right about one thing, at least, and that’s the effect of the crisp, cold air on his fever.
”I do,” he says, very nearly sounding put together as he picks up the pace to walk alongside her, needing no stick, though it’s not necessarily because he doesn’t need one. Either way, he’s almost content to look at him, gazing back at their tracks down the mountain. ”Where are we going?” he asks. ”...We’re a long way from the Citadel.”
Some nights, I wish that my lips could build a castle Some nights, I wish they'd just fall off
It was good to hear Neron's voice almost normal, not sounding as lost as he had in the Kraai, or even worse in the Hall after drinking. While Morgan was not naive enough to think mere mountain air might cure him, she hoped that it might have a good effect, at least: the best they could get, after the Ascended being able to drink from the spring.
"Nowhere in specific. Just a walk." She gently reminded him, purposefully walking slower than her normal pace so he could keep up. "There is a Voice shrine up here though, isn't there? Do you know where it is? Maybe your Goddess could help you." It seemed doubtful (if the Voice could cure this sickness, why hadn't she?), but they had to try everything.
Morgan did have one last thought in her pocket, too, but she didn't want to use that until they'd seen the effects of the mountains on him for a while. A few more steps up the mountain, she sighed, the words that had been hanging over her for days needing to be said. Turning to look at Neron, she spoke directly: "I am sorry, for what happened at the Hall. I didn't know."
But I still wake up, I still see your ghost Oh Lord, I'm still not sure, what I stand for
”Just a walk,” Neron echoes - he’ll probably ask again in a little while, but for now he’s on the straight and narrow. Having her slow her pace is appreciated, allowing the Ascended to walk alongside her, and he hums something innocuously under his breath. Talk of the shrine has a smile creeping across his face; he nods, pointing directly downwards. ”It’s inside the Fangs,” he explains. ”I think we are probably as far away from it as we could be right now.”
Turning to walk backwards and watch their footprints in the snow, Neron tucks his hands in his pockets. If he’s affected by either her apology or the reminder of what had happened, it doesn’t show on his face. ”No one could have known,” he says with an easy roll of his shoulders. ”Now we do, at least. I’m not drinking anything else you give me though.”
Some nights, I wish that my lips could build a castle Some nights, I wish they'd just fall off
"Inside...?" Morgan followed his point downwards with her gaze, imagining a bright shrine embedded deep within the dark caves of the Tundra and Fangs, depths unknown to most people. "Have you been to it yourself?" She was, admittedly, quite curious to even know what it looked like; Morgan had never seen a shrine to the Voice, only to the Old Gods. Did they still leave offerings? Did people kneel before an altar?
Maybe one day, if there was enough interest, she could let the Ascended build a shrine within the Citadel. For the moment ,she thought there were too many traditionalists and not enough of the Voice's followers living there to justify the trouble it might cause.
A light smirk touched her lips at his comment and she watched him walk backwards, sharp eyes making sure he didn't fall. "What about eating something? I do have one more idea."
But I still wake up, I still see your ghost Oh Lord, I'm still not sure, what I stand for
”Mmhm,” Neron confirms, both to the shrine’s location and whether or not he’s visited it. ”It’s where I went to Ascend,” he explains, fingers ruffling through his fair hair. He’s more interested in the backwards trajectory of their footprints now than wherever they might be going; indeed, the only thing that holds more interest for him is Morgan. So as she speaks again he glances back to her, giving her a sunny, fanged smile.
”I suppose eating is different,” he says. ”Is it peaches? I miss peaches.” Neron sighs. ”Or lobster. They were both good. Not together though.” Nose wrinkling, he moves suddenly to flop and sit down in the snow. ”Want to build a snowman?”
Some nights, I wish that my lips could build a castle Some nights, I wish they'd just fall off
"Oh." That's added into her imagination too; Neron, desperate and alone, walking into the mountains to ask the Voice to change him. The thought made her sad, where it might once have disgusted her. Morgan looked down the peak, at the valleys and snow beneath, imagined what it might be like to not be able to feel cold wind on your face, not be able to fully enjoy a meal at the end of the day or make love with all it's benefits when you wanted to (not that that was something she was doing much of, Ascended or no). "Did it hurt? The Ascension?"
At least seeing his smile, as goofy and probably illness-induced as it was, lifted her spirits. "It's nothing like that. It's...a petal. From a flower, we found it at the spring. I'm not sure--" Before she finished her explanation, Neron asked her about snowmen, of all things. Morgan blinked, trying to process the question, sure she must have heard wrong: but no, he wanted to make a snowman.
"...Alright, but it's been a very long time." When the snow was always there, the novelty wore off, and she'd grown tired of games in it at a young age. If it would please Neron in the midst of his delirium though, she'd humour it. Bending down she began to gather snow into a pile that could begin a body.
But I still wake up, I still see your ghost Oh Lord, I'm still not sure, what I stand for
Neron interprets Morgan’s oh as disinterest, which is fine for him because he’s already distracted by the way the snow is falling and in thinking about all the types of snowmen they might make. Snow dragons? Snow pigs? Blinking, he glances back in time to hear her question, brow furrowing. ”At first, maybe? It felt very cold. Then it just... didn’t feel like anything,” he explains as best he can; a feat much better achieved when he isn’t fever ridden and delirious.
Already he’s moving to roll snow up into the head of the snowman, snorting to hear that she wants to feed him a flower. ”Flowers are for smelling,” he reminds her, hefting up the snowball to waddle over to where Morgan is still rolling hers up. He deposits it down and holds out his hand. ”As long as it’s not like that water, I’ll do it for you.”
Some nights, I wish that my lips could build a castle Some nights, I wish they'd just fall off
"...I suppose that is better than pain." Was all Morgan could eventually decide on saying, unsure how to express the discomfort and pity she felt for him; he was unlikely to remember this conversation anyway, and she forced herself to reign in her words, to guard them away: she was trying to be understanding of Ascension, of the Voice, had to try to see things from another perspective.
There would always be a part of her that wished he still had all his senses, though, maybe not for entirely selfless reasons.
She helped him steady the head of the snowman, a faint smile at his insistence that flowers were for their scents. "It...I don't know what will happen, but it might help. Thank you, for trusting me." Hoping fervently that it wouldn't hurt him any more than she already had, Morgan drew the petal from her pocket, wrapped in a soft tissue, and held it out towards him.
But I still wake up, I still see your ghost Oh Lord, I'm still not sure, what I stand for
”Especially for me. I like it too much.” Neron is being more open about himself and his failures than he likely ever will be again, unless circumstances were to drastically change between himself and another person. Could that person be Morgan? That remains to be seen. ”But I do not feel the cold either, now,” he murmurs with a shrug, smiling brightly as they balance the head on top of the snowman.
In fact, he feels remarkably warm most of the time, the Hailstorm glancing down at the tissue that Morgan produces, accepting it and uncovering the petal. ”It’s not peaches,” he laments with a sigh, before going ahead and placing it on his tongue to eat it.
Still, tasting the petal will not be a pleasant experience. It will feel like hot ash upon the ascended's tongue despite his inability to taste or feel heat anymore. Like the grime from old pennies and cobwebs, Neron's immediate reaction will be to—you guessed it—gag (as there's nothing in him to vomit up). Dry heaving into the snow, Neron's vision will be blurred for several hours. Past that, there won't seem to be any lingering side effects.
Some nights, I wish that my lips could build a castle Some nights, I wish they'd just fall off
Morgan merely nodded, privately thinking there were plenty of other ways to become invulnerable to the cold; she herself had two, her cloak and the Academy's magic, and had not had to give away her senses and heartbeat for them. She watched intently as Neron took the petal and raised it to his lips, Morgan saying a silent prayer to no one in particular that it might help him.
The second he began to gag she let out a disappointed, desperate sigh, rushed forwards to hold his shoulders again as he coughed out the petal and any potential cure it might have held, his Voice-made body rejecting it. If he let her she would stay there sat in the snow next to him, gently stroking his shoulder through the reaction, eyes usually hard like flint gazing down at him full of concern.
"I'm so sorry, Neron. I...I thought...I thought it might help." Foolish, now, she realised. Something from the Old Gods would never help the Ascended, the petty and ridiculous feud between them hurting those on Caido that did not deserve any of it.
But I still wake up, I still see your ghost Oh Lord, I'm still not sure, what I stand for
The petal, it seems, is an even more unpleasant experience than the water had been. Neron is very unhappy to learn this, though he can’t really do much about it as he collapses into the snow to try and bring up something that just won’t come. (Mainly because there’s nothing there). He hisses out a curse in the end, the back of his hand pressed to his mouth, and he can feel Morgan’s touch as a faint pressure on his shoulder, horrifically void of pleasure. But he can imagine that it might be there, if he tries hard enough.
”You tried,” he rasps; the unpleasantness has shocked him into lucidity, it seems, however brief it may be. ”I can’t see, though. Not well.” So saying, his fingers grope for Morgan’s against his shoulder, gripping them gently. ”Would you lead us home, please?”
Some nights, I wish that my lips could build a castle Some nights, I wish they'd just fall off
Thankfully, it seemed Neron was not angry at her; Morgan would have understood if he was, especially with the sickness affecting his mind, but this way it meant it would be easier to get him home to safety. However, as he mentioned not being able to see she swallowed down alarm, nodding and holding his arms tighter. "Alright. I will guide you." Gently she reached for his hand on the one side, cupping his shoulder on the other, and began to walk down the hill, their snowman abandoned.
"Is this too fast?" She asked of her pace, trying to go as slowly as she could while descending the sometimes crumbly snowy path. Morgan's walking stick had been left behind too, Neron more important, and she had to concentrate to stop herself from slipping.
Once they were in a valley, on flat ground for a while, she loosened her grip a little. "Do you feel any better? I...I'm so sorry, Neron. I don't know what will work for the Ascended; do you think your Goddess would help? I could go speak to her." Morgan would not go to these lengths for just anyone, and she hoped he knew that.
But I still wake up, I still see your ghost Oh Lord, I'm still not sure, what I stand for
