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!
Standing before the building he’d helped construct, Deimos was very tempted to burn it all to the ground.
Perhaps it’d be cathartic, to watch it fumble and crumble into pieces the way his life seemingly had, another loss in a series of simultaneous catastrophes. Perhaps it’d be an awe-inspiring end to the disastrous melees, to the demolition of everything he’d achieved, an end to beginnings. Perhaps it would merely be petty, cruel, and vindictive, to leave no barracks behind.
But he didn’t, and a quiet sigh left his form as he traced his way into the front parlor, hand swiping over dust collected and formed. He took down his scaled maps of the Grounds, of footholds he knew and understood, rolling them up, placing them within his bag by the door. Valuables followed, personal objects, reminders of times and days where naught felt quite like oblivion, where he wasn’t wandering over portions of earth falling apart underneath him. The armory was left untouched, the renderings of each weapon would, could, be easily manifested again.
Stepping onto the training grounds left a mixture of emotions and sentiments too – days and hours stretching underneath suns and stars, gathering abilities and armaments, honing in skills and strategies, pouring whatever knowledge he could into the void. He’d leave the targets there, the mobile pieces to move and maneuver at anyone’s behest.
Then his eyes went to the catapult, still under its sheet, protected from the elements. A myriad of emotions scraped over his heart, his mind, his soul, at the thought of leaving it behind. Barrages of flower crowns, of stones and towers, of volleying petals through the air, before, before, before –
His hands went for it automatically, strength residual enough to maneuver it on his own power, pushing and shoving it along little knolls, determination fastening in his brow, in his wake, in his existence.
It was pure dumb luck that Oliver happened to cross by the training grounds when Deimos had reappeared.
He had heard about the man departing but was unable to learn anything otherwise. In his post-sick haze, there were a lot of questions he had and many were left unanswered. Unfortunately, Deimos would be unable to answer really any of them, but Oliver found comfort in the other man. It made him happy to be around the fellow Hybrid. He had hopes that Deimos would maybe reappear, maybe just be there one last time...
And he was.
Oliver stared forward from a few feet away, watching and waiting for a few moments. "Hey... you feeling okay?" He started to take a couple of steps forward, prepared for the worse if the man was sick, and didn't get the water. Deimos was strong, yes, and Oliver still didn't fully know how the sickness impacted different people. "I was hoping to be able to catch you- I'm really glad to see you." To see someone familiar, someone, he could trust. The manor was so quiet, so lonely. He wanted someone to comfort him during his few days of being able to think, but nobody ever came. He had to use this time wisely.
He pushed the catapult towards the edge of the training grounds, strength and fortitude matched for the moment, muscles bound and undulating, calm in their compliance to be doing something other than wasting away. A firm pat was given towards the wooden structure when he halted it near the boundaries, stepping away from its columns and pieces, its arm and limbs, its wheels and factions, to open the gate. From then on it would be a long, enduring slog towards the portal, but with frequent breaks the beast was likely to get it there within a decent amount of time.
Except –
His hands had barely brushed over the fencing when he heard a voice call out – gaze abruptly, dangerously narrowing, until he realized who it was. “For now.” A nod granted and given to Oliver, something guarded in his spine, instantly rigid and unyielding, and he couldn’t place why. “Are you?” Deimos wasn’t certain if the blacksmith had been ailing either, given his predilection for wandering into mountains or over any variety of terrain during his affliction; wondering if it mattered anymore. An arch to his brow punctured away the rest of the impassive, stoic, reticent accords of his features, betraying the slightest modicum of curiosity. Glad to see you was rarely offered to the former General; and those who would’ve uttered it were long gone.
Oliver stares and watches Deimos with a steady gaze, making sure to track his movements and ensure his safety. Thankfully, the moment Deimos speaks, Oliver is able to feel safe once more. Deimos is fine, or at least fine for the moment. He lacks the blank stare and empty vote that the sick seem to have.
The question is offered back to him and honestly, Oliver is happy to hear Deimos hardly speak. It's a return to normalcy, if only temporary. "Same for me... I don't think I have much time left of the water, unfortunately." Judging by Deimos' response, the same could most likely be said for him. "I just... wanted to come by and see you... I've..." His voice trails off and Oliver finds himself biting on his lip. No... that'd give the wrong message. The last thing Oliver needed was to have a third person think he was trying to hit on them and suggest that he was into them. "I wanted to know if you were okay and I'm glad you were." It should be obvious that wasn't Oliver's true intentions, but he also genuinely means this sentiment. He is glad to see that Deimos is doing okay.
With the gate opened, the monolith resumed his position behind the catapult, allowing leverage and strength to push it forward, wheels turning along dry ground, content to be maneuvered through the training grounds, and out along the sanction of roads and paths. Oliver’s worries and apprehensions were things nearly held by routine, so he thought nothing of them, other than facts, figures, and sentiments already borne from the nuances and calculations gathered elsewhere. The blacksmith would not, could not, find comfort in Deimos’ inability to express any of those things – not for the moment, not when he could barely manage himself beyond reticence or anger, but he could at least relate details and particulars back to him. The low rumble exuded while he shoved and forced, eyes not on the other individual, but the streets ahead. “You can get more at the Climb, apparently. At the hot springs.” If Oliver was up for making that sort of journey, or if he found another needing to make the trip. The Sword had been led by Loren, and they’d wandered off into a cavern of gems instead.
Why Oliver wanted to come by and see him was baffling and bewildering to the beast, and then the other words following all the more surprising. His eyes narrowed briefly, a stern arch to his brow flickering, before receding back to primordial stoicism. “Thank you.” A pause, while he navigated around a series of rocks and pebbles, the slow going only making him wonder if he’d last the rest of the day out here. “How have the Grounds been?”
His eyes flicker with surprise and he offers the man a small nod, biting his lip as he did so. "Thank you- I'll see if I can get more." There... probably wouldn't be enough time, not at all. But he could write down the information, just in case someone found him in the manor and could fetch more water.
Things hadn't been going well and at this point, there was no use hiding it from the retired General. "Awful... Wessex is now the Queen, again and I'm the only person who could even be cured by the water." Which... sucked, to put it lightly. It sucked and Oliver felt so fucking alone even more so now that everyone else was leaving.
Offering the man a light shrug, Oliver tried to stay optimistic. He couldn't let his last time with Deimos be this depressing. Who knows when he will see the man again? "I can just... only stay positive, you know? There's so much up in the air and it's super confusing... I'm sure it's been hard on you too." Oliver stops himself from saying much of what's on his mind, knowing it's better to not overshare all of his problems. After all, he did come here to try and be happy.
He couldn’t quite fathom when the Grounds had suddenly felt like haunted figments to him, but it certainly did now, in the rush of movements, in the words echoing past his ears. Wessex’s return as Queen. Individuals either gone, left, or bereft, seeking out sanctums elsewhere, slowly drifting out one by one by one, until all that remained were portions of ash, dust, and whatever the rest could combine from those tethers and lines. His had been severed, strand after strand, until it was nothingness, until it was ghosts, until it was wraiths, phantoms, and figments; piercing him the longer he stayed.
Another shove of the catapult, and it labored onward – over cobblestones, and potentially Oliver’s foot, if the blacksmith wasn’t paying attention.
“You do not have to stay here,” the Sword presided, his brows furrowed. It would always ultimately be Oliver’s decision, to persist in the throngs, in the ricocheting cataclysms, where maelstroms lingered long before and long after. But there were always other options and alternatives.
But Deimos couldn’t radiate positivity either, not in this state, not in this moment, listening Oliver ramble, swallowing down the choking bile surging, yearning, to choke and throttle along his throat. “Yes.” Determination fueled him onward, pressing further into the roads, scanning the horizon once, twice, to ensure he was making the correct turn down lanes. “Something will be found.” Given their time, their energy, their resources, and the combined mettle of individuals, they’d find a way. He didn’t think of the other possibility, of wondering if they were living on borrowed time.
Deimos isn't the first one to offer the idea of Oliver leaving- many had suggested he leave. Few had offered for him to join them, only Loren had done something like that, but Oliver doesn't mind. He knows he should be honest with Deimos... and honestly? He really is confused. "Maybe... a huge part of me wants to go somewhere else... at this point? I'm ready to leave should something come up. Should the right offer come, I'll maybe leave... yeah." Right offer meaning someone invites him to come to somewhere else or if he'd have new opportunities in the location. Maybe Safrin tells him or maybe a friend says there's a room available in Torchline. Many possibilities.
It makes Oliver happy to see that Deimos is trying to stay positive. It's a good sign and it helps Oliver to feel calmer. "I hope... I also hope nothing bad will come from this... don't get me wrong, it hasn't been too bad... but we had an entire election and in my opinion, I do not think it was fair to have us all vote when we were sick." Ah yes, Oliver trying to find any way to have Wessex not be Queen. Lovely!
The Sword pushed and shoved his way up the slightest of inclines, a familiar little knoll that permitted the viewer to glance over spread out portions of the market sections. He found he couldn’t lift his head beyond the catapult to gaze upon it as he had so often before, not with bakeries nearby, not with settlements reminding him of where he’d failed and where he’d fumbled. The beast lowered his skull instead, muscles combining their efforts to make it over the rise, and then to continue onwards, begrudgingly listening to Oliver’s chatter. It seemed to follow him unceasingly, an unrelenting noise in the back of his mind – narrowing his eyes for a moment in speculation at the blacksmith’s voiced thoughts. “Why does there need to be an offer?” Why did their need to be an invitation? He’d be free to go wherever he pleased – there would always be houses, homes, and occupations available. And if not, then one was built. A simplistic problem to solve, given all the other ones plaguing the void, the earth, and the lands. “If you want to leave, then leave.”
Especially given the circumstances. Wessex’s power had been fair up until a point – before the Ascended contortions and proportions were seemingly required instead of diplomacy. Given the past, Deimos’ inclinations about Wessex’s newest reign meandered more to the Ascended goals and objectives now more than ever. Politics was a dangerous game, and why he normally stuck to the offensive and defensive portions of it, eager and ready to wield blades, wrath, and anything else necessary. The unwinding of statecraft, with all the trials and tribulations constantly bombarding and surrounding them, would’ve been a difficult proportion on Oliver’s part, uncertain if the youth would’ve survived the pressure. Regarding the Hollowed Grounds record for sovereign longevity, the blacksmith might’ve been amongst the ashes, dust, and cinders quickly. “I am not certain there ever is a good time.” Evie disappearing in the midst of all this hardly helped matters. He paused, tilted his head, considered weighing options out to the lad again, who seemed to be missing a crucial detail. “But you do not have to be a part of it.” Deimos had always been about fortitude, perseverance, and endurance, however, this situation might not have been anything Oliver could tolerate for long.
Why an offer? Because he didn’t want to be alone. It was a simple answer, but compared to how stoic Deimos was, it felt wrong to be so blunt with him about something so emotional. {day}”I have so much stuff to move- so I guess I’d just want to have a place ready to take it to... “ And maybe Deimos was right. Maybe leaving was the right option. ”Ill give it some thought... I’ll write you if I do leave, yeah? That way you know where to find me.” While Deimos may not care to know where he was, the offer still stood.
Maybe Deimos is right. ”Yeah.... I just wish I could do something more. I want to help people and I guess representing them felt like the best way to do that.” Now? He meant fucking nothing to the Grounds, or that’s how it felt.
A soft sigh and his eyes shift away. ”You know... I’ve been meaning to ask... would you maybe be able to make something for me? A weapon?” A special kind of weapon.
Quiet again, immersed in his necessities, the portal remained yards away, and the catapult had begun an easy roll along its wheels upon the sloping ground. He could ease off the amount of power and might behind the movements, allowing his head to rise, his shoulders to lower, and arms merely to brace as the machine motioned along, his hands lingering to steer, his motions counteracting any fast, swift measures. “If you want.” Letters and updates, information and news circulating. If Oliver wished to find another place to settle and let everyone know of his whereabouts, for whatever reasons, that was his own agenda. The stoic enterprises of his features failed to alter, perhaps only the lightest inclination of his brow upwards, a familiar quirk of curiosity and intrigue; mere ones really, only pondering where the blacksmith might end up after all these thoughts and conversations about it. If he’d remain because it was what he knew, and the comfort was far more enticing than the unknown. If he’d go elsewhere, ultimately chased out of the Grounds by some other circumstances, or finding his own footing, tracing over new foundations, galvanized finally by some boldness lurking in him.
A shrug undulated through the Sword’s shoulders at the notion of assisting the world, and that reigning in diplomacy wouldn’t always be the best route for everyone. “There are many ways to help people. It does not have to be in diplomacy.”
Another shove along the catapult brought it ever closer to his destination, and distracted by these parameters, the beast turned his head towards the younger man in the slightest bout of confusion. Mostly because, despite all the trainings Deimos had held, Oliver’s proficiency with a weapon had been mediocre at best, and the General wouldn’t have thought to put many into the blacksmith’s hands until he’d practiced for a long, long time. His eyes narrowed, speculation and machinations funneling again behind the piercing gaze, considering and weighing out the options. “What sort of weapon?”
10-30-2020, 12:12 AM (This post was last modified: 10-30-2020, 12:27 AM by Oliver.)
You make my heart shake bend and break
The offer of him helping in other ways is nice, but it falls short. "I guess... I am really scared about what's going to happen... I'll just hope for the best? I guess that's all I can do at this point." Ideas and worries would go completely unmentioned for fear of speaking them into existence. Rather, Oliver remained quiet, masking away the things that tugged at him.
Deimos once more is quiet and... yeah for once Ollie actually hates it. Oliver is unable to read into what Deimos has to say or how he feels about the request. "Well- I was hoping for a staff? But since staffs are so big... maybe it can help? With magic? Like... you know, deflecting darker magics? Something I can easily carry? I can easily make a sword, but staffs are also super important." Hopefully Deimos would understand where he was coming from. That'd be great.
The catapult continued its consistent rolling, and Oliver’s apprehension kept mystifying. The confusion was now a paramount thing in the Sword’s mind, churning over any of the other misgivings he had about the world, thoroughly immersed in furrowing his brows and shaking his head at the bizarre, ridiculous connotations of this conversation. If the blacksmith was frightened of the potential here, and Deimos could only guess in what details, ways, or predilections (more foreboding, forthcoming storms?), then why linger in the threshold? “If you fear for your safety, then why would you stay?” Was he misunderstanding? Were there other key factors at play?
Shaking his skull again, persisting and pushing, he waited for the weapon of choice to be decided upon. A staff – which seemed safer, in some regards. There weren’t any serrated edges. There weren’t any sharpened expanses where he’d likely end up hurting himself before launching an assault. Imbued and infused with defensive capabilities seemed more up Oliver’s alley anyway – though he nearly made a comment about how often the fellow Hybrid assumed he’d be running into those with darker incantations. Probably not a grand time for poor humor.
He paused in his broad steps and strides, grabbing hold of the catapult so that it ceased momentarily. “A staff to deflect dark magic.” He nodded, ascertaining this was correct, before his palms became gilded and glowing, the beacon in his mind already taking shape. It appeared readily, embossed, lacquered, and sculpted in a silver hue, plain, unadorned, unassuming, not a decorative piece, but a functional one. Layered within its range were the elemental reaches, his own manifestations of enchantments unfurled and unleashed, until it was done, complete, and extended out to the requester.
--
Deimos has made:
Staff: A staff capable of deflecting dark magic cast at the wielder.
Damn, Deimos. Asking the real questions. "I don't know." Simple and blunt. "I"ll give it some thought, yeah? Try to figure this shit out." There was certainly a lot to figure out, but he had time... totally. Yep. Tons of time to figure the shit out.
Delicate hands reach out and take hold of the staff.
A few steps backwards and Oliver gives it a good look over. Part of him wants to go ahead and try it out, swing it around a bit and get a good feel of the weapon, but he doesn't bother doing so quite yet. Instead, he returns his attention back to Deimos. "Thank you- thank you so so much... is there any way I can repay you?" To make such a thing is so incredible, so maybe there's something Deimos needs done in return? "If you need armor? Or... or anything?"
