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!
broken promises and broken arches, phaetons and false hangings
Two souls awaken in strange vessels, in the dark as they had been when the dream began. The room they arise in is simple, no wider than two men laid across the floor and a ceiling just high enough to allow its occupants to stand. On the right wall rests a mirror, as if placed there only to inform the prisoners of their predicament, their new forms, and mock them for it.
There is a door, large and heavy and snug-fit in the frame, with a large keyhole. Around the room you will see hundreds of keys, in varying sizes, colours, metals and shapes. They pile high on the table, scatter across the floor, hang even from the ceiling on strings. In the corner are various boxes, labelled 'broken'.
Maybe further investigation of the keyhole itself or some of the keys might give a hint as to which would be appropriate.
Morgan, you awaken in the body of Noah and Zephyr wakes in the body of Delphine! You now possess all their abilities and stats; be sure to look at their profile to see what you have! However, your character still has their own mind and thoughts.
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For this to work, you need to reply quickly! Within 24 hours, please! If you miss your post, it will move on without you! You can post as many times as you like within the 24 hour time limit, so feel free for your characters to have long conversations, etc; keep in mind there will be no NPC replies during nighttime GMT, because Lam is sleeping, so if your characters attempt to do something large (eg come up with a solution to a puzzle, knock down a wall, punch something), please wait for a post from the NPC account.
First task: Wake up, discover your new body, your partner and the room around you.
At some point, she must have fallen asleep, because she was waking now, but Morgan did not recall. For a moment as she opened her eyes nothing seemed too amiss, but swiftly things came to her notice; she didn't know where she was, the small dark room entirely foreign to her, the keys covering all space except for where she lay confusing to say the least.
And then, when she went to sit up, put her hands on the ground to push herself upright, she let out a yell of surprise: the arms beneath her were masculine and pale, not what she was used to seeing and yell itself was not in her own voice, but one much gruffer and deeper. Morgan clapped her hands over her mouth, too shocked to say anything further, and looked about wide eyes eyes.
Eventually her gaze fell upon the other sleeping figure in the room; a young woman she didn't recognise, seemingly asleep as she had been. Trying for the meantime to put her new appearance aside as a side effect of some awful dream, Morgan reached over to shake the shoulder of her cellmate, gently with her new stronger, larger limbs.
The first sign should have been an absence of morning wood, but it's not. Or maybe it should be the fact that you're lying on a cold slab of concrete instead of in your bed, but honestly, you've woken in stranger places.
No, the first sign that something astoundingly bizarre and terrible has happened is that when you go to scratch your face you find not a beard, but a fistful of long, fine, blonde hair plastered to your face.
Blonde.
Blonde
That shit ain't Vai's.
"What th' actual fuck...?"
First thought: I fucked a blonde.
Second thought: Vai's gonna kill me.
Third thought, as you look down and see a naked body that's white as the driven snow and unnervingly devoid of hair: "Where the shit's my dick?"
This is said aloud, and in a voice that definitely isn't yours. And it is followed shortly by what can only be described as a very feminine scream.
The young girl stirred, though the words that came out of her mouth were certainly not what Morgan was expecting; she spoke much rougher, quicker than expected, and her second question, while also unexpected, clued Morgan in that she might be undergoing the same problem.
The question did also make her wonder about something; Morgan looked down and as subtly as she could, turning slightly away from her cellmate, ducked a quick hand down into the pants that were definitely not hers. A surprised gasp confirmed what she had indeed found and her hand shot back up, rubbing on the shirt as if she'd touched something horrendously dirty.
"Don't...don't panic." She said in the voice that was still not her own, hoping if she said it out loud she could follow it too. Looking about the room, her eyes finally fell on the mirror and she stood, standing on rattling and jangling keys that littered the floor as she went to it to look at herself. "...Noah?!" Morgan said aloud, touching her face. "Why am I....Noah?!"
"Th'fuck y'mean, 'don' panic'?!" you demand, clearly a little panicked. But you do begin to calm down a little, taking deep breaths and attempting to pull your shit together. Rising up to not-your feet, you look down at not-your naked body, considering modesty for a moment before shrugging that idea off. Whoever it is you're supposed to be, she's got nothing to be embarrassed by.
The dude seems to have his shit figured out, so there's that at least. "Any chance y'know who I am, Noah?" you ask laconically in that way-too-high voice, gesturing to not-you expressively. "Or where th'fuck we are? Or how t'get out an' I get my cock back?"
Now that you're not actively panicking about your lack of manhood you look round the room which is full of.... keys. So many keys. Too many keys. And a door, which seems more useful, so that's what you beeline for, investigating the keyhole and trying to find some hinges or a knob or some other way to get it open.
When Zeph gets close, he will see these words painted above the lock: Sometimes it is not what one can do, but what we can achieve together. The hinges stay strong regardless of how much pushing or moving is attempted.
While Morgan would usually respond offended and quite harshly to someone talking back to her the way Zeph did, this time she had to agree; it was hard to follow her own advice, Morgan herself feeling considerable panic still residing only just beneath the surface of her mind. If she was in Noah's body, was he in hers? The thought made her a little sick; not because of anything in specific about the man himself, but she had always been very private, very modest, about her form, always wearing thick cloaks and loose shirts.
Hopefully he wouldn't investigate too much.
"I don't know who you are." She responded, glad that at least she was not the only one experiencing this. "My name is Morgan. Please call me Morgan." Morgan stood and began to walk about the room, absentmindedly for the most part, trying to distract herself from the way her footsteps felt oddly heavier, her hands too big. Heading to one of the boxes named 'Broken', she opened the topmost ones lid.
"Morgan. Sure." You've already managed to stub your (her?) toe, smack your (her?) arm into a table, and nearly trip over your (nope, her) feet. So if your voice is a little grumpy who's to blame you? And if that grumpiness is only increased by the fact that said grumpy voice has emerged in a rather high-pitched, indignant squeak, well.
Fuck all this shit.
"So I'm gettin' the feelin' we gotta coordinate," you announce, pointing to the words on the door (and reading them, if he doesn't come to look). There's a joke to be made about cumming together, but somehow you're not in the mood. Instead you've begun to look through the closest pile of keys. "That, or maybe a couple'a these keys fit together t'make one that'll unlock it. Ya find anythin'?"
Morgan cast a curious look over at her odd companion and the many injuries they seemed to be acquiring; whoever owned the body would not be pleased when they got it back. Still, that was not her concern right now, her own body somewhere off in the world, possibly getting beaten about as badly as her partners. The thought worried her.
"Theres a box here of broken parts...and oh, a note." She pulled them out and laid them on the table, opened the note to read. "It appears to be a riddle." Morgan had never been particularly gifted when it came to solving puzzles of the theoretical, riddly kind and would gladly pass the note to Zeph if he came to investigate. "What do you think?"
You pad your way over to Morgan, still awkward in this weird, naked body. Peering over (around) not-her shoulder, you read the note with a quiet hum, pondering this new bullshittery. And then there's the little bits of keys, and fuck if you aren't ready to strangle someone for setting up this bizarre adventure.
"Uhhh... these ones?" Reaching out, you pull together key parts two and four, though it seems the key they'd make together would be rather short.
Morgan, comfortable enough to let Zephyr take the puzzle on, only spoke up once it became clear the two halves of keys he had chosen would not go together to let them out of the room. "This is not my forte, but...I feel like your choice is correct for this--" She pointed to the hilt with three hearts cut into it (2) "--for the three sisters. But the key, I am not sure."
Trying to think past the sight of Noah's wider hands pointing out the keys (and also making sure to keep her eyes averted from the naked body before her - why was she wearing clothes, and this person not?), she tapped her chin, stopping when she felt the beard there. "It's not very dark. Maybe there's another...?"
The pieces do not fit together, and you furrow your brow, aggravated anew. "How 'bout this?" you suggest to Morgan, pointing at key piece fourteen, "Or this one?" to piece 11. "Both're wide'n dark."
