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!
And frankly, you've got more than enough ghosts on your plate as it is. Hell, you've been haunted for the past six years, followed around by the faint sound of laughter and the constant thought of here's something else I can never share with him. Sure, the pain of it has dulled to an ache over time, one you can ignore and even forget about from time to time, but it'll never really be gone.
Anyway. All that to say, today you're doing Ludo Leafchange things, in hopes of keeping the damned rag happy and the ghosts of your loved ones at bay. You've chosen this spot because the little glass house was a favorite haunt of yours and Ray's; sometimes you would lie for hours looking at the light and telling stories about the shells that decorated the little house. Today you're sitting on the shore, far up the sandy spit, the structure in view but comfortably far just like all your mourning.
There's a whittling knife in your right hand and a bleached white piece of whale bone in the left. You're pondering the best way to begin carving it into a mask, eyeing the natural curves of the material and imagining designs cleverly etched within. Focused, in short, and utterly oblivious to the turn your day is about to take.
Ah, well. Peace was never meant to last.
give your heart to a wanderer who found your soul and called it home
dreams where you're murdered boy i know you heard it all before
It seems two had the same idea, today, stepping along the edge of the sands with water on either side, something serene and vibrant, a wonderful mix for memories right? If only they weren’t so shitty all the time. He finds it a bit ironic, the season of Leafchange aligning with ghosts and Ludo and remembrance when it was also his birthday. Was it a sign? He tries not to delve into those thoughts too much.
What he does know is that he’s trying to make a doll, and had, back at the Slagveld. But motivation and muse was scarce, and to be honest? Sunjata couldn’t exactly craft it. Sure, he could braid hair and paint in a more or less abstract form, but when it came to making dolls? Nope, not good at it at all.
He doesn’t notice Zeph at first, the bag slung over his shoulders of a variety of things, a needle and some thread, some fabric, some extra bits for padding it full, a half assed attempt or two where he’d made mistakes sit along the bottom of the bag.
“Hope I’m not interrupting. What’re you making?” He asks, peering at the items in Zeph’s hands, wondering what he was going to make of it.
you shut your eyes to pain boy then just lock the fuckin' door
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
You've just gotten to the sand-and-shape part of your carving when the giant-ass shadow passes over the sand, causing you to look up, squinting. "Y'are," you reply flatly, but there's a sort of gruff resignation rather than any real bite in your tone. Nothing like a week at sea to sand off the edges of ones dislike for another human being.
Or sharpen them significantly. It's very case by case.
Holding up the barely-molded tooth for him to see, you shrug. "Makin' a Ludo. Somethin' people do this time'a year." The thing is roughly oblong, a shape that should easily form a mask (if you can fucking work in peace). You turn back to your work, rounding out one side. "How's it feel, bein' back on dry land?"
give your heart to a wanderer who found your soul and called it home
dreams where you're murdered boy i know you heard it all before
Even though he is bothering Zeph, Sunjata can’t help but to stay. Maybe it’s because being alone together was better than the alternative for the moment, or because this space was so peaceful, or because he was truly curious about what it was Zeph was making, it’s unclear. But he lingers, eventually sinking into the sand beside Zeph.
“Ah. I tried but uh… I’m not particularly good at it as I found out.” He snorts, pausing as he pulls the bag forward and fishes for the fabric again so he might be able to try and start again. “Feels good. More importantly it feels good to not be sick anymore.” He amends a bit, shoulders shrugging lightly as he pulls out a needle with some thread. “You steer the ship often?” From what Sunjata could tell, Zeph almost seemed like a natural with it.
you shut your eyes to pain boy then just lock the fuckin' door
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
Okay, so we're sitting. The shadow passes, pulled together into a lanky yet familiar mass that settles onto the sand beside you. He pulls out a mess of fabric and string, making you snort in amusement at the rather piss-poor attempt at artwork. "Any sailor worth their salt knows basic stitchin'," you point out gruffly, trying to hide your schadenfreude under a stoic exterior. The mighty Governor, brought low by some black cloth and a needle. It's amusing as fuck.
You shrug at the question on steering the ship. "You pick fights with ghost whales often?" you counter very unhelpfully indeed, rummaging in your tool bag for a more delicate chisel. The tool in hand, you now lean over to peer more closely at Sunjata's mess. "What's, uh, what's the plan there, Sparky?" you ask him curiously, poking unapologetically at the cloth in the tall man's hands.
give your heart to a wanderer who found your soul and called it home
dreams where you're murdered boy i know you heard it all before
There’s a huff of a laugh that leaves the governor as he sits beside Zeph and peers at his awful attempt at making a Ludo doll. “Yeah well, I’m not a sailor in case that wasn’t obvious.” An amused half grin is shot toward Zeph before Sunjata focuses on his fabric again, shifting it here and there to try and decide which side was best. There’s a brief pause while he sets the fabric down and works on threading the needle.
“Nope.” He hums, of the fighting ghost whales. If anything, Sunjata would be content never seeing one of them again to be honest, let alone the two that had come at him in the water. But Zeph leans in again, Sunjata leaning back as he taps a finger against the side of the needle, staring down at the fabric at a complete loss. Zeph pokes it and Sunjata puffs out a sigh before shrugging. “Don’t really have one, actually.” But he peers back at the chisel and the bone in Zeph’s hands. “Gonna try one more time though.” The hand with the lightning scars flexes over the fabric as he flips it over, taking the needle to it and begins to make an edge.
It goes poorly again, Sunjata ever the picture of a child focusing way too hard, with his eyes trained on it and only one step away from his tongue poking out the side.
you shut your eyes to pain boy then just lock the fuckin' door
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
"Neither'm I, most times, but ya learn t'adapt." It is a very diplomatic way of saying cry me a river, but it's softened by the hint of a smile that crinkles the edges of your eyes. He's the governor now, and he needs to learn his shit fast if he doesn't want to wind up sinking to the bottom of the harbor. And normally you might not care to help, but... well.
You can't help it: you snort a laugh as he declares his lack of plan. "So standard, then." Falling back to silence, you continue to work on your own doll, trying and failing not to notice how he's hopelessly stabbing his poor fabric with all the grace of a pelican learning to ice skate. Artist that you are, it hurts to watch, and so at last you set your own work aside, reaching gruffly for his.
"Here. I'mma teach ya the most basic fuckin' stitch in the book, 'fore you turn your fingers into more'uv'a pincushion." So saying, you pull a scrap of fabric from your own bag and set the needle and thread to it. Slowly, with a good deal of patience, you demonstrate how to backstitch, a straight and even row of adjoining dashes appearing on the linen.
give your heart to a wanderer who found your soul and called it home
dreams where you're murdered boy i know you heard it all before
“That’s fair.” Sunjata rumbles, though there’s amusement clear in his voice despite the gentle probing. He’s been better since the illness, he hasn’t quite taken so much to heart. And at the end of it all, really, Sunjata thinks that for all the poking and prodding the smuggler does to him, when it matters Zeph has always proven to take care of him. Like when he’d dragged him to the clinic after the lightning strike.
He still wasn’t sure how to repay that. But he remains silent, huffing a quiet laugh and feigning some offense at Zeph’s commentary. “Most of the time it works out, you know.” He teases back, flashing a grin before focusing on his poor attempt at sewing this poor Ludo doll. He doesn’t notice as Zeph sets his own craft aside, until he’s reaching out for it and some part of Sunjata can’t help but to watch with steel eyes filled with a hint of apprehension.
He takes it pretty well, but he’s not used to being okay with not being good at things, at least not picking up on them fast. He thinks he’s learning though as he relinquishes his hold on the needle and thread over to the smuggler, watching with calculating eyes as he makes quick work of it. “Hey, you made it look easy though.” He half rumbles, smile fading for a bit more concentration as he takes it back and tries to replicate what Zeph’s done.
It works, and some almost boyish pride crosses over Sunjata as he grins to Zeph. “You’re a good teacher.” He compliments, getting back to his work and making the edges much nicer looking than he ever could have previously done without Zeph's help.
you shut your eyes to pain boy then just lock the fuckin' door
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
You watch as Jata attempts to replicate your work, the stitches coming out fairly steady, all things considered. "Over'n back, that's it," you murmur, nodding along until you're content that he's got enough of a handle on things to keep from embarrassing you. With a gruff nod you go back to your own work, keeping tabs on his through the corner of your eye.
His compliment is met with a derisive snort, though you can feel some heat on your neck. "Yeah, well, backstitch ain't hard." Which is true. Also true: you are a good teacher, and you can't take a compliment very well. Well, certain compliments. So you grumble a little and get back to work instead of being gracious, scowling intently at Ludo's face as you add a border of runes around the perimeter of the bony mask.
"Tell me, Sparky- why'd y'want the gig, anyway?" You don't look up as you ask the question, your fingers working busily on minute details. "Guv'ner. What's the appeal for ya?"
give your heart to a wanderer who found your soul and called it home
dreams where you're murdered boy i know you heard it all before
Sunjata continues to do the backstitch until some shape begins to form, something black and flowy, the edge and tension applied to some of the stitches giving it an almost ruffled appearance. But it seems to suit what he knows of the god, and it doesn’t bother him any as he continues to try and practice the stitch over and over again until something gets more defined. “I don’t tend to work with things that are such a small detail.” He admits quietly, chewing on the inside of his cheek while he pauses to look at the work he’s done.
Zeph’s question of why he wanted to be governor does have his head tilting back toward the smuggler, mulling it over for a few heartbeats. “I, uh. Well, my father was essentially a governor where I’m from. I guess he was more like a King, but, anyway,” gods he’s rambling. “I was supposed to sort of follow his footsteps. But he was a… Horrible man. Ruled with an iron fist. I wasn’t like that and he hated it about me, that I wouldn’t become him.” He stares off at the water for a few moments. “I guess I wanted to try it out for myself and see if I could do a better job. As sort of a ‘fuck you’ to my good ol’ dad.” Shoulders rise and fall in a shrug, picking up the fabric to continue his stitches. “Torchline’s the only place that really felt like home, anyway.” As close to home as Sunjata could get, really.
you shut your eyes to pain boy then just lock the fuckin' door
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
Oh, Jata, leaving himself so open and easy to retort to. And yet somehow you manage to bite your tongue, raising an expressive eyebrow without actually looking away from your work when he explains he's bad with little details. No shit.
You give him a chance to answer the question, keeping quiet as you sand off the rough edges of your little bone mask and begin the task of drilling tiny holes around the outside, that you might attach the mask to the cloth and finalize the stuffed Ludo doll. That Jata's dad was a shit honestly doesn't surprise you, nor do his reasons for becoming governor. Everyone has a tragic backstory. It's why you do the shit you do.
And yet.
"So what I'm hearin' is y'decided t'put a bunch'a people's lives an' ways'a livin' in yer hands t'prove a point t'someone who ain't here t'see it." Your voice is rather mild, given the subject matter. You're not accusing him of anything, exactly, more observing the absurdity of what he's said. "By doin' the same thing he did, prob'ly for the same reason. Provin' yer better'n whoever came before."
give your heart to a wanderer who found your soul and called it home
dreams where you're murdered boy i know you heard it all before
The fabric begins to actually take some sort of shape – a pinching here and there, some more practice with Zeph’s instruction on how to go about it with the backstitching, but by the time his explanation ends, Sunjata’s found himself with a fairly Ludo looking piece of fabric by the end of it - minus the mask, of course. It’s enough that the governor pauses, staring at the little makeshift doll, listening to what Zeph has to say without the judgement or accusation, but still making it sound rather… Well, stupid.
He fiddles with the fabric as he contemplates his response, a little mirthless half smile crossing hiss face. “Nobody else wanted it, according to the last governor.” His gaze slips over to Zeph then, a sort of seriousness lingering within it. “I think that’s where my dad and I differed.” He says after a moment, his smile fading completely as he tears his gaze away. “It was his given right, his bloodline, he had to continue it at all costs. To be the most… Stone faced man with an iron fist, only out to better himself and those that bled for him.” Pausing, he chews on the inside of his cheek. “I cared too much about the people and it made me weak in his eyes. So when I joined the rebellion, well, I’m sure you can imagine.” The hell and retribution he had to pay for such a grave mistake.
you shut your eyes to pain boy then just lock the fuckin' door
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
Yes, one can only imagine indeed. He’s there but for a second or two, a glimpse on the sand in the distance. A tall figure, one who rules with an iron fist. One who will better those who bleed for him. One who will make you bleed for him.
But then he’s gone, like he’s made of sand and glass, and the ocean sighs and the Hels cry, and it’s like he was never there at all.
He's not wrong - nobody did want it, including you. Or, more accurately, nobody wanted to publicly have the job. You're more than happy to assist in keeping Torchline running smoothly while avoiding the spotlight; the Governor has been a bloated, corrupt, lazy figurehead for as long as you can remember, anyway. Not really something to aspire to.
But Jata? He wanted it. Even if you doubt his reasons, you gotta give him that.
You're not paying much attention to your work now, just smoothing off rough edges as you chew on his words. "So ya took teenage rebellion t'new levels." You know a little about rebelling as a teen, though you certainly never led a whole goddamn country into revolution over it. Or whatever. "Still doesn't explain why y'wanna be in charge here, 'cept t'prove y'ain't weak. Which you've made pretty clear, with th'whole almost gettin' yer ass killed time an' time again."
Leaning back onto your palms, you squint up (and up and up) at the kid. "Look, Sparky- I ain't sayin' there's somethin' wrong with wantin' t'stick it to th'old man. He sounds like a proper git. But at some point ya gotta start livin' fer the people who're still here t'give a shit, 'stead'a ghosts." Almond eyes look back over the horizon, your face darkening like a storm. "Might as well be one'uv 'em, otherwise."
give your heart to a wanderer who found your soul and called it home
