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!
He'd been ousted from his position as Warden. Then he'd been under house arrest, almost mad with bloodthirst, and seasons had passed, allowing him to rebuild his life at the Kraai. And then the sickness had hit. And now? Now he finally learns about Jace. If it is Jace, and Neron is almost certain that it can't be. Even so, Loren has brought it up and so the Hailstorm has to find out.
Neron has been standing outside the ornate doors of the Arcane Academy for some time now, long after nightfall, and though his hands are buried in the pockets of his coat, he doesn't look cold. He could stand there all night if he liked and not let out a shiver, even without being Ascended; such is the advantage afforded by also being part of the Academy. But this place gives him memories of small, locked rooms and gnawing hunger, and so it's with a sense of trepidation that he finally steps forward.
He doesn't know where he's going to find this would-be-son of his, but he's got no intention of leaving without what he wants. And Neron wants answers.
Time passed slowly for the mage, never having minded it before. Years had passed in but a season when he had been with the Eirachi, and so he saw little reason to tend to it now. As it was, finding the motivation to do much was difficult without Bea's constant nagging buzz in his ear.
And so, it is from a window above that he watched the figure standing at the doorway of the Academy. He was strange and yet so familiar - features he saw reflected in the mirror now reflected in this man. So he had finally come, hm? Interesting. Why now, after all this time he wondered. What had prompted this sudden visit?
Curious enough to warrant exerting the effort to go downstairs, the Academy proprietor made his way to the entrance hall, arriving just as the grand doors opened. He might have stayed quiet, icy gaze greeting this unexpected guest. But Bea would have called him rude, and he'd rather avoid that irritation. "Welcome, Neron." he said cooly - calling him by name as he insisted upon their first meeting.
His footsteps echo on the marble floors, Neron strolling forward and halting in the middle of the entrance hall, his hands remaining buried in his pockets. He almost senses the boy's approach before he appears, grey-blue eyes flashing up to meet Jace when he does step into view. And it's like looking in a mirror but not; in certain lights he can swear it's Zariah he sees in her entirety, and in others? In others it's him.
"Grand Sorcerer," he greets in return, speaking slowly and directly. "Just the person I was looking to speak to. I hope I am not intruding - I was hoping we might be able to sit for a while, and talk." He gets the impression of stepping into a lion's den by the mere sight of Jace. And yet, Neron was born in a lion's mouth, or at least that's how it feels. He's up to it, he thinks.
Pretty words and guile, using more of his vocabulary to speak his mind when but a few would suffice. Pretentious. But what Launceleyn wasn't a little bit?
"Sure." he said, responding to grace and politeness with simple brevity. Jace didn't see the point in it all, the flourish of words. What really did it accomplish other than making clear how highly one thought of themself?
He turned on his heel, expecting Neron to follow, up the stairs and down the corridor to a study room. A few bookshelves and desks filled the space, but two comfortable chairs were arranged by the fireplace. And though the fire burned bright the room was filled with an icy chill from the window left open. That was where the Grand Sorcerer chose to perch himself. The cold was far more comforting than the burning sensation of the fire's heat.
Jace looked at Neron expectantly. He had come looking for conversation. He would have to be the one to start it.
Neron doesn't know who this guy is, but he's definitely not his son. (He's not his son anyway, he's tHe OtHeR nErOn'S son, but this can't be him either). No Launceleyn he's ever met has been able to hold his tongue for long, not even Loren. On light feet with his hands still buried in his pockets, he ascends the staircase and strolls along the corridor after Jace.
They come to a small room, and the other man simply perches nearby, expectant, waiting. And okay, fine, Neron bites. "Who are you?" he asks softly. "And why do you call yourself Jace Launceleyn? That boy is gone." Dead or worse, sold to a goddess by his mother. Neron feels sour about it, a muscle feathering in his jaw.
Ah, but no Launceleyn had ever been raised by an ice goddess, had they?
Jace watched Neron as he posed his questions, the same sort of unsettling, unblinking gaze his mother had possessed. But instead of fiery wrath he was filled with ice, as frozen as the tundra just beyond the Citadel walls. "I am Jace Launceleyn. Son of Zariah and Neron. Sacrificed to and then raised by the Eirachi." he said, voice a little rough, as though he did not regularly use it. "She never said she was going to kill me. She isn't Ludo or Mort." he explained, as though it were the most obvious thing. While the winter winds and icy cold took many lives, the Eirachi was not a goddess devoted to death. Just potentially death inducing conditions.
"I did not say kill. I said gone. It hasn't yet been a year since Zariah took that boy out onto the Tundra - so unfortunately, I call bullshit." It's for show, of course. It isn't bullshit - one look at this man's face says that much, and with someone like Eirachi pulling the strings, Jace may well have become the person standing before him in the space of barely a season. But it's the principle of the thing.
Neron's hands remain in his pockets, his eyes as cold and unblinking as his would-be progeny's. But it isn't genetics that make it so; rather it's the not-blood running through his veins these days. "So that is the story you are sticking with." An observation rather than an accusation. "Fine, then. Why are you here? In Halo, at the Academy? What exactly are you looking to do?"
Jace tilted his head slightly at Neron's claim. "For someone who can do magic and has witnessed Eirachi's power, you've a very fixed concept of reality." he observed. How strange and terribly illogical. If he move water and ice with the flick of his wrist, could not a goddess move time and space at her whim? But then a thought struck him. "Oh." he muttered softly. "I understand. You're looking for a reason to deny me as your son again." Again his tone, albeit somewhat bored, was that of an observation, not an accusation. He knew well the loophole that had been presented and rejected by Eirachi.
"I found mother dead and brought her back here. This was hers, and therefore mine to inherit." he said vaguely, gesturing to the Academy. Why else? As for what he wanted to do...he shrugged. "What I wish to do is limited by Eirachi, as you would know. And frankly between you, mother, and Uncle Loren the family name does me no favors." Just whispering the name Launceleyn seemed to invoke a deep seeded hate in most people.
"I suppose I will train people here. When I get around to it." he said with a bit of a shrug. Perhaps Neron would recognize it - the glimmer of sloth in Jace that had once ruled his own behavior.
"There is nothing to deny - you are not my son," Neron says coldly and simply. "You are a Neron Launceleyn's son, from somewhere in the realms out there. But not this one. I never slept with your mother to produce you, not once. Believe me, I would remember it." To hear that he had been the one to find Zariah dead is interesting, though in truth he has not put much thought into her demise beyond the obvious and the news that has filtered throughout the Citadel.
With a quiet scoff, Neron shakes his head. "I think you will find that the family does you no favours. They are the one who stained the name," he points out. "So much so that Loren does not use it any more. It gains a warmer reception around the Kraai these days, though." Trust Jace and Beatrix to change that in time, though.
"What lofty ambitions you have," he remarks. "Well, enjoy your time in your frozen, empty Academy. Until you get around to it, I doubt many will want to engage with you."
"In the eyes of Eirachi I am, and that is really all that mattered ultimately, wasn't it?" Jace said coldly. It was why he had been hidden and told to call Neron by his name. It was why he had been used as a bargaining tool in an attempt to gain power. It was why he had been raised by the goddess of the tundra and not amongst his fellow mortals. This Neron might not have specifically fathered him, but such technicalities didn't amount to much in the eyes of those with real power, and Jace had paid the price of Neron's debt regardless.
Jace did not rise to the goading nor comment on Loren as his mother might have. His temper was far more even keeled, near nonexistent, as the fiery tendencies Zariah had been frozen to nothingness in Eirachi's care. "Was this the purpose of the chat you sought? To gripe about meaningless technicalities and wave your small bit of familial redemption about?" He asked calmly, gaze turning from Neron to the fireplace. "How predictably disappointing."
"Perhaps. Either way, had I been aware of the existence of a son, however much of a technicality you might be, I would not have made the deal that I did." Neron raises his eyebrows at Jace, as if wondering whether that has ever even entered the boy's head. Neron had made his deal with the Eirachi before knowing he even existed, and had never intended to bring a child into the world thereafter. Another mistake to add to the long Launceleyn list.
Scoffing out a laugh, the Hailstorm turns up his collar and shrugs. "I imagine that little barb would have hurt if I had cared what you thought about me," he drawls. "I came here to squash the ingrate who claimed to be part of this family. But it looks like you aren't going anywhere, so I will leave you as I found you. Frosty and alone."
