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!
It is dawn, and the garden is quiet, a haunting backdrop of early-morning animals and rustling leaves setting a peaceful, beautiful scene. Amalia sits cross-legged on the ground before the statue of the Vi, eyes closed and breathing deeply. More and more she has taken to meditation, learning to impose a level of stillness upon her turbulent mind. It is a difficult thing for one such as the Shield, but the slowly and steadily sharpening skill is one she values already. She is training herself not to think.
Not to overthink, anyway.
The soprano of birdsong flutters and lilts below a low bass of larger beasts, all of it backset by the percussive rhythm of flora, of literal woodwinds. It is on these sounds Amalia focuses, blocking out the countless visual stimuli that deafens and dampens everything else. Beneath her feet and legs she can feel the earth, bright and alive; the smell of it fills her with appreciation for all the sustenance it provides, to keep Vi's creatures whole. She feels wind against her skin, and other things as well: a number of voles have come to nestle beneath her knees, and a butterfly stops to pollinate one of the flowers in her hair. The promise of an autumn storm hovers at the edge of the horizon, the heavy taste of it washing over her tongue. With the rain will come more life, strengthening and renewing, preparing for the long rest winter will bring. Many lives will not survive the cold, but their deaths will contribute to a bountiful spring, and thus the cycle begins anew.
It is too beautiful for the Shield to contain. A tear slides silently down her cheek, leaving a trail of salt on her face and disappearing into her vibrant smile. "Thank you, Father," the girl whispers. "It is your work I do."
Vi's statue simply isn't a statue any longer, and the God of Life stands before his chosen in the quiet tranquility of morning. He seems lesser, somehow, as he quietly watches Amalia, but not in the way one might think. There is less fury in the deity, less urgency. Pieces are falling into place, and all is as it should be for now.
At last.
"You need not weep, Amalia Chandrakant. Indeed, you should rise. Come before me, for there is much to discuss." Now that she is not sick. Now that she is in Stormbreak.
When Amalia opens her eyes again the statue is not a statue anymore. Instead it has taken on a sheen of familiarity and life, so much life that it makes her breath catch, her heart beating quicker and lighter as color floods her cheeks.
Obediently the girl stands, her body moving fluidly towards him like a loadstone would to the north star. Fingers clench against the hem of her tunic, betraying the anxiety which never quite leaves her - but it is an expectant, eager thing, a willingness and wanting to do the work.
Stopping a respectful distance from the god, Amalia raises her chin to meet his gaze, face awash with adoration, stoked with purpose and passion. "Father," the Shield greets with reverence, blushing and stumbling slightly over the word but holding steady. He is father of all Life, after all. "I am ready to serve."
"And so you shall." Vi steps down from the plinth, sitting upon it before the Shield. Although this position puts Amalia higher than he is, given that she's standing, he still seems larger than... well, life. Around them, the shrine pulses and blooms with vibrance, setting the world softly aglow.
Leaning forearms on knees and clasping his hands, he holds the Shield's gaze with a steady, dark stare. "There is much to discuss," he says. "You are here to assist the Order, as I hope you are aware. You will be integral in assisting their efforts - though I am sure you are wondering how." Vi straightens up; for one so still, he is perpetually on the move.
"Do you recall the situation at the Climb, with Tanau?"
Her eyes trace his movements without wavering or question, staying locked on the dark gaze that holds infinites in its depths. He could walk off the edge of a cliff and Amalia would follow; her faith in her god is absolute, and in his presence the rest of the world feels minute, unimportant. All she knows is that she wishes to serve him, to be worthy of this grace.
Amalia nods; she doesn't yet know her role in the Order and their plans, and her toes curl in eager anticipation at the unspoken suggestion that she shall finally learn. It is an enthusiasm that wanes significantly when he mentions Tanau and the Climb: even in the luster of his presence, there is a tarnished pain where Kiada's absence is keenly, cruelly felt.
"He was trapped," the Shield recalls slowly, worrying her lips between her words. For the first time she looks away from Vi, into the lovely, wakening garden. "There was metal in his chest, hurting him. When we removed it he was freed... but it unleashed the sickness that infected us."
"Not trapped," Vi corrects gently, the rumble of his voice sweet and calm and suddenly, infinitely furious. "He was not trapped, Amalia Chandrakant. He was sick - poisoned by the metal that resided within. That sickness mutated when you freed him of it - a regrettable side effect being that which you suffered during LongHeat."
Rising to stand, the God of Life surveys the Celestine, his gaze faraway now. "I sent him on a mission, to the Draig Cordillera. I sent him to try to find Caido... but I do not know if he was successful, as he has no memory of that time." Vi's jaw feathers.
"What I do know is that the metal you pulled out of him came, without doubt, from the Core."
Shark has used her birthday gift for critical plot info!
His anger strikes like thunder on a cloudless day, causing the hair on her neck to straighten, bringing the Shield swiftly to attention. Tension thrums through her body, high alert and keen as she listens to her god. Sick, Tanau was sick, an effect of the metal - and this much she knows.
But that he had gone to find Caido, and instead encountered the Core? Amalia does not fully grasp the implications, but knows they must be vast.
"And now the Voice has it." The metal, a shard of the mysterious Core- a shiver courses down her spine, fear and anger bright in her voice. "She has metal from the Core, her machine has changed, and she even tried to Ascend an Attuned... she's growing stronger. Too strong."
Her throat is tight, but she swallows it down, the lump of vitriol and aggravation. She can see the places where she's made mistakes stretching ever back, a trail of errors that culminate in that first and worst one when she spoke the words that liberated the false god. For years Amalia has tried to atone for that sin; now she looks upon her god, her father, and knows that none of her mistakes matter. All that matters is moving forward.
"And now the Voice has it," Vi confirms, his vast and endless gaze focusing upon Amalia as if she is the only thing that exists within these starry walls of the Celestine. He nods agreement with her assumption, the small and simple gesture reaching fathoms into the potential of a future that is neither bright nor positive. He has no time for her errors or her melancholy either, and she is learning in that she is already pushing forward.
The God of Life speaks softly, but his voice trembles throughout the gardens. "I would have you defend Stormbreak and the Order. I would have you bolster it, make it your own home, keep it a bastion of all that we stand for. Bring light where there is darkness, knowledge where there is ignorance, hope where there is none. Be more than a Shield, Amalia Chandrakant. Be their Archangel."
Amalia is using her COTY prize to change her LT from "the Shield of Safrin" to "the Archangel"!
To be a beacon, a source of light. Amalia trembles with the implication, doubt a creeping thing that screams in the back of her mind. But the doubt is muted, suppressed by the rumble of her god's voice, a command that resonates through each muscle, each fiber, each nerve and cell and piece of her soul. Whether or not she can do this Amalia doesn't know, but she never thought she could be a Shield, and she'd been wrong about that, too.
Her eyes flutter closed; she bows her head, accepting the title and responsibility he has placed upon her with gratitude and resolution blooming in her breast. "Thank you, Father," Amalia murmurs. "I'll do all I can."
Only when she feels her emotions are in control does Amalia turn her face to Vi again, dark eyes seeking answer in his. "Father... the Order, the war... I know that the Voice and her closest followers must see justice for what they've done to the world, but what about the Ascended who didn't have a choice? Or those who would leave the Voice if they could? Do they not deserve our protection as well, a chance to be free? There are those who would murder Ascended on principle. I... what would you see done for them? What would you see me do?"
"I know that you will." It is less a vow and more a confirmation that they both know Amalia's place, her tasks and her orders, and now all that is left to do is carry them out. As she turns back to gaze at him, though, to ask about the Ascended, the impossible, he merely tilts his head. Mercurial and older than the stones, there is no doubt at all in the God of Life's voice when he speaks.
"There is no such thing as an Ascended who did not have a choice," he says. "And there has never been an Ascended who has been able to reverse what they have chosen to do. Life begets death. Death begets life. I would see nothing done for them. I would see you do nothing for them. Your orders have been given, and your place is here. Ascended life is a mockery of the real thing."
She's always known it, but never wanted to believe. That it was hopeless, that the Ascended - all the Ascended - had chosen to be what they are. That there was no way to save them from what they had become. That she has to let them go, to focus on protecting those who remain.
It hurts, and though Amalia nods she cannot meet his eyes. "Yes, Vi."
She falls silent then, letting the weight of this new knowledge settle, her breathing slowing as she steadies herself. There might have been tears in her eyes, but Amalia blinks them back before they can fall, biting hard on her lip. It isn't until she feels that she's come back under control that the Archangel looks once more upon her father, more questions bubbling slowly onto her tongue. "Father... I will devote myself to this cause, of course, but there are things I still wish to do outside of Stormbreak. A priest has asked me to help strike against the Voice, and Frey... but I do not have a way to leave." Cian had denied her, and she'd found no alternative. "If, if I may... I would ask a way to travel through Caido, like the compasses those of the Order hold. To better do your work."
Vi tilts his head slowly to his chosen, assuming that their work here is done. And yet more requests spill from her lips. "You have been given your orders. You know what you are to do," he repeats slowly, like the slow closing of cathedral doors. "The rest you have decided on your own. I am not here to facilitate your choices. I am here to confirm your tasks."
His eyebrows raise, slowly. "If you are tasked with something else from Frey, I would suggest speaking to Frey. If you have chosen to commit yourself to a field trip outside of Stormbreak, I suggest you arrange those means to leave with the priest with whom you will be working." The remark is clear - there will be no favours granted here, not under the guise of Vi's work.
It's a fool's errand, she supposes, but one she had to try. But her goals, her needs, her desire to be free - they are small things next to the will of her god, her Father, the plans he has put in place. Biting down upon her lip, Amalia simply nods, accepting the rejection without resentment, for how could she ever resent Him?
"I understand," the Shield - the Angel - replies softly, looking down to the wealth of life that blooms around their feet. This place, this world, this is where she is now, where she belongs. Her needs are small compared to the needs of the world, of her Gods.
And she knows better than to attempt to take more of his time, to ask more from him. He has given her enough, and Amalia is grateful, turning back upon her Father with adoration in her eyes. "Thank you for your time, Father," the girl murmurs, a small, shy smile on her face. "I will do my best to make you proud in the days to come."
01-23-2021, 07:06 PM (This post was last modified: 01-23-2021, 07:07 PM by Vi.)
vi
"And you will." There is nothing but certainty and knowing in Vi's gaze, in the way he sees Amalia and also sees through her, into the ifs and maybes of what is to come. Obviously, Vi cannot know that she will succeed, or that she will be all that he hopes she will be. But the God of Life is nothing if not confident.
With naught more than a nod to his chosen, Vi dissolves into a flurry of blossoms and petals, which swirl about her before they disappear on the breeze. Back into the Celestine, back into the starlight, until all is empty and quiet.
