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!
Rather than seated at his desk, stewing broodily over some document or other, uncharacteristically Cian was standing at the great window behind his desk, gazing out at the city. Hands clasped loosely behind his back, shoulders straight and head held high—the posture of a soldier—the Eye regards the columns and spires that shoot from the city without expression. His clothes are perfectly pressed, his hair styled in what looks as though it took no time at all, though in reality likely took more than a few moments. On his desk, there is a cold cup of coffee and a cigarette which was once lit, and then left to burn out on its own.
Outwardly, he moves not at all, save for a slow and controlled intake of breath.
you are a terribly real thing in a terribly false world
Finn, knowing the drill by now, knocks politely, waits a couple of seconds, and then opens the door to Cian's office. He is neither neat nor perfectly pressed; his clothes are of decent quality, being in the Order, but the Spyglass makes chaos out of perfectly ordinary items, it seems. Still, his curls are freshly washed and the shadows beneath his eyes are a touch less intense thanks to the dose of medicine left with him by Tobi.
His eyes flick from one thing to the next; the coffee without steam rolling from it, the smokeless cigarette, the Eye frozen and presiding over his domain like a statue. And Finn, caught in the web as usual. Pausing by the desk, between the two chairs set up for guests, he draws in a steady breath. "You wanted to see me, Cian?"
Though the air doesn't smell stale, it is most certainly still. If there has been anything more than the slow intake of the Eye's breath in the last handful of hours, it's impossible to tell. Pity he doesn't have a cat or a dog—even a bird or something—to break up the tension and stillness.
"Tell me Finn," The words are dryly and dustily said, Cian's gaze never moving from the window. "On what do you place the majority of your beliefs? The information given to you by your senses? Or the wisdom of the gods?" Even with his hands behind his back as they are, the Eye cracks them several times, before releasing a satisfied breath.
you are a terribly real thing in a terribly false world
Finn is movement in the stillness, the Spyglass quietly clearing his throat and rubbing at the back of his neck as silence stretches thin across the Eye's office. He plucks a stray thread from the sleeve of his blazer and shifts his weight to the opposite foot when, finally, Cian replies. And it isn't the smooth reproach or sly insults that Finn has come to expect; it's a philosophical question, rather, one that he can't feel out properly. If it's a trap, then Finn is naturally going to fall right into it.
"I trust my own senses before I trust any higher power," he says softly. "Though lately I am struggling to place my belief in even them." Too much has happened; too many things seen and unseen, too many slips in reason, too many trips to the medical centre. "Why do you ask...?"
"In your senses? Or higher powers?" In so asking, the Eye tilts his chin over his shoulder, giving Finn just the barest of glances and yet somehow taking in everything there is to see: the clean, but not styled curls, cheeks holding colour rather than letting it slip off, clothes that have never quite fit right.
He of course, doesn't answer Finn's question.
"There is a war coming. The last war was like a game of chess, wherein at the end, when the final checkmate was only a move away, new pieces were introduced to the game. It changed everything." He pauses only long enough to watch a bird fly across his field of view, as if it held the same amount of interest.
"This time there are not new pieces, but new games being played simultaneously. They're dressed up as the same game, but I don't believe they are." Pausing properly now that he might turn to fully appraise the Spyglass, Cian's denim blue stare meets Finn's stormy one. "In chess there are game-opening strategies. Middlegame strategies, and end game. Some players are better openers than they are closers, b ut if their opponents can never get a foothold, it doesn't matter. Others, who are good at closing but never find themselves making it that far, are frustrated by their own games. But we can't be masters of everything."
'Tell me Finn, where do you think we ought to focus our efforts?'
you are a terribly real thing in a terribly false world
"Both, I think." It's a quiet admission but one that Finn gives freely, given that the Eye probably knows all that there is to know about him already. He rests his hands in his pockets, his gaze only moving to Cian as the other man begins to speak in earnest, and he finds himself curiously caught in the scenario that the other man paints. He is already knitting together the imaginary games and pieces when the question is flung at him, and Finn's gaze moves to the window as if it is easier to hold a conversation with that.
"Closing, I think," he says slowly. "Chess is a patient man's game. The pieces we have will be sufficient at holding ground against any opening move from the opposition, and it would allow us time and space to make a measure of what we are dealing with. There is time, also, to see how these other games play out." Stormy eyes drop now to the floor. "It is true that some of the pieces are better openers, and their talents may be somewhat wasted. But as you say, we cannot be masters of everything."
"So you would wait, perhaps with untested confidence, until the very end. We are in the opening stages of things now. It might be a very long time until those days come." Still, it doesn't sound like Cian is disagreeing with Finn.
'Have a seat Finn, you've had a tough few days." So saying the Eye walks over to an ornate gold and glass barcart. "Water? Whiskey? Tea?" If there is a correct choice among the three, Cian doesn't reveal what it is. Whether everything is a game with the Eye—or nothing is—has long since been the subject of speculation. But rather than fixing his own drink, the Eye patiently waits for the Spyglass to make his own decision.
you are a terribly real thing in a terribly false world
"Or it might be a very short time, depending on how well the opposition does," Finn reasons back. "Having those pieces in reserve means we might be able to quickly change tact if untested confidence proves fallible." Such is the boon and bane of the demigod. He is still thinking about chess (or not-chess, as the case may be), when he's invited to take a seat and have a drink.
A tough few days is putting it lightly and so, surprising even himself, Finn sits as he is bid. Glancing to the barcart, the Spyglass feels whiskey itching on the tip of his tongue, but he pauses. He doesn't want whiskey, and he doesn't feel as though he needs to prove anything to the Eye. Not this morning. "Tea, please," he says instead, long fingers running over a stubbled jaw in thought.
"It is putting all of our eggs in one basket, so to speak." Cian replies. If it's agreement or argument, the topic is dropped as the Eye waits for Finn's reply. As he answers tea—predictably in some ways, surprising in others—the Eye merely nods and moves toward the fire where a kettle has already been set. Picking it up with a hand-made mitten, he pours them both tea. It is not sweet but nor is it bitter, lingering instead between medicinal and vibrant.
" 'course I do, Finn." Cian says, handing the Spyglass an exquisite teacup painted with unicorns and dragons racing across the sides. Taking a seat himself—next to Finn, rather than behind his desk—the Eye softly blows over his cup. "Lucky that Ronin Taliesin was there to pull you out. Quite a talent, that."
you are a terribly real thing in a terribly false world
"We have more eggs than they do," he replies mildly, before dropping the subject in lieu of drinks. It's still early and so the tea is appreciated; Finn wants to remind Cian about the cold cup of coffee on the desk for reasons that likely only make sense to the Spyglass, but the words tie together on his tongue when the Eye chooses to sit beside him. With fingers that try to be clumsy (he does not let them), Finn accepts the teacup and stares dead ahead, unsure what to expect from the unprecedented.
Blowing the steam from his cup, he frowns softly. "Yes, it is," he agrees about Ronin. "It troubled me, though. For all of my research, I cannot anticipate abilities that manifest that way. Remi Taliesin has something similar - he was also present in the dream. He and Ronin spoke." And it most certainly wasn't Finn's mind doing any of the work there.
Do we, Cian's smile wonders, as he pours the water over the tea.
Comfortably seated, one leg over the other and with his back pressed casually against the chair, the Eye seems to have no problem directly his gaze toward free. Studying his profile for as long as it takes for the Spyglass to turn toward him, Cian listens politely as Finn works his way through his own thoughts on the matter.
"Interesting. Do you think it's because they're married that their magic intersects in such a way? Or do you think it has more to do with Safrin and Ludo?" Those two had ever been the pair; dark and light, shadows and stars, manipulation and games. They were a coin flung into the air, those two. Not two sides of it, or even the same. Just endlessly spinning and rotating.
you are a terribly real thing in a terribly false world
Finn can see the eyes boring into the side of his head, and there's only so long he can look at the fire or into the depths of his teacup, and so eventually Cian gets what he wants (doesn't he always?) and he glances across to him. The question, when it comes, is an easy answer. "Their powers manifest from their respective gods. This is another of those games you mentioned, this one played between Safrin and Ludo. Though for what purpose I could not say."
Merely to win? To get one over on the other by way of their chosen? It seems like a petty and dangerous thing to do with the fate of the world resting on their coin toss, but it also seems completely in character for them. "Game or not, though, that isn't to say that it won't be useful in the larger stakes." He doesn't ask what Cian plans to do with the information - he doesn't dare - so Finn merely takes a sip of his tea, humming out a surprised note of appreciation for it.
"Do you find it strange that demigods have been positioned here in Stormbreak, but we were not informed of it? Of why?" Unless Cian has been informed. In which case, Finn has learned not to question such things. He's learned the hard way.
'With enough creativity, I imagine Safrin could have any magic she wanted to manifest. If it suited her." The same went for Ludo too, though Safrin's manipulative efforts lent themselves much more keenly to this sort of thing. Dreams had ever been the realm of Ludo. That Safrin's chosen could find himself there was well seemed very curious.
"We?" Cian repeats with a dry smile. Oh, he'd been informed of it. His permission or thoughts hadn't been asked of course, but he knew. "Truthfully though I think the gods are...hesitant. This is now their second time dealing with precisely the same issue, and they are once again on their heels. It is the reason for the influx of created-demi-gods. Why they're being stationed here and in the Greatwood like troops to be deployed."
Tapping the edge of his cup, Cian continues to stare at Finn's profile, well aware of the other man's efforts not to return his gaze. "Tell me Finn. Would you put the barrier up again, were it within your command to do so?"
you are a terribly real thing in a terribly false world
"Such is the way of gods," Finn says. It's a safe, blanket sort of statement that doesn't lend his opinion about Safrin or Ludo or anyone else. He and Cian have already walked that route once before, and whilst the Order might have its own preferences and predilections towards certain gods (and against others), that does not belong in conversation about business. "Me, then," he corrects, having guessed as much.
His brow furrows as he gazes into the dark pool of his tea, and his silence is as much an agreement as anything else. Hesitance, but to what end? To be seen as those with a moral higher ground? To cement their positions against the Voice, as those who are acting in defence of the world? His thoughts are interrupted by Cian's question, and the Spyglass turns at last to face the Eye properly.
"No," he says softly. "I would not. The barrier has created a larger problem, in its three centuries of existence. The Voice was able to execute her machinations to bring it down, and no one within the barrier was able to inform the outside about it. Not to mention the loss of the heralds, and the impact it had on those who were left behind in the Hollowed Grounds."
