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!
In Falke’s ever optimistic mind, he can still find the mushrooms he’d originally come to Torchline for. Tomorrow. He can leave everything at the inn ready to go tomorrow morning and then all he has to do is grab the pack and turn the dial on the compass…
Yes, it seems like a doable plan.
Tonight, however, is for spoiling Ophelia - for buying her love and making her feel safe. That, too, seems like a good idea until he realizes that the little monkey has never been this close to this many people. He can feel her fear spike when they leave the inn and tries to soothe it as best he can by keeping her close to his chest and plying her with bits of fruit. For a little while, it seems to work - but this is the season of Ludo and in the fading light, the shadows and sounds and smells must be particularly spoopy and overwhelming.
Nature beats out nurture this time; he starts to turn to head back to the inn, but Ophelia leaps away from him, searching for higher ground, climbing a street food vendor’s tent and knocking an already unsteady pole loose, which sends it inadvertently into the vendor’s cooking fire.
The flames start to spread. Falke’s voice rises, his eyes on the rooftops, frantically searching for his new companion. “Ophelia! Fee! FEE?!”
Once night fell, Amun had headed to Torchline as ordered by Wessex. It was a swift trip through the portal, with nothing but the clothes on his back and his weapons strapped to his hip. Well, actually, he was shirtless, so it was just pants and boots.
When he arrived in the port, he immediately headed towards the city proper. His allies were much more likely to be found there, and unlike the Wraith he couldn't just telepathically contact them. Making his way through the marketplace, he pushed and dodged his way through the crowds.
In front of him, a monkey leapt off a man's shoulder. The critter clambered up a tent pole. In the process, the primate somehow knocked it over: flames licked up even as a man dashed towards them. The rest of the crowd scattered aside from the stall owner, who wailed and ran towards a nearby sand barrel to help put it out.
Amun yelped. Unslinging his shield, he put it between him and the fire. Reaching out with his free hand, he tried to pry the stranger away from the danger. "Get back," the Ascended hissed.
There’s a lot going on; fire, yelling, Fee is somewhere, and a man is pulling him back, he’s got fangs - fucking hell - Falke stumbles. Panic rises in him, he feels Ophelia’s fear as well as his own, and it turns out the Fixer is not as good in a crisis as he thought he might be. “Get OFF,” he yells, pushing back, every negative emotion running through him right now thrown back on the Ascended.
There’s a flash of something on the roof, eyes in firelight, perhaps, and Falke latches on to it as it moves away from the flames. “Phelia, stop!” he calls, her pain and his pain mingling together into a half-sob. But the ground is uneven here, and there’s debris about. Falke is quickly losing sight of her in the dark.
Not expecting the resistance, Amun released the stranger. The potter growled at the other man. "You're welcome. You know, from saving you from flinging yourself into the fire." Which was spreading, despite the best efforts of the shopkeeper and a few nearby stall owners. The Ascended kept a wary eye on it.
Then the stranger was darting off again, and this time it was clear he was chasing after the monkey. It was also clear he was struggling: between the darkness and what appeared to be a limp, the other man was having trouble with his footing. Amun grimaced and rolled his eyes. "Idiot. Oh for fuck's sake." Hesitating for just an instant, he dashed after the stranger, as much to get away from the flames as anything else.
“I don’t need Ascended help,” Falke protests over his shoulder as he continues to pursue Ophelia into the dark. He doesn’t get far before the Haulani’s makeshift fire brigade comes roaring down the street, Abandoned with water magic who do their best to take care of any fires that might break out in the dry, hot city, they aren’t exactly known for always being sober while working.
Falke manages to step out of the way of the running group, but he slips on a hastily-dropped small barrel, sending his feet into the air and his head to the ground. It lands with a thick thud against a rock, making his body go limp and splayed out. If Amun investigates, he’ll find that Falke has managed to knock himself unconscious. There’s some blood where his head landed, but no obvious signs of anything to identify him - the top of something shiny pokes out of an inner pocket and he’s well dressed, but the good doctor is otherwise now just another unconscious body in Haulani.
The Eye arrives with, perhaps surprisingly, Lena. Capable and clever—and good with animals—the Celestine-keeper is an odd, but apt choice for this little expedition. Strolling toward the sound of flames and mayhem in an entirely unhurried pace, the Eye points out various landmarks and things of note to the caretaker.
Quite how Cian knows the things he does has long been the subject of much scrutiny and speculation. But, serendipitously perhaps (though this is no coincidence at all), the pair arrive at Falke's unconscious body. "There ought to be a monkey around." He notes casually, glancing toward Lena with a small and untroubled smile as he kneels by Falke's body.
hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul
To say she was proud and excited at the semblance of visiting elsewhere (via a mission, of course) was an understatement – the youth positively radiated ebullience and enthrallment. She did strive to maintain some decorum, because she doubted Cian was the type of individual who enjoyed humming, and kept her composure as best she could. There were several instances of distraction by local wildlife, jotting down notes feverishly (she could have stared and watched the Hels all day), and the Eye kindly pointed out several landmarks that also bore significance and worth. And while the inquiries strained and the questions pulsed, it wasn’t the right time. There were other things to be accomplished.
She didn’t know Falke well, but the notion of his companion left out sent her into Caretaker mode, traipsing along, heading towards the bristling mayhem, watching in how the Eye took his time. Like it was a stroll.
So the youth eased her own breaths, slowed down the rapid intuitions, and then they wound up at the fallen brethren as if Cian had known where he was the entire time. Her gaze went immediately to Falke, but at the Eye’s direction, she nodded, indicating her understanding. A call, a pulse, gentle and luring, unfurled from the sanction of her soul – the reach towards a companion, possibly lost, possibly scared, nestling instinctively, like a sanctuary. She grabbed hold of a few treats from her pockets, and began to needle and poke her way around.
and sings the tune without the words and never stops at all
The subtle, slow rise of the Fixer’s chest indicates that he’s alive. Further probing might find that the sticky mess under his head is no longer expanding along the dirty, crooked stones, but is starting to congeal and matt his head to whatever it's lying on.
The Fixer will most certainly live; aside from the fear of infection (which Doctor Hart can most certainly keep at bay) and brain swelling, the rest of his body is perfectly fine. Maybe a turned ankle - but hey, Falke won’t be leaving his bed for at least a week anyway.
The sudden absence of Falke’s fear stills the little brown monkey, as if her own instinct to flee has been cut in half. That spot in her head that filled something is empty again and it’s alarming enough to make her turn back (though where she is, she has no fucking clue because she’s a monkey of the wilds, not of Haulani) and cry a little question into the red-tinged night. Is it Lena that answers? Or a gentle nudge in her mind that says come back, come back, he needs you. Back along the rooftops she creeps, bit by bit, these leafless canopies unfamiliar and frightening.
Eventually she appears to Lena - eyes first, and then the rest of her - calling quiet and sadly into the smoke-streaked air. Something about the caretaker screams safety, and that’s all the capuchin really wants right now. Safety and her bonded.
And so the Fixer was found, along with a rather charming brown monkey. Bruised, knocked out cold, but surely no worse for wear overall, the Eye nods his appreciation to his counterpart. Only a few words are spoken—in Torchline there are always ears listening and eyes watching, this he has learned the hardway—and though Cian would never give up being an Accepted, he can appreciate how much easier it might be to silently communicate with Lena.
Perhaps that is something Seraphina can work out for him.
His compass, and his alone, has the power to transport them all back. There are no ill-effects, though Falke is rushed immediately to the medical wing, and Lena is advised to find herself a cup of tea with plenty of sugar.
Narrowly one disaster is adverted, but with so many from the Order on excursions and adventures, Cian wonders if it isn't time to find a more efficient way to be able to recall them when needed.
