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!
tell me father, which to ask forgiveness for? what i am, or what i'm not?
Somehow they’ve managed to make it to the Grounds (don’t read too much into it yet), and the one thing that certainly remains is the fact that his arm is still fucked up, and yes. He’s still pretty grumpy about it. The only thing that quiets him is how different it is, no current wars going on that he’s aware of, people milling around out and about, ones he no longer recognizes.
And the Grounds? The Grounds look like they’ve been pummeled, hit over and over again with scorch marks and a line in the ground that he isn’t sure what it’s from, but he supposes the questions can wait for later. Because he parts from his rescuer and unceremoniously shoulders open the door to the infirmary, looking within and sees just how much that’s changed too.
There’s a hard set to his jaw as he wanders in, propping his good arm onto the desk he sees first. “Anyone home? Could use a little help here.” He calls out into the dark, despite being able to see just fine. He’d do just about anything to make his warnings drop off.
tell me mother, which should i regret? what i became, or what i didn't?
"Just a moment!" Considering that she's in the middle of something, Isla sounds remarkably calm. It's pretty late at night in the Grounds, but when someone decides to accidentally skin one of their fingers while cooking, duty calls. Honestly, it's nice just to know that regular people still feel comfortable calling into the infirmary, and it's just a few moments more when medic and patient emerge.
His hand is neatly bandages and he smiles and pockets the parcel of medicine she gives him, then goes on his merry way. And, after waving him off, Isla sweeps behind the counter without even a flicker of fatigue - that probably gives her away as an Ascended more than anything. Her curls are lifted up into a high, messy tail and her white doctor's coat has a bunch of things weighing down the pockets that she hasn't had a chance to sort through yet, but there's more work to do yet.
"Thank you for waiting." She smiles to the newcomer. "It's still just me here, so things can get quite hectic. My name is Isla - how can I help?"
sooner or later, we all have to wake and try forgetting everything
tell me father, which to ask forgiveness for? what i am, or what i'm not?
He hears the call ring out and in a mix of his impatience and the warnings driving him insane, his arm lifts and he props his head up on it, waiting and watching for when the doctor and patient arrive. He remains exactly as is, eyeing the person that pockets the meds and watches as they slip out the door, and by the time his blue gaze rounds back to Isla, the arm drops and he flashes her a somewhat fake smile of greeting and a raise of his brow. “Where’s Robyn? Usually she’s on night duty.” He comments offhandedly before sucking in a breath he absolutely doesn’t need, and pushes off the desk. “Doesn't matter.” He tacks on under his breath.
“I’m Cal and I think I need this sad fucking thing taken off.” He offers, lifting his bad arm with his good arm, and promptly dropping the mangled thing onto the desk, flashing her a charming smile with fangs on display. “Think you can help with that, Isla?” He leans on his good arm on the desk again, refraining from looking at his arm that’s limp and torn apart in places, fingers either missing or bent, and an elbow that’s completely shattered.
tell me mother, which should i regret? what i became, or what i didn't?
Sorry, but I have no idea who that is, is what Isla is about to say, and she'd probe further if it weren't for the face that the stranger at the desk promptly tells her not to worry about it. And so she doesn't, and besides which, there is something far more interesting going on all of a sudden. She get's halfway through a "Nice to meet you, Cal," before he plopping what she thinks used to be an arm onto the reception desk. That earns a raise of her eyebrows - congratulations Cal. You have her attention.
There are a few moments of silence where she examines the limb in more detail without ever quite touching it, as if to give a preliminary verdict on whether or not it is more effort to save than to take it off. "I think I can help with that quite easily," she says eventually, flashing a fanged smile right back at him, though hers is much friendlier. "It is quite a mess, isn't it? If you give me a few minutes to set up my operating theatre and to close the infirmary temporarily, we can begin."
sooner or later, we all have to wake and try forgetting everything
tell me father, which to ask forgiveness for? what i am, or what i'm not?
Pleasantries aside, his arm is dumped onto the table and he certainly has her attention as well. It’s a good thing, given the fact he’d do just about anything in order to shut off the warnings that continue to buzz all around his head. At least he isn’t losing fluid anymore. The rest of it? It’s fucked. And he’s content to let her examine it, because at least it means she’s likely to help. And it appears she isn’t squeamish either, which is another bonus in his book.
And when she agrees, offers her friendly smile, he spies the fangs too and his grin grows a bit wider. “Perfect.” He chimes, stepping back and dragging his useless arm with him to hang limply at his side. “You’re Ascended, yeah?” He knows she has to be with fangs like that and no exhaustion lingering in her bones but it never hurts to double check, right? “I’ll be in your debt if you can make my systems quiet about it.” He tempts her with another charming grin, before he settles to wait to follow her back.
tell me mother, which should i regret? what i became, or what i didn't?
"Then it's a deal. And I am Ascended, yes - how ever did you guess?" Isla grins now, gesturing for him to follow her through into the infirmary proper. She closes the door and places a sign on it to advise she is currently in surgery and so unavailable unless it is for something life threatening, and checks a couple of her other patients before moving to the operating room. Trusting Cal to follow, she clicks the door shut behind them and lights a few lanterns, even though neither of them need it.
"Don't be silly," she says of the debt, cleaning up the table and moving a chair beside it for him to sit. "This is my job, I wouldn't expect you to put yourself out for coming to me for help." Gesturing for him to take a seat, Isla moves to ready herself and her tools now. "How did that happen, if I might ask? It looks... old."
sooner or later, we all have to wake and try forgetting everything
tell me father, which to ask forgiveness for? what i am, or what i'm not?
There’s a low hum of consideration as he sees her grin. “It’s always the teeth.” It’s everything else, too, of course, but it’s far more fun to mention the teeth of all things versus the other realities that pinpoint to it. But he follows her, easily, glancing into the rooms of the infirmary, noting how it had changed, until they’re in her operating room and he sheds the threadbare shirt he wears, tugging at his useless arm to slip it off. A few scars dance across his skin, but nothing compared to the mangled mess of an arm that he settles in his lap when he sits.
“Mm I’ll think of something.” He teases at her denial of paying her back. He couldn’t just expect her to lob off his arm and make sure he’s okay without doing something for her.
Perhaps it makes him old fashioned.
His head tilts as he regards her question. “I don’t know… A few weeks ago? A month maybe? I just woke up after the fight in King’s End. So… However long since then.” Truthfully he’s expecting it to have been a month tops. And his gaze lifts to her almost expectantly, as if he’s sure she’ll agree.
tell me mother, which should i regret? what i became, or what i didn't?
"The teeth?" Isla echoes with a smile. "I might have been an Attuned with fangs - you never know," she reminds him, turning after getting herself scrubbed up (as best she can using the limited resources) and returning to the table where Cal has kindly stripped off his shirt to make it easier for her to chop off amputate the defective arm. "If you insist. I am quite partial to flowers, even if I can barely smell them any more." Smirking at him briefly, it's only what he says next that has her confused.
"There was a fight at King's End?" she asks, sterilising her main tools before taking another seat beside him, readying herself with the scalpel blades which reside within her fingertips. "Against who?" she wonders, suddenly worried that Stormbreak and the demigods were making a move against the Ascended without them knowing about it.
sooner or later, we all have to wake and try forgetting everything
tell me father, which to ask forgiveness for? what i am, or what i'm not?
“I’d know.” He offers with a crooked smirk, following her as he removes his shirt and plants himself down on the chair she’s pulled out for him. He finally takes a look at the ruined arm as she suggests flowers and his head tilts up to look at her for a fleeting moment, committing that specific bit to his memory, in spite of the alarms ringing a dull thunder in his mind. Flowers as a thank you for cutting off my shitty arm. Sounds easy, actually.
Soon enough she sits beside him and he regards her a bit more carefully now that they’re a bit closer, his blue gaze dancing across her face as she sparks some confusion within him, too. “Against the Old Gods…?” He trails off, brows pinching together a fraction. “It was a big one, took more than half of the Grounds and most of the Ascended.” He explains, waving his good hand a bit for emphasis.
“I thought it rolled through here, given how shitty the Grounds looks right now. You new here or something?” He asks, tilting his head, trying not to move too much to bother her attempts to cut his arm off.
tell me mother, which should i regret? what i became, or what i didn't?
By now Isla would have already been making her first incisions to rid Cal of his pesky useless arm, but as he speaks about King's End, about a fight, about wiping out most of the Ascended, she falters. Never mind his effortless and crooked charm - suddenly she's under the distinct impression that the man before her is from a time far, far beyond this one. "No, I'm not new here." She shakes her head gently, downing tools so she can regard him properly.
"If I told you that it was the year 312PC, in Flowerbirth, would that make sense to you?" she asks. It might seem a leap, but with Aamu so recently making an appearance, Isla is more readily able to jump to those sorts of conclusions than she otherwise might be. "I don't know where you have been, but there wasn't a fight in King's End a few weeks ago. Not that I have heard, anyway. And given how few Ascended there are... I feel we would know if most of us were wiped out."
sooner or later, we all have to wake and try forgetting everything
tell me father, which to ask forgiveness for? what i am, or what i'm not?
Dark brows furrow as Isla informs him that she isn’t new here. He isn’t too sure what she means by that, given the fact that he has never seen her before, and it truly hasn’t been that long (to Varus, of course) since he’d shut down. She sets down her tools, though, and Varus suddenly feels like he’s about to be told something either great, or quite terrible.
Turns out it’s a bit of both.
“What?” He asks, truthfully not knowing what “PC” means and somewhat too out of his mind to ask. She goes on to explain and he remains silent for some time, chewing on his lower lip in consideration. “...What happened from the war, then?” He pauses, swallowing hard despite not needing it. “If… The war happened and you started counting the years from then… I—” A hiccup of a laugh leaves him and he leans back, resting his head on the back of the chair, eyes shutting tight. “Then I’m over 312 years old? What the fuck— What season is it?” He asks. It had been Longheat when he’d ran into battle. And now?
Now he doesn’t know what PC means, doesn’t know who won the war and what happened. But it certainly means the injury to his arm is over three hundred years old.
tell me mother, which should i regret? what i became, or what i didn't?
He takes it better than she expects, to be honest, and she relaxes a bit, huffing out a breath she doesn't need. "Well," she murmurs, before launching into The Explanation. We'll not bore you with the details - you know how it goes. Voice - barrier - 300 years - Outlanders and the Spire. And here we are. "So... yes. PC stands for Post Cataclysm. I suppose that's when the Hollowed Grounds was contained behind the barrier." Isla smiles, unsure how to put it delicately.
"Yes," she says slowly, "I suppose that does mean you're over 312 years old. You are looking very good for your age?" It's a poor attempt at a joke, and though she moves to adjust his bad arm so she might see it better, she glances up to make sure he's okay to proceed. "If you need some time, you only need to say," she advises.
sooner or later, we all have to wake and try forgetting everything
tell me father, which to ask forgiveness for? what i am, or what i'm not?
The Explanation is a hard pill to swallow, but Varus manages to stay silent throughout it, watching her face, studying her for any lies. And he doesn’t find any. He isn’t sure if he’s glad or if he’s upset about it. All in all, it would take a long time before he understands what it means, comes to terms with the fact that likely everyone he knew was gone now and had been, so long in fact there’s likely no remains of his things or his previous life. Wiped away from memory, another body in the ground.
“Thanks.” He manages a weak attempt at a smile to her joke, though it could also be a thank you for the sudden explanation, some sort of realization that sinks deep within him that’s almost enough to ward away the incessant warning chimes that continue to vibrate in the back of his mind.
He sits up a bit straighter, stares at the ruined arm as she moves it into position, before his sea blue gaze lifts to Isla’s face. “No… I think I’m alright. Please just cut it off.” He pauses, looking for something else to talk about. “You said you aren’t new… Are you from the Grounds since I... Went out?” Trying to grasp at straws, trying to understand the missing pieces inch by inch.
tell me mother, which should i regret? what i became, or what i didn't?
She sits quietly, allowing him to digest the information for as long as he needs. In the meantime, Isla arranges and double checks everything - by the time Cal says he's ready to proceed, she's probably performed the procedure in her mind a dozen or so times. "I'd say you're welcome, but it isn't the sort of news I enjoy giving. And alright, as long as you're sure. If that changes, just let me know."
And so Isla begins, scalpel blades slipping from her fingertips to make those first incisions. She plans to peel back the flesh before beginning the amputation, not wanting to cut any fluid lines or remove anything unnecessary. And luckily for Cal, she's more than comfortable carrying a conversation while she works. "Oh, no... I am an Outlander. I came here from a land called Northaven. I was only here for about a season before I decided to Ascend." She smiles across at him. "Do you want to keep the arm?"
sooner or later, we all have to wake and try forgetting everything
