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!
Right now, life in Caido kind of, well, sucked. Not as much as it was probably going to, but the grim knowledge that the future was going to contain war and sorrow for all of them loomed over Sam's head like a personal storm cloud. Usually ,he was the type to wallow in this misery, but with eight seasons to go until it began, they couldn't spend all their time miserable. At least, he hoped not.
So he'd decided to hold a little event for Leafchange. A season of eerie scenery and dark nights, associated with Ludo and death; the perfect time to sit around and tell some scary stories; where better to do that than in his bookstore? With the lights off in the evening, the fire beat down to a low orange simmer and a single candle on a table in the middle of the room, surrounded by various chairs and cushions, he felt like he had constructed a good spooky atmosphere.
Sitting back, a large leather book on his lap and Mia on his shoulders, he waited for his guests to arrive for a spooky time.
--
I've thought about how this could work - for this first post write your character arriving. In 48 hours we'll close it to new people then I'll choose someone randomly from the people present to tell their story in turn, so it isnt a total clusterfuck.
Cameron had never been to Sam's shop before, and since they weren't quite sure where it was, they set off early for the event to make sure they wouldn't be too late if they got lost. Instead, they found it without issue, and discovered that they were the first one there. Well, a little punctuality never hurt, right? Right?
"Hi," they said to Sam. "I'm Cameron -- I came for the spooky story thing?"
They were fascinated by the idea of fiction in Caido, a land where gods and magic were tangibly real. What counted as fantasy in a fantasy world? Maybe tonight they'd find out. And even if not, a good spooky story or two wouldn't go amiss.
cameron ?
"Cameras" by Ennev is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0
A part of Mabel wanted to be the defiant, edgy sort that didn’t participate in this sort of thing. She’d missed last years on account of being dead, and she was a bit of a grim little creature to begin with. While she could’ve occupied her time with ensuring the gourds didn’t invade her farm (with what crops exposed – perhaps it didn’t really matter), she instead opted for strolling along shadow-filled avenues and corridors, kicking a few stray pumpkins out of her path, before yielding to Samuel’s bookstore.
Scary stories, indeed. She figured the majority of them had some that could go on for days.
She slipped in like a wraith, all cloak and dagger expanse, until her bare feet were highlighted by firelight and she nodded towards Cameron and the owner of the place – though her eyes went immediately to the cat. “Hello again,” came on quiet and hushed, as if trying not to disturb the intricacies of the atmosphere, or maybe adding to its eerie dimensions. “I came for the stories.” Then she chose a chair, hands in her lap.
If you dig under my feet You will find things that you don't want to see
We are only haunted by the things we refuse to accept -Bridgett Devoue
Nikolai entered the store quietly. He'd never been here, which was quite strange given his love of books. Eyeing the collection of books around him, he decided to fix that sometime. For now though, he was here for stories. It was the perfect season for it, and with his new Ascended status, Nikolai was feeling more into the spookiness then normal.
Entering the door he gave a nod to those present. "Hello. I'm Nikolai. This is where we're having the story telling right?" He asked in clarification as he sat down on one of the available chairs. It was surprisingly comfortable, perfect for a relaxing to a long story. Though with the genre of stories about to be told, who knew how relaxed he'd be.
Resilience is born even when we feel like we are dying -Alex Elle
"The spooky story thing! Yes!" Sam confirmed, waving Cameron inside. Mabel and Nikolai were similarly greeted and after a moment's waiting, when it was clear they would be the only people turning up (a little disappointing, but he'd never liked crowds anyway), Sam clapped his hands and smiled around at everyone.
On his lap he had a large book; lifting this up, he glanced at them each in turn and said: "Now, if you don't have a story, you can read one from this, if you'd like, but it would be good if everyone could come up with their own, or maybe tell one from your world." Sam hoped to hear some tales he hadn't before, to be able to record and collect them for his archive of Outlander stories...which had admittedly been on the backburner lately, but he still kept regular notes.
"So no one has to be pressured to volunteer first, I have..." He pulled a bottle out from behind his chair and put it on the floor between them all and spun it. The bottle wobbled and stopped pointing at Mabel; Sam followed the neck up to her with his eyes. "Mabel, do you have a story to tell?"
-- Mabel has been randomly selected to tell the first story!
Please let Mabel post first with her story, then everyone else can post a reaction - Sam will post last and assign the next person.
Mabel couldn’t hide her grimace when the bottle landed on her first. It disappeared a moment later, within a breath or two; long enough for her to formulate some realm of thought and process. “All right,” came along with begrudging acceptance, eyes flickering on trails of books. She wouldn’t need Samuel’s tome.
“There was once a lighthouse keeper and his wife, sent to an island,” perhaps around Torchline – or some other surrounding sea, and she’d allow their imaginations to formulate aspects of the forlorn place – basking in rock and rubble, along outskirts of nothing but the endless, god damned sea. “To combat the loneliness and isolation, the keeper brought along a piano for his wife. But it turns out, she was not a very good musician, and only knew one song.” To prolong the eerie factions, she began to hum the tune under her voice, like a constant, unwinding, unfurling thing – figments of a world that could be this one. “She played it incessantly. Over and over and over again.”
Had she gone insane from the void around them? Had the waves coaxed her into depravity? Was there madness to be had and found, with naught more than the wind and wood to guide her? “Eventually, the keeper could take no more. He grabbed an ax, and destroyed the piano.” The hum persisted, and she tilted her head a little to the music. “I’m sure you can imagine what came next, turning the destruction upon his wife, and then himself.” Her gaze flickered back to the small crowd, her features blank, eldritch on their own. “It is said the ghosts of the keeper and his wife come out on foggy nights, and when you pass the island, you can hear the song coming through the night.” The story completed; she leaned back in her chair.
If you dig under my feet You will find things that you don't want to see
Cam smiled in appreciation of Mabel's story. Simple but spooky; they liked it. They thought Mabel had done a great job telling it, too, with her hum adding excellently to the atmosphere -- getting the night started off on the right note. Of course, the story was also a little cliche, a little overdone, but Cam wasn't a particularly harsh critic. It was more important to them that Mabel had told the story well than that she'd come up with an original story.
That said, Cam wasn't actually scared by the story in the least. After all, they weren't at the lighthouse where the story had nominally taken place; here in the bookshop, they had nothing to fear from the ghosts of the lighthouse keeper and his wife. And the ghosts weren't particularly threatening anyway. But despite all their typical anxiety, Cam wasn't easily frightened by ghost stories, so they didn't really expect anything here to startle or spook them. That would be a high bar for Mabel to pass, and they didn't hold her to it.
"Nice," they murmured, smiling, when it became clear that she was done. They weren't totally sure how one responded to a successfully-told ghost story, if not with fear, but they figured a compliment never went amiss. "Love the atmosphere."
cameron ?
"Cameras" by Ennev is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0
We are only haunted by the things we refuse to accept -Bridgett Devoue
Nikolai listened to the first story with mild interest. Mabel did a good job enhancing it with her humming, but the story baffled the young Ascended more than scared him. The keeper just sounded insane. Who went straight to murder instead of first talking? Or maybe trying to find a way to teach their wife a new song? But Nikolai guessed that that insanity was part of what made it a ghost story.
"What a waste of a perfectly good piano." Nikolai finally deadpanned once the story drew to a close. Truly though, a good instrument shattered by an axe and then covered in blood? Quite a picture, but a waste nonetheless. "Nice story though." Nikolai added, still getting used to the whole thing that being Ascended meant being family. And that he should be nice to his siblings.
Resilience is born even when we feel like we are dying -Alex Elle
Sam saw Mabel's expression and understood it, but someone had to go first. Thankfully she soldiered on and told her story anyway, beginning without any assistance from his book on a tale about a lighthouse keeper - a classic setting for a horror story.
The story itself was short and sweet, lacking in many twists, but Sam still clapped anyway; he couldn't promise he was going to do any better, after all. "Thank you, Mabel. I daresay that ghost wouldn't be too bad, if the song was good." Some occasional piano music on the wind sounded quite pleasant, though he supposed it meant the ghost had to be able to actually play.
Leaning forward once they had all discussed the story, he spun the bottle again. This time it landed dead straight on Cameron, marking them next for a tale. "Go ahead."
"Hmm," Cam said. They'd known this was coming, and they'd tried to think of a good story to tell, but they hadn't really settled on one by the time Sam called on them. In fact, they were having trouble thinking of any ghost stories they knew -- their mind kept landing on spooky stories that didn't technically have ghosts in them. So they decided to just make one up. "OK, here goes."
Leaning forward, Cam began their story in a hushed voice. "Once, there was a king whose lust was exceeded only by his cruelty. A beautiful woman came to his court, and though she was the wife of another, the king desired her. He sent her husband off to war, ordering that the man be placed on the front lines of a suicide mission, and soon news of the man's death arrived. The king comforted the grieving widow, plied her with sympathy and honeyed words, and soon she relented and became his wife."
Cam paused, organizing their thoughts as to how the story should continue. "For a while, the king was satisfied. But his eye wandered, and soon he found a new target for his lust, a new woman he wished to possess. He had grown bored of his wife, and looked for an excuse to be rid of her. Finally, he accused her of treason and had her beheaded. Not long after was his wedding to his new bride, an elaborate and opulent affair. She came to the altar veiled and spoke little during the ceremony, only saying, 'I do,' in a strangled voice. But the king attributed this to her excitement over her big day, and if he smelled something odd around his bride -- something like blood and rot -- he dismissed it, so eager was he to wed and bed his new wife."
As the pieces of their story came together, Cam couldn't help smiling. Maybe it was a little long and rambling, but they liked the ending they'd improvised. "The king could barely wait for the ceremony to finish. Finally, he lifted the veil to kiss his new bride -- and found that she had no head! The veil fluttered to the ground as the blood stump turned towards the king. Air whistling through the hole where the throat had once been formed the words, 'My husband, my husband ... Where is my head? What have you done with my head?'
"The king recoiled, horrified, but the bride came after him, reaching for him. 'My husband, my husband ... I can't find my head. I need a head. I need yours!'"
Another pause, this one longer, a moment for audience reactions. Then Cam leaned in further to finish the story. "They still tell that story in the region, warning men against lust and cruelty. For they say that her husband's head did not last the ghost very long, and should a man too closely remind her of her husband, she might mistake him for the long-dead king ... and come for his head!"
Cam sat back, somewhat satisfied with the story they'd told.
cameron ?
"Cameras" by Ennev is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0
We are only haunted by the things we refuse to accept -Bridgett Devoue
Nikolai grimaced as Cameron told their tale. It was rather gruesome, and certainly sounded like an old folktale told to keep husband's faithful. He did feel a surge of satisfaction that the king suffered such a fate The young Ascended was not a fan of men who took their wives for granted.
He gave Cameron an approving nod. "I liked that one, the king got what he deserved." Though Nikolai did pity the poor brides, how they were vilely manipulated only to suffer in the end. He hoped that if there was any truth to the story, that the women found peace eventually.
Resilience is born even when we feel like we are dying -Alex Elle
Mabel automatically curled back into herself, knees brought upwards, arms resting on top, and the rest of her hidden from view; embarrassed, ashamed, somewhere in between. “Thank you,” was a murmured thing for the compliments that were probably meaningless and only conveyed to be polite – her eyes shifting to the floor, hoping someone else would have a go, and take the attention off of her.
But it was Cameron’s turn, and so her gaze refocused, watching, waiting, head tilting, listening ears rapt and focused. In some places her stare widened – attributing to either shock, surprise, or disgust (because the king sounded like a horrible wretch), leaning forward only when she was being caught by the tones (imagining a needed head, a husband soon to be departed with his own), and then her mouth left agape at the ending. Eventually, she paused, considering – before nodding, giving and granting her own broad approval. “Good for her,” she finally added.
If you dig under my feet You will find things that you don't want to see
Cam began their story and swiftly it became an engrossing, involved tale; Sam had not expected people to be quite so prepared, and leaned his chin on his hand as he listened with a smile. The horror of the ending lowered the corners of his lips, but he still clapped at the end, nodding appreciatively. "Thank you, Cameron. That was chilling."
Leaning forwards to turn the bottle again, Sam sat back to find it was pointing at himself. Well then - he opened the book before him and took out from it a page with neat handwriting covering the surface from edge to edge. He had not been confident enough in his improvisation abilities to think he could work without something written down. "Alright, my turn." He announced, sitting up straight and giving a glance to everyone around before starting to tell the story.
"They say in the Climb there's great cave networks that span the whole area underground. That there's hundreds of tunnels and valleys and huge halls of stone. Once, before there was so much lava and heat there, people used to explore in these caves. Some of the tunnels were so tight that you would have stone pressing here-" Sam touched his chest. "And here-" He touched his back.
That idea was enough to terrify him, honestly, but caving just by itself wasn't much of a horror story. "Two sisters went exploring in the caves. There was a point where the tunnel dipped down into water then up on the other side - a dangerous dive; often cave divers surface too soon and hit their heads on the rock, so you have to stay in the dark water for a very long time and not stop, or you won't make it." Maybe he should have drawn diagrams, but Sam hoped they'd understand what he meant anyway.
"The oldest sister dived first and told the younger to dive in after her. The swim started okay at first - she could feel the ceiling above them with her hand and occasionally she could feel her sister tap her foot to say she was still following. So they kept swimming, and swimming, and finally the oldest sister thought it might be time to surface." Sam raised his head as if he himself were reaching up for breath. "She found that they had swum far enough, and she had surfaced at the other side, so she waited for her sister. ...And waited, and waited, and she did not surface too."
Given his own bad luck with disappearing sisters, this was a little ironic, but leaving that to the side he continued: "Just as the older sister was about to dive again and try to find her, she heard a call from further up the tunnel - her younger sister, telling her to hurry up and calling her name. Not sure how she'd gotten ahead but glad to hear from her, the older sister headed towards the voice. It lead her to another thin, tight tunnel. Desperate to see her sister safe, she climbed in without hesitation."
This was the climax, so he took a breath to try and pace himself for delivering the last part. "Her sisters voice kept calling her forwards. So she kept going, even as the rock grew tighter around her. Eventually she was dragging herself along by her fingertips, scraping the clothes and skin off her back and front as she tried to fit between the cracks. The only thing that kept her going was her sister's voice, calling again and again - until suddenly, it stopped. The only thing she could hear was the silence of the cave."
Solemn, he looked between them all. "The thing is, the little sister was the one to give the beginning of this story - because she left the caves alone that day. When she'd dived, she had been too scared to continue and had resurfaced back at the beginning, thinking her sister would realise and return. To this day, no one has seen the older sister in the flesh again, but they say if you go back to the cave you can hear her calling for her sister to tell her where she is."
It wasn't the best story ever, but hey, he was proud of it. With the tale over, Sam laughed a quiet, embarrassed huff and put the paper down. "Well, now only Nikolai is left."
--
Sorry for delay!
This has been Sam's turn, then it's Nikolai! You can react to Sam's story and tell your own in the same post if you'd like : )
Cam listened to Samuel's story with interest, shuddering appropriately when Sam described the tight conditions of the cave. That did sound terrifying! And the dark water, never knowing when you could surface -- lungs tightening in your chest, totally blind and helpless in the dark -- Cam could imagine it all too well, and it brought a sympathetic grimace to their face.
After that point, though, the story started to fall apart a bit for Cam. True, the idea of the older sister forever clawing her way forward in the dark, searching for her younger sister's voice, was disturbing. But why had she heard that voice? It seemed ... random. And if the younger sister was the one to tell the tale, how did anyone know about the older sister's fate?
Despite these doubts, Cam was far too polite to criticize Sam's story. They smiled at the end and said, "That was horrifying -- excellent."
cameron ?
"Cameras" by Ennev is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0
