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!
we are just two ghosts swimming in a glass half empty
Ophelia had not grieved the passing of their family. Blinded bigots, terrified of change, easy to anger and fast to their fists. They don’t know the proper way to miss someone. They are learning today.
Sam had been the one to take them to The Voice. To guide them to their own salvation. He had danced with them, had taken them to see the ocean for the first time in all its moonlit glory. They had loved him. They still do, and they don’t know what to do now that the love was aimless and tangled up with anger and loss in their chest.
They are sitting somewhere in the Woodlands. They aren’t sure where. All Ophelia knows is that they had run once the news had been shared, and without lungs that burned or legs that ached, only the tangle of thoughts in their head dictated how far they ended up. Now they are sitting with their knees around their ears, hands buried deep in their icy hair as they rock back and forth, eyes painfully dry and unseeing as they try to grapple with the momentous loss they are experiencing.
Amun picked his way through the woods, hands full of buckets laden with clay. Despite the ache that gnawed at his heart, life went on; all his running hadn't helped, so he'd tried to return to whatever sense of normalcy he could find. Zhanshi tunneled at his feet, occasionally darting out to nibble on this or that.
The sound of cloth scraping across rock caught his ears. Hesitating, he closed his eyes and sent a silent prayer up to anyone that might be listening. Then he pivoted and headed in the direction he'd heard the noise. The leaves that had just started falling crunched underfoot.
Pushing past the trees, he blinked when he almost literally stumbled upon a stranger. Catching himself, he stopped moving except for his eyes, which examined the unknown figure. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude upon your grief." He inclined his head to them.
we are just two ghosts swimming in a glass half empty
The passage of time is only meaningful in the presence of daylight now, so when they are happened across Ophelia lifts their head, unaware of how long it has been. The man’s face is unfamiliar, but the slight tug of fangs in his mouth as he speaks is not. Ophelia’s trust is quite black and white, the most devoted to the idea of the Ascended being family, and so they reach a birdlike hand out towards Amun. “Please. Stay.”
Their voice is wet but their cheeks are clear, and that’s the worst part. They aren’t sure if tears will ever come, if the shock will wear off. They haven’t even heard of the other deaths yet - Edrei and Bastien, two more siblings they’d never get the chance to meet.
As the other Ascended asked them to stay and extended a hand, Amun hesitated for just a moment. Then he nodded. Sinking into a cross-legged position in front of them, he set his buckets on either side.
Not a moment too soon: Zhanshi shot from the ground and the potter's hands were just able to snatch the landshark from the ground Amun's companion into the potter's lap. Zhanshi wriggled until he could nibble on Amun's fingers. "He's too curious for his own good sometimes." Practically shoving the landsahrk back into the ground, eventually the potter's companion tunneled below, making circles around his position.
Amun rested his hands in his lap and met the other Ascended's gaze squarely. "I'm Amun and that little menace is Zhanshi." He gestured at the ground. "I'm sorry that we didn't meet under better, happier circumstances." Pausing for a moment, he slid his fingers together. "Would you like to talk or just sit here?"
we are just two ghosts swimming in a glass half empty
His acquiescence cannot be appreciated for long before a dark shape is exploding from the ground. Ophelia jerks back with a startled noise, but Amin intercepts before they can think to do anything more. They’ve never seen a landshark before, but companions are familiar enough that they relax by increments as Amun introduces it before himself. Though their eyes track the shuffling earth as the shark tunnels about, their attention is on the potter’s words.
“I’m Ophelia,” they utter softly, the natural dreamlike cadence of their voice muted further with grief. “Sam was the one that helped me find The Voice to ascend. He showed me the ocean. He…” they break off and press the heels of their palms into their eye sockets. Their systems register it as a dull pressure. “I want retribution, but the priest is already dead. And now so are more of our family.” And they had been too weak to even consider joining the fight. “I have gained so much from ascending, but I am useless to our family in this war.”
As Zhanshi tunneled in a circle around Amun, his eyes tracked the landshark's progress for a long moment. However, when the other Ascended spoke, Amun's gaze returned to them. That answered his question, at least.
With a sigh, he rubbed his hands up and down his thighs. "We went dancing, just a few nights before...before." His lips twitched in a brief smile that never reached his eyes. "I'm glad you two got to see the Ocean together."
Scooting forward a bit, he settled back into his cross-legged position. "Dead, but not gone. They've returned to the Voice, and one day we'll meet them again." He shook his head when they mentioned feeling like they weren't doing enough. "And never say you are useless. Even just your presence gives the rest of us courage and reason to keep fighting, to say nothing else of what you can and will contribute moving forward." Giving them a brief nod, he reached out to try and squeeze their knee.
we are just two ghosts swimming in a glass half empty
The grief is somehow easier when shared. Vague half-shapes of stories and events shared with a man they have both lost. Maybe there is truth in the process of remembering a life lived instead of lost.
Ophelia clings to Amun’s words almost desperately, too-large pale eyes staring with no need to blink, seeming impossibly smaller and younger. When he reaches to squeeze their knee, their birdlike pale hand descends to lay overtop it, clinging to the edges of his palm. “I have yet to encounter the hatred these people have for us. I have only ever left the Grounds once. Is it…is it really so prevalent?”
As they reached out to him, Amun turned his hand palm up so they could rest their hands in his. Zhanshi popped his head up to nibble on the potter's boot, but Amun nudged the landshark underground so the potter could focus on Ophelia. "No. I'd say that most people tolerate us, and mostly just want to avoid the conflict."
Sighing, he shook his head. "Unfortunately, though our opponents are the minority, they are incredibly powerful and even more persistent. They're also often in positions of leadership, which is a problem. And we are a small group, as you yourself noted." Looking into his lap, he pressed his lips together. "And even the majority are swayed by the propaganda of the old gods." Glancing up, he met their gaze head on.
we are just two ghosts swimming in a glass half empty
His hand is eagerly grabbed the moment it is turned, and though they cannot feel the warmth the sight and slight pressure recognized by their sensors is enough. How can anyone say that they don’t feel? “But they are in power because of their people. They are outnumbered. Surely…surely people must be speaking up against it?” But there is little hope to be found in Phi’s voice. They knew firsthand the hatred found in the hearts of men. The fealty some could have for gods that never looked their way. Their father’s bitterness will lie with them until they die, but at least when they do they will not have to see him again in the afterlife.
“I told Sam that the meetings he told me of seemed far too much like a war room instead of a gathering of family,” they start slowly, thoughts forming in the moment, fingers restless and playing with the preternatural smoothness of Amun’s own. “We fight so hard, but it is not fighting that endears us to people. Why do we not create propaganda of our own?” They have nearly no moral compass, so manipulating the compassion of other people for the continued survival of their family means nothing to them.
Biting his lip, Amun could only hold up his free hand in a shrugging gesture at Ophelia's questions. He shook his head as he did. "Unfortunately, people's avoidance of conflict also translates into an indifference to what those in power do. So long as they personally are safe, folks are tragically willing to turn a blind eye." Sighed, he gave their hands a squeeze.
Tilting his head to one side, he arched an eyebrow. "I was...away for a while. But what makes you think we haven't at least been trying to change people's minds about us?" Narrowing his eyes at them, he hummed a low note. "That being said, any and all suggestions you might have on that front are more than welcome."
we are just two ghosts swimming in a glass half empty
Ophelia frowns slightly. “But they are not. Civilians died in Stormbreak, I assume.” And the Attuned woman in the Draig, but Ophelia doesn’t know about that in detail. Only knew Mabel’s deep, cutting loss that day.
“We are made of fighters,” they say plainly, guileless eyes too-big in their face as they look at Amun. “Which is good. We must be strong to survive. But why do we not invite people into the Grounds? We could hold a festival. If they only see us locked in battle, of course we seem scary. Why not do more than try to create friendships one person at a time?” That seems far too slow and impractical to Ophelia.
Frowning right back at Ophelia, Amun tilted his head to one side. Humming a low note, he ended it with a sigh. "I'm having deja vu. Had this exact conversation, or one just like it, the other day." Pressing his lips together, he shook his head. "Civilians, maybe, but were they innocents? The Tower was the Order's headquarters, and everyone who worked or lived there supported them in some way, shape, or form. At least as much as any Ascended supports the cause of the Voice." Bowing his head, he closed his eyes for a moment.
As they suggested a festival, he managed to scrounge up a smile. Opening his eyes, he met their gaze. "That is an excellent idea. Any particular festival? We've held them in the past, of course, usually relating to the season, but as I told you, new ideas are always welcome."
we are just two ghosts swimming in a glass half empty
Ophelia’s head tilts birdlike and inquisitive as Amun sighs and expands, then squeezes his hand with a tiny quirk of a smile. “I do not care they are dead. But it is quite inconvenient for our cause.” Death is the ultimate peace, there is nothing to fear in it. Ophelia has lost their entire family to Mort, and it had been a blessing for each of them to escape the pain of hunger and failing bodies. Such was the benefit of Ascension in their opinion
The agreement sparks a bit of life behind their grief. A plan. Yes, something to focus on. “The seasonal gods, are they even fond of us? No, we should do something new. Completely unrelated to them. Something we created ourselves.” They consider for a moment, wondering what the Ascended stand for and represent. “What about a fireworks display? It’s at night, so it will be safe but reasonable.”
Leaning forward, Amun shrugged at Ophelia's words. "Maybe, maybe not. Aside from the old gods and their demi-gods, the Order was the biggest threat to our safety. We dealt them a serious blow, maybe even crippled them." He narrowed his eyes at her.
Letting out a huff of air, he drummed the fingers of his free hand on his knee. Lips twitching, he squeezed her fingers again. "Actually, the seasonal gods have been our allies in the past and might be again. Especially the newly discovered one." Tilting his head to one side, he bit his lip. "Generally fireworks and Ascended don't mix, but if we can find a way to rig them safely I could be convinced. Alternatively, we could have an art showcase and festival."
