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!
It has been roughly a week since Sara appeared in this strange world, and less than a day since she stopped being bed-ridden. Her cold-burns were almost fully healed and the cough felt almost manageable. She still had problems wrapping her head around what had happened, but she was already pass panicking. The woman had already cried out all of her tears while bed-ridden.
Now she was on the main floor of the tavern, watching how the barmaids were running from person to person, obviously stressed out about just how many people were here today. There were no free seats but the one at her table, and so far no one had tried to bother the senior. Maybe it was for the best.
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
The Sword was on the hunt.
Not for a drink; he could always make his own and he hadn’t touched any liquor in some months. Not when there were a multitude of things to do and duties, commitments, movements, motions, and machinations.
Instead, it was for one of his soldiers who’d yet to show for sentinel assignments - again. Weak excuses had been wrought the first time, and on the second offense, the General had gone looking for the guard, given some parameters and possibilities from fellow warriors.
Wandering into the Kraai, he was surprised to find it so packed. Furrowing his brow, parting his way through the crowd, and angling his form around many usually wasn’t an issue, given his size and prowess; today there were a few more hearty hellos and glasses lifted in his direction. By the time he’d made it to the outer perimeter of the nearest table, the wayward rogue could’ve been anywhere.
Taking opportunity where he had it, he bent his head towards the closest individual, an older woman he didn’t recognize. “Excuse me,” and she did look a little worn, a little frail – there might’ve been an inward wince there. “Have you seen a man about this tall,” indicating with his hand slightly below his own shoulders, “with black hair?” Another rumble pierced through the makeshift hubbub of the crowd. “He missed his patrol duty.”
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
Sara was lost in her thoughts. People watching, but not really, as the faces slowly turned into one blurry mass. At the time of the plane crash she had left her glasses on the small table in front of her, them becoming yet another item lost forever. Not the biggest of the woman's problems, but one none-the-less. Definitelly, an inconvinience.
As such, it was no surprise that she had not noticed the tall, broad man that had approached. Sara turned her head to face him, replying in a hoarse, low voice. The noise in the tavern almost swallowed her words whole. "My apologies, but I can not say that I have seen such a man. To be honest, "the old lady chuckled, that quickly turned into a slight cough, "I can not imagine anyone would recognize a man with such description." She then went for another sip from her drink, stopping when noticing the empty mug. With a quick glance, Sara appraised that getting attention from any of the barmaids would be close to impossible, so she just moved the mug out of her way. "Doubt, though, I could help even with a more detailed description. These eyes do not serve me as well, as they used to."
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
“Drunken buffoon would not have sufficed either,” and he gave a shrug, indicating he wasn’t bothered by the lack of details – more so the actions behind why he had to hunt the other man down.
So his own gaze searched and hunted the perimeter, gazing along circles and portions of crowds, taking scrutiny of various tables, before moving on to the others. But, not yearning to be rude, he also took notice of the older woman herself, a stranger to him, and the semblance of her own trials and tribulations – he presumed, attributed to age. “Do you have something that could aid you?” Glasses seemed to be a common thing around these parts, and likely easy to make.
His stare flickered to another table, narrowing suspiciously at the way one individual seemed to be clinging purposefully to the shadows, and then the rumble of his tones persisted. “My apologies, I do not think we have met. I am Deimos.” Following through, he extended his rough, calloused hand by way of introduction.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
"No, it would have not." She giggled, tucking some loose strands of hair back behind her ear. A barmaid squeezed pass their table, but as Sara was about to get the girl's attention, she was already gone. The woman's lips narrowed in annoyance, before she was broken out of her thoughts by the younger male. "Sorry, what? Oh, no. My arrival was a bit..." Sara mulled her words a bit, not knowing what did the local populace think of newcomers like her, {/b}"Lets say, it was rough. I had glasses, but they are not with me anymore. Not sure where and how to get new ones."{/b} Her smile was almost apologetic.
She for sure did not expect the man to linger so long. It was obvious he was distracted by his hunt, but still, the man showed manners that pleased Sara quite a bit. Almost put a smile on her face. Her handshake was weak, probably feeling like almost nothing to the large man. "My name is Sara and, yes, I am very new here. This is my fifth day in... What was the name of this place, again?"
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
Even as his attention deviated back and forth, from the moving, shirking, lurking shadow, and to the stranger, he ensured both were granted some due and interest. His brows furrowed for a moment, eyes narrowing once more, as the lurker in the distance seemed caught on the edge of one of the walls, and he could wait him out for a second.
Catching some proportions of things unsaid, his head tilted, vaguely feline and canine all at once. “Are you an Outlander?” And as for the glasses, gone and lost, that could be remedied quickly. Within a matter of moments, by creation magic eternally lingering in the rally of his flesh, bones, and blood, his palm turned over, revealing gilded factions and then an outline of the optical wares. A plain design, considering they needed to be functional. “See if these will work,” and he left them on the table for her to inspect.
The shadow scuttled further into the fold, and he nearly laughed, between the stupidity of the recruit and the inquiries of the woman. “Halo. Do you have lodgings yet?”
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
