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!
Tal had just started to take a drink when Finn made his apology, and the snort mixed with his ale resulted in a bad few moments as he coughed and cleared his throat, waving distracted reassurance at the other man. "Nah, nah, nothin' like that. Believe me, I've heard a lot worse." He managed a slightly sickly sardonic grin before taking another drink and a more careful breath. "Better, too. Just... lots t'think about." Not his favorite pasttime, truth be told.
Besides, there's shrine curses to share, and Tal looked almost smug until Finn started asking questions he had to scramble to remember answers too. "Uhh... dunno. Slowly, I guess? Not havin' a proper thumb an' all, seems tough. Maybe he had help?" Parents or a spouse or friends... hopefully. But the courier perked up at the next question. "He had t'get special boots made! With extra room at the ends. Got a friend who says he knows the cobbler that did the work on 'em."
The reassurance (obviously) does nothing for Finn, and he's still worrying about Safrin curses as well as accidentally murdering a man he's only met twice - not that being more acquainted with Tal would make his death any less horrific to the ex-Spyglass - as the courier starts to speak again. "Ah. Right, okay, right." His smile is strained, but he does manage a nod and another (large) gulp of his drink, as if to make up for the fact that he's nearly choked Tal to death.
But anyway, back to fingers-for-toes guy. As intrigued as he is perplexed and mildly disturbed by the curse, at least there seems some logic behind how the unfortunate soul managed his day-to-day affairs. "I think I would have given up going to shrines at all if that happened to me," he confesses.
Once he had his breath back Tal was quietly impressed with Finn's capacity for hard liquor, sneaking an admiring glance at how fast the performer's glass is emptying. That was a professional for you!
With the gossip fully shared, Tal nodded amicable agreement and took another gulp of ale, feeling a teensy bit competitive now. "Always a risk. But hey, big risks can have big rewards, too." His index and middle fingers of his right hand started a rapid staccato tapping on the side of his mug as a look of envy crossed his face. "There's people walkin' around with some awfully cool stuff they got from a god. Y'ever think about what you'd ask for, if y'got the chance?"
Unaware of the competition that he's somehow started, but feeling more comfortable to continue drinking given the pleasant warmth beginning to spread in his chest and the way his fingers are tingling, Finn scrunches his nose a bit regarding the risks and the rewards, but of course he can't really say much, given that he's received gifts from the gods himself. "I asked for guitar strings and a paperweight," he remarks with a small smile into the drink.
"Though if you put it like that, perhaps I ought to have asked for something more." Still, the paperweight had been very critically important nice, and a fundamental necessity for his mental health at the time. "Are you delivering anywhere else tonight?" he asks.
Tal squinted at the slightly hazy man next to him, clearly trying to decide if Finn was pulling his leg. He finished his ale and pushed the mug across the counter for a refill while he considered the implications, scowl slipping habitually over his features. His finger tapped furiously on the counter as thoughts chased around in his head, flitting like bats and just as fuzzy.
"Huh? Oh, no, 'm done for the night," he waved off Finn's question, still puzzling over the strange gifts. Enchanted guitar strings? Sure, why not. But a paperweight?
"Was it a magic paperweight?" he hazarded, doggedly returning to the previous topic. "Like... all sparkly, an' shit?" Maybe it glowed like a nightlight?
Soon Tal will realise that Finn is very rarely the joking kind of person, even when he's well on his way to drunk, and apart from a terrible (and yet painstakingly thought out) pun here and there, he's quite a dry sort. "That's good, it is getting pretty cold out there," he says, more relaxed and yet still very much automatic when it comes to making small talk. As for the paperweight, though, he furrows his brow and stares into the bottom of his glass.
"It was magic, yes, but it was only a bit sparkly. It held some traumatic memories that I didn't want to deal with. While they were in the paperweight, I didn't feel any of the emotions associated with them. But it broke, when Stormbreak's Tower fell." Scrunching his nose and knocking back the drink in one, he shifts his guitar on his shoulder. "I should prob'ly go up and play some more."
For a moment Tal squinted at Finn, as if unsure of what he'd just heard. Pretty cold out--? But nah, it didn't look like he was being made fun of.
Probably.
Besides, the paperweight seemed like a pretty heavy topic not that Tal got the pun and the courier pulled his mug back to sip his fresh ale while the performer explained it. A wrinkled nose (with just a bit of foam on it) met the story's horrible ending and he grimaced. "Oh. Uh. Sounds rough, buddy." It was, at least, a sincerely sympathetic statement, however awkwardly delivered. "I know it's not as good as a magic rock... thingy. But if y'ever need some vodka delivered, just lemme know."
He wiggled his fingers in something resembling a farewell at the abrupt end of the conversation, trying not to look too relieved. "Yeah, I could listen t'some more music."
"It is," Finn agrees, not one to either play down nor exaggerate things, even when it comes to his own trauma. "And that's a kind offer, but I'm tryin' not t'use substances as a crutch these days. It's steered me wrong in the past." And that is putting it mildly. Not to mention, it's an unintentional lie if this encounter is anything to go by.
"Thanks. I'll try'n make it some good stuff," he says of the music, swaying a bit as he gets to his feet but luckily the guitar is safe on his shoulder. And as he weaves his way back to the stage for the second part of his set, it does turn out to be some good stuff. A little social lubricant has done wonders for Finn's guitar playing as well, it seems, and he plays the night away without further thoughts of sparkly paperweights or goddesses.
