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!
With no further information pending from George about ghost whales, Deimos resigned himself to a shake of his head and residual silence. Only once he’d launched to the pitch of the roof did another inquiry seem to manage to unfurl from George. Eagle talons snagged at threads first, before the Sword shifted once more, carefully balancing along the pitch of ice, snow, and silk. “Around seven,” he mentioned; perhaps typical for most Attuned measures when they’d been amidst Caido for long periods of time.
Eyes flickering back to the man for a moment, his cranium tilted briefly. “Do you have shifts?” Uncertain as to what measure or status the Torcher was, the presumption was only there due to the other question. Thereafter, he tossed down another length of threads, squashing a few arachnids under his feet.
George backed away from the building, watching as the eagle-Deimos picked and pulled at the spider silk, one hand lifted to shield his eyes against the glare of the sun. It was strange to watch the Warden shift back into a man, balancing precariously along the roof. His brows raised at the number of shifts. "That must be interesting," he said, going back to his work, tugging more webs away from the lower parts of the building. "What's your favorite?"
As for himself, George said, "No, I'm nothing special - just a regular Accepted. I wish I did have a shift, or maybe magic. It seems like it would be useful." Maybe one of these days, he would ask the gods for a blessing. As soon as he decided which god to approach.
Adjusting his stance and weight to remain evenly placed and balanced, he began picking at more strands and tossing them downward. They made quiet revolutions and turns, before softly landing amidst the other piles below, eyes flickering momentarily from the threads to George, and back again. “Eagle was my first, so that is favored, but so is the hellhound.” For all its power, liberation, and freedom – the fire plumes beneath darkened fur. At that, he gave a soft smirk, before returning to the current, ridiculous project.
George being Accepted caused another arch of his brow, pondering something else in the midst, like the yearning for magic. “But you are favored by the gods,” he answered with another brief snicker; since Abandoned certainly weren’t. “And can summon them.” Along with blessed items - they seemed to have a lot of positive outcomes and outlooks. "Do you follow any in particular?"
And eagle and a hellhound, among five other shifts? Well, George had known that Deimos was impressive, so he shouldn't be surprised, and yet he found himself raising his brows anyway. What must it be like, to be able to shift into another creature's form, to see the world through another animal's eyes? He wondered if it was possible to shift into combinations of creatures, into a chimera of sorts, but before he could ask, the conversation turned back to him.
It wasn't that George was ungrateful for the gods' blessings, but it just seemed like he could get so much more accomplished with a shift or with magic. What was he supposed to do with the gods? Call them down to help him steal things? Not that they couldn't, but it seemed like a strange thing to summon them for. Magical items, at least, held more promise, though he'd yet to own any himself. "Not yet," he said. "I haven't worked with any of them as of yet. Do you follow any?"
Circumstances tended to be different nowadays – but Deimos could recall when magic or shifts wouldn’t have saved some individuals. Perhaps divine intervention could’ve given them another chance or opportunity, one last ditch effort before everything else succumbed. But the Sword was also not a person to shy away from any abilities – always intending to find something purposeful, meaningful, instrumental within tactics and capacities.
Unknotting and unraveling another gnarled portion of thread, he glanced back down at George. If he was surprised by the admission, he didn’t show it – it took time in deciding which deity, if any, to follow. “I follow Safrin. She attuned me.” Throwing down more strands, he tore through several more, content as he balanced along the precarious edges. “It depends on what your preference are, and sometimes it is not an easy decision.”
In truth, George knew little of the gods; he'd never had much of a need to involve them in his life, or to get involved in their affairs. He knew of them, of course. Many in Torchline followed Safrin, but George had yet to make a decision in that regard. He remembered talking with Hotaru about this very thing, and she had teased him for having commitment issues. On the contrary, as he'd told her, he simply wanted to be sure to make the right decision, to build a relationship with a god as he would with anyone else. "True enough," George agreed. "It isn't a decision I want to make lightly."
George continued to unravel the spiderwebs from the building, keeping near to where Deimos stood on the roof as to make conversation easier. "This is a lot of silk," he commented. "What will you do with it, once it's all removed?" Personally, George would burn it, but then, he wasn't one to ruminate on the possibly uses of spider silk.
The deities could be just as fickle and capricious as human counterparts, and Deimos could recall asking multitudes about their experiences, before ever beginning to think of the march towards Attunement and Safrin’s cosmos. That George didn’t seem inclined to inquire about the starry herald surprised him for a moment, the expectation of providing his notions fading behind his teeth, eyes widening for a fraction as he listened. Nothing but agreement and accord. Muffling a snort and shaking his head, airing a miscalculation away on his part, he tossed down another reel of thread. “Nor should you,” he applied his own accord.
Glancing down at the inquiry, his mind, often full of machinations in hordes of directions, mulled and mused. “Could make quite a bit out of it. Clothing. Bedding. Bags. Upholstery.” He would have persisted in rattling off a few other tangents, but figured that was enough to supply George with some variety of ideas.
Perhaps George would have asked about Safrin, had he not been from Torchline, where Safrin's presence was seemingly everywhere. He didn't presume to know everything, of course, but he knew enough to know not to go to the herald lightly. From what he had heard, she didn't like to share.
As to what to do with the silk, Deimos seemed to have a few ideas. George had a few of his own. "Could use it for sutures, if needed," he supplied, thinking of the possible medical uses. It would probably be a bit delicate for bandages, but in a pinch, he supposed any cloth would do. Not that he was planning to need any such items any time soon, but it was always good to be prepared.
He stepped back from the building, which to his eye looked mostly spiderweb-free, and looked up at Deimos. "Looks good from down here. Need any more help?"
At the suggestion of sutures, he glanced down at the thread again, placing it in the back of his mind for snags and threads for Evie. Given his platitudes and non-abilities in healing measures, his mind never went there first – but he’d take the idea with a nod of his head. “Potentially.” Coiling the remains and last proportions and sending them downward, he shifted gracefully as an eagle once more, drifting in a slow circle to land effortlessly in one fell swoop as the Sword again.
The question seemed as though George intended to leave, off to whatever other business he intended to snag. “I do not think so. Thank you for the help.” But then, a note of pause contorted over his mind, a long breath filtering through his chest and out through the air. “Just treat Ru well,” as either a friend or whatever manners and measures she’d placed into those regards. She’d certainly had enough do the exact opposite. Maybe there was a warning laced in there too, because he was tired of seeing the Valkyrie hurt by the world. Or perhaps George wasn't the one he needed to worry about.
Was George subtle? Perhaps not as subtle as he should be as a thief, but then, perhaps Deimos was simply sharper than most. George had sought him out seemingly at random, but as a friend of Hotaru's, perhaps that alone gave more information than intended. Either way, it had been useful to scope out the Resurrected Sword, to see a bit more of Halo, and to be of use. Now, though, it was time to move on. It wasn't very long before he'd need to head home to Torchline, and he still needed to pack.
It gave him pause, briefly, to hear Deimos's - request? Warning? - but he understood all the same. He may not have known Hotaru very well, but he thought he'd seen some vulnerability in her that she tried very hard to bury. It made sense that those closest to her would want to protect her. So although his instinct was to play it off, he also rather thought that Deimos would appreciate honesty more, so he simply nodded. "I intend to," he agreed solemnly. Then, with a friendly smile and a jaunty wave, he departed. "It was nice to meet you, Deimos."
