From Attuned to Ascended to Ancient, Kiada Njovu-Reyes has been reborn several times throughout her short life, but her fighting spirit has never once been diminished. With beauty, grace and a quick wit, Kiada is the whole package wrapped in an infectious smile. Recent endeavours have found her in the heart of the Hollowed Grounds, aiding the region and bettering it for her new Ancient kin, and whatever she does next, we know it's sure to pack a punch.
Congratulations, Kiada!
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!
// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //
Nodding with the confirmation, Astaroth shifts his weight a little, cane moving with it as he readjusts and lets his gaze drift from the water to the Sword, curious to glean more from this mammoth of a man. But it appears as though the question is for him this time, and Astaroth’s smile flickers back to life on his face.
“Bathed in fire.” He offers it easily, before he tilts his head a little. “I had been a statue until Danta found me and brought me back via flame.” Though it had spurred a fight shortly after, Astaroth was unused to not having a leash all the same as the Maverick had. “Bathing in blood helps speed up the process if I recall correctly, alas, I know flame works for sure.” He murmurs, smirking lightly with the idea.
That and the idea of a fire bath right now sounded phenomenal.
He eventually allowed the pebbles to float and flicker across the top of the pool, watching as they seemingly skipped and skimmed on their own. His attention was mostly for the answer though, of baptisms in fire, of statues, of bathing in blood and amidst flame. He nearly snorted at some other insinuations rambling through his mind, but they were mostly for Kiada, and anything that might have to happen in the future, should things turn unfortunate or unlucky. “That is good to know. Thank you.”
Uncertain how best to word his next inquiry, he merely tilted his head, perhaps justified in the curiosity – for unless it was the heralds – he didn’t have many others to ask such intricacies. “What was Caido like before?” Before the Voice, and before barriers?
Out of sight and out of mind
Make everything alright
So let the sky and sea collide
Just not in our lifetime
// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //
“Of course.” Astaroth hums with a dip of his chin. Should anyone wish to awaken them when they’d fallen into that slumber, Astaroth wishes anyone would know just on the off chance. Now, whether or not he needs to know any specifics (such that Kiada and the Sword have quite the relationship) is irrelevant.
The follow up question, though, is one that the butcher expects, and he settles comfortably, shifting his weight and bearing some of it on the cane between his hands as he watches the water ripple and move, before his dark gaze slips back toward the warden. “Far less interesting.” He admits with a soft hum of a laugh. “The Climb was larger, harbored so many of us that it was a treat if you got to see it.” And a threat, though he keeps that tidbit tucked away.
“Fashion and manners were more… old fashioned back then. I was quite pleased to see that particular shift.” He admits with another sharp smile. “Halo was different. Smaller and not as icy, but still quite cold. The Grounds didn’t exist.” He starts to list off the regions he knows now in reference to where they had come from.
The pebbles were eventually consumed by the pool itself, dipping below the water line, before careening back upwards in his restlessness and thoughts. Deimos had multitudes of experience in other worlds – knew the histories and layouts of Isilme, of Helovia, but they were gone; consumed by time, space, and actions of others. But Caido had held different platitudes – souls taken by the Voice and sent here. And while some had committed to her bidding, others, like himself, had done the opposite, and to hear of other moments, far from New Gods, was an opportunity he didn’t take lightly.
So he remained still and silent in his crouch again, save for the moving of his gaze back upon the Ancient. Far less interesting earned an arch of his brow, but so did the rest – a larger Climb, expansive, old fashioned manners, a smaller Halo, and not yet wholly ensnared by Eirachi. The Grounds not existing granted a snort – presuming others had eventually flocked there, leading to settlements. “My apologies for the questions. Not many Outlanders get such opportunities,” and he wrinkled his nose, gaze maneuvering upon the rivulets and miniature tides he’d created. “What about Torchline?” Or the Greatwood – though Deimos could imagine that must’ve always been much the same; inhabited by Fae who would do everything in their power to protect it.
Out of sight and out of mind
Make everything alright
So let the sky and sea collide
Just not in our lifetime
// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //
It’s a similar feeling from Astaroth’s point of view – having been asleep for centuries, since before the cataclysm happened, he doesn’t know of what occurred with the Voice or the wars that spurred it on, or whatever else the trio of gods decided would solve a problem they couldn’t entirely get rid of. At least Dygra had come back, able to help those left adrift from their choices, even if Astaroth didn’t understand entirely the context.
He was a survivor, and he could relate and appreciate others doing the very same.
Intrigue flares again when Deimos mentions that he’s an Outlander, and the cannibal butcher stands a little straighter as he regards the Sword with a fresh new perspective. To answer the following questions before he gets ahead of himself, Asta clears his throat. “No apology needed. This has been quite enlightening.” And it really had been, given that he’d only gotten bits and pieces from the Atheneum so far. (Granted, he hasn’t looked that much). “Torchline were not the islands you see now. It was called something different back then, but was more of a peninsula with more than one volcano.” But, with the continent splitting apart further and further, it’s no surprise that it would have changed and become its own inhabitable thing.
“So… you mentioned Outlanders..? You are not from here originally?” It’s the first he’s heard of the term, and color him both impressed and curious beyond other regards.
The sentiments were well understood – if not in opposing dynamics, the loss of information and knowledge was still a comprehensible frustration. While the Outlanders had been regarded rather poorly at their initial happenstance, for a variety of reasons, nowadays they’d likely find most settled into the fabric of Caido. It might not have been the same for those who’d started here, slept for centuries, and awakened to something almost entirely new; unsettling, enigmatic, and overwhelming, to say the least.
Though with the void, perhaps they were all in the same place, lodged in the dark.
The pebbles rolled and reeled at his discretion, plunging back into the pool again, and he used his silence to motivate them upwards and along the surface level back and forth. Torchline not being the stretch of islands, and nearly something different entirely, had his eyes narrowing, turning vaguely to stare out over the rest of the sea, as if his mind was conjuring images of such a place. More volcanoes. Likely less people. Not the hub of gatherings and population as it was now – even with Starfall lurking in the distance.
With no other inquiries for the moment, he could hear the intrigue in the other man’s voice – Outlander distinctions being one of them. His gaze shifted back to the Ancient, long since having gained peace in the splitting of their lives; it wouldn’t have been the same years prior. “No. The Voice pulled many of us in from other places, and we could not return.”
Out of sight and out of mind
Make everything alright
So let the sky and sea collide
Just not in our lifetime
// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //
A whistle of surprise leaves Astaroth – finding some amount of kinship with the idea of it. Granted, yes, the butcher was from here, but so many years had passed it seemed unrecognizable in some aspects. A thing he’s learning day after day, thanks to Dantalion’s help. All in all, he thinks he’s made a decent adjustment. “I am sorry you had to endure that.” He offers genuinely – but he wonders if it’s a similar thought from him, whether or not he wished he could go back.
The Ancient has decided that he doesn’t want to go back, if given the chance. This new version of Caido was far more suited for his tastes, even if it had taken something like four hundred years in order to see it. He’s thankful to have the opportunity. As such, his dark gaze finds the pebbles that Deimos manipulates as he considers his next set of questions. “It is strange, isn’t it? To wake in a different place with different rules and different things to figure out?” There’s a hint of nostalgia in it, but companionship all the same. A unique factor that he, too, is currently experiencing. “Would you go back, if given the chance?” He asks, casting a glance back toward the Sword.
