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!
“My taste in names for romantic figures to daydream about could definitely be questioned,” she laughs, cheeks going a touch pink recalling the envisioned characters she’d pondered and sighed after in her youth. Or so she would claim as her youth, blatantly ignoring the books still occupying their shelves in the here and now.
Any remaining tension evaporates as Micah begins to eat, the threads of anxiety unspooling and leaving her limp like putty against the cupboards. Tilting her head sideways as his voice rumbles like a distant storm into her ears, she manages a tired smile. “Relieved. A little tired. Excited, too.” An array of emotions, all of them fighting in her head. “Hungry myself. Have you eaten?” Longing for the comfort of familiar motions, his own close presence. A return to cherished habits after an entire day of unfamiliar territory and upheaval.
Leaving those particular notions aside, other than a barking laugh, he waited for the other emotions to ramble through munitions and circumstances. With the cub happily munching in the background, there was only the spread of thereafter to consider and contemplate, and he wasn’t surprised to hear of any relief, tiredness, or excitement – customary reactions to a new, sudden embarking of one’s soul. “And then you will have his to contend with too,” though judging by the cub’s noises and eating, things would be fine for the moment.
Leaning back against the cupboards too, his eyes drifted upwards, gazing at the ceiling. “No.” Despite his ravenous appetite, once he became focused on a task, especially one contorting through his mind (and certainly not paperwork), he was usually engrossed and occupied until it was complete. “I was drawing more blueprints,” by way of explanation, a start to a modified trebuchet. “What were you thinking?”
under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed
She groans slightly at the prospect, though it’s lighthearted. “Hopefully he’s taking it better than I am.” Though it’s clear with how she eyes him fondly that it’s growing on her, this whole bonded thing. With a little more time perhaps it would be as familiar as breathing. One could only hope.
“Oh? What room are you working on drafting now?” Intrigued by the prospect of reviewing his hard work - after they had eaten of course. Standing (and eyeing Micah to ensure their movement wouldn’t distract him from his food, which thankfully doesn’t happen) she extends a hand to help Deimos up though he is plenty big enough to yank her off her feet even from the ground. “We could make fish fillets with a side of pasta or salad? Seems topical,” she says with a grin. “Plus we still need to make something for Dygra’s celebration this season, and we have plenty of fish.” Enough for adequate leftovers without sacrificing the more expensive or rarer proteins in their pantry.
Though he didn’t know the cub for more than these mere moments, the big-pawed youth seemed to be taking it all in stride. They’d know better given more time, though he pondered and wondered if he should be apprehensive about the possibilities of his own companions’ reactions. “Hopefully he and Belial will get along,” and the peryton was the only cretin within the household to give him some consternation at any interval; but with him quietly napping, the meeting could be postponed – in no rush to see if reactions were going to be abysmal or fine. Zuriel would take everything in stride, as she’d always done.
He glanced sideways, because he certainly hadn’t been working on any room. “Just another weapon,” he mumbled, but it’d been some manner of amusement and sanity, in between the other stretches of their busy lives and schedules. Then, with her hand dangling in front of him, he was sorely tempted to simply yank on it and have her spill across his lap. The juvenile possibilities became a slight display in his piercing eyes, but he let the mischief go in relenting facets for the semblances and prospects of cooking.
Retaining his former position quickly despite his frame, he nodded, agreeable with the choices. “Salad, probably,” and they could save pasta for another day. Deimos did narrow his eyes at the framework of having to share, motioning over to the sink to wash his hands. “That is fine.”
under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed
It’s definitely something to consider, and Evie puffs her cheeks out, releasing the air slowly in a considering noise. “I sure hope so. It’s hard to tell his personality just yet, which doesn’t help us prepare.” All they can do is hope for the best, and perhaps try to arrange a meeting structured to have greater odds.
Ginger brows rise, now even more curious - even as amusement shines in her eyes at how he’d chosen a new side project instead of pursuing further renovations. “Oh? What sort of weapon? Is it for yourself?” Often he gifts magically imbued creations to his soldiers and inner circle, so it could feasibly be for anyone.
The mischief in his gaze is blatant, and Evie knows she’s at the mercy of his discipline - which luckily seems to pay off given she doesn’t end up swiftly draped over him on the floor. Not a terrible position to be in at all, but it wouldn’t fill their stomachs. Stifling a laugh at his reluctance to put aside leftovers for anyone but themselves, Evie heads back to the fridge to pull out more fish than would normally be required for the two of them while Deimos washes his hands. “Will you do the salad?”
More of a ‘wait and see’ had never been Deimos’ forte – patience amidst circumstances certainly – but calculations and meticulous planning were more of a pragmatic possibility in the unending machinations of his mind. “Maybe after dinner,” he considered, to not disrupt everything else in between.
Snagging at soap and water, brushing it over his hands as the sink ran, he only inclined a brief glance over his shoulder at her inquiry, before shutting everything off and snagging a towel to dry calloused palms. Leaning briefly against the counter, he considered the notions surrounding the blueprints within the study, and juvenile potency behind them. “A trebuchet for the walls, but I wanted to see if I could fireproof it.” The Evergreen could probably read between the lines, as the notions of more incantations and power behind a launching tirade, and any elements instilled within it, could do great wonders for their defensive prowess.
It would also just be really amusing to launch.
Agreeing to the salad adornments with a singular nod, he steered around her to snag and open the cabinets, withdrawing a massive bowl for the endeavors, before heading for the lettuce in their icier stores. “Have you met any of the Ancients?” He’d had a growing list, outside of Kiada, and they seemed just as varied as everyone else.
under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed
Better to rip the bandage off sooner than later. “Then he’ll be more mellow from eating,” she agrees. Likely the best setup they can hope for - plus then they would be going to bed soon enough, which would allow structured down-time.
As she begins taking off the scales and skin, Evie grins down at the fish in her hands. “I think it sounds delightful. Where would you want to station it?” They had installed plenty of heavier weaponry on the terraces and walls prior to the war, but there was always room for more. And more, and more, and more in Deimos’ mind.
Having finished his bowl, Micah goes pouncing after Deimos’ heels, which must be more entertaining than Evie’s unmoving stance in front of the island. She can feel the threads of his mischief and playfulness, and while still alien to her, it makes her restrain giggles as the emotions bleed into her own. “No, not yet actually. There don’t seem to be very many of them?” Or maybe she just desperately needs to get out of the Citadel more often.
An amiable and agreeable assortment of potential plans, Belial’s wildcard antics notwithstanding. Without the peryton underfoot at the moment, anyway, they could accomplish a greater amount of tasks, to the point where Deimos animated the thread again simultaneously while peeling away strips of spinach. Air incantations ensured the string had the right amount of dance and spring to it, while getting the cub off his heels and potentially stepped on.
As for the trebuchet, he could only shrug, plans not all entirely in motion. “Not certain yet. Want to see if I can even achieve it first,” especially since the greater likelihood was the structure catching fire, and then he’d have to start over from scratch. Breaking the leaves into smaller portions, more bite-sized than giant adornments, he motioned back to the pantry, snagging at some red onion and a knife from the utensils drawer.
As for the Ancients, his thoughts churned. “I have seen several others, not including Kiada,” for she would always be a special case and place in his heart. “Perhaps we will learn more about them soon enough,” with this upcoming festival – uncertain if he should apprehensive or at ease about the entire matter.
under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed
It's a valid concern, and Evie is sure he has thought his way around every corner, but she attempts to provide assistance anyway. "Maybe you can make miniature ones to launch, like, paper balls? To test out the fire resistance." It would save on materials to say the least, though she's uncertain how effective the trial trebuchets would be in preparing for a full-size one.
Micah allows himself to be distracted - or so Evie assumes from the clarity she's beginning to have about his emotions - and goes tumbling after the animated string and away from Deimos' feet as the man continues his preparations. Evie begins pulling out the sheet for the fish and covers it in foil, then begins to neatly slice apart the fillets to lay them out and begin to season them. "All I know so far is they cannot come to Halo because of the cold. I wonder if they'll live mostly in Torchline?" The Feverlands and even Hak Etme couldn't possibly sustain them in terms of nourishment and dwellings even if they could withstand the sunlight.
He paused, narrowing his eyes at the onion, before implementing measures to ensure any of its proponents for making eyes water unfurls away from him in manners of Air; a simultaneous but necessary plunge for both string and cooking. While the mastered elements ensured distractions and provided deterrents, he listened to Evie’s semblances, cutting through the bulb and tossing its coils within the bowl. “It is a possibility. Could give some of the soldiers another task,” which fostered and incited another wry grin; as if there were several who could adhere to the task, out of spite.
The Sword would admit his base knowledge about the Ancients essentially started and ended with Kiada, and what little information he picked up along the way suggested the Old Gods were unbothered by them. There’d been Edmund, working on his own quest with something for healing, Dantalion caught and snared…an assortment of characters. “Or the Climb?” It certainly provided the heat, and they might have enough game lodged within.
under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed
Evie smothers her laughter as she covers the fish, hearing the timely ding of the oven as it reaches the necessary temperature to slide the tray inside. Deimos’ loving torture of his soldiers would never cease to amuse her, even though she wholeheartedly understands how tough his training can be. “See? Making mental progress already.” Perhaps soon they will have that trebuchet adorning their towering walls. “Personally, after all that Banshee nonsense I’m more of a fan of the idea of tar to pour from the parapets.” She often imagines it to stave off her nightmares and the residual, phantom ache in her shoulder where the banshee queen’s claws had driven themselves.
Evie wrinkles her nose blatantly at mention of The Climb, heading to wash her hands and sidestepping Micah who had yet to tire of the string. Given he’d kept perfectly still in her arms from Torchline to Halo, he likely has energy to spare. “I’d be inclined to say yes, but surely they’d miss the comforts of a real city?” Assuming they have more human characteristics than their predecessors, Evie can’t envision them living happy lives in the rocky, lava-infested Climb.
For all his antics with the soldiers, if they didn’t enjoy their occupation, they wouldn’t stay. He certainly didn’t force or bind them to their roles – if strength didn’t, couldn’t, or wouldn’t endure, either mentally or physically, there was no point in defending towers, citizens, or lives. So he snorted at her insinuation, bemused by possibilities; somewhere in his study, a similar notion had been drafted. “Some boiling water too?” Though another banshee platitude was rather unlikely, he still didn’t understand how they’d meandered into Halo at all (he’d pinpoint it on the Voice and call it good), but give the Evergreen all sorts of demonic tactics to combat scars, tangible or inward.
Snagging at some strawberries from their stores, and putting the onion away, he began to cut and slice portions apart (occasionally flicking one into his mouth when Evie wasn’t looking), placing them amidst the bowl. “Probably. But they have options nonetheless,” from Torchline, King’s End, Stormbreak, and even to the Grounds, which was more than the Ascended could say, in their final months.
under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed
Frankly, anything Evie could tip over the balustrades onto unsuspecting monsters is good in her book. Whatever material happens to be in those buckets couldn’t matter less; even manure or marbles would be entertaining and spiteful enough for the Evergreen. “I’d take anything, but I feel like the water would freeze instantly or dissipate the second it leaves the barrier like when you toss kettle water outside.” Halovians have always had chill aplenty to experiment with interesting thermodynamics, and Evie would hate to waste water unless it conveniently froze into daggers that would fall upon their assailants.
Realizing she is now the one getting distracted with such macabre ideas, she refocuses instead on Deimos’ hands and how they busy themselves. And - hey - wasn’t that bowl of strawberries more full earlier? Narrowing her eyes with suspicion (as yet unfounded though it may be considering how deft his sneaking fingers are) Evie leans back against the counter while the fish cooks and watches Deimos’ magic entertain Micah. “I wonder if Dygra will be more open to outfitting them with items to help them travel. Maybe Kiada can get something that allows her to temporarily bear the cold for Halo?” The two would always be able to meet outside of Halo, and Evie knows (though only in vague terms that Deimos had provided) that Kiada had left Halo without seeming to want to return, but she can’t help but hope that visitation between the two Helovians could be made easier.
“Magic,” he responded in kind, with a juvenile glint to his features. Considering how often Deimos or any of the others were involved in defenses, the incantations could root themselves around. Maybe by then he would have created some objects or items to ensure incantations lasted without his presence; ensuring he was where he needed to be, and his warriors had all their defenses feasible. It wasn’t always the solution, but a notion he would eternally be comfortable with.
Entertained and amused in pulling her amongst his formidable threads, he blinked with all the pretenses of innocence as she narrowed her eyes at him. Once her stare returned to the newfound companion though, he snuck another, quietly chewing and contemplating. A few more slices and the rest of the strawberries were amidst the salad. Snagging at the candied pecans, a delight he’d snagged in the market yesterday, he spread a handful or two over the spinach and fruit, contemplating dressings while the Evergreen continued.
He didn’t know enough about Dygra without clambering into assumptions, and he found his brows furrowing in thought. Would she be like the Voice, forgoing her brethren, telling them how they already had everything they required? Or would she be more of the Old Gods, granting abilities and artifacts with some measured countenances? “Likely up to Kiada,” if she wanted to pursue that at all – which left him with some sinking measure in his chest that he hadn’t predicted. “I mentioned the hot springs to her. But arrival and departure would always be an issue.”
under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed
