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!
The fields in winter were a sight to see – but perhaps only to those accustomed to the cold, to the stark, rancorous desolation, to the chill, to the rapacious edges of an endless vestige riddled in snow. He breathed in its ether, in the rush of nonchalance, in the harsh depravity of its ice, its rime, its machinations, and thought of it as relief; no pestilence in sight, no ramparts to impart, no Long Night indulgences there and ready to burn. The only thing that could’ve been better might’ve been the sights of mountains themselves, or the scattered lights of the aurora, glistening, blending, highlighting segments of glaciers and walls; the memories bounded, flickered, and never quite faded, alive and well in his monolithic presence. Perhaps that was where they’d stay, incapable of extending their reaches and entanglements any further – gone, gone, gone, the promise of precipices too much to bear.
He sighed, and maneuvered forward, bag over his shoulder, gathering little remnants of kindling thrust and discarded on the border, and placing them within the sack. Reminiscing wouldn’t prepare them for anything except wasted time, but this season had all the elements of yesteryear, even the disasters, even the ruins, were like siren wails and triumphant calls, unearthing spectacles he thought lost, dimmed, gone. The bitter, Siberian void was in his bones, collected and nuanced and sculpted within marrow, tissue, and flesh; and he never could quite part with it. Even when there were ghosts, even when there were trappings, even when he should’ve been committing to anything else – his eyes took in the atmosphere, the sun pressing across ivory, the rush of wind over long stalks since-perished in the cold, and strived for something; action, motions, and maneuvers, in the tenuous grasp of worlds they no longer had.
moral of the story is, i will gut you if i need to
i will carve my way out
Having no title, no job, no expectations of her, would sound like a well-earned vacation to anyone else. To Hotaru, it is the equivalent of a death sentence.
She is a deposed Queen, a woman of action, a born thief and chaos-child. This peace and accord is disgustingly boring. What is she expected to do in the face of all this kinship? Tend the house? It sours her mouth to even think it. Part of her, distant and still full of fire and gasoline, is tempted to aim for regency again. The other remembers how much it had cost her in the end, and is perhaps okay with the idea of...settling down. Taking a well-deserved break.
But sitting still for too long only gives the Valkyrie time alone with her thoughts. Memories best left buried, the vividness unbearable. Watching her children be killed, be lost in various rifts and portals, to be helpless and held back from joining them in the afterlife.
Shaking herself out of the spiral of thoughts, the woman heads out into the familiar environment of snow and ice. Her hair a spot of gold and summer in the landscape of bloodless cold. The bag on her hip is the only guiding goal, and so she simply picks a direction and begins to walk, unsure of what it is she seeks except a purpose. It's easy to fall into the habit of plucking as she goes; winter berries, stubbornly dry pieces of tinder, moss, whatever it is she thinks will be useful in the coming season. Until her ears - still so dull in comparison to her previous hearing, but sharp with constant guard and attention - catch the sound of footsteps.
It's habit to reach for a weapon, only to frown at herself when she finds none. Hotaru may mock the inhabitants of this land for their softness, but the Valkyrie is still a distrusting woman at heart. Stalking the noise is easy enough, but what lies at the end of the trail only inspires a huff of a laugh from her mouth, cheeks red with chill and rising mischief. Bending down to scoop some snow into her hands, she forms it into a ball and sneaks closer, taking her time and timing her steps with his until she's close enough to throw the snowball in an arc at Deimos' back.
with only my teeth
HOTARU
Hotaru has a passive magic that makes her glow with an internal golden light; it makes her appear youthful and her hair seems to look like moving sunlight. Can only subtly illuminate dark spaces.
He embodied winter’s chill, still as a statue, allowing his eyes to sink along the horizon and the technicolor sizzle of sunrise; imagining auroras pressing there (even if it was no longer evening), a steady splendor of blended hues and sizzling colors. Chained and mired in his inattention to any other details – unlike him, but reminders of mountains and other worlds rooted in his heart and lungs for a second too long – he didn’t notice Hotaru’s mischievous approach. Instead, all he received for his trust in the void was a ball of snow landing upon his back. For once, he launched upward in surprise, a reverberation, a growl, slinking its way through his throat, before he turned around, swift, sudden, sure, intending to scald and simmer in some vicious haze.
Except he was met with a former Queen’s presence, and the response altered into some familial retort, a gruff snort billowing from his throat. “Sneaky,” he intoned; which she’d always had been, that’s how she’d been so talented in her chosen field, before her ascension to the throne, before having to reign beside his ridiculous charades. “You know I will have my revenge.” A warning, neither ominous nor treacherous, but a matter of truth and veracity. She’d be all too aware of his predilections and humor towards rebuttals, renewals, and vengeance, it had been in the heart of his machinations for what felt like centuries.
He leaned down, unfurling both arms to grab hold of a massive hold of the powder; sticky enough to remain in place as he grasped it in one hand, raising it over and behind his head. Embarking upon precision, upon deliberations, upon meticulous calculations, the cretin snickered. Then he arched his arm in a steady, stalwart, sturdy release; power and vitriol within the throw, intending for the snowball to launch somewhere upon her person.
moral of the story is, i will gut you if i need to
i will carve my way out
Hotaru can't help but hold her breath in giddy delight as she watches the snowball arc through the air, grinning in manic victory when it lands with a satisfying spray of impact upon Deimos' mighty shoulders. Watching him bristle and whirl around is almost as emotionally satisfying, and once his bright eyes land upon her she's sure the first thing he'll see on her face is the cheshire grin nearly splitting it in half.
"That's me," she confirms cheekily, standing her ground even as butterflies of excitement build in a flurry in her stomach. This kind of lighthearted fun hasn't been experienced in ages, and she's sure Deimos is the same. They both deserve the respite. A time to be little hooligans once more. His declaration is met with a come-hither smile, daring him to do so wordlessly.
When he bends to scoop snow into his arms, she squeaks and turns to dash to the side, though she feels the thick clump descending on her nonetheless. It sparks a squeal of laughter from her at the shock of cold in her hair and on her neck, tossing her head to try and disperse the clinging cold particles. Bending while she jogs is difficult, but at least she's already low to the ground with her annoyingly minuscule height. Grabbing handfuls of snow she turns mid-stride to start lobbing them at Deimos, hoping to keep him at bay physically, giggles still pouring childlike and effervescent from her tongue.
with only my teeth
HOTARU
Hotaru has a passive magic that makes her glow with an internal golden light; it makes her appear youthful and her hair seems to look like moving sunlight. Can only subtly illuminate dark spaces.
He didn’t require any more invitations or temptations to become devilish, a sinking stone of impishness curling its way over his mouth, along his eyes, emboldening his features into some boyish, audacious decadence. It was boldness in the fervor, in the architecture of their antics, in the way they haunted irreverence and reveries. It was a hunt without rapacity, without vehemence, without glory or unleashed vitriol, just foolishness beneath the growing sun, failing to inspire abhorrence or wrath. The great cretin snorted and chuckled when the rime and snow hit upon Hotaru, and then she moved, lighter on her feet than he simply by design, build, and stature.
He wasn’t about to let it stop him. Few things ever did.
He’d been carved out of winter’s shadow too; had grown beneath its shadows, had honed techniques for maneuvering over its threshold. Burly and brawny, athletic, and still swift, meant for wars, for battles, for crusades, campaigns and glories, while she grabbed handfuls of snow he did the same, fitting them into the crooks of his elbows and empty pockets of his arms, striving to hold as much as he could. The Sword ducked as one threatened his head, but was accosted in the shoulder and chest, great bursts of snow collecting along his furs and managing to fly into his beard. He shook his cranium like a ridiculous beast, then took off, giving chase, stalking, then firing off his own like missiles, intending to maul her with accuracy and preciseness, even while they ran. Do your worst they seemed to echo, when neither of them would; far better allies, friends, and family.
moral of the story is, i will gut you if i need to
i will carve my way out
His face transforms into something boyish, impish, taking years off his face and a world off his shoulders. Mission accomplished. Deimos' vibrant blues shine with mirth and mischief, and Hotaru races over the snow, leaping over snowbanks and laughing breathlessly as she tries to keep the man at bay with her smaller snowballs. He is a goliath, and she the tiny figure with only tenacity to her name, standing in his shadow with arms outspread, crying for his mightiest blow. Though he'd never hurt her beyond what he knows she can take, aware of how fragile and untested she is in this land that has stripped her of her hard-won powers, he is sure not to go easy on her either even in a snowball fight.
As if she would ever let him.
His own arsenal grows larger, and Hotaru laughs in breathless, shrieking dismay as it rains down upon her with unquestionable precision. It melts swiftly against her heated skin, but the chill is still pervasive, and she turns and runs as quickly as her legs can take her over the bright expanse of untouched snow, directly towards the onslaught. One arm braces in front of her face, a pitiful shield but one that gives her a chance to consolidate the remaining snowballs in the crook of her free arm into a lumpy mass. Hoping he is in range and as unafraid of her small stature as he had been when they had reunited, she leaps directly at him with an exaggerated war cry, and opens her arm to dump the rest of the snow directly upon him - aiming for his handsome, grizzled face in payback for his perfect shots. And if she ends up slamming against him, all the better to take him down into the snow with her if she can.
with only my teeth
HOTARU
Hotaru has a passive magic that makes her glow with an internal golden light; it makes her appear youthful and her hair seems to look like moving sunlight. Can only subtly illuminate dark spaces.
The chase ended abruptly as she turned into the barrage and onslaught, giving him just enough time to laugh, deep and expansive, echoing along footfalls and snow paths, glancing as she launched. She’d done this before – nothing new – his arms and chest still broad, still powerful, capable of catching her. But on prior occasions they’d been riddled with contentment and surprise; this one was rankled with weaponry and foolishness, war cries and drum beats of battle, chilling rime intending to infect them all. He could, at some point, simply duck or shift, intending to break out of her range and permit her to fly into the nearest bank. If she were an enemy, he would’ve done just that.
But Hotaru was no adversary; never had been, never would be.
Instead, he met the full nettle of her fervor, beard and cheeks suddenly coated in the frost, and he shook his head desperately to rid himself of the compacted snowflakes, and while he would’ve embraced the obvious taste of the Basin back in his sights, he could’ve done without the instant tremors and gnashing teeth. The cold cut and slashed, not unlike a weapon, not unlike munitions, but swept up easily in the mischief, in the distractions, he didn’t fight or condemn the nuances. Some slid down his furs, melting over collarbone and shoulders, and with a quick eyeroll and a solid stance, he ensured his frame still remained upright.
Hers, however, might not.
Taking advantage of her in his arms, however briefly, he strived to grasp for a small moment, intending to keep her rooted there while he found a specific location, marching diligently over glacial expanses, until he came to a deeper snowbank. Only then did he loosen his hold, unceremoniously attempting to drop her into the rush of loosened powder.
moral of the story is, i will gut you if i need to
i will carve my way out
His arms come to catch her, but she had counted on that, and crows with triumph as the snow falls between them. Some falls into her own shirt, but victory is sweet and distracts her from the bite of it against her sensitive skin. Her eyes are wild with childlike joy, reminiscence, a release of inhibitions that only he can inspire in her in this moment.
Of course, she hadn't exactly counted on him using his hold on her to keep her trapped. She struggles uselessly, pushing at broad shoulders but unable to even conjure her full strength with the way her helpless laughter overtakes her. Giant strides, lumbering gait, is all the warning she gets while she tries in vain to slither out from between the manacles or his arms. When she turns over her shoulder to see where they're going, her eyes widen and she shouts an incomplete and laugh-tainted, "No-!" before she is freefalling.
It's a soft landing, but a frigid one, and she's half buried almost immediately. Flailing and dragging herself out of the snowbank, cheeks red and hair tousled, Hotaru probably looks more like a wild woman of the wilderness than a deposed queen. Still, she won't go down without a fight, and uses her kneeling stance to get one last handful of snow and aim it in Deimos' general direction. Whether it lands or not she struggles to her feet, unable to help her continued laughter. It hurts in the best possible way. Hotaru doesn't remember the last time she laughed this much and meant it, but already she knows that this memory they're making will be cherished forever.
with only my teeth
HOTARU
Hotaru has a passive magic that makes her glow with an internal golden light; it makes her appear youthful and her hair seems to look like moving sunlight. Can only subtly illuminate dark spaces.
He laughed on her defiance even in the face of impending consequences, the no volleying through the fields, on the air, streamlined into their measures of chaos. It wasn’t the Reaper, but the sword in all his glory, lost stoic requiems and resurgence of boyhood mischief clambering over the powder and rime, illustrious to strictly juvenile charms. His roar was even more pressed into the ether at Hotaru’s image, once beatific, sneaky, duplicitous Queen, felled and tossed into a snowbank.
He was doubled-over, the chuckles in full hysterics, clinging over ribs and abdomen, by the time she’d stomped out of her wild woman glory, taking her hit along his shoulders without much of a care; hearing it slam into furs and jostle along his hair, joining the rest of the snowy assaults and brigade. On the riot of her glee and amusement, he proffered one last siege, striving to regain his prowess and purpose, shuffling and shoveling more of the sticky powder into his arms as he stomped back over. It was more or less a pathetic venture, a release once more, intending to allow the rest of the substance descend upon her at its leisure, graceful, lacking the arches, dominion, and destruction. Not for her. Not for those he’d always consider family.
“Good game,” he smiled and chortled again in return, satisfied and content with the proceedings, with the amount of elements they once conquered and held stuck, lacquered, and enameled upon them, the etched and fringes of winter sovereigns all over again.
moral of the story is, i will gut you if i need to
i will carve my way out
There was really no fighting the final blow, not when she's still half-stuck in a snowbank and looking like a drown kitten. Nonetheless there's still enough air and fire in her to feebly shield herself from the onslaught of snow, breathless with laughter and childlike joy. Her eyes sparkle with a lightheartedness that she hasn't felt in years. For all the snow may weigh on her, converging on her shoulders and wetting down her champagne hair, her spirit is lighter than it has ever been in contrast.
Hotaru shamelessly grabs onto Deimos' clothes to haul herself up, tottering in the snow and flush with lingering chill and exertion alike. "You owe me a hot drink, clearly I was outmatched," she laughs, dusting off snow from herself and turning to grin at the man beside her. She'll weasel it out of him regardless of whether he agrees, but at least she lets him know. And then she would steal his fireplace, because he was unfairly large and the world was cruel in its desire to make her even smaller than before.
Even if it did lead to some amazing fun.
with only my teeth
HOTARU
Hotaru has a passive magic that makes her glow with an internal golden light; it makes her appear youthful and her hair seems to look like moving sunlight. Can only subtly illuminate dark spaces.
