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!
He mused in the light and folds of the day, adjusting and honing a few more targets before maneuvering forwards, realigning some that looked utterly out of place, actions throughout plotting and devising; a commonplace occurrence for both Swords and Reapers. Perhaps Ascended gained those stronger abilities just as Abandoned, just as Attuned did, growing in strength, in shifts, in magic, in enchantments, in abilities as time wore on, as they became accustomed to ways of life, as they were forced to adapt and change. Potency and power, precision and might, grasped and held as long as they managed to survive. “Maybe not before long then,” he shrugged, the inkling of a smile dimpling into his features. If not, there were always alternatives – hoods and parasols, until the timing was right, until something altered. “Though, will you be taking your time going to Torchline?” An arch to his brow, teasing measures at hand, rather than rumbling and growling.
A bright fanged smile is given toward her friend, shifting on her feet in the shade as she follows him around like his shadow — sometimes even stepping into the shadow of none other was around. She can feel herself waning, threats of danger in her scans if the sun remained overhead for too long even hidden as she was. “Hopefully not!” She agrees with a bright chime.
The mention of Torchline though has something Cheshire crossing her face, something conspiratorially pleased. “Bastien and I will be going soon, I think. Mostly at night. There’s nothing to truly arrange for our arrival there, not like seeing Neron would be.” Her head lifts as she regards Deimos with that. “Have you met him? Neron?”
His eyes maneuvered briefly to the high reaches of the sun, and made to move them into the barracks to continue the conversation, where she’d be safer, out of the heat, out of the fiery abyss. A silent gesture, opening the door for her to march in. He caught her Cheshire grin, following it with an arched brow, waiting for the mischief, the impish platitudes extended between friends who’d long since transitioned from thieves and kings, to queens and generals. “Enjoy yourself,” he snorted, quiet, no rogue grin forming on his mouth though. “I will wait until Amalia has healed.” Too many other concerns and apprehensions laced into those quandaries, keeping himself here as support, when he wasn’t wandering around searching for things Safrin had required.
The mention of Neron, as he walked through the armory, back along the front room, expecting her to follow, only made him turn his head back over his shoulder to regard her. Unlike Helovian reaches, where he’d met with other sovereigns for discussions of alliances, trade, or war, he wasn’t required to do that here. Not as General, staying within the fold and reach to ensure training and proficiency in either arms, munitions, or magic. “I have not.” The only notion that spiraled through him here and now though, was the potential for his existence to be like his other family members. “What did you think?” Of him? Of any posed threats? Of inclinations towards Merciless tendencies? He expected Rexanna to be a capable judge of character – considering what she’d had to do no matter which life she’d been immersed within.
Rexanna nods to Deimos, her smile faltering slightly. But she follows him into the interior of the room he brings them into. “I hope she heals quickly.” She offers, a condolence. Not sure where this fits in timelines if she’s seen Amalia or not. Regardless, the Shield has her Sword and that’s certainly something. When she had been impaled and blinded, broken and destroyed, it had been her closest friends and Bastien that kept her from delving too far into the dark.
Regardless, the focus shifts to Neron, and she perks up a bit more at that, moving to lean against the door frame of the door he’d just passed through – arms folding across her chest as she looks to him. “I certainly like him more than Zariah.” She says softly, a hum of a laugh as if it was something difficult – a hard line to beat.
“But I don’t know him very well. He’s offered to help the Grounds during the fire season should we need it. Which is a nice enough gesture, and he was kind… Not in the way that Zariah pretended to be. It was like… Well, I’m not sure. It was strange, but enjoyable?” She laughs at the confusion of it all, brows furrowing before she looks to Deimos with a shrug.
He nodded, the notes of apprehension if the Shield wouldn’t heal quickly or efficiently, despite his actions, despite some promises and convictions, weren’t allowed to take root; pressing onward as best he could, a nod segmented at her comment. “I received a quest from Safrin, so hopefully soon.” When he’d completed it, when leaves were brandished and collected, when soil and bones were rendered, when waters from a full moon filled a crystal jar.
The General nodded, comfortable in his quarters, further into the front room, pulling out a chair if she wished to sit, as he wandered along the table, listening. He managed a snort at her next comment, granting her a well-earned eyeroll. “What a feat.” Low expectations and standards; he hadn’t met anyone who actually liked Zariah – not at least the ones who’d experienced her rampage across the Hollowed Grounds. Rexanna had been amongst those poised to become extended family, whether she'd wanted to or not. Forced attributes and designations only earned sedition. He tilted his head though, and wondered. Was Neron simply far more skilled in manipulations and machinations, where the Merciless had often did exactly as she said? He might’ve appreciated her for that – if it wasn’t so hellbent towards supremacy and tyranny. He’d reserve his judgment of Neron until he met him, though unfortunately biased towards anyone of the familial descent. “What did you offer in return?” Used to trades, to exchanges, from one thing to another – Helovia had never garnished or granted anything for free.
A mischievous grin splits her face when he mentions that he has a quest from Safrin, brows lifting in some amount of surprise. “Is that because being Attuned has perks? Or because of Amalia?” She teases lightly, unsure of the circumstances, but recalling all those times her and him had tried to go and see the gods, only to have silence greet them at the shrines. Perhaps he had been lucky, and she was still mostly full of her bad luck.
Regardless, a vibrant chiming snicker leaves her – quite unqueenly in nature at the sarcasm that Deimos offers her, settling in a grin. “I know, I was shocked.” She hums to him, teasing gently as she nears to lean against the wall and fold her arms across her chest, looking up to him at the question of what she’d offered in return. “I offered crops. Now that the barrier has lifted, it’s brought more life to our soil. And Halo struggles… The mountains, well, certainly we know as well as anyone.” A nostalgic smile breaks across her face to that.
The mountains were a harsh territory, regardless of what world they were in.
They’d both had their fair share of disdain amongst heralds and deities – though he less so, since he’d yet to be cursed or spurned by them. Perhaps it was lucky or fortunate that he’d mostly been ignored, despite never going unless he had ample reason to, spared from their hisses and growls. Only when he’d assisted in building Safrin’s shrine, only when he’d asked to become Attuned, had any of them deigned to bother with him. Helovia’s had been an outstretch of more of the same, lightning accoutrements and dastardly wakes, staring one another down and not acknowledging unless it was absolutely necessary. So he snorted at her first response, a shrug to his shoulders as he settled into one of his favored chairs, leaning into the wooden back. “Likely both.” More so the latter than anything else; asking to heal one of the goddess’ favored. His eyes went back to Rexanna briefly, considering, musing, quiet, features rendered into their familiar wake of nonchalance for a moment, before the briefest of smiles, of grins. “Amalia and I are engaged,” thereafter, he arched a brow, waiting for a reaction.
The press of merriment and laughter thereafter though, was better than any melancholy tending to draw over their shared sentiments and ruminations, another snort following through. An offering of crops due to lifted barriers, shared circumstances and possibilities, the struggle of mountains – something about it clenching over his heart and lungs. The Sword’s stare swept back to the table, immersed in ruminations, of lives they once held. “We worked on the fields earlier this year.” And he discovered farming would never be his strong suit. Before Fiat Lux. Before disastrous events. Before cataclysm and fallen temples “Hopefully they will be sufficient enough to support both kingdoms.” Which might be asking a lot.
A quiet huff of laughter is given to Deimos at the mention that both being Attuned and being with Amalia likely had some favor with the gods. And she supposes it makes sense – but her status as Ascended and Abandoned and being Bastien’s wife, likely wouldn’t garner the queen any favors with the goddess of the stars. But that was fine, Rexanna was perfectly content as she was.
The mention, however, of Amalia and Deimos being engaged brings a very bright reaction – something akin to a small squeal of excitement and happiness for him, heart pulsing and bursting with all the emotions of it. She can’t help but to think of how giddy he had been when he’d returned from the bakery with the cakes to test for her wedding, and it only makes the grin that sparks along her face all that brighter. “Oh! Congratulations! I’m so excited for you Deimos. Are you happy? I meant like, are you excited? Of course you’re happy.” She chimes and blabbers, no need for breath between her squeal and excitement and her congratulations, almost buzzing with the happiness as if she could pour it into him to share it.
So of course she nears, a hand reaching out to clasp his arm to try and share that excitement. And when he mentions working on the fields and what Rexanna had offered for the mountainous region for return of help during LongHeat, she gives him a smaller smile – less excited and a bit more calculated. “I’m sure it was well needed.” She agrees with a small tilt of her head.
His eyes widened briefly, bewildered, surprised, maybe, at the zeal and squeal of excitement and ebullience suddenly bounding, ricocheting, along the barracks walls. He should’ve expected it, but hadn’t guarded himself for the elation and enthusiasm – tilting his head, sheepish, eyes downcast on the floor while a grin coiled along his mouth, mirroring hers. “Yes,” he answered, snorting, laughing, allowed and permitted to unravel from stoic properties and detached formation here, comfortable in her presence, lifelong friends and allies. It was all he could really get in as she chimed, as she echoed, as the pulsing, pervading avidity bounding off the walls. Then he was clasped, and there wasn’t much of an escape, save for another snort and chuckle. He waited for a series of more inquiries and questions he might not have an answer to – not yet, currently, presently – and despite all his experiences with assisting in the other nuptials across this world, they hadn’t pinpointed anything else – rings assembled, goddesses asked, and thereafter coming eventually.
As for the fields, he hadn’t truly journeyed to view them since Fiat Lux. He’d snagged some soil and bones with Adam, but he hadn’t scanned the rest of the debris, ruins, or decaying, capricious void; if the fertile world was indeed still just that, if crops were still rising, despite the sheer amount of death and chaos infiltrating them. The smile dimmed, less and less of the bright accords as the subjects shifted. “And likely should continue.” Who was tending them now – if they needed it at all – with Loren gone to Halo? With Abasi dead, gone, and extinguished?
The talk of the Fields does garner a quiet murmur of a hum from her, taking note of it in her calculations before she settles and brings up the topic of the engagement again — obviously now too far excited and happy for him to keep quiet about it within the confines of the barracks.
Oh she can see the happiness in him, even if it’s far more reserved than most. She’s know him for so long now that she can see beneath those panes of his face, to the calculating mind beneath and the gears that shift and turn with everything thrown at him. And this? This is just sheer happiness and excitement, and when he tells her yes, she grins a brilliantly fanged smile to him. “What are the plans? Tell me everything! What are you doing for rings? A ceremony?” She trails off, green gaze bright and wide and excited.
Before Caido, anything resembling content, happiness, had been miniscule, minute, and in small, meager doses. Too many crimes, too many rebellions, too many cuts of seditious emblems and banners to strive for anything more; satisfaction in annihilation, in brutality, in vengeance, in rebuttal. Plagues of aftermath, of lethality, of gestures rampant and emboldened, proof of their primordial, treacherous accord – these were the only things that mattered, that signified, that consumed. So to ever glance upon Amalia and wonder how the hell he’d gotten here was a sure sign of confusion and upheaval, undeserving, unworthy, factions he’d never quite understand or fathom. But he took them too, love, adoration, and devotion, and instilled it in his own refrains. He was careful here though, watching Rexanna with a scale of amusement and reserve, the fields no longer the favored topic; he’d dug himself a hole then and there. She would likely try and pry whatever she could, knew him too well to cease at just the regular question and answer session, that he’d eventually lock up and expose or divulge naught at all.
Plans. He’d gotten somewhere with them. Something like discomfort crept its way into his skin, into his flesh, under prying eyes and footholds. Were it anyone else he might not have even allowed himself the notion, the emotion; shutting down immediately, walls drawn, ramparts blistering and scathing. “Already made the rings, but I asked Safrin to bless hers. Amalia gave me one too.” Lifting his hand for the briefest of inspections, brow arched and waiting again, before sliding it back down. “No big ceremony.” Neither of them would want it anyway; no need for massive crowds, for ogling or requiring attention. Otherwise, they were waiting – for healing, for legs to be used again, for things to maneuver along, away from constant sieges and tragedies (one of the worst yet to come).
Oh, yes, she knows him. She knows him very well, and if he thinks he’s going to slip out of this one without divulging any sort of information for her to live vicariously through this pairing… He would be thinking wrong. So when she brings it up, emerald gaze staring at the Sword with all the greed of information and gossip as old friends often did.
Her brow lifts with the mention of rings, of Safrin blessings, and Amalia having made him one. And when he lifts the hand, she looks to the ring with an equally bright and chipper grin for what she’s seeing. But he withdraws his hand again and her gaze seeks out his blues, once so similar to her own before monsters in the dark had taken those from her too. “Well.. Are you still dressing up?” She asks, wondering how much of it would be like a true wedding as Remi and Ronin had. “Let me know if I can help. Obviously if it’s a small affair, I won’t impose but if you need something I’m always here for you to help.” She says with a brighter smile, reaching out to squeeze his arm in her quiet promise.
The temptation to hide from all the things he’d unfurled, however innocent, ebullient, or ridiculous they were, was evident in his shift, in the reign of discomfort in sharing anything. Information on warfronts and machinations were forthcoming intervals – anything corresponding to emotions, contentment, or overall happiness were often kept locked tight. Why could always be ascertained as moments precious, and some instilled fear, apprehension, they’d all go awry before anything could take place.
Because that was how the world worked.
Initially he’d only told her so she wouldn’t feel out of the loop (again – hard pressed to hide his shame when he’d only told her about his and Amalia’s ties during the last LongNight, well after established devotions). His furtive secrets and specious conflagrations were often held close to the chest; habitual, instinctive, to cling to its scabbards and ramparts, rather than let it all hang out in the open. To even proffer this information indicated how much Rexanna meant to him, rather than permitting her to find out in other voids and cycles.
Her gaze pinpointed him to his chair though, and no amount of slithering away would’ve done much good. Instead, he snorted at her initial inquiry. “I suppose. I dressed decently for yours.” Indicating he was capable of trading his working clothes or bloodied shambles for actual well-honed clothing – it just hadn’t been on his radar yet. Her offer though set him at ease, pondering all the other moments he’d assisted in other nuptials; but no need for ring boxes here. “I will let you know,” a smile, a grin, following.
A bright laugh leaves her throat as he tells her he dressed decently for hers. “You dressed better than decently, Deimos.” She teases him gently, a soft praise with a raise of her brow as she looks to him with those excited emeralds of her eyes. “I’m sure you two will look beautiful!” She amends easily, shifting a small amount as she focuses on the question she poises to him, how he’ll answer. So easy it was for him to be there to lean on for her own wedding, and she wonders just how much anyone else had offered or if she was special and privy in knowing of this information.
But he tells her that he’ll let her know, and that’s good enough for her – sparking that same bright fanged smile along her face. “If you want something nice added to what you’re planning on wearing, I’m almost as good a seamstress as Hotaru.” A playful tip of her head, a wink sent to him. “It’s the least I can do for the ring boxes. And… of course, tearing that beam out of my chest.” She hums a quiet laugh to that.
