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!
Despite impending nooses and notions, the press of Deepfrost didn’t have to be all morose conjectures and foreboding intricacies (as tempting as it was). Winter had often been his favored season, before LongNight, before monsters, before demons – a reminder, a recollection, of the Aurora Basin and its constant chill, its glacial pull, its fibers of mountainous supremacy. Without the herald of incoming terror, oblivion, and damnation, they might’ve enjoyed the quieter edges, the lull of stark nothingness, the rush of powder and ice. At the very least, the Sword had other things to distract him for the moment.
Set up in his preferred kiosk along the guild’s opened sections, with Zuriel along the outskirts, playing in portions newly-fallen snow, the General had peeled away his outer layers, placing jackets and furs along the back of his chair, before grasping hold of a few materials. Otherwise, it’d be the gilded glow of his hands, the incantations embedded and infused from within, to grant presents and offerings for Rexanna’s upcoming child, to the Penumbra’s new beginnings.
The first was a set of baby blankets – uncertain of how this Ascended bairn would arrive (an actual youth, something older, something completely foreign and unknown?), he made them in a variety of sizes, all with similar designs (eclipses and half-moons, threaded in gilded contortions; others with paintbrushes, like splashes against the fabric), before placing and folding them neatly within a box he’d already set aside.
05-05-2020, 05:34 PM (This post was last modified: 05-23-2020, 05:52 PM by Aisha.)
i'm asking nicely, give me what i want
There wasn't too much to do today, no hunting party she planned to join, or training to be done at the grounds. Aisha had spent the former hours of the day with Oliver at the Blacksmith shop, seeing if there was anything to help him with, and aiding when she could. He'd said a bit ago that the nail bucket needed a little work, he wanted it to look 'nice'. So while she was there, she'd snatched the thing and taken it with her, meaning to do a little something for him just for fun.
She was no artist, but she had some kind of idea, all she needed was supplies. Thus the blonde woman found herself traversing the bazaar, surveying the more colorful aspect of the grounds in search of some paint. Surely somebody here was offering some, if not she'd risk bumping into Oliver at the Artist's sanctuary or back home, where there was certainly some available. Rows upon rows, a bit sparser now that the cold season had thinned out the crowds, Aisha didn't find her paint, but her hazel eyes did find purchase on something else interesting.
The general, making baby blankets? A small smirk pulled at her lips as she walked to him, lugging her empty wooden bucket at her side. "Who's baby?" she asked with a light humor to her voice, stopping at his kiosk and looking over the carefully designed fabrics.
Another approached, threading their way through snow and rime; Deimos presumed the footsteps would go by, recede, until the motions ceased at his designated threshold. The voice, laced and lanced with humor, brought him out of his concentration and focus. His head raised quickly, much like a predator, piercing eyes riveting back to the familiar form of Aisha; the slightest chuckle escaping his chest. Secrets remained safe then, currently, presently, an arch to his brow at her inquiry. “A friend’s. She has not made the announcement yet though,” and he shrugged his shoulders, not doing any other unfurling or unwinding in that threshold – a furtive, closed-off whim (ignoring the fact that he’d already told Rexanna’s daughter – but Kiada deserved the knowledge before drifting off to Halo).
His gaze went to the blankets, pondering what other objects to place within the box. The reticence of his pondering and mulling prospered him straight back to silence, and between his hands he contorted and created again. This time it was a rattle, though without a rounded, sphere top, replaced and replicated with dagger points. He shrugged once more, ensuring the edges were blunted, and placed it within the pile of mantles.
Thereafter, his stare went back to her, looking down at the bucket in her hands. “What brings you here?” He didn’t anticipate her coming into the Artisan’s portion of the sanctuary; but then again, others probably didn’t predict him leading these halls either.
05-06-2020, 07:36 PM (This post was last modified: 05-23-2020, 05:52 PM by Aisha.)
i'm asking nicely, give me what i want
Deimos was every bit the sword, sharply glancing up, vigilantly ready for anything. Their meetings always seemed to begin like this, with his gaze like knives aiming at and through her. He had the look of a soldier, one that'd been though many fights, that knew to stay keen, even when folding blankets.
She hummed lightly to his chuckle, and quirked a brow to his response. A wry smile pursed at her lips, "Who am I gonna tell?" she replied playfully, zipping a finger across her mouth. Afterwards she followed Deimos's gaze back to the blankets, then down to his hands. Magic, something she'd been in awe of since arriving here. A foreign talent that she would love to possess, what she would give to feel that energy coursing through her veins.
Drawn in by it, she watched in silence, making herself comfortable at his kiosk and placing her elbows on the surface. When at last he'd finished, there was a rattle where there had been nothing. Aisha grinned, looking back to him as he asked a question of her, with a dramatic grunt she swung the wooden bucket up into view, and gave it a hardy pat. "A friend's," she said, using his phrasing from earlier, "he planned on fixing it up so I thought I'd do it for him. Looking for paint."
Unless necessity or amusement demanded it, Deimos was often a locked safehold of secrets. Helovia had boasted quite a few of them, from the furtive, specious, duplicitous efforts, to the ramparts of hidden, covert, surreptitious plots, operations, and strategies. Often times no one asked, and he merely had to withhold information; either intimidated, or simply knowing better than to bother inquiring. He’d done the same here out of inherent, instinctual habits, only insinuating certain, keen amounts, or something to galvanize, move a situation forward. Some had been warnings, tales of Zariah’s reign, experiences rendered so another wouldn’t have to suffer the same consequences, or in his and Amalia’s case, telling of their relationship when they were ready, and not at the insistence of prying individuals. So, despite Aisha’s insistence, especially with the playful motions, he wouldn’t budge; arching a brow and shaking his head.
That seemed suitable to her anyways, as she sidled in closer, making herself at home in the stall. Long before, no one would have bothered, but he chose not to reflect on others somehow making space for him, or not being bothered by his presence. His attention went away from his own incantations, and to what her actions dictated. She raised a bucket, and he surveyed it without emotion, shifting his gaze from the wooden bombardments, and back to her. “You can find some there,” and he nodded his head towards a series of paint buckets, all different blends of hues. He’d meant to use them in fixing up some portions of their home; but time and circumstances had distracted and deterred.
05-07-2020, 10:42 PM (This post was last modified: 05-23-2020, 05:52 PM by Aisha.)
i'm asking nicely, give me what i want
Aisha gave a disappointed huff, though no real harm was done. She loved to toy with people, especially those stoic enough to avoid her games. Deimos was one she could respect, as well as mettle with, an interesting puzzle she wanted to solve.
While he didn't express any amusement to her playful manner, she found herself quite amused with his serious one. She raised her brows as he nodded to the buckets of paint nearby, how convenient. A please sound hummed in her throat as she put down her over bucket and leaned over his own, eyes caught by the vibrant colors they offered. She really only needed white, black and yellow, and sure enough those hues were presented there.
"I can have these?" she called back to the Sword, head turned over her shoulder to look his way, though her mane of blonde curls obscured her gaze.
It could’ve been the stoic, reserved, reticent renderings to his features that seemed to instigate the more playful individuals. While he prided himself on forbearing, diffident composures, iron and detachment, forged platitudes and bombardments, the Sword usually thawed after a while; either with known individuals, or through experiences, hurdles, trials, and tribulations. Aisha’s techniques and contributions to the miltia had already served her well, and so she’d receive the barebones of his amusements, on her way to working towards his impish, devilish accord. Layer upon layer, lacquer upon lacquer, wall upon wall, the Sword had a weapon for every component and situation.
He arched a brow, waiting for something else to flicker and banter through, but when nothing was forthcoming from her, he lowered his head, carrying on in his work. Uncertain of what else Rexanna or Bastien might require, and having zero experience with babies (Ascended or not; and the bizarre thoughts of what the child would even come out looking like made him nearly grimace), he contorted and created a few bibs, figuring all children were messy. They matched with the blankets, adorned in the same sentiments and designs, figuring Rexanna’s husband would appreciate semblances of aesthetic.
Deimos raised his gaze again at her inquiry, a silent nod bolstering through his movements. “Yes.” The monolith could always make more later; when they weren’t preparing for a multitude of other things.
05-09-2020, 04:51 PM (This post was last modified: 05-23-2020, 05:52 PM by Aisha.)
i'm asking nicely, give me what i want
Deimos once again offered a minimalist reply, a quick glance and a simple yes. "Hm," she humphed with a slight pout, half hoping there'd be more to it. The girl loved a good challenge, a task, it seemed too easy this way. Though of course there wasn't much to be challenged when it came to paint anyway.
Aisha gathered the small pails, each hand grasping the handle of two buckets. They weren't heavy, another disappointment for she would've loved to boast her strength about town. She walked back to the other side of the stall, looking at what all Deimos had made. "You should make it a mobile, you know like those hanging things with stars and planets or something," she said, with a slight smirk up at him.
His brow arched at her light humph, somewhat bemused, and then pondered over the rest of the pursuits. Eyes roamed back towards the box, noting it was nearly full, but remaining uncertain over what else to place within. Perhaps Aisha understood his predicament, because soon after there was a hint of liberation, a rescue line thrown out to his wake. “A mobile,” he repeated, furrowing his brow, uncertain at first he’d ever seen one until she continued with a description.
A shrug to his shoulders indicated he’d at least give it a shot – hands forming the base, a wooden frame contorting through the ether, and soon resting on the table. Thereafter came the hanging devices, softened, plush-looking adornments and ornaments, stuffed with mossy conjectures and stitched by invisible notions, conforming to the pictures, the images in his head. There were several little paintbrushes, and then bright suns, illustrious moons, Penumbra incantations, and a small, feral looking dagger along one of the corners (meant to represent Rexanna in her Thief days). He held it aloft for her to inspect, a tilt of his head amidst the trinkets and baubles. “Like this?” Then the General placed it back down on the table, wondering if there was anything else to be added, waiting for her input. “What else have you been up to?” Curiosity and intrigue, piercing gaze lifted to Aisha; inquiring over and beyond buckets of paint, or instilled trainings.
05-11-2020, 04:15 PM (This post was last modified: 05-23-2020, 05:53 PM by Aisha.)
i'm asking nicely, give me what i want
The general gave a shrug, then began to create, Aisha watched as he did so, once again mesmerized by the contortions and sinuations of the energy at his fingertips. First came to the base of the thing, and then all of it's precious decorations, each laced with a sentiment she was blind too, but could appreciate for what she didn't know. She let out an amused scoff when he lifted to show her, asking if that was what she meant.
"Like this? he says," she gave a playful laugh, "Yes of course! That's perfect, baby'll love it." She hadn't much expected the inquiry into her own avocations, but was happy that she'd at least somewhat piqued his interest. "I've been helping out as much as I can with whoever needs it," she said with a shrug, "If you've got anything I can do throw it on me, I don't have any specific obligations and I think I wanna change that. Hopefully by spring I'll know what I wanna do with myself here."
He permitted the slightest grin at her antics and teasing. Under a different sky, across a different earth, he would have bristled, seethed, and hissed, tucked away back into shadow, into silence and formidable, forbidding, unattainable reaches. Reaper and Sword had altered course in that regard, and likely the better for it, otherwise he wouldn’t have been granted so many otherworldly effects (friendship, camaraderie, support, acceptance, tolerance; things he once considered out of reach). Then the great beast shook his head, somewhat bemused, and after its inspection, placed it amongst the blankets and toys; the box nearly full.
At her answer though, he kept his attention rapt, focused on her, while Zuriel meandered within, eyed Aisha’s wild locks. “We may need you for LongNight preparations.” Any extra hand was noteworthy, considered, and appreciated; considering the vast amount of supplies they required to keep them all occupied, nourished, sheltered, and alive by the end of it. As far as knowing what to do with one’s self, he tilted his head, weighed the options in his mind. He’d already permitted her ready and able access to the militia, the barracks, the weapons, and the training grounds, her mind apt for anything of such vehemence and accord. What other opportunities would surface? “Beyond soldier capabilities?” He smirked for an instant, then drummed his fingers along the table, mind contemplating. “There may be more opportunities for you come spring.” Once the dust settled, once they’d come out of horrors and treacheries, doom and gloom. “But you should try your hand at everything available. See what else piques your interest.”
05-12-2020, 10:04 PM (This post was last modified: 05-23-2020, 05:53 PM by Aisha.)
i'm asking nicely, give me what i want
There it was, the break in his solid features, the faint grin. Aisha's reciprocal expression was far wider, a bit of pride laced in at her accomplishment. The playfulness of their exchange was put on hold as they shifted to more serious topics, the name of Longnight seemed to cast a shadow upon those who spoke it. Her smile was shelved with the mobile and other wondrous trinkets.
She gave a nod, already contemplating where all she could be put to use in those preparations. For hunting, for collecting lumber, fixing houses. She chose to use her strengths where they mattered, up until the point she'd leave for Torchline, something she ought to bring up, "I'm going to Torchline for the week, but I'll be here to prepare beforehand." It wasn't something she was proud of, and she didn't love announcing it to him, but it was the best option for now.
Part of her was still incredulous towards the notion that so many were staying here. She wanted to put more energy to getting people to leave, as Safrin had made it seem so much safer, and everyone was constantly warning of the horrors. Tradition and fear of change was a damned roadblock, one that could cost many lives, and that vexed the woman.
Beyond soldier capabilities, Aisha smirked as well, the general on to her. She'd mulled over the idea of joining the militia, of protecting, but had flip flopped back and forth. Partly because she didn't want to have to spend all her time in the Hollowed Grounds, she couldn't imagine herself staying here forever. But that shouldn't stop her from acting now. "I plan on it, just know that if any opportunities come by you think I'd be suited for, I'll probably say yes."
Belief of duty, responsibility, the constant dedication to protection, shielding, and safeguarding meant the Sword would stay for the duration of LongNight. He’d stick himself within the College and hover by the doors, growl, restlessly pace the walls and halls, honor oaths, assurances, and prosper the diligence, the promise of power. While others escaped to Halo, ventured towards Torchline, he’d already committed himself to a third iteration of claws and daggers, of fangs and the unknown, of death and distortion. Were he not the General, were Amalia not staying to assist Ronin, the situation might’ve been different. Perhaps it was stupidity, stubbornness, sheer willpower, and a thousand other things he couldn’t describe or detail; jaw clenching in thought, the roaming of his thoughts inclining features back to the more reticent.
At least Aisha had already learned LongNight’s arcs and tales, or at least bore some wit in her semblance. “The smart and sensible thing to do.” He nodded, granting her the indication that she’d chosen sagacity and wisdom. Newly arrived, she, and so many others, could be likely targets for luring, for sacrificial arts, for taking and rendering her apart. His memories went back to Cera, how, despite the constant warnings, the man was destroyed and discarded; like nothing. Too many circumstances, too many infidels, too many heathens, allowed to roam, permitted to venture, pluck, demolish, and murder. The fewer they had stored and collected in the College, the better.
As for what she could be doing here, now, or in the future? There was no telling of whatever formidable, foreboding, forbidding action was damned or due to take place. “Sounds good,” and he nodded, the hint of a smile returning. “Did you have any other occupation in your world?” Something else that could be put to use here?
05-17-2020, 01:44 PM (This post was last modified: 05-23-2020, 05:51 PM by Aisha.)
i'm asking nicely, give me what i want
The leopard purred at his praise, as if she needed any more ego stroking. She did believe it though, that the end she'd come to was the most astute. "I do take pride in being smart and sensible," she returned with a bemused glint in her honey hazel eyes.
It always seemed to come to this in conversations of responsibility. Her occupation, her trade. She wasn't discredited by her royalty, it bore many honors and responsibilities, many skills to learn. However they had prepared her for a job that was so unlike any of the common people. It was hard to find a comparison. Soldier was the closest thing she could think of, and the alibi she'd chosen to give to everyone she'd met.
There was a slight falter in her confident smirk, a moment of doubt as she tried to come up with an answer that didn't sound dumb. She flicked it away, landing on sarcasm and wordplay as a suitable advocate, "I'm that bad at swordplay, am I?" she replied with that familiar smirk.
