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!
You had big, big, big plans, you used to play gracefully with your mythical hands
To say it was cold was an understatement. It was freezing, and as much as she had grown up in the cold, as much as she had been moulded and shaped by it, there was still a part of Hester that wished, just once, it would let up for the winter. Or at least for a day, so she could do her bartering in peace.
All she could do was sigh, and readjust the overstuffed bag of wool on her back for the dozenth time, trying to shift the weight in a way that kept her a little warmer, without there being an oppressive heat on her back.
It’s not going well, Hester taking a few steps, then pausing to shift, then a few steps again, over and over. And, on one such readjustment, her bundle decides it’s done with her, one of the straps on her bag snapping, sending Hester, and her cargo, tumbling to the ground, tufts of wool puffing our like a mockery of snow.
At least between the newly fallen snow and her load, it’s a soft landing, though that doesn’t have her rising any faster, a petulant huff on her face.
Mallorie puffs out a breath and watches it plume like a cloud in the air; she’s almost fond of the cold now, though she still holds a healthy respect for it. Keeps herself moving to spare herself the jagged edge of the chill.
It’s her third day doing this round as a proper employed person of Halo, and she moves with purpose, even as she pulls her cloak and furs around her. Mallorie has no intention of seeming anything other than professional. Her shield is strapped to her back, her sword at her side, and she feels…human.
It’s been an uneventful round so far. Mostly stamping her feet in the cold and eyeballing the streets to commit them to memory, and testing herself on the details she’s picked up over the last few days. So the soft thump of a body hitting the snowy ground catches her attention, turns her head sharply in the direction of what looks like an explosion of soft cloud.
Mallore tromps her way over, frown in place. Is relieved when she finds that the body on the ground is alive and aggrieved. God knows she doesn’t need a murder the first week on the job.
“You alright there?” She asks, extending a hand. “Want help strapping this back up?”
You had big, big, big plans, you used to play gracefully with your mythical hands
It is rare that spirits or Gods show Hester mercy, but right now, someone, something seems to be smiling down on her, because she is very much not alone in the street, if the crunching sounds coming towards her mean what she thinks they do. Who knows how long she might have sat in the cold, demotivated and depressed by the turn of events, if someone had not come by to make her feel silly for it?
"I'm fine!" Hester chirps, turning to face the unfamiliar guard, her hand already reaching out for the one that's offered out. She slips easily out of her pack on the way back to her feet, and dusts off her coat. "A hand would be really nice, but don't let me bug you if you're busy!"
There's an easy brightness in her voice, the kind of respect reserved for the eldest family members, and people in authority, Hester not quite grown out of her childish awe of the city guards. "Really, it's my fault, I mean, I know I overstuffed it, but I just..." She manages to cut herself off with a shrug, realizing the way she's babbling.
The younger woman seems not to be hurt, which is a good start. More of a bump to the ego than the body, Mallorie gathers. She doesn’t quite smile, but she can’t help the way amusement softens her expression. She helps her up and lets her dust herself off.
She’s younger than Mallorie expected, though maybe it’s just her enthusiasm. The easy way she gives respect frankly startles Mallorie, who’s more used to belligerent drunks than chipper young women in her line of work, and Mallorie blinks. Frozen, for just a moment. Unused to this sort of friendliness while in uniform.
“It’s no problem,” Mallorie replies, still a little taken aback. She bends to help pick up some of the errant tufts and muses aloud.
“I wasn’t aware people kept sheep here.”
Logically it makes sense - Halo is cold enough that simply breathing in feels like cutting your mouth. But in all the things she’s learned since arriving, she hadn’t once noticed any sheep.
She hands them back with an assuring nod.
“I can help you carry them the rest of the way, if it’s not too far. You shouldn’t suffer for ah,” she held back a wry twitch of her lips, “youthful exuberance.”
You had big, big, big plans, you used to play gracefully with your mythical hands
"You're new here, aren't you?" It isn't even the question about the sheep that tips Hester off, but rather the willingness to spend a moment helping. The people of Halo are many things, but readily helpful is not necessarily one of them. Still, the realisation doesn't change the look on Hester's face, if anything it grows brighter, eager to share her world with someone new.
"Most people don't. They're too much of a hassle, generally. Hard to get feed for them, hard to keep them from freezing, or being picked off through Deepfrost." The grin on her face quirked, grew wide like she was about to the the woman in on a grand secret. "There's a trick to it though."
And with that, her form shifted, shrinking to that of a black faced, freshly sheared sheep. It was a fun trick for a moment, but Hester wasn't willing to risk frostbite past that, and shifted back quickly, reaching out to accept the bits of wool that had escaped.
"Everywheres too far in the cold, isn't it? S'why I only wanted to make one trip." Hester jokes, spurred on by the kindness, by the almost grin that twitched over the woman's face. "I'm just going to the end of the street though." A hand rises to point at a large house, a healthy coil of smoke rising from the chimney's. And with the destination pointed out, Hester hefted the bag up again, glad for the woman's help.
That obvious, huh? Says a little voice that sounds a lot like someone else, in the back of Mallorie’s mind.
She doesn’t take offence, merely conceding with a huff and a nod. The young woman’s face growing brighter startles her for a moment; she merely offered to help her up, but maybe guards here are less inclined to involve themselves in human spills.
“Makes sense,” she agrees to her explanation about the difficulties of rearing sheep, and then -
-Then Mallorie blinks down at the sheep (quickly realising where the wool she’s holding came from) and then at the woman who is suddenly back in its place. She pauses for a second and decides against expressing her first thought (the supremely unhelpful ‘well, shit, that’s a sheep’). Instead, she hands the wool over with a slightly rumpled expression. Bewsilderment creasing her brow and twisting her lips.
She follows the point of her finger with her eyes, and nods.
“I’m heading that way - part of my route,” she explains, still a little perturbed, “if you like I can accompany you the rest of the way. If nothing else I can be a spotter.
Mallorie hopes the joke comes across right. She also hopes the other woman doesn’t do it again without warning.
“Are you...often a sheep, uh…” She tails off where a name should be, and clears her throat.
You had big, big, big plans, you used to play gracefully with your mythical hands
Usually, even outlanders aren't quite so thrown by an attuned's transformation, and Hester feels a little, well, sheepish at having caused the fuss now. This woman really was new, and somehow that made her position all the more admirable. You really have to have a solid grasp of who you are to settle into a role like that so quickly.
"If it's part of your route, then I'd love the company!" Comes the polite chirp, the girl overjoyed to have some company to chatter at, and what interesting company the woman makes! Hester has only had the pleasure of meeting a few outlanders, and certainly not any who have arrived so recently.
Another bubbling laugh leaves Hester, though she offers her name before her answer. "Hester, of the Mac Girr an Adhastair's. It's a pleasure." Her surname rolls off tongue like a song, a long held point of glee to watch others squirm trying to tame the syllables, though thats not the goal this time. "And no, I'm not, unless it's convenient."
"Am I really the first attuned you've met?" Her head cocks as she readjusts the fluffy load on her hip, bright eyes now focused curiously on the strange guard. "How long have you been here?"
Mallorie manages to unfreeze herself from her startled state, and clears her throat. Hester seems harmless, if a little playful, and the shock of the transformation fades as she talks.
“That’s...impressive. I’ve not seen a transformation firsthand before,” Mallorie explains, wondering how much more obvious she could be about being an outlander without carrying a sign around. “Glad to keep you company.”
The younger woman seems willing to chat enough for the both of them, so Mallorie lets her. Nods her head at her introduction, and the name; it sounds pretty, melodic, not unlike some of the names she encountered among her extended elven brethren back home. She doesn’t fancy trying it though, lest she cause some terrible offence.
She introduces herself with an awkward, “Officer Woodbourne, I suppose. Mallorie if you feel more comfortable with that.”
Then she gestures for them to start walking down the street. Keeps a careful eye on Hester’s load, which looks too much for one woman, and yet Mallorie suspects if she offered to take some of it she’d receive a cheeky grin in response.
“I wouldn’t know if you’re the first, to be honest. Everyone I’ve met so far has been in human form which,” she waves a hand at Hester in general, “You don’t look any different from any other person in human form.”
Hester's next question catches her off-guard.
How long has she been here?
Mallorie has to think about it, punctuated by the crunch of her boots in the snow. She arrived just before the frost really set in and Halo was cut off, but she didn’t keep track in her earlier days here. A few weeks, a month maybe? She isn’t sure.
She hedges her bets.
“Since the start of the season. It’s..taken some getting used to.”
You had big, big, big plans, you used to play gracefully with your mythical hands
"I know other people have more impressive shifts than me." She offers with a shrug, pleased nonetheless at the surprise her shift caused. "My brother can turn into an ursur." The bag of wool at her side spoke to the individual uses of the shift though, and Hester rather smugly thought she came out on top.
"Which do you prefer?" Hester asks, letting the older woman decide just how formal she wanted to be treated. Either is fine with her, though the choice will affect how open she is with things. There's a difference between a friendly relationship, and a professional one, after all.
Of course the woman wouldn't know if she'd met an attuned before, if the shift wasn't made obvious. "That... makes sense, actually. I guess unless someone says something, everyone looks the same." A bright laugh leaves her. "How... does it work for outlanders? Were you... what you are now, where you came from?' It's an awkward wording, only befitting such an awkward question.
And it seems thats all she's asking, judging by the response Mallorie has to the question of how long she's been around. Hester wonders if she'd feel the same kind of pause, if she'd be as cavalier falling into another, inhospitable seeming world. "A bad time to fall in." The attuned tries to joke, tries to lighten the mood.
"It's nicer come Flowerbirth. The air stops trying to kill you."
She had assumed that shifts were probably tied to something intrinsic in a person, their blood. It sounds like it doesn’t work that way though, and now she wonders how many other misconceptions she has about this world - how long it’ll take to clear them up.
She tries not to sigh, says “Mallorie, please”, and carries on.
Hestor’s question is...tricky. How do you put into words your entire world?
“I came from a place that seems not too dissimilar, at first at least. We had magic and creatures not unlike yours, but...” She frowns and forges on. “It doesn’t really matter now. I’m here.”
She doesn’t mean to seem rude, but she also doesn’t see the point in dwelling on the past. There are things she missed and things she doesn’t - they’re much the same now, far away, fragile things. So Mallorie focuses on Hestor’s comments about timing instead.
“All about the timing,” she concedes, with the barest curve to her mouth, “I think of it as a test-run. If I can survive this, then maybe I have a chance of making a life here.”
Mallorie eyes Hestor as subtly as she can; she seems much less grim than expected, and it’s...endearing. Maybe there’s more to life here than hardship.
“You seem a lot more...upbeat than most Halovians I’ve met.”
You had big, big, big plans, you used to play gracefully with your mythical hands
Sure, an ursur seems impressive, but in terms of actual day to day usefulness, it's not high up. At least not as far as Hester is concerned, her shrug saying it all, at the expense of nearly sending her load toppling again, steps pausing as she gets balanced again.
"Mallorie it is then." Comes the bright acknowledgement, though she has to wonder at the sigh that precedes it.
At first, Hester is prepared for some kind of grand story, some wondrous telling of a world she doesn't even know how to begin imagining, though it very quickly becomes clear that's not what she's going to get. She knows a denial when she walks into it. "I didn't mean to pry." She offers quickly, while she has the chance. "You're just the first outlander I've actually spoken to." An explanation, no matter how it feels like an excuse, but at least it's better than nothing.
"That's a good way to look at it." She concedes. A very Halo way of looking at things, and she has to wonder again if there is a rhyme or reason for who gets pulled where. The next words draw Hester's eye back to Mallorie, her head cocking to the side.
"I just don't seeing the point in being..." She doesn't have a word, can't make a gesture, and so settles for a sullen sounding grumble, rolling her eyes while she does. "Halo is already dark, and cold, and hard. If I can choose to be something else, why wouldn't I?"
Mallorie appreciates Hestor not pressing for more information on her past life. If nothing else it would make for a depressing conversation, and Mallorie has learned that if she hopes to make connections then inciting misery doesn’t help. She stops when Hestor stops, raises her hands momentarily in case her bags come tumbling down again.
Good choice, she thinks. Feels a little smile tug at her lips at the preference for familiarity. In Mallorie’s experience people trust guards who they know better than those who remain distant pillars of authority. She wants to be...less distant here. Halo doesn’t seem large enough to allow for distance, for a start.
She blinks at Hestor’s apology.
“It’s fine. I just…” Mallorie frowns, thinking of the best way to phrase it. “I’m not so good at telling stories. I’m afraid it wouldn’t interest you much.”
Among other things.
Still though. Hestor seems well-intentioned, and Mallorie can’t fault her curiosity. She nods at her explanation and honestly? It seems sound.
“That’s a healthy attitude. You shape yourself, not the weather.”
Mallorie winces. For a moment she felt very much like a grandmother spouting platitudes, but she does believe Hestor is right. She hopes that comes across, instead of sounding patronising.
You had big, big, big plans, you used to play gracefully with your mythical hands
It always feels like one or the other, either she is too open in conversation, pushes too far, expects an amount of closeness immediately, or else she is too withdrawn, too quick to apologize and shrink back into a smaller space, worried about toeing out of line.
This time it feels like she's opted for too apologetic, if the drop in Mallorie's face is read right, and Hester feels like she needs to scramble to try and recover, to backstep into confidence, into easiness.
"You don't have to be good at telling stories if it's a story worth telling." Hester offered sagely, though the unspoken implication there was that some stories didn't want telling. They were past it now, though it was a story she would like to hear, eventually. When it was ready.
The proverb, or platitude, or whatever it might be is absolutely charming, and if her arms weren't full Hester would clap. As it is, all she can manage is a few extra stompy steps, and a squeal. "I love that! Did you just think of it?" Somehow, it summed up everything she wanted to do, made it snappy, easy to share.
The younger woman’s effusiveness charms Mallorie, she can’t deny it. She seems well-intentioned enough and Mallorie appreciates her willingness to let the subject lie.
“You’re right, of course,” she considers this - and her - before adding, “you sound like you know your way around a tale or two.”
Hester’s thoughts on a story were true enough. Mallorie wasn’t a storyteller, but even she knew that some tales weren’t worth the telling. Barely worth the living, in some cases. She shook her head gently and something not unlike a smile caught her unawares at Hestor’s reaction to her statement. Sweet, she thinks, at the squeal. Can’t remember ever being that enthused with anything herself.
She feels a little self-conscious but nods and answers to the affirmative with a “Mm.”
Mallorie thinks for a second before speaking again.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” she says, “are you fond of wordplay then?”
