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!
LongNight is scant days away, but Evie knows the man she has called here so last minute is always willing to venture out, is not the type to fold beneath worries and anxieties. She is limbering up as she waits, stretching idly and testing the range of motion that she currently has after days of grueling work preparing for LongNight. This year she has had a far more active role, and it has been exhausting. And yet here she stands, watching as her companion comes ambling down the road, graceful for all his lumbering mass. Her smile is a quirk of mischief and sheepishness. "I just wanted to test my limits before LongNight. Feel a little better about my abilities before everything goes to hell." Approaching, she offers a strip of fabric and a devilish grin. "I was thinking blindfolded? In case our lights go out, I'd like to be able to rely on my ears."
a golden cage, for all it's worth is still just a cage
Last minute intervals, and not minding in the least – otherwise he’d been preparing for the multitudes of armory he intended to load into his bag of holding, and anything else they might require. A way to keep him busy, entertained before the impending, capricious terrors, mind capable of honing in on precision, even amongst and amidst more ridiculous endeavors.
And it was Evie, so there was little hesitation in the matter.
He arrived, but no need for armaments at the ready. It’d be magic, incantations and enchantments, blistering maneuvers and cataclysmic displays; or opportunities to hone in precision, to sense rather than aim. So he nodded at his sister-in-law’s notions, not bothered in the least. “Blindfolded,” earned a smirk, as he’d committed to the same sort of provocation earlier in the season, only against a dragon and in hound form. The beast snorted as he tied it around his eyes, much easier to do with hands instead of a snout, then backed away a few paces. “Ready?”
And then a volley of promised contortions – easy at first – sentiments and segments of his least-practiced wieldings, the air circulating around him, building, brewing, brimming, until he sent it forward, intending for it to be a distracting measure.
For all the fact she is a year older, her grin is girlish and more akin to one worn by a little sister being spoiled by her elder brother as Deimos' rapacious smirk promises that her offer will be taken up. Happily handing over the blindfold, she waits to see him lift it to his eyes - one can never allow Deimos the upper hand - before her own hands rise to cut any light and vision from her gaze. It's already quite disorienting, but she focuses on the sound of the man's rumbling voice as he speaks to orient herself. "Ready."
And in the silence there is the sound of wind, unmistakable and slightly louder than normal with how it whistles across the snow. She has no real defense against it magically, instead waiting for the noise to grow louder as it approaches before awkwardly trying to dodge out of the way. Mostly unsuccessfully with how it knocks into her, nearly sending her off her feet. She reaches for her own magic, earth shifting and roiling beneath Deimos' feet (or where she thinks it is after getting blown a little off course) to try and destabilize his rooted grip.
a golden cage, for all it's worth is still just a cage
Here, much like when he fought with Jigano, he cannot watch and wait. Battle had made him prone to just that – to detecting an enemy’s maneuver through the twitch of muscles, through concentrated memories, accorded adjustments. There was no relying on those particular senses now, only listening, waiting for some telltale sign of impending jurisdictions. The beast was a statuesque, defiant monolith, portrayed in the inevitable.
He couldn’t hear how his wind was met; just perhaps a buffeting nuance, a shake in the trees, a glimmer on the vestiges. Beneath his feet though, something else stirred. The earth rumbled, despite its frozen wares, and so he breathed, sent his own rooted enchantments down into the bulwarks, striving to render the ground still strong, still sturdy, still formidable and stabilized beneath his feet.
And if it happened to ricochet, bound beneath the surface towards Evie’s own stance and stature, that’d work for him too.
Fighting blind is not something that Evie has ever been used to. To be fair, fighting is not something that Evie has really ever been used to before he came into her life. Although she has grown in leaps and bounds ever since he has taken her beneath his wing, fighting blindfolded is still something that she is not quite prepared for. Nonetheless, she fully intends to give this her all. Though her attack is unsuccessful (or so she assumes) there is little time given for spare moments in between. No hesitation, no doubt or room for overthinking. In this way, the academy and the way Zariah conducted their training, has become useful to her in her current life.
Even as her own feet are unseated from the earth she stumbles backwards and automatically lifts a hand as if to orchestrate a symphony. Bidding the Earth to divot and buckle beneath her opponent. Hoping instead of unbalancing him, that perhaps she can force snow into his boots and cause him to stumble once more. Meanwhile, she lets her feet carry her backwards away from the turbulent ground until she can find a stable stance once more.
a golden cage, for all it's worth is still just a cage
Deimos had, fortunately or unfortunately, been built upon fighting. It was in his blood, in his instincts, in every ounce of muscle, mettle, and machination. It’d become second nature to defy anything and everything threatening, warning, or evading; a measure of calculations, preparations, and abilities at the ready, for when the world raised its hackles and yearned to break. To fight for kin and country, to wage wars upon realms, to wreak havoc when damnation seemed so very near – but then it’d all been bloodthirsty, ripping, tearing, contorting, menacing.
And here it was immersed in between tides of repose, where the realm stretched and beckoned for infusions of barbarity, and they found sanctums, sanctuaries, havens to practice for the foreboding cataclysms. So he stayed, ready, willing, and able, to assist them all in whatever situations they found themselves within, in whatever dangers or treacheries they faced – because it was normalcy, even on the boundaries and fringes of freedom.
The Sword’s concentration must’ve waned briefly, for he could feel the snow trickling into his boots, the chilling, familiar soul another time, another place, rearing its frigid gaze – and he laughed in spite of it all, maneuvering his feet several paces away. Which meant it was a little disorienting, and there was a chance he’d lost his directional insistence towards her.
So, time for another maneuver – a wave of water, gaping and wide, took center stage, intending to sweep along the ground and rise up over whatever stood before its path.
There's a level of safety here with him that she cannot compare with anyone else. Evie would trust no other with fighting magically with blindfolds, and she certainly wouldn't have proposed the idea herself either. But here they are, aiming recklessly, sure of their own power and what they can do with it without injuring each other. It's as intimate and meaningful as a trust fall, but instead with choreographed moves and instinctual pulls.
Deimos' laugh makes her grin, satisfied and vindictive. However she can tell he's moving by the sound as it trails off, and she hesitates before making the next move, unsure of how far he has moved and what land he has traversed. It is her downfall, completely overcome by the water that bowls her over ass-end into the snow with a squeal that turns into her own raucous laughter. Struggling up to her knees Evie reaches again for earth, not nearly so worldly and powerful as Deimos, and commands the roots beneath to grow as fast as possible and try to wrap around any limb they can reach. Hoping she's at least somewhat on the mark to avenge her now soaked clothes and wet hair stuck to her face.
a golden cage, for all it's worth is still just a cage
The Sword always held a respectful level in his machinations and ministrations – then orchestrated what was needed, required, for the impending enchantments. For those he trained, there was a fundamental level of trust: he would utilize his skills, but not so emboldened, ferocious, or degrading, in efforts to heighten their own. The battlefield was an entirely different method, mode, and measure, bombarding, twisting, turning, implementing every bloodthirsty rampart, armament, and devastating manner at his disposal. He could differentiate, ensure, and wield; the differences eternally clear.
And it wasn’t often that he laughed in the midst of it all, but such was the comfort of sanctity and security, for him just as much as the rest.
Evie’s own peal of amusements, the subsequent thump in the snow ensured he’d made his mark. A Cheshire grin, little snicker, neither of them could see appeared across his mouth, and then he waited once more the incoming rebuttal. It ended up snaking around his left leg, distorting vines and roots grown from the frozen soil, and he chuckled again, shaking his head, incapable of seeing it before it’d snagged and pulled.
Feeling, as he tugged back, insinuated the next and final maneuver of his training regime: though not wholly directed at her, but at the plants laden at his feet. Life drain, honed from his figure since before, wound and coiled, and then unleashed in feral tidings, sweeping down to eliminate the earthen, eldritch predilections, to leave them reeling and drained.
So entrenched in the fun that this has shaped up to be, Evie doesn't have time to grudgingly appreciate the fortification against cold that the Academy has supplied her. Instead she focuses on the way Deimos' magic works, the draw and ebb of life that cripples the roots that she can feel no longer responding. It makes her frown; unseen, unnoticed. A freedom of expression not normally provided in this time and place. Something familiar and meaningful tickling at the edge of her consciousness. Instead she has the seeds bloom and puff, hoping the bombardment of free floating debris will tickle and tease, get sucked into his nose and mouth like the worst dream of any sickly soul with seasonal allergies.
a golden cage, for all it's worth is still just a cage
Well, he hadn’t been expecting seasonal allergies.
The seeds bombard and invade, and he sneezed a multitude of times before eventually shaking his head and regaining some semblance of self-control (in between more laughing). Eventually, after gathering his wits, the beast summoned the air once more, billowing and blowing the puffs and pollinators away – the sensation of alleviating them from every nuance of his nose finally freeing the liberating burden.
Snorting once more, he took the opportunity to lift his blindfold, the charade and show over for now. “Nice trick,” insinuated on the arch of his brow and the wrinkle of his nose, boyish and impish after less-than-devastating maneuvers. “Your magic has improved.” Since the last time he’d seen her, which meant Zariah’s predilections had been worth something, loathe as he’d be to admit it out loud.
Evie can't even summon the ability or energy to rise from the substrate, keeled over with her laughter as the sound of deep, ricocheting sneezes keeps her earthbound with her shaking laughter. Honestly she hadn't expected it to work, but she has definitely focused on creativity after the frustrating Academy training. When she removed her blindfold her blue eyes are wet and bright with mirth, still soaked and now coated in mud from the snow and muck beneath.
"Trying to rely more on creativity than brute strength," she concedes, too well bred to outright thank him or swoon despite the way she undoubtedly lights up at his praise. It still means so much to her after all. Wandering closer, her face draws to a more inquisitive expression. "Deimos, that last bit of magic you used...what was it? It's very similar to something that was used on me once, but I don't think either of us knew what caused it at the time." Is Dante perhaps Abandoned too then?
a golden cage, for all it's worth is still just a cage
He rubbed the unfortunate watering of his eyes, side effects of the seedlings, palms closing over his gaze for a moment as Evie recovered too – and on a second thought, he summoned the freezing particles of water off of her, permitting them to linger and reside elsewhere. They both looked a little worse for wear, but not from injury, which could be considered incredibly successful in any training venture.
“Clever,” Deimos nodded and intoned; because it was. Being a cretin of said brute strength but also willing to delve into further calculations, ruses, schemes, and trickery, for one could never rely solely on muscle alone, he understood the depths, the persistence, and the undertaking it required. Evie would be able to go far if she continued to improve in both capability and framework.
While he pieced things back together, removing snow from his boots, his head raised back up on her inquiry – not quite expecting it. There was no hint of malice or menace, fear or terror, mere inquisition on her part. “Life Drain.” The name itself was an implication of its abilities, the rendering of snagging, catching, decimating, and destroying.
She smiles brightly at the praise, still vaguely amused at the seeds clinging to the outer edges of the man's hair and beard. With a flick of her hand she returns the favor, depositing them upon the wind to maybe revive the Ruins over time. Though she's quickly distracted by the name, and hums softly, thoughtfully, as she ponders over it. "Thank you. I believe I know a young boy with the same talent, though I don't believe he's aware of it. I'll see what I can do to help him control it." Shaking herself out of it, she gives a gamely smile and gestures for them to begin walking, leaving behind the disaster of their improvised training ground.
- FIN
a golden cage, for all it's worth is still just a cage
