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!
Under normal circumstances, the arrival of spring and the end of LongNight would’ve inspired relief, ruminations of the future, of dusting off the latest trauma, forging onward and ahead to the next disaster or recovery. Except now he paid nearly no attention to the buds breaking through winter’s eaves, to the grass striving to grow towards the returned sun. These latest consequences, events, and circumstances weren’t so easily shaken away; still clinging to his shoulders, to his essence, to his existence, an eternal struggle of strife and catacombs, of the ghosts continuing to linger behind his eyes.
And he’d helped put her there.
The sorrow mixed in with trepidation, apprehension, consternation, until all he reflected was a monolithic posture, staring off into the void, waiting for the horizon to present another dilemma. Any elation, any excitement, over Kiada’s impending arrival from Halo (the assortment of stories, of triumphs, of trials, of tribulations) had contorted over his heart and cursed the fixtures into dread. It barraged and rampaged, settling deep into his chest, until the restlessness coiled over him and he maneuvered amongst the trees, Zuriel following close behind, further and further, so the Sword could glare at the Spire, offering naught else for the moment. He’d done enough damage, and was likely to instigate more, simply by his impending news.
do not fear the dark, wolf cub, for when the sun leaves the world,
So far things went well, and once the portal is stepped through with Chulane at her side, she directs him where to go for the Grounds. And it’s a bit different than she remembers it once they emerge from the Spire’s portal, the earth around muddy and rainy, a dreary damp day in comparison to the snow she’s so used to. But she can see the greenery peeking through the remains of snow, and she breathes in a fresh breath of relief, shedding her furs and the extra jacket, her gloves as well and stuffing them into the bag.
And she bids her fellow grounders goodbye, stepping over to the side, toward the Glade where she recalls Deimos mentioning he’d meet her there – provided nothing happened during LongNight to him, that is. She walks with Chulane, keeping him close and guiding him to the place she knows far better than Halo despite the months she’d spent in the snowy tundra.
Then she spots him, the towering monolith that she looked up to like a father. Flashing a grin toward Chulane, she drapes her small pack along Auni’s sides, moving to run to Deimos without much of a glance toward the Sword, focused too entirely on someone else she knows from her youth. Arms expand and she crashes into him in a wide hug, tight and close as she closes her eyes, missing all the damper of the mood he’s in, far too pleased and elated at seeing him waiting for her just as he’d said he would be.
the world fears you
KIADA
Kiada has a large X scar on the right side of her neck.
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Kiada, without killing her <3
He watched and waited, mountain and iron, monolith and Colossus, neither swayed by the branches and boughs, by the waving grasses, by the fronds straining closer; but by the abyss, by the stranglehold grief had upon him. Nonchalance and reticence was an eternal, careful veneer, a pretense worn by his features, a mask to hide the misery. A joke, perhaps, when it was clear from the way he moved, from the way he stood, that he was chained and tethered to the despondency, to the trepidation shackling, closing, over marrow and ichor, flesh and bone, reaching for something never to rise again.
The Sword scanned, predacious, rapacious scrutiny far too embedded in his existence to ever leave, no matter the rancorous entanglements contorting along his brow. Eventually, beyond the streamline of birds shifting in the sky, beyond clouds drifting overhead, there were figures, and he searched for the one most familiar. The beast ignored the apprehensive pounding of his heart, advancing from the wooded thickets, straying from the glade, until a lone individual came racing towards him. A sigh of relief bounded and ricocheted through his lungs, because at least through all the potential turmoil, she was safe. After everything they’d been through this season, those ruminations were enough in this moment, in this instant.
On natural instinct, he opened up his arms, withstood her crash, sweeping her up against his chest – protective and guarding and shielding. Strong, stalwart, steadfast, yearning to ensure something in his grasp was secure, his arms equally wrapped around her lithe figure. Maybe she wouldn’t notice if he held her a little tighter. Intending to be somewhat obnoxious, a callback to days upon days of times not so damned, not so harsh, he blatantly placed his entire head on top of hers. A reverberation, a rumble, crooned and beckoned, longing to ensure sanctity, sanctums, before everything else flickered and fell apart. “You all right?”
do not fear the dark, wolf cub, for when the sun leaves the world,
His arms open up for her like a beacon, and she dives straight into his embrace, tight and gentle – if it’s tighter than normal, she doesn’t notice. Not with the fact that it had been months since they’d last seen one another. Her dark hair had grown, been singed, grown again – muscles remaining fit along her arms and the very same feathers peppering the edges of her shoulders and neck from the emotional intensity of finally seeing him once more.
And when his voice rumbles for her, she squeezes him and presses her head into his chest. “I’m good.” She says with a slight breathy laugh, soft and gentle. It’s true – she was great all things considered. The Grounders had made it, been decent guests as far as she was aware, and after that? After that she’d not had to spend the rest of LongNight alone with her mind racing a million miles a minute.
“How did it go, here? A… Lot happened in Halo after the letter I sent you.” She says, unsure which ones he’d received or if the portal had eaten certain communications. All she could do was hope for the best, that things were alright here in order to deliver the blows of the news from Halo.
the world fears you
KIADA
Kiada has a large X scar on the right side of her neck.
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Kiada, without killing her <3
I’m good rebounded, she was alive and well and whole, and that was far better than the Sword had ever expected coming out of LongNight’s hell. So with one last tight squeeze, he released her back down to the soil, the earth, the ground, relinquishing her if she wished for it. The question thereafter, where reality had to set in at claw its talons down his spine, across his back, upon his neck, curl and coil and contort like the dreaded noose, made him falter, stare off into the distance. It was a measure to compose himself, instead of drowning under the wake of the impending anguish, instead of feeling the tightening ropes, instead of heading straight into disaster.
But maybe that was all they ever did.
“Not well,” he started, and while he would’ve normally bit into the curiosity of Halo’s events, of the letters he’d read over and over and over again, the more pending news had to arrive first. He shifted his gaze to look upon her, to search her stare, committing it to memory, before some predilection of hatred, of wrath, of contempt appeared, glared back at him. “The door protected us from monsters, but it had similar effects on Ascended.” The monolith should’ve known, should’ve understood, the measures and calculations behind it – but he’d been so damned hellbent on protecting everyone in their clustered threshold, that he hadn’t estimated, predicted, this outcome. Rexanna hadn’t survived his measures. “Your mother went out on LongNight, with another Ascended boy.” One of the others had said Clem, and the youth was a brief recollection in his mind – all of his agony reserved for the Penumbra, for Thieves who could no longer wield their daggers, or snag information underneath cloaks. “They came back, and must have touched the door -,” a sharp inhale followed, because he hadn’t seen, he hadn’t known, could only surmise final, disastrous moments. “When I opened it, they had already perished.”
And now what? A thousand apologies? A multitude of regrets? A lifetime of redemption, for things he couldn’t fix? They might be able to gain her soul back, but never her form, her existence, her presence, on this corporeal plain. The burden weighed down on his shoulders, the sorrow glimpsed through any angle of his poorly-wrought mask, and all he could do was stand in wait.
do not fear the dark, wolf cub, for when the sun leaves the world,
Oh, how a million things change as soon as he lets her go. She gets a good look at him, all her smiles and brightness deflating the moment she beholds the cracks in the mask, the stony foundation she’d learned to look up to like a father. It pierces her, her smile faltering immediately as he tells her that it hadn’t gone well. Her first thought is Amalia, Kiada’s arms dropping to her sides as she focuses on Deimos with a sudden intensity to her gaze, as if she could reach into his mind and find out what happened exactly.
She doesn’t have to, however, because Deimos has always been a man of few words, but whatever few words there were it never beat around the topic. It was always exactly what was needed. Only this time it hurts, it hurts as she hears about the door and the possibility of it being an issue for the Ascended. And that’s when her stomach begins to drop – because while Amalia and Deimos were certainly not Ascended, her mother is.
“They came back, and must have touched the door – when I opened it, they had already perished.” She can feel the air brush out of her lungs, of all the things she’d raged against the Penumbra for, things out of that version of her mother’s control. And now she’d never get the chance to apologize. Never get a chance to see her mother follow up on the promise that things were different and she was a changed woman.
She supposes those promises did come true, because she didn’t think that she’d have to witness her mother’s burial, pyre, farewell. All the light fades within her original smile and she takes a step back, blinking as it hits her, all the fury and rage and denial. But she knows that he wouldn’t lie to her about this. And that’s when the tightness of her throat sets in, when those bright icy eyes soften with a shift of a glassy sheen of tears and her hands drop to her side, the realization hitting her as her hands begin to shake and tremble. “She’s… Gone? Just like that?” Kiada whispers, the sharp pain hitting her heart like thousands of tiny stakes.
the world fears you
KIADA
Kiada has a large X scar on the right side of her neck.
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Kiada, without killing her <3
Another waiting game, and it pulsed, crushed, mauled, to watch her features alter, conform to that rapt intensity he knew so well – only this time it was in the beginning arcs of despair. Were he able to shield her from it, he would have, guarded, sheltered from the storm, but this onslaught was of his own making, and he doubted she’d care for his presence much longer. The weight of his words, the sharp precision of their syllables and phrases, clipped and held back so he didn’t fall apart again, sharpened over her, and it might’ve been a worse blow than all his other mutinous, self-loathing thoughts.
Did they ever have a chance to reconcile? Did they ever truly embark upon a new foundation? Or had it all been cast aside, bygones and treachery, denial and rejection, rues and regrets, unsettled and uncertain? Had he ripped that away from them too?
Why wouldn’t the ground just swallow him whole now? Let it be over and done with, so that he didn’t have to keep enduring these endless, eternal agonies? So that he paid for his crimes, his transgressions, his sins?
She stepped back and he didn’t give chase; expected her to flee from him, from the news, from the merciless, unrelenting edges of cold days and mercenary evenings, where all he’d craved was security and all he’d granted was despair. Her tears and her trembling urged him onward, but he stayed, rigid, taut, and unyielding, merely so he didn’t follow in the same paths, struggling to remember what it was like to be detached. Numb. Apathetic. Indifferent. Completely uncaring about anyone, anything, other than mountains and the rest of the world burning down around him.
Her whisper clawed at him, and his shuddering breath was the only thing that could prevail. “Yes.” Gone, an existence erased. It hit harder, above his ribs and lungs, circling over his heart like an anvil, like a barrage, like an assault, like a siege. "There will be a pyre." A service to follow, where memories could be untangled or feelings mauled. He had no other words to give her but the finality of it all, his head bowed and his heart broken.
The journey to the portal had been interesting but ultimately uneventful - he'd discovered a new shift, one that called to his homeland, one that flew, but otherwise he'd simply enjoyed the company of Kia, feeling the excitement of the Grounders who were finally released from the confines of Halo and able to return to their home. He felt it too, if he was being honest, for it meant he was able to have a break, a change in pace, and with Kia by his side, he felt like he was ready for the world before them.
He hung back when the monolith of a man became visible, when the excitement in Kia informed him who it was. He smiled easily at her grin, watching as she ran towards him - purposefully finding something else to do, helping others where he could, unwilling to venture too far away from her but not wanting to intrude on their moment.
He'd met Deimos before, though neither of them had been wearing these skins then. He'd been a leopard, still new to this world and the shift he wore, still unknown, mostly lost, seeking guidance and help from others who'd so graciously given it to him. Now he was a member of society, helping others, given a job, a purpose, daring to have hopes and dreams to achieve. And he'd met Kia too, met her and gotten to know her very well, so much so that she had become a part of that purpose, those hopes and dreams within him. Then there was Deimos, the mountain of a man, the hellhound on the night they'd met, the steady figure in Kia's life, who he would have to meet, to impress, to thank for their first meeting all over again.
Something was wrong, though. And it didn't take long to figure out what. As he helped a family of Grounders reunite, carrying packs and handing them to those who had remained here, those who waited for their loved ones to return, he heard talk of what events had unfolded here.
Everyone had said to him that Longnight was always hard, Deimos included, in their first meeting. Chulane had been naïve, confident that they would all survive without knowing. 'The Queen is dead,' he heard, 'the door was cursed.'
It took a moment longer than it needed to, as his mind tried to knit things together, to understand the implications of everything he heard. It was all said not directly to him, and that is why it took so many moments for realisation to hit, for understanding to dawn. Shit, he thought, standing tall to redirect his gaze back to where the woman and the man stood, now apart, conversation having evolved, information having been given, the tide of devastation soon to arrive.
He moved quickly now, all thoughts of first introductions fled; he only thought of her now, of being there for her, supporting, comforting, being whatever she needed him to be in this moment. "Kia," his low voice said, as he came up behind her, close and familiar, a nod given to Deimos. He had wanted to do so much better, to greet the man with smiles and handshakes, but it wasn't to be - he had to be here now, for her, for Kia. A hand reached out, to rest on her shoulder, to gently pull her into his embrace, to be her strength in this moment where her world was tilting, to offer her a place of comfort and solace in amongst the chaos of the moment.
do not fear the dark, wolf cub, for when the sun leaves the world,
She doesn’t know what she wants to do. She doesn’t know whether she wants to rush toward Deimos, to embrace him and comment that it wasn’t his fault – that he couldn’t have known that the door would do that – hadn’t known to warn the Ascended from touching it just in case. Shouldn’t they have known? Figured it out? Considering the fact the creatures that roamed LongNight were terrible creatures of the darkness were essentially first generation Ascendeds?
Her heart hurts, it hurts to look at Deimos, an open yawning void she hadn’t felt since the day she’d failed in her attempts to get Ru’in back. It hurts everywhere and she’s frozen in place as the tears spill over pale wind chapped cheeks. ”There will be a pyre.” A farewell when she’d missed out on so much attempts to make it better. She thought she’d have longer, to regain that connection with her mother instead of her rebellious youthfulness trying to prove she didn’t need her.
She realizes now that she possibly needed her mother more than she’d let on. And she could rage and scream and cry as much as she wanted, but it’d do no good. Her hand lifts to wipe at her cheeks, to brush away the tears and avert her gaze from Deimos when Chulane’s hand warms her shoulder, and she shudders out an exhale.
Deimos didn’t approach her, she knows why, but it still hurts too.
So she turns toward Chuy, keeping her composure the best she can, hating the fact that she’s crying and he has to witness this, but still being thankful he was here regardless for it, even if she’d yet to introduce him to Deimos more officially. So she squeezes his arm, a silent pulse of ‘hang on’ to Chulane as she turns her shaking and shuddering attention toward Deimos, stepping a few steps to him and diving into him again. I’m sorry. She tells him, though it’s able to be heard by Chulane as well. You… You didn’t know.
the world fears you
KIADA
Kiada has a large X scar on the right side of her neck.
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Kiada, without killing her <3
Still a predator in the midst of melancholy, lamenting, and rue, the piercing stature of his eyes took in the approaching man. They only narrowed further in speculation, in intrigue, and then a blunt note of irritation at the overly familiar tone and actions taken. Were he not so coiled in grief there might’ve been a growl, a rumble, a threatening, barbaric sway to his stature – instead the unsaid, unholy menace reverted back to nonchalance, to reserve, to waves of primordial predilection collected in his ether. Spine rigid and taut, head tilted in regard, a feral scrutinizing that came with the territory of warrior machinations, he likely should’ve recognized some mannerisms, but the movements presiding around Kiada blinded him to a more irreverent, emboldened tone. “Who are you?” And the fact that the Harpy permitted the figure to loom around said hundreds of things Deimos hadn’t been quite prepared for. Not now, not in the damned haunted, hollowed eaves.
He didn’t know what to do any longer when Kiada stepped back into his arms; apologies echoing through his mind, the regrets churning over and over in response. But I should have answered and scathed in return, the loathing, contempt, wrath, and abhorrence reserved for himself. Should’ve known, should’ve been able to see the writing on the walls, the way manipulations, distortions, and ministrations had been cast. That his protection meant so very little. That his thoughts had measured to nothing. That gods would be gods, that demons would be demons, and his actions had merely advanced infidel incantations, avaricious designs, and the coming of something else in the distance. They’d done the opposite of what he’d strived for – and here was the aftermath, rankling down the fringes of everything he’d stood for. His arms returned around her, likely needing it just as much as the Harpy, steeling and fortifying another breath, uncertain how to move forward, onward. “What else happened in Halo?”
He was in limbo, in between wanting to pull Kia into his chest, to wrap his arms around her, and to just hold her, to let her cling to him as much as he would to her. But it wasn't to be, not yet - he stood by her all the same, his hand upon her shoulder, not pushing or asking more than whatever she was ready for. To Deimos' hard stare and enquiry, he steeled himself, hiding the sense of déjà vu that wanted to rip a laugh from his lips as the words echoed the first question the hellhound had lodged at him. Another time, when tragedy had not just struck, he might have indeed smiled, and laughed, and said 'A friend,' in return, to see what reaction he could elicit from the man; but that was not this time, not this moment.
"Chulane," he offered, his expression rightly concerned, his tone soft, yet serious and clear. "I am sorry for your loss," he added, remaining where he was even as Kia stepped forward, away from him and towards the mountain of a man once more. He stood back, close enough to be present, far away enough to not intrude (too much, at least). He was here for Kia, and by extension, Deimos too, in whatever capacity they would have him. He heard her words, feeling the weight of her sadness and sorrow in them, simply taking deep and steadying breaths as he waited, stoic and steadfast, appearing strong when he didn't know exactly what to do next.
Deimos supplied it, a purpose, a task he could accomplish. What else happened in Halo? Ah, but what else didn't happen in Halo? He knew that Kia had sent a letter about the Palace falling, and had received Deimos' reply, but then the weather had closed in on them, the ravens not strong enough to fly through blizzards. "Warden Weaver Hale died, by a dragon." He supplied the words, short and succinct, to the point, swallowing the emotion her memory summoned within him. "Morgan Aristomache stands as Warden now. The Grounders and most of the Citadel sought refuge in the Academy for Longnight, and endured." He didn't elaborate further, not yet - he wanted to supply the pertinent facts, to provide answers.
do not fear the dark, wolf cub, for when the sun leaves the world,
The sharp tone of Deimos’ ‘who are you’ goes above her head as she rolls with all of the pain and sorrow of what the days news has brought. She can’t find it in herself to answer for him, thankful when Chulane answers for himself. And at this point, she’s bounding toward Deimos, pressing herself into him as if she might be able to absorb some of his guilt – gods knew she had enough guilt of her own too – and the quiet broken half sobbed attuned bond’s apology is met with a stalwart, quiet and just as painful response. How? How could you possibly know it would do that? How could he think that he could know everything?
But she doesn’t question it as she remains pressed into his embrace, as Chuy behind her explains what else happened in Halo and Kiada quietly lets the tears rack through her body into his embrace. She lets them go for a few moments, before she composes herself a small amount, sniffling and swallowing down the pain again. “A white dragon.” Comes her muffled amends, trying to compose herself enough through the pain of everything toppled on top of one another.
And when she pulls away ever so slightly, she remains in his arms, her head lifting up to look at Deimos’ face. “After the Palace attack and Weaver’s death… It went to some sort of normal... We left as soon as we could.” It helps, keeping her attention on everything else other than her own pain, stuffing it down in an attempt to try and push it away to focus on in the darkness of night.
the world fears you
KIADA
Kiada has a large X scar on the right side of her neck.
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Kiada, without killing her <3
The name the man provided, familiar even without the leopard form, conjured a snort out of the beast. Of autumn evenings and hellhound movements, savage strides unwound for knowledge and sagacity. “Chulane,” he nodded; remembering the minuscule tour he’d rendered, of bakeries and Shields, of training grounds and barracks, of things that felt like lifetimes ago, when only a season separated the notions. Were it better circumstances, he could’ve done more than growl or steel himself, instead there was a rumble, a reverberation, of irritation beyond the anguish, uncertain of anything and everything, relying on base instincts to calm the brimming, brewing exasperation. “You two seem close.” Not snide, not indifferent, but a statement warranting an explanation (something else had been laden amidst Halo predilections and provocations; failed to mention in any of the Harpy’s letters).
Any resolution to pursuing it further dropped like an anvil at the rest of Chulane’s news. So did his heart, cracked and punctured and blackened long, long before, chiseling another brittle vessel into bits of debris and ash. Weaver Hale, the Scythe, gone and dead, vanquished by a dragon.
It sounded like a joke, but it was really just seasons and cycles, patterns of his life, meant to knot and gnarl all over again. He tightened his hold on Kiada simply by accident, a tether, a line, an anchor where he could steel himself again, jaw tightening, resolve doing its best to hold him together by frayed ends, strands, and seams. Another friend taken, another bond severed, by misfortune, stupidity, or one and the same – recalling a woman of strength, conviction, and fire. A portion of him nearly asked how that could be possible, but circumstances varied here, in these damned halls of hell, and where he’d been capable of predicting warfare, flanks, and skirmishes, he was out of his elements here. When he thought he understood, something else felled him.
Weaver had known about dragons – likely heard about them all her life. What had she been doing?
Stunned, he missed Kiada’s inquiry entirely, the notions, ruminations, and sentiments curling past him. All he wanted to do now was flicker, dissolve, crawl into a hole, be whisked away by the darkness, by the surface threatening to drown him alive, willing to be taken by its current. The torment and agony seemed to continue assaulting, bludgeoning, gone from torture in the Temple, to anguish in the glade – where was he supposed to escape? Evade? Heal?
Was there any point?
Consumed, very little held him together now, the scraps of information collected in the back of his mind, something to peruse, consider, and ponder when he wasn’t swallowed down by the constant void. No more he pleaded to Kiada, silently, hushed, a feral whisper. I cannot take anymore.
All he could surmise was a brief nod, his head upon hers while he barely remained upright, asking for her strength because he was done, and a lacquered conviction. “I am glad you are safe.”
And so he was recognised, and he thanked his stars that the man held him in enough esteem to not simply dismiss him. Instead, he repeated the name, Chulane, and made a statement that wasn't so much an accusation as it was an observation, one that wanted further elaboration - and such explanation would come, but not today, not with everyone else that had to be said. Chulane simply didn't deny it, didn't reject the notion - they were close, Kia his confidant, his most trusted friend, his lover, his strength when he faltered, and he could only hope that he was hers in all regards as well. He nodded, accepting the man's assessment, silently promising to explain further on it when the moment was less filled with heartache and sorrow, with disastrous news and updates.
He watched the effects his words had, hating that he had to say them, appreciating the clarification where it was needed from Kia's own words - even in her sorrow, she found a way to support him, to help him, to guide him. He wanted to tell her it was OK to let go, OK to lose her 'composure', OK to cry and rage and lean on him, she didn't have to be strong all the time. But she was determined to be, her words coming even through tears and hiccoughs and sniffles, their meaning clear all the while. He watched as the mountain of a man clung to her, feeling his own sense of protectiveness rise up - he almost wanted to intervene, to step in, but he schooled himself, practiced his patience, knowing that Kia was strong enough to bear it, knowing she needed it as much as Deimos, knowing that it wasn't his time yet to step in, knowing they needed this time, together, just them.
He sighed, and nodded again in agreement with the words of the man. Their safety was something they could both agree to be thankful for, their mutual survival, even if the man hadn't meant to include Chulane in that sentiment. He remained mostly silent, nodding where appropriate, letting them have their moment, swallowing his own emotions down and away - it wasn't his time to feel, it wasn't his moment. After an undefinable amount of time, he softly suggested, words spoken with kindness, with understanding of the weight they carried, the sorrow they were enduring, but also aware that the world must keep turning, and they along with it lest they perish as well. "Let's get these Grounders home," he offered when emotions had settled and stabilised, when it was appropriate to suggest they move on - and he would be there with them, to hold a hand or an embrace, to lean on, to hear their words, to support them as they navigated this new world with fewer familiars faces to greet them when they finally did get home.
