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!
His eyes didn’t leave hers, riveted and immersed, content in the piercing onyx shades, in the life of cosmos and galaxies, in the command of her attention solely on him. He orchestrated the same, nothing and no one else in his gaze, save for her, absorbed and attentive, step for step, chase for chase. The beast waited for her to flee, for limbs to spring, for motives to catch, for amusements to beckon, court, and bellow in the seams and strands of their favored upheavals. Mischief and devilish accord, ensconced in the brief, hungry, avaricious movements, juvenile sedition unfurling along his mouth.
However, he didn’t expect the hunt to end so abruptly. Where he’d intended to stalk and preside, pursue and trail, rush and follow, to let her know she was sought with every breath he took; she collided into the makeshift wall. There were opportunities to escape and evade, to the air and skies, to opposing sides, to continue in the cycle of their ridiculousness – but she merely stood, defined by the earthen creations. He arched a brow in confusion, plans drifting on a different course now, shifting and turning, until an abrupt snort echoed and rumbled, shaking his head.
Then, since they’d already reached the conclusion, he extended his hand, an offering towards her. “Dance?” Tradition; the stoking of beginnings, earnest delights and recalled misconducts between crowds. “Though we do not have anyone to run into.” A shrug, as if this made the shenanigans less sporting. “Perhaps we can think of another point system.”
I belong to you the way the moon belongs to the stars
The game is over, but it is not through fault of his. Something about the wall arrests her, stops her heart and starts it again. The darkness that lurks beneath the surface claws its way toward the top, punching through cracks in her facade as memories surge to the fore.
No. Not this. Not now.
She presses her hands against the construction and feels the roar rising in her ears, A wall of stone around her, a darkness, a shadow, and a flash of light, a noise like thunder, a bang-. Blood and pain and the boy she is holding is suddenly nothing at all, a human reduced to an empty husk as viscera coats the Shield like rain, bone slicing into skin--
His voice, an anchor in the storm. She turns to him like a flower to sun, like a ship to shore. His hand is there, so large, so stable; she slips her own within, taking comfort in the realness of it, in the way her palm feels against his. "I... have an idea," the Shield says softly, looking up into his eyes with a shy and hopeful smile. "It won't be a traditional dance, but... well. Do you trust me?"
i belong to you the way the stars belong to the moon
He’d wanted normalcy, just a small figment, a fraction, of things foolish and ridiculous, how they’d once drawn moments together instead of apart. Perhaps it’d been inane, to try and strive for woven threads made before trauma, before more jagged lines and ivory scars, chasing down seconds and snippets when they hadn’t been broken, frayed, and barbed. Maybe it was too late, and this was what they were now. He watched as she pressed her way into the wall, where he believed she would’ve flown, would’ve run, would’ve fled any silly pulse of mayhem, not stopped by stone (never had been before). Something choked in his chest, the quiet and slow strangulation of his soul, and he rendered the magic gone. It dissipated back into the earth, sinking along sand, dunes, rocks erased or replaced, and if only the world was so easily molded back together.
The coil of apprehension knotted its way through his ribcage (have I lost you too? seeping into his bones, and he couldn’t understand it, couldn’t control it, when she stood right before him). He nearly asked if she was all right, if she was okay, but knew better. Of course she wasn’t. Of course none of them were. They were ethers and vestiges presently, wisps of smoke and fumes, trying not to fall into ash and dust. His other hand reached, if she was willing, to cup her cheek, to lend whatever strength he had left.
Then she turned into him, and he softened an exhale, let it slowly flicker and unfurl through his lungs. Suns and stars, moons and abysses shifting, toying, and he didn’t know where to look, save for her eyes and the chances of something, anything, in the dulcet fringes of her smile. The question brought him out of the drowning fabrications with a ridiculous snort, as if the inquiry even needed to be asked. “Yes.” They’d never been ones for tradition anyway.
I belong to you the way the moon belongs to the stars
She leans into the hand on her cheek, smiling at the comfort of the touch. Maybe she has failed this game but at least she can salvage the moment, the day. Wrapping her slender fingers around his calloused one Amalia tugs against his weight, drawing him back toward the waiting water, toward the horizon and all it has to offer.
It's only when her bare feet touch the sand that the Shield releases his hand. Grinning cheekily she steps away and lets her body change. The soul of the qilin is easy to summon, its form as comfortable as a glove. Within moments she stands before him different and the same, wrapped in scales and lilac fire, her large eyes bright as she looks at him.
Now Amalia returns to Deimos, revealing the entirety of her plan. One foreleg bent to allow him access, she gestures to her back with her large head. Climb aboard, the Shield invites him, laughter like raindrops leaving her lips.
No loss then, changing the angles, the tides, the spare time they’d conjured for one another – not to be doused in the murk. Tugged along, following into the mysterious airs, brow feeling permanently arched in its question and curiosity. This game was new then – released while she stepped away, embarking along shifts and turns, qilin bombardments – and he didn’t understand where the amusements and play was following. Perhaps they were meant to rampage as their mythical beasts, and they’d both unfurl the fire in their souls, race and tear the world apart. The uncertainty caused a tilt to his head, waiting for some inevitable twist or turn.
And then she bent a foreleg, and he stood stock still, either bewildered or surprised, the invitation extended, brows furrowing in confusion. He’d always been the one to carry things along his shoulders: the world, kingdoms, battles, friends, companions, loved ones. Not many had done the same.
The laughter wasn’t mocking, only encouraging, and he shook his head in disbelief, not refusal. A turn of events, dancing on an entirely different scale, emphasizing, embellishing, the changes they’d orchestrated, and still coming together. Gingerly, softly, as best he could in his monolithic posture and figure, he stepped along, and then extended himself over her back, hands to either side of her long nape.
I belong to you the way the moon belongs to the stars
She carries the weight of him with relative ease, given the litheness with which she is built. Delicate and elegant, it does not appear the qilin should be able to carry his bulk; yet the dragon hybrid is easily able to rise up on straightened knees, holding herself and him aloft, elegant head raised high.
Hold on tight, Amalia says with a lilt of rain-like laughter - his only warning before she sets off, racing over the sea.
Hooves dance lightly on the surface of the water, not quite touching, never close to sinking. Together they crest over waves and skate upon the tension, dancing on long and delicate limbs, watching the wild worlds below. Eventually they will have to return to the world, but for now Amalia is happy for the escape.
