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!
Home – connotations of repose, of sanctums, of sanctuaries. A place of refuge, to unfold, to unfurl, from the horrors, trials, and tribulations, to find some semblance of order and understanding. Torchline hadn’t been any of those things, meant to be a respite, a vacation, and it’d become anything but.
So perhaps here, back into the thicket of known claws, thorns, and the mettle they’d dug into the earth. Maybe here was where they’d renew and resurge, and he could establish fortifications again. More than just the barracks themselves, but the strength, the restitution, marbled and walled off in his own heart, in the beating conflictions, in the warring brutality they’d faced over and over and over. A moment without revolutions.
They made it the house nestled along the edges first, head poking in briefly to put down his bag, to check for sights and sounds of Amalia. When silence and stillness only returned, he maneuvered back along the lawn, crossing towards the backyard, where Zuriel waited. “I kept my promise,” he rumbled, and the unicorn nodded, pleased and gratified as he brought forth an entire bucket of sliced carrots, dropping it down before her, patting the mare’s neck. “Well done.” Keeping them safe, whole, and mended as best she could – strangers and Flood alike. Then he went to unbraid her mane, large fingers working quickly, efficiently, intending to spoil the unicorn for all her efforts. He’d make his rounds around the world later – taking this stretch, this opportunity, for minute peace, the slow stretch of a smile rounding the edges of his mouth.
The Shield who returns is a far cry from the girl who Deimos last saw, different even from the one summoned in the night by Vi. There is a pride and weariness in her eyes, a hardness to her stance that masks the searing wounds struck in her soul. It was a long and difficult walk back from the Climb, Kiada's absence felt keenly in every step; yet rivers of magma and tunnels of glass were nothing compared to what she now faces, the thing she still must do.
She has to tell him.
Bare feet mark the path home without any hesitation, the familiar roads and pathways veins by which she journeys. Her soles are torn and nearly bleeding - she'd been able to half-shift when she left, a gift she must now earn again - but it's nothing compared to the sinking terror that mounts as she draws closer and closer to the Sword. She nearly stops when he comes into view, does stumble, a sob choking in her throat at the sight of him and Zuriel so wonderfully at ease. And when he smiles she can feel her heart break all over again, because gods she doesn't want to be the one to wipe away that happiness.
Not again.
So she schools herself as she never could before, swallowing down all of the pain and putting on a braver face. Muted as she is through the Attuned bond it is easier than it might have been; there is scarcely a warble in her alto voice as she walks the rest of the way up the lane to their home, smiling to keep herself from breaking beneath the weight she holds.
The mare’s mane curled and coiled from the sea breeze and plaited entanglements, left now to the wind. He grabbed hold of a nearby brush and began the ritual they’d completed every day, softer strokes over the unicorn’s neck and shoulder while she chewed through the remaining carrots. Simplistic, but something to hold onto for all the moments that weren’t – the rise of her head, the prick of her ears, indicating another approaching.
His attention went to the Shield immediately, as it so often did, habitual and inherent too. Unaware of the muted bond, of the nothingness between, he couldn’t hear, couldn’t prepare, couldn’t fathom anything more, following her with his eyes as she came closer and closer still. Despite their last conversations, or lack thereof, he still offered those edges, those fringes of a smile, brushing down the length of Zuriel’s back, the unicorn’s own uncertainties suddenly coming through.
He arched a brow as she stumbled, returning the bristled adornments to their designated sanction, wiping his hands together as he went to meet her. “Hello,” the Sword offered in his quiet rumble, leaning against the deck railing, the unforeseeable events from their last parting, the renditions of the unknown, of her telling him to go, to leave pooling in his veins. “Everything all right?” She’d gone on without him – while he’d been in Torchline, pulled into another potential calamity – and was only here now.
He looks like something out of a fucking fairytale, all nonchalantly leaning on a fence and brushing his unicorn, the most handsome man she has ever seen every time she looks. It tears her apart all over again to know what she will do to him, how thoroughly this latest blow will hurt. To hold that power like a hammer waiting to strike him down- well.
At least she can protect him for a little while more.
Wrestling a smile to her face, Amalia stops before the deck and glances at her feet. "Ah- just a cut. I should really start wearing shoes." The million things she needs to tell him whirl in her mind, and yet she finds herself saying nothing as she takes another step up towards him, searching for the familiar safety of his eyes. "What about you?"
He didn’t notice anything more amiss, either her pretenses and wiles assembled in grand style, he didn’t want to partake in ruining things further, or the lack of attuned natures flickering between them had rendered him unaware and ignorant. “Hm,” he grunted in response, a muffled snort. “Zuri can heal it if you want.” Or to leave it there, meant to stitch together on its own, another reminder of something more, something less, something else.
His head tilted, regaining his proper posture and stance, away from the lean, going further up the steps and towards the entryway of the house. He thought to offer his hand, but remained uncertain if she’d take it, if the whispers of other days, of helpless, fleeting, raw motions and emotions were still there, and he’d simply be making everything worse. “I am fine.” For the most part, as fine as he could be before another tempest, another maelstrom, another cataclysm waged – recovering with time and space and other pursuits. “Accidentally had Sunjata electrocuted,” and there was a small snicker there, the beginning of a laugh between a roll of his shoulders. Thinking better on the amusements and teasing, his eyes lifted to the roof, and then to the door, palm reaching over the aperture’s knob, glancing back towards her. “He is fine too.” In case she was concerned; never quite certain where she stood with the Flood.
Opening the entryway, he stepped out of her path, granting her inside first, uncertainty still clawing its way through his chest. “Are you feeling better?”
Her foot doesn't hurt very badly, hardly enough to need the unicorn's attention, and yet she thinks it would be easier to go along than to protest. Let them each feel they have some control for a minute longer, like there are still problems in the world that can be healed, overcome. "Sure," she agrees lightly, easily, looking back to the proud mare and extending a hand toward her crown, ready to offer affection in exchange for services. How is he? the girl adds silently, that part of her Attuned ability at least still intact. And then, because she doesn't know if she'll have the opportunity to say it later: I'm sorry.
Wounds tended, skin mended, the Shield turns back to find his outstretched hand. A moment's hesitation flickers over her before the mild smile returns; her slender fingers slip into it as they have a thousand times before. She follows him then toward their shared home, raising a brow and snorting slightly as he reveals that Sunjata was electrocuted, of all things. "'Accidentally'," she repeats wryly, stepping over the hearth. "What did he do to deserve that?"
It is fortunate her back is to him because his question catches her unawares. She can feel her face grow pale at the sound of it, a half-sob-half-laugh bubbling dangerously at the bottom of her throat. It takes her a moment to catch her breath, dark eyes closing as she inhales deeply, trying to calm herself back down. "I- no," she confesses, turning toward Deimos with a melancholy, pleading smile. "But I don't... we can talk about it later." Reaching out to catch his hands, she looks up at him with childish desperation. "Please? Tell me about what happened to you instead."
Zuriel stared upon the Shield with an arched brow, a suspicious disposition, but only because she likely felt something lurking under the surface. She adhered to the healing, the subtle glow of her horn rendering the slight amount of damage muted, dissolved, stitched back together, earning a nod and another carrot from the Sword. She thought naught more until the silent words flowed through, and those proud eyes went towards Deimos for a moment, before flickering back to Amalia. He hides his pain. For you. Not an accusation, not a plea, naught but a cold hard fact tied together in her ancient, primordial core. Like always. The apology curled over the mare’s spine, and she nodded, understanding there would be more anguish to come – before heading off towards the field to graze.
All the while, the General watched without suspicion, thoughts settling on other poignant gestures and moments, hands and fingers intertwining when the magic was done and cast, and then they were in their home, a shelter from the storm. He permitted an escape as he roamed further into the fold, along into the kitchen, pilfering through the cabinets to see what remained from when they’d been here last. Like bewildering lifetimes ago; and a sigh escaped from his chest, lodged in there from eternities passed, body restless, desperate for something to do. “Are you hungry?”
He turned back towards her, leaning along the counter to snort along the ridiculous and dangerous tale. The beast managed to catch the notions that she wasn’t feeling better, that time and space hadn’t mended the calamities hastening through her – but didn’t press. He’d learned at least from the previous one, and her notion of distraction was something he could sink within. He’d meant to fold his arms across his chest, but at her glance, he adhered, calloused palms in hers again. “Okay.” An agreement for another time, another turn; uneasy renderings, fractious lines. “The Naturals, Sunjata, and I encountered a sea panther in Torchline. We did not know what it was at first. Too much fog. We could hear voices calling out. People wandering to the waves.” It wasn’t a story with sweeping niceties; but none of theirs were nowadays. “It was luring them in.” She could likely guess what else transpired to those they couldn’t save – another pattern, another revolution.
He kept his voice neutral though, trying to focus on whatever humor there’d been. “We tried to take care of it – I lost concentration and did not pay attention to what Sunjata had asked. Handed him the lightning rod he wanted instead of putting it on the beast.” Were it some other moment in their history, he probably could’ve mocked out the movements of the Flood getting zapped; but instead there was only half a smile rendered on his mouth. “My fault.” The General's eyes fell, staring at their hands. "I can pretend it was retaliation for him bringing Ru into that upcoming marriage."
She's about to decline the offer of food when her stomach speaks up for her, loudly reminding the both of them that she hasn't eaten in over a day. "I suppose I am," she says with a slight laugh, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, a flush spreading over her cheeks. It feels so surreal to behave as though nothing were amiss, and yet Amalia cherishes it more keenly than she could ever express.
She is grateful, too, when he does not push, offering respite she doesn't deserve. Releasing his hands Amalia moves to the table, sinking into a chair with a bone-aching weariness she hadn't realized she felt. Resting her hands upon the wood Amalia watches her husband work, only half-listening to his words. She doesn't truly care about Sunjata - though the idea of a sea panther does pique her interest - and she tires not to flinch at the mention of Hotaru, the last time she saw the woman seared within her mind.
"And the panther? What happened to it?" She'd missed the implications of its murderous intentions in her haze, and now looks at him with sincere interest in the well-being of this creature.
At her stomach growling, he arched a brow, the barest hints of a smirk peeking through. He returned to rummaging through the cupboards; they hadn’t left much behind to spoil in their absence. The moments clustering around him felt a bit like normalcy, like instances rendered before broken nettles and thorns had lodged their way into hearts, minds, bodies, and souls. The Sword would take it for as long as he could, giving into simplicity, instead of agony, defeat, or some other long-lost, withered emotion.
Along the back, he’d have to go hunting soon, he found several potatoes, and lingering through the drawers, he clutched a familiar, suitable knife, beginning to peel the skin away, making quick work of their outer layers.
That she’d ask about the wellbeing of the panther didn’t surprise him. She likely would’ve tried to save it, lure it back out to the sea; but the notions of it coming back, luring more citizens into its ramparts to devour, to consume, had clearly not settled well with any of them involved in the onslaught. “Gone. Dissolved. Ludo was involved somehow.” Maybe it’d return, soul rendered into a new form, to strike and haunt again.
Pulling a pan out, then placing it along the stove to heat, he started cutting the potatoes into pieces, slicing along the counter. “What have you been up to?” An innocent inquiry, presuming a separate adventure during his own.
"Dissolved?" Amalia repeats, her jaw clenching slightly at the mention of Ludo. Glancing away unhappily she focuses on the way be slices the potatoes, the ride and fall of the knife. "Did anyone try to talk to it? To see if it could be helped?" She doesn't mean for the sharp accusation to slip into her voice, yet it comes before she can stop it. Biting down on her lip the Shield shuts her eyes, trying to settle herself again and feeling her grasp lapsing.
She misses her partial shift, the ease with which the leopardess would rise on her shoulders like armor. Again she nearly laughs at his question, the hysteria settled just below the surface, so easy to grasp. Desperately she grasps for something easy, something that's not a lie. "I... I saw Remi again. And, and Vi, and he changed me and sent me somewhere, and I----"
Tears rise suddenly in her eyes, burning hot and cruel. Desperately she shuts them out, pressing damp lashes to her cheeks, trying to quell the rising flood. Dropping her head as her control slips, she tries to take a steadying breath. "Sorry. I'm, I just... You should sit down, Dei."
08-17-2020, 10:58 PM (This post was last modified: 08-17-2020, 11:15 PM by Deimos.)
DEIMOS
There was the fire, the slight outrage over the fallen creature. His tones were plain, nonchalant against the flicker of flames. “No. It was devouring people.” He didn’t mention that he thought the notion was ridiculous; they’d been attempting to save lives. No sharpness to his tone for where hers lingered in the edges and fringes; he might've seen the warning signs then, if he hadn't been indulging in cooking. “I lack that ability.” If she wanted, the next time another careened along the shore, hastening in its fog and luring inhabitants to their deaths, she’d be all the more welcome to give it a try.
He placed the potatoes within the pan, waiting and listening for tell-tale sizzles, thinking better to hasten a few edges of onion in too. All the while he tilted his head in her direction, the way things glided from her tongue, quickly, efficiently. He snatched on the fragments as best he could, trying to piece and pierce through. “Vi? Vi changed you? What do you mean?” His cranium fully shifted and turned now, piercing eyes lingering on her, following every familiar outline, concern, surprise, and perhaps pride edging and etching through his gaze. Content that she’d seen Remi again, and maybe resolved things, confused about where she’d been sent –
Any and all inquiries ceased there, when the tears curled and coiled in her eyes, and he choked down something, the apprehension, the uncertainty, the consternation flickering over flesh and bones. Ignoring the food for now, he slid into a chair before her, bending low so he could see her, so he could try and understand. “What happened?”
Under different circumstances she would have cause for celebration, would be espousing her new changes with an unmatched vibrancy and reverent awe. But as things are his pride only wounds her, another thing to be taken away when she finally reveals the truth.
The tears that burn from under her eyelids only threaten to fall faster as he takes a seat, looking at her with concerned eyes she cannot possibly meet. On the table before her her hands open and close, nails clenching on her palms as she struggles to find words. Inhale. Exhale. Swallow it down. Her mouth opens once, closes, opens again.
Restlessness peeled along the edges of his blood, scraping away at enamel, at pieces he so often hid. Primordial apprehension, something even predators permitted to seethe through their ichor, clawed down the back of his mind, over his spine, until it meandered and settled in his muscles, resolved itself as a formidable, foreboding presence. Like a storm brewing, brooding, posturing over the horizon, forming far quicker than anyone could tell or imagine – voracious and ferocious. He looked and glanced and stared at her, swallowing down the length of consternation, but it wouldn’t cease, wouldn’t end, seizing, taking, grasping –
The sentences she formed buffered against his skull, and for a being who regularly calculated, postured revolutions and sedition in the breadth of a breath, he found himself not understanding. Not comprehending the meaning. His brows furrowed, things lost in translation, in confusion. “What do you mean?”
He’d known she’d been going with Wessex, with Hotaru, something about gods. The Sword had been cautious, worried, but the notions that she’d been able to conquer these feats, travel upon her adventures, sail along Harpy endeavors, had prevailed over the brooding. He’d given her armor. He’d believed in her. She’d believed in herself.
Had she slipped through another portal, mysteriously vanished, as some had? Should they go after her?
Her breath hitches and her eyes close again because Vi, please, don't make her say it. His confusion feels like a ton of bricks striking against her diaphragm; it was hard enough to get the words out the first time, and saying it again feels like torture she cannot hope to endure. What does it ever mean? she wants to scream, emotions running brightly through her like a flood.
Inhale. Exhale. Take a moment. Tell it slowly. He deserves to hear it all.
When she opens her eyes again they're dull, staring into the middle distance of his chest as she tries to recall what happened without breaking apart. "Her expedition... Vi sent me there. To help. We were in a place full of lava, and there was a god with glass in his chest. Loren tried to pull it out, and Wessex and Hotaru and I shielded him, and Kia--"
She pauses again as her voice breaks, turning her face away. Swallowing down the bile that rumbles in her stomach, Amalia again breathes in and out deeply, dark eyes once more closed. "Kiada flew above to scout. She was so brave, and everything was going so well, and then there was an eruption and the magma struck her and I tried to reach her and--"
Again she breaks. Her hands clenched hard enough to leave half-circles on her palms, Amalia looks up at Deimos with devastation written on her face. "She fell. Into the magma. She... oh gods, Deimos. She fell."
