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!
Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins
Searching for Torchline had yielded nothing – an endless ghost hunt, loose ends traversing into endless seams, the darkness stinging and unsettling. But like a child possessed, she gave it no rest, the efforts imploring and screaming in her mind, the promises unsettled and uneasy, the vows clinging to her skin because she feared they’d break somewhere. If she clenched them tight, if she wove them into her blood, if she could find a way, a way, a way to make everything better, perhaps weddings could continue, perhaps there’d be something hallowed out of these hollowed masses. If she howled into the midnight air, would he arrive? Would he listen to her bellow, and follow its haunting beckons? Could she be a siren, calling out into the twilight, into the stark, cold existence, and make it warm again?
She didn’t know, but gods be damned if she didn’t try.
Her chin lifted in absolute defiance, of the world, of the illness, of the plague surrounding them, and the youth took her lantern and lifted it amongst the sprawling evening, extending it so the fire burned like a torch. Fangorn settled and bounded near her ankles, grumbling, hissing, proffering an extension of the known; as if they could be lures and snares in the midst, in the aching desperation pushing at their bones. Stepping into snow, leaving tracks and footprints, in wanting just one corner of the world to become something right for a change – and she’d be a flame, coaxing sanctums out of bedlam.
do you feel at home? your flames are burning higher your circumstance is dire, don't panic. you're frantic
Nate knows Halo for many things, it’s sub-zero temperatures, the things that apparently like to fuck with him, out in the icy seas, and now, most surprising of all, its seemingly never ending mountains. It’s a good thing he’s only aware, and can’t truly feel it, though that doesn’t stop him from longing for warmth just the same.
Pemota, bless her, truly, tries what she can, tries to lead him towards the cave containing the portal, tries to correct his path, but it’s no use. Nate is lost, and he's sick of the mountains, and of snow, and with walking through the mountains and snow. He wants to be home, wants to be with Sunjata again. How had he even gotten here, without his fiancé? What had he been doing?
The wind whispers many answers to him, it’s icy voice one Nate tries to ignore, one he tries to shut out, but the more he wanders aimlessly, the more alluring it sounds. Maybe he should pause, rest, as much as he can. His head pounds, and his vision is blurry, and he just needs a moment. Sitting down turns to laying down almost immediately, the snow deep enough for him to sink into, and still not feel rock. It’s almost cozy. If he just closes his eyes, it almost feels like he’s sleeping.
Above him, far, far above him it feels like, Pemota trills, tries to get his attention, tries to make him rise. And when her songs don’t work, when her thrum of panic in their bond doesn’t work, she resorts to jabbing him with her horn, Nate’s hand rising to wave weakly at her. ”I just need a second. Just a second.” But his voice is weak, and unconvincing, fading away as his hand drops again. The starwhal pokes him once more, then floats away, looking for something to rouse him, something to get Nate up.
She finds far more than she bargained, crossing paths with Melita quite by accident and doing everything she could to get the girl and her hours to follow. By now, there was little more than a dip in the snow indicating where Nate was, a dip Pemota hovers over, singing at Melita, as of she was asking for help.
this is your hell, dancing for something that was true to you, how do you do? say it's me.
Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins
We have to remember the way ambled through her mind – the way home to portals, the way to salvation, the way to liberation, the way to coated vows and assurances. Fangorn nestled into her, and they were alight on the pathways of snow, shivering and shuddering even in the midst of summer’s evenings, stretching out alms and balms. A plea might have gone unheard, humming under her breath in the close-knit punctures of wind, as she nestled her coat closer into her chest, hands grabbing hold of the material. Begging wasn’t quite beneath her, and the fire-child looked to the sky, to the walls, to everything in between for a mere sign that she was on the right path.
And then there was Pemota.
Melita couldn’t help but feel the stark relief, the aching bliss, in seeing the mechanical starwhal, the singsong whirls and the cataclysmic notions of what if spiraling into her heart. “Pemota!” An outcry, an echo, a reverberation of embers and everything – the world racing under her skin, the hovering whale making her move, making her run into the wild paces, long limbs reaching, reaching, reaching until there’d be nothing left of her but cinders and embers on the way through the ice.
There was a dip, an impression, and she lifted her lantern to see him, half-buried. “Nate!” Wake up, don’t be dead, don’t be dead, you can’t be valiant form of something beyond curses in her mind, the frantic emblem of her movement and motions, spurned into a rush, a zealous, a frenetic onslaught. She handed Fangorn the lantern, and the faithful gourd held it aloft for her to see, while she crouched beside him, half-buried in the pockets of frigid elements, hands went to the Ascended, to her favorite uncle, grasping for his shoulder. “Nate, you have to get up. Please.”
do you feel at home? your flames are burning higher your circumstance is dire, don't panic. you're frantic
The wind, but not quite, calls his name again, both of Nate’d hands rising from his snowy hideaway, trying to grasp at it, trying to shush it. He just needs a moment more, just needs a bit of rest. Not sleeping, no, no matter how greedy hands and heavy eyelids might grasp for it, but simple rest. It’s peaceful here. Wrapped up in snow like a comforter, the cold deadening his already weak sensations even further, leaving him drifting, floating in a sea of snow. It’s comfortable, he thinks. Safe too, he thinks.
There’s a crunch, a sound that cannot be the wind, no matter how it hisses at him to ressst... keep your eyesss closssed. His eyes snap open, both of them, one wide and blue and the other a knot of scar and burns, both equally unseeing, until he’s touched, tugged back into his body so abruptly he jerks, legs kicking snow up and his arms reaching for whoever’s roused him, whatever is touching him.
Red hair, and a thick coat. Nate blinks, his brows pulled together. ”You... again?” He murmurs, tongue thick with cold and confusion both, before his vision settles, and the face wreathed in flaming hair grows clear. ”Mel?” All at once, Nate surges up, his body groaning at the sudden frantic movement, and wraps both his arms around her. ”I missed you... but... how are you here?” She had been in a boat and then... had he seen her after? Had she said she’d be coming? Is that why he was here?
this is your hell, dancing for something that was true to you, how do you do? say it's me.
Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins
She ignored the first statement, uncertain if it meant anything at all, while she was too busy trying to figure out where to put her hands as he flailed. Relief curled around her, and her breath softened into the warm puffs of air surrounding her expanse – hands clinging instinctively back, wrapped around him to ensure he was still there, still present, still real, still tangible. That he wouldn’t be able to flee, that she wouldn’t lose him in the dead of night, that this wasn’t some broken-down fallacy she’d have to recall in a nightmare. “I’ve been looking for you,” she whispered, muffled against the fabric of his layers. Should she say why? Would it prompt something? Would it make everything worse? She didn’t know – none of this was simple, concise, or predictable.
She withdrew only so her hands could grab hold of his face, keeping him in place while she figured out how to drag him home. “I searched most of Torchline before coming through the portal.” Gentle, her palms drifted down until fingers interlocked with his, as if to coax and lead; another anchor, another lifeline. “What are you doing out here?” Had he been lost? And did it matter, when he was alive and whole now, when she could bring him back to the sands, to the surf, to the shore, and to Sunjata?
do you feel at home? your flames are burning higher your circumstance is dire, don't panic. you're frantic
There is a moment, a beat, where Nate seems confused, shocked even. Before, when people were looking for it, it was bad, debts long overdue and pounds of flesh taken as interest. But this, Melita, can’t be here for that same thing. His tongue is still heavy when he speaks, but loosening the more words come out, until they begin to pour. ”I got lost. I... I thought I was dead, and then I was here, and I thought here might be hell, and it is, it is but ther-“
Hands on his face cut him off, lips sealing closed as he stares at his niece, eye wide but blank. ”But I’m not in Torchline.” Nate offers unhelpfully, as if she didn’t already know, as if they weren’t currently in Halo. His hand squeezes hers tightly, though he’s not quite sure when that had happened, hadn’t felt the drifting of her hands down. ”I was trying... I wanna go home. I wanna see Sunny.” His tone plummets, settling into a whine, the edge of tears lingering in the back of his throat.
this is your hell, dancing for something that was true to you, how do you do? say it's me.
Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins
How many of them had been lost, before the sickness had even begun? How many had torn themselves apart in their delirium, racing over cobblestones, sand, and snow? How many had been left unattended, because the world was an ever-present distraction, and permitted to sweep along rolling hills until they were simply gone? It wore a hole in the pits of her soul, to think she might not have been able to find him, and that there were scores of others suffering the same fate. They couldn’t tie or bind or tether them all together, but gods it was tempting, when onslaught after onslaught, wave after wave, kept screeching and bellowing, kept battering and bombarding them. When did it cease? When did it end?
Or did it simply desist for them, when their bodies and minds could take no more?
“That’s okay. You’re not dead. You’re alive.” A steady reassurance, a pulse of her fingers against his, ensuring his hand was still in hers, and not gone, not gone, not gone, off into the expanse. “We’re in Halo, but we can go back now.” Fangorn rattled the lantern ahead, imploring he could show the way, down paths, and some mutual feelings of desperation towards Pemota, so they could all clamber and wander together. “We can go through the portal, and go back home. See Sunjata.” A beam of a smile, an encouraging grin, as she tugged, as she pulled, as she tried to insist they could go through the darkness, through the snow, through the wild, untamed reaches, to get to where they belonged.
do you feel at home? your flames are burning higher your circumstance is dire, don't panic. you're frantic
Mel's hand is warm, something he can feel, something that returns the small measure of life that he can still claim back into Nate's body. His other hand rises to wrap around hers as well, trying to steal more heat, trying to step away from a threshold he had unknowingly crept too closely to. The ascended is eager to move, to follow after the bobbing lantern and the glow of Pemota and Melita's warm hand. He want's to go home. He want's to see Sunjata.
But the portal.
At the mere mention of it, Nate's steps slow, feet that had been so light a moment ago now dragging. The hand grasped in both of his will not be released so easily, but it is the only reason he keeps moving, a mumbling under his breath, meant to be private, jsut for him, slowly growing louder, more frantic. "I don't... don't want to, I can't, not again... it h-hurt, it hurt so bad..." No, better to freeze, to grow numb and feel nothing at all, than go through the light again, than let himself be touched, let pieces be stolen away again.
this is your hell, dancing for something that was true to you, how do you do? say it's me.
Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins
For a few moments the movements were encouraging, trudging through snow, hands within hands, a family party poised and balanced for motions in the drifting void. Hope, ambitions, aspirations, clattered together in her heart, in her lungs, in her soul, and Melita thought it’d be easy, that the difficult portions were over, and they could go home. Everything would be fine. Everything would be well again. They’d be together, and they’d find a way to conquer the demons, the plagues, the rendered sicknesses, and life could go on. Continue. She wouldn’t lose them. She wouldn’t lose anyone else again; not when she could grit her teeth, not when she could smooth down claws, not when she could scrape away at the enamel of the moon and howl into its grasp. Determination had seen her through, mettle and fire had ensured this wouldn’t be such an obstacle; she could breathe, she could breathe, she could-
Then he slowed down, and she wouldn’t bear it, wouldn’t think to mire herself into this hollowed hell where everything careened into nothing all at once, where ribs were punctured and she couldn’t focus, couldn’t see straight, couldn’t understand or fathom why, why, why this was always the case. The girl would pull and tug them to infinity, to portals, and even as he keened, she was strong, she was stalwart, she was steady, following Fangorn’s lantern light, trying desperately to hang onto whatever portion of Nate she could salvage. “What do you mean?” She glanced back, to stare at his features while they traversed, to blink away the sorrow clutching over her gaze; because she wouldn’t be leaving without him.
do you feel at home? your flames are burning higher your circumstance is dire, don't panic. you're frantic
”They... she told me... she told me it wouldn’t hurt, and... lied, she lied, and now...” A ragged noise heaves out of him, his hand trembling in hers, his other one finally pulling away to curl in against his chest, the smallest measure of protection he can manage. ”It hurt, and it... it was all I felt, the last thing, and I... can’t remember anything else, just hurt, just hurt.” Desperation is obvious on his face, in his wide eye when Melita looks back, desperation and panic. ”I don’t... I don’t want to do it again, please, I... I can’t..”
Quietly, almost unnoticeably, with the commotion Nate is making, Pemota begins to drift further and further away, increasing the distance between herself and her bonded, unease that’s quickly building into outright fear washing over her. It leeches into Nate’s mind, creates a feedback loop he doesn’t know how to break out of, that he has no way to even recognize, not right now.
this is your hell, dancing for something that was true to you, how do you do? say it's me.
Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins
She didn’t know what was going on, and had no explanation to sift through with the rising panic, with the chaotic pandemonium shifting through the atmosphere. She swallowed down a whole host of apprehensive notes, hands wrapping tighter, warmer, around his, to try and stave off the bounding whirls of calamity. The desperation was disarming; the youth’s features couldn’t hide her fear or sorrow for him, mind puncturing, coiling, attempting to come up with some sort of deliberation or plan to simply get him home. She took great shuddering breaths to calm herself down, but she knew he couldn’t, wouldn’t, didn’t need to, and Pemota was floating off somewhere, and everything was becoming a far greater mess than she’d anticipated.
You have to do this her soul strung together, but gods, she wasn’t sure how.
“Nate, no one will hurt you when you’re with me.” Calm, guarding, a shelter in the storm (she was the storm – and no one would have him while she was there); a vitriolic flame of glory and might. “I’ll protect you. You know I wouldn’t let anyone harm you.” Not with her skills, not with her weapons, not with her abilities – whoever had caused this onslaught be damned.
do you feel at home? your flames are burning higher your circumstance is dire, don't panic. you're frantic
He has to trust her. He has to make himself trust her, because she’s family, real family, and she wouldn’t hurt him. Not on purpose. A wide unblinking eye stares at Melita, while Nate tries as hard as he can to force himself. He breaks before he bends, the sudden snap almost visible on his face. One instant, a quiet, muted desperation on his face, and the next, he’s crying, tears steaming down one side of his face, leaving him with the catch-22 of hiding either his emotional weakness, or the worst of his scars away from her. If nothing else, Nate’s moving again though, reluctant strides that are still slow, but long enough to keep up with his niece.
The starwhal still keeps a wide berth between her and Nate, but she returns as well, curving wide around Melita to join Fangorn up ahead. As Nate’s panic fades, so too does Pemota’s, the feedback loop growing quieter, making room for shame, for regret.
Nate manages to be quiet for a handful of steps, before he suddenly rushes, closing the distance between him and his niece enough that they stand side by side, that he can squeezes her hand and talk at her without his voice being stolen by the wind. ”I’m sorry Mel. I just...” How did he explain, without reawakening the terror, without inspiring pity, or worse. ”I g-got confused, I th-think. I hope.” No matter how hard he tries, his voice shakes, trembles.
this is your hell, dancing for something that was true to you, how do you do? say it's me.
Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins
It broke her heart over and over again, and she didn’t know how to stitch anything back together, not without fire and embers and incited oblivion. That had always been her way to solve things – bullheaded and stubborn, enough mettle to work the fibers of her determination into everyone else’s motivations, spurring and spurning along until something gave. But there didn’t seem to be anything granting a reprieve here, and her ribs ached when he seemed to completely fall apart. All she could do was offer her strength, her vigilance, the might scored and scorched between her fingertips. “You don’t have to be sorry. I know.” She knew what it was like to be out of control, to be blighted, uncertain of who you were (and not caring, incapable of control, digging straight into all the senses she’d thought she’d left behind).
Closer and closer still, if she could just get him to the portal. If she could just get them home to Torchline. If she could just –
“Do you want to hear a story?” How many had she told lately? To Amun, to Sunjata? It seemed to work at calming them down, and perhaps she could orchestrate a soothing, assuaging balm, instead of one composed into danger – enough to distract, to deter, from every other ache and pain he’d been mired and rooted within.
do you feel at home? your flames are burning higher your circumstance is dire, don't panic. you're frantic
Nate wants to explain, what’s to convince her, somehow, that he does need to apologize, he does. He needs to beg for forgiveness, needs to repent, though already the reasons why are slipping through mind, sifting through his kind and leaving behind a coiling, uncomfortable guilt. A shame so vast and yawning it feels like maybe, that’s all he is, all he has. But instead he nods, keeps his mouth shut tight, and tries to focus on putting one foot in front of the other, trusting in Melita completely to take him home.
A story sounds nice, sounds like a distraction, from the terrible, all consuming thought that somehow, the portal will do his ascension over again, trapping him in an endless moment of utter pain. ”Yes.” He says softly, squeezing her hand again. ”Yes please.” His empty hand rises to scrub at his face, smeary thick fluid tears over his face and not helping himself at all.
this is your hell, dancing for something that was true to you, how do you do? say it's me.
