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!
11-10-2020, 11:58 PM (This post was last modified: 11-17-2020, 06:38 PM by Aisha.)
what will you do when the vultures come for you, run and hide?
There's no place like home.
She'd never been able to click her heels and go back to the place she loved the most. Gods she had tried, those first few weeks that she'd arrived in Caido, a complete wreck. The capital was her home, her palace was her home, her mother's embrace- that was home. And then it wasn't, suddenly she was just a girl, all alone and with no idea how to create a new life. She was lost and tired,
and then she wasn't! Oliver came along and offered her a new family, a new home. It would never be the same, but it was damn well good enough for her. And she worked so hard to help the people there, to fulfill some fantasy of fitting in and being needed, comforted by the smiles of the people she aided and the grimaces of the soldiers she bested. Things changed there, and she tried to fix it. Things changed again, and uncertainty began to trickle back in. People died, people left, so much kept moving forward and it'd only been less than a year. How much would her new home continue to change, and when would she get left behind?
The Voice's claws being dug into her earth was the point that made her begin to withdraw. She'd stayed thus far for Oliver, but she held no obligation to the new goddess. If the grounds chose her, it was hardly Aisha's home anymore. She still liked to help the people who needed her, to feel some connection, but it was dwindling. Maybe it was time for another change.
The leopardess pondered it all as she sat on a grassy slope, whetting the bevel of her blade with a flat stone. Oliver would certainly admonish her form and method, but it'd always worked for her, and there was something comforting about the movements. The moon crested above her, Safrin's children providing enough light for the feline woman. Peace, at least now, on this ground that had remained the same. No matter where you are, dirt is just dirt.
Drifting between the stars almost felt normal – surreal balances of tangible ethers long since lost, things parsed away, incapable of having again. He raised his head towards them, briefly flickering over similar vastness, of darker balances, of shadows between lights, and then strode onward. Intentions had been nestled in memories, placing ways to honor Rexanna in the midst of the fields, where the long grasses didn’t stray, where so many others had found themselves whittled into embers, ashes, and soot across the vast land. A season of recollection, and perhaps forgiveness, so that he could start to carve the latter into himself. So he could permit the void to not scrape so readily at his bones. So there was peace within his lungs, and repose in his ichor, and something beyond hollowed contortions, where he coiled back in upon his enamel, and kept everything else out.
Zuriel trailed after him, and together they were maneuvering cinders in a world of obsidian, in a world that had once been their home, in a place that he’d dared, tried, to mend and fix and defend with mettle, grit, and determination – until there was naught else left. Until everything he’d cherished was gone.
Another lift of his skull brought his gaze over the horizon. A predator’s instinct, to hone in after the world and follow its motions, to wonder about threats, to summon rapacity along the edges of his blood; and it drew him towards the slightest nuances of sound, of a silhouette laden along a rock, the ground sloping beneath. And for a few moments, he stared in wonder, because advancing upon the form inspired recognition, well, well, well beyond the cruel fallacies of delirium and sickness, and into snippets of time not entrenched in sorrow. “Aisha?” He called out into the night, deep rumbles and ricochets, after swords and spears, after broken silence – battering hope into his veins, feeling the steadfastness beginning to brew and brim in his motions. But then he stood stock still, a monolith along the backdrop of Stygian oils and canvases, pondering if he’d been mistaken – if she too had been taken in as one more ghost, one more phantom, one more wraith.
what will you do when the vultures come for you, run and hide?
It was not a wraith that sat before him, sharpening the sword that he'd created with his own esse. Aisha was flesh and flood, fire and bone, a match in the nothingness of night. She'd gotten so lost in her thoughts and the monotonous pinging of stone against steel that it took his words to draw her attention. A slight flinch, one hand flying to her hilt and the other lifting the rock, ready to chuck it at her stalker.
It didn't take much more than a partial shift to see, though she should've known from the gruff tones and blunt greeting who she was dealing with. Maybe it was because she didn't expect it, it'd been too fucking long.
"Deimos?" she replied in the same timber as he, though she knew fully well who she was dealing with. For a moment she thought to throw her rock, not with malicious intent of course but simply to express her care, and frustration that they'd never written, never had a decent goodbye or plan for the next step. Instead she lowered her weapons, knowing fully well that he didn't need any reprimand from her after all he'd been through, just this once letting her cynicism slide off.
And she walked forwards and wrapped her arms around him, feeling not at all like the big strong warrior who sharpened swords in the dark, but like a child who had missed her friend.
The Sword wasn’t certain what to expect. Perhaps some residual effect of the affliction, for the sickness to have mauled through his mind for too long, for her form to pilfer back into the darkness, dissipate into ashes, into mist. Maybe for the world to continue to play games, rattle bones, flicker wraiths back into torment, and he’d have to remember, recall, these moments later too, when the haunting poignancy scraped against all the recovering he’d tried so hard to gain. It hadn’t been for her to turn, for reality to actually be tangible, malleable, attainable, for rocks and weapons to be lowered, for defenses to be forgotten.
Then his name was back on the wind, in deep ricochets too, and he stifled the barest form of a laugh, shocked, stupefied, happy for the simplest of moments that she hadn’t been lost too. That she wasn’t gone. That she was alive and whole and well and not battered and beaten apart by something else in this cruel, ridiculous realm.
He stayed very still again, Zuriel drawing near him in inquiry and confusion, until she drew near, and he instinctually reached out. Arms were open and wide, capable of grabbing, snagging, and holding her close to his chest – as he might’ve done so many times with Rexanna (in his dreams, desperate for her to be alive again), with Kiada (trapping her, warm and safe and protected in his embrace, so she wouldn’t come to harm, and they could remain), and with Hotaru (when they were both so battered, so broken, so misplaced). Inherent and intrinsic, a comfort he needed and craved and would never say so out loud, grateful, glad, gratified that there was a friend out in the dark, that she wasn’t another lost to the disasters, cataclysms, and ruins. “I missed you,” he uttered, guttural and resounding, veracity in the fields; but he’d never lied to her either. “Where have you been?” An inkling of a snort began, as if he had any counter-argument – he’d gone into dust too.
what will you do when the vultures come for you, run and hide?
Aisha wasn't sure she'd ever witnessed this kind of vulnerability from the hellhound, not inter-personally regarding her at least. The wide gesture he offered, room for her to be close to him and revel in his being alive, being well. There was no glancing around a Goliath such as he, not that she wanted too as she closed her eyes into the hug. Still she knew that the unicorn stood behind him, his companion that she'd grown so familiar with before it too had disappeared into the night.
I missed you, Aisha found herself smiling so deeply that it felt as though she'd swallowed a star, it's jubilance filling her throat then chest then core with a wave of relief. She didn't expect to have a reaction like this, but so much had happened while he was gone, and seeing him back she realized how much happier she'd been when he was around, when she could learn and grow by his side. Maybe it wasn't the Voice's hold on her home that made her so distant, but the loss of direction when her steadfast mentor had gone his own way.
Deimos certainly expected the snide remark that came in response to his own question, he had to after all their time together. She leaned back just a bit to cock a brow and smile through her words, "Where was I huh, that's what you wanna know? I've been right where you left me trying to feel like I'm doing anything," it was said in her usual teasing and sarcastic tone, with not a tint of hostility in the hue. "Where've you been?" she sobered a moment before adding, "How have you been"
The beast laughed, laughed like he hadn’t in eons, a low rumble beginning to unfurl, echoing across the fields, and he didn’t care. Didn’t care that the stoicism, nonchalance, and reticence had faded in those moments, didn’t care that his emotions were real and pretenses, masks, had fallen away, didn’t care that the gratitude and appreciation for his friend curled along attuned connections and bonds. The chuckles were probably in relief, in reassurance, comfort, solace, a place to put their feet down upon the ground and not worry whether either were going to be devoured by the shadows. These were moments so blatantly scattered, that he’d rarely chased, and he wouldn’t be pilfering them off into the void, to be swallowed and consumed, to be gone within an instant. Neither of them deserved the weight of one more damned loss.
Even the brambles and thorns of her snark were a respite and alleviation, a way to ward off the anguish, the pain, the melancholy of other days. The monolith didn’t release her, but the depths of his smile curled into juvenile fronts, cheeks dimpling, beckoning the mischief. “I am sorry,” and he meant it – that she hadn’t been on his mind when everything was so rapidly falling apart, while the world continued to collide against his strongholds. Even pillars crumbled. Even towers fell. And he’d been struggling, striving, to build those fortifications once more, marble and columns, block after block, and some days were significantly better than others.
The smile faded though, when asked about where he’d been, how he’d been, and all the struggling instances of not dashing away into dust, bone, and ash began to sear against him. “Halo. I wandered there when I was sick.” When his mind was broken and his body rebelled, and he had naught left here – wondering if he’d sent himself to perish in the snow, if memories had served to rid him of his suffering in the only way it could’ve recalled. “The Warden and Chulane found me. So I stayed on as General.” Simplistic versions, but she didn’t need to hear about the long, slow recovery, the way the healing water had kept him alive and partially whole until lilies were found, placed, and monsters were fought. “I…” He struggled for a second, the words fading on his tongue, tucked behind his teeth, yearning to amass a wall of indifference, to forgo the fractures of experience. “Not well. But I am getting better.” The slightest of grins returned, but only so he could look down upon her in his arms and not crumble back into nothing. “What about you?”
11-11-2020, 05:23 PM (This post was last modified: 11-11-2020, 05:25 PM by Aisha.)
what will you do when the vultures come for you, run and hide?
Aisha didn't expect or particularly need an apology from him; she knew why he'd gone. She knew his leaving was what was best, even though at the time she'd been wracked with worry. In the middle of that goddamn sickness, and suddenly he was gone. How could she blame him though? She'd had her own shit to deal with at the time, there were no apologies required.
And yet the fact that he was apologizing to her still prodded at some old notions of him. Wherever it'd come from, this silly idea that he'd had all the answers; clarity over that distortion was brought with a hint of a smile. He was just a man after all. Her arms gave another tight squeeze, her own bulk not quite the caliber of his, but enough to get the point across. "Agh, I don't want your sorries, I'm just happy to see you."
He shared his story of where he'd been, of how he was general of Halo. The tundra realm was respite to many of those who'd left the grounds it seemed, and over these past months it'd begun to look rather tempting. She would've congratulated him on retaining his formidable title if not for the hurt she heard in his voice. Instead she just listened, letting him take his time and just offering her attentive cognizance.
...Getting better, he finished, pressing past the obvious pain that came with it to offer a soft grin. Aisha smiled back encouragingly, finally stepping back from the embrace to instead hold forearms with him. This gave her a better chance to look him up and down to see if he'd changed any physically, the leopard's golden eyes following his arms up to the lines of his face. He was still the same old Deimos in many ways, and that was comforting, "The grounds aren't the same. I don't go to the barracks much anymore, doesn't feel right training troops under big motherboard bitch's rule. I've mostly just been helping Oliver, doing my own training."
"I'm good, just in a shitty pessimistic way," she finished with a slight smirk.
No regrets, no sorrows, no explanations required; and the response eased through him with a assuaging balm he hadn’t felt in ages. Not since Kiada lived and breathed. Not since Rexanna persisted, existed. The smile returned, remained, the world not so heavy, not so burdening, not so overwhelming, when friends managed to flicker out of the shadows, into the midnight oils, into a semi-permeance he could stand within. Would the Attuned concoctions flowing through his mind signify enough? The gratitude, the contentment, the relief? Or did he need to do more than bear it all in silent pulses, to ensure those still close, still tangible, still whole and well, understood how much he cherished them? Maybe a lesson for another time – to push when he could do more than linger in the throngs of mending, of re-stitching those frayed ends and strands.
She stepped back but they stayed together, warrior bonds and filaments. Perhaps the Sword was afraid of letting her go, that another would disappear and dissipate again, that all of this was some feverish dream once more, concocted in his mind in another effort to survive the hell he’d been through. But Aisha didn’t – too strong, too bold, too incandescent in her own fire and light, and his glances through feline compositions were quick, scrutinizing, studying, before riveting back to her gaze.
Only to snort, then unfurl another bout of warm laughter at her explanation – acceptable and amusing, given the circumstances, losing it altogether at her description of Wessex. At some point the Wraith had made her impression even upon Aisha, and he couldn’t help chiseling the smirk along more juvenile, boyish features. “Understandable. I could not stay for many reasons, but I had no wish to be under her power again either.” And with the way things were building, shaping, within the Greatwoods, it was most likely a better option to maintain distance from the Grounds sooner rather than later. He tilted his head, pondering a notion, a thought, on the chance that she’d consider it. “You are more than welcome to come to Halo.” They could always use her strength, her audacity, her boldness.
11-11-2020, 09:41 PM (This post was last modified: 11-11-2020, 10:12 PM by Aisha.)
what will you do when the vultures come for you, run and hide?
The leopard and the fox savored the joyous honey tendrils that slipped through the attuned bond, sharing in Deimos's gratitude and contentment. They shared their joy as well, passing on that light and glow that Aisha so often tried to be; this feeling was genuine and happy, and in this moment only for and because of Deimos.
Aisha's voice had broken with bits of a low snicker as she spoke, amused at herself as well as the way Deimos reacted. No matter the circumstances, witty snide remarks would always prevail, and Aisha stood by that. Regarding her opinion of Wessex and the changes in the grounds, well she hadn't personally met the Wraith, most of her disdain came from her devotion to the Voice. As well as the tensions that rose between their new ascended wardens and those of the greatwood. A spirit of the Mathair had once told her that the greatwood was in danger, that she should protect it. Nothing about it really felt right anymore.
"No kidding," she gave to his response, glancing away for just a moment to look out at the surrounding fields. The offer to join him in Halo was considered, and would continue to be in future days. She gave a simple response now, "You know people keep telling me that?", there was one thing in particular that put her off, "but I don't like the cold." She couldn't resist adding a wink; it'd been so long since she'd seen him, it felt almost like things were like they used to be.
They were not of course, and that thought brought a question to mind. "So what business does the general of Halo have in the grounds?"
Once, not many would’ve been able to liken him with anything joyous, tranquil, or serene. It’d been primarily the opposite: intimidating, overwhelming, potent, savage, nefarious, and severe. The ability to topple and devastate his foes, the unattainable, unreachable factions brimming from his sanction, the cataclysms he faced time and time and time again between marauding and sedition, colliding together to grant him the title of the Reaper. He’d been death and desecration, adhered to its predilections with unspeakable ease. And here? Here the beast had changed, warped, and altered under acceptance, tolerance, and love; as so many had granted and given it to him, and now he strived to do the same in return – to not bend, to not break, to not shatter against the rocks, so that he could protect and shield those who had bothered to see or tolerate him at all. To lift them up with his strength and fortitude, to build bonds with his might and adherence, instead of constantly snapping, shattering, and tearing worlds apart.
Different – but he was learning.
The Sword expected some nuance of response about the cold, and he rolled his eyes. He’d lived in mountains, defended their peaks and summits, for too long to even be bothered with the chill, the glacial expanse, or the frigid conditions. There were ways to alleviate the elements. “Fires and furs,” he shrugged, still not pulling away, mouth embedded in his soft smirk. “We are working on ways to make the Citadel stronger and safer.” Especially during the upcoming season; more efforts, more foundations, more attempts.
As far as why he was here now, after their discussion over the Wraith and the alterations along the Grounds, he tilted his head. A little bit of the light in his eyes drifted away, but only for an instance, a moment, before the painstaking process of I don’t blame you contorted over his mind again, and Deimos released a sigh. “I was making a memorial for Rexanna with Bastien.”
11-11-2020, 10:40 PM (This post was last modified: 11-12-2020, 01:06 PM by Aisha.)
what will you do when the vultures come for you, run and hide?
"Nuh, it's tempting. I do love fire," she replied playfully widening her eyes and giving a soft smirk. In regards to making the Citadel safer, Aisha added, "I'd be happy to help with any of that, I'm sure you know that." She'd always tried her best to be readily available, especially when it came to safety and friends. She remembered plenty of times building and moving and preparing spaces for Longnight, Deimos was nearby through most all of them. Jeez, she'd truly missed him.
She'd carried some hope that the reason he'd come to the grounds again was a sweet one, one that wasn't burdened with loss of grief. That was a naive assumption, and entirely wrong. The color drained a bit from her cheeks, already paled by to moon's glow. She hadn't personally thought of the loss of the queen in quite some time, but it would always be painful. Surely more for him, he was closer to her. She felt a pang of regret for bringing it up, their joyous banter broken with a new turn. I'll bring it back.
"I'm sorry, I wish you could be here for happy reasons," she replied softly, giving him a moment before adding a proposition. "But we can be happy tonight can't we? Hunt with me?"
Infernos and conflagrations; shared sentiments in those regards, tied and tethered along brimstones, cinders, and embers. The smile returned, slightly hesitant and withdrawn, but nodding his head in time with her answer. “I know. And we would appreciate any help we could get.” Aisha had been capable, reliable, anytime he’d called upon someone of means, measures, strength, and caliber – adhering to her tasks and roles with aplomb and vivacity. “You can visit.” A stronger grin, the determination crawling its way back through – the fellow soldier could make her decision once she glimpsed upon mountains and tundras, everlasting plains of ice, and Citadels rising into the sky. It wasn’t the Aurora Basin, and never would be, but he’d chiseled his way into its confines, and strived to establish something out of the nothingness his life had quickly, swiftly, become.
He watched as some of the color drained away from her features, and his eyes fell back towards the ground. The Sword hadn’t meant to diminish the thresholds of contentment and reunions; but it’d been the answer, the notions, behind his wandering around the Grounds. Otherwise, he had naught left here – no duties, no barracks, no training, save for her. “It is fine. It led me here.” Back to friends, back to a hint of normalcy, of things that used to be and could still be maintained, while other platitudes had been cut and slashed, torn to shreds, gone and vanquished within an instant. And that counted far more than most nowadays, when he clung to vestiges, ethers, and strived, struggled, to hold onto pieces and portions. Getting better, but never quite quick enough.
But Aisha extended an offer he wouldn’t dare refuse, and the depths of his grin made a full return. It’d been a while since he’d last stalked prey, since he last wandered the depths and fathoms of the world for something to maul – a streak of vehemence beginning to build in the back of his mind, another form of release and relief. “We can.” Promises and assurances in that. “What shall we hunt?”
hold me close smother me, my little dracula wrap your arms around me
Visit, that sounded good. Not quite a commitment to the place, but a trip, voyage, expedition into the frozen lands to aid a friend. And perhaps she'd find home along the way. She couldn't resist a sigh and a grinning nod in response to his own glimmer of joviality, "Alright alright, I'll visit," she chuckled, giving his forearm a squeeze before finally letting her arms fall to her side. She'd had enough proof at this point that he was real, and wouldn't vanish into the night the moment she let him go.
The graver topic only lasted for a moment, it seemed they were both eager to spin this back to reunion. Solemnity could come another day, thoughts of the future and the past, but they were here and now and that deserved a celebration. Deimos agreed to a hunt, asking what they should stalk. "Let's see what we can find," she replied with a playful edge to her voice, before golden fur began to sprout from her mane of curls, and in moments she'd shrunk into the bat; wings breaking free and flapping so she could hover before him.
She'd never thought of bats as an animal with excellent vision, but the fox begged to differ. Through the eyes of her creature she could see far, lens nocturnal and faded in color but the outlines of shapes were fine and sharp. With a few beats of her leathery wings the orange fox swept up into the air to seek it's higher vantage point. She waited expectantly for him to join her in a beasts skin, two sets of eyes were better than one.
The opportunities extended and remained, permitting the casting of the grin to chisel there, residual effects, not allowing the sigh to permeate through lungs and bones. Playful edges instead of the mournful vestiges were what he needed – to push aside the grief, to not be swallowed in the arches and eaves of the blackened abyss. They broke away from one another, a subtle curve to his brow as he witnessed her transform – bat wings and nocturnal vision, slinking into the evening sprawl. He snorted as she reigned above his head, and would’ve joined her in feathers and plumage, had his eagle capabilities ever been supreme in the twilight. But the beast had other options.
He shifted into the tiger expanses, forgoing the potential for the hellhound, instead peering into the composition of the Stygian abyss with feline rapacity. It’d been a long while since he’d last inhabited the massive cat’s prowess, the slinking, cutting precision of its carnivorous wake – rampant and fueled, not entirely different from his usual repertoire of predatory factions. But it was familiar, habitual, comfortable too – no need to slip into the dog’s mentality when the fragments were pieced together here. Paws settled, strides began, head lifted to the wind, a snicker cast through bonds and contortions, a ripple of movement beneath moonlight, dusk, and shadow. There are deer nearby. A hint of considerations and possibilities, but uncertain if she had seen or sensed anything else, awaiting the approval before they rushed into melees.
