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!
Zuriel snorted, but appreciated the gesture, muzzle going toward Aisha’s elbow, and then settling back before the fire. Deimos left her to her own devices; she seemed quite comfortable, before advancing along the walls, the halls, the floors. It was arcane and ancient, alive and whole in its own way – having seen far more than they ever would or could dream, designate, and to hold a place in its distinction was an honor. The Sword had never been a creature to take anything for granted; avaricious in that manner, and he wouldn’t here either, not when he’d been given another opportunity. No one had to let him live here, no one had to allow him to start, try, to thrive back into the confines of battles, defenses, and armaments, to remember, recall, exactly who he was and what he’d been, and the memories of steel, of crushing blows, of ramparts ricocheting and fortifications fastened into thresholds. And as always, he’d pay them back with his own merit, his grit, his fire, his determination, instilling the fiber of sedition and conflagrations, collaborations, mettle for mettle, bone for bone, blood for blood.
He’d fallen, tripped, stumbled, and fumbled along for too long now. And maybe this threshold, this world, would permit him to recall what he’d been all along.
While Aisha stalked, he listened, appreciating her blunt commentary, arching a brow at the figments he already knew, hastened, and could smile about. “I have no doubt someone will.” An arch to his brow signified nothing and everything, the cheeky glorifications sculpted into his features, rendered juvenile and boyish again without the semblance of trepidation carving them back into reticence. His eyes traced and trailed over the foundations, of the stonework that had once sculpted and protected, at the assistance it would need, at the devotion he could carry and maul into it. “Yes,” came first, already marking and making considerations in his cranium. “It had a rough Deepfrost last year. And with so many other projects, it was probably not high on the list.” Not when there’d been upheavals, manifestations, afflictions, deaths, and everything else contorted, unresolved. “But that is where we come in.” To breathe life, renewal, resurgence, and strength back into it.
Aisha was once again grinning at his cheeky response, resting her cheek against the hand that gripped the stone corners of the hall to the main room. There was a moment of content before Deimos continued, Aisha finding herself lost in the promise she felt. Things could be so good, gods things could be better. And she would try her damnedest to see that tomorrow.
She fully stepped into the room as he answered her more sobered question, leaning against the wall now with her arms crossed, briefly glancing back to the unicorn by the fire. He spoke of deepfrost, of difficult times and measures. How many of Halo's guard had perished in the cold of this year gone by, how many at the hands of mythical forces, by tooth and claw like Weaver. There was danger and death, but as Deimos said, there would be rebirth.
She thought she'd found it in the grounds, but maybe she was looking in the wrong place.
"We? And what makes you so sure that I'm staying general?" this was mostly a tease, it was obvious in the excitement she'd shared that her intentions were set. As blunt and judgmental she'd already been, she'd have been even worse if she didn't actually like the place.
fear has the sharpest teeth, it eats and eats and eats
With the constant need to keep moving, restless without anarchy or sedition, he maneuvered away from the wall, steering towards the table, the fire, and everything else nestled in between. The promise of some form of renewal, of resurrection, of resurgence, kept him coiled and curled together, an itch, a craving for movement and motion, for putting things back to rights again. For normalcy, for impacts, for a better dawn to come out of all these hells, for ashes to no longer be in his lungs, for embers to kindle, stoke, and fire, rather than dim. Though the Sword wasn’t one for hope, for faith (other than in himself), it was the determination long since instilled in his form that vitalized and awakened, and if he could keep that alive, keep it steady, keep it whole, than he wouldn’t allow anything to stop them. Protect, guard, defend – an immersion of foundations long since carved into his bones.
And they’d all lost, but gods, how long had it been since they'd won?
He began to pull some food out of the cabinets nearby, stored from his latest round – bread, meat, and cheese, placing them out on the table if Aisha was partial to snacking. The General then leaned against the table, munching on ningo jerky, turning to fully face her, crossing his arms over his chest at her rebuttal. A tilt to his head indicated another feline gesture, as if he were mulling, musing, along a response, a counter-act. She might've been fishing for compliments again, and the heathen wasn't about to fall into the snare. “Oh? Were you not planning on staying?” The cheeky, juvenile, very boyish depiction flickered over him, as if he’d never been entangled in all the irreverence, rebellion, grief, and anguish slowly eroding, threatening to tear him apart – grin rendering to Cheshire depths. “Shame. I will have to find someone else then.”
Oh of course she was partial to snacking, who wasn't. She meandered absently over to the long table as Deimos pulled some food from storage, stopping and seating herself on the wooden corner. She'd have whatever he was having, some kind of meat strip, she reached over and plucked one from the stuff he'd brought out. After a sniff, she bit into it; chewy and burnt, rich and filling.
A chuckle spilled forth from her lips as he replied to her tease, the jerky swaying in theatrical hand as she gestured towards him, "I never said I wasn't! Wouldn't want to put you through the trouble of finding someone else anyway." She glanced away, taking another bite and making a show of mulling it over. To stay or not to stay. A question no longer, she'd made her decision long ago in reality, the moment the citadel's warmth had touched her skin.
"I guess I'll stay, but I'll need to go back and get my stuff before I move for good," she confirmed.
fear has the sharpest teeth, it eats and eats and eats
He studied her, eyes narrowed, speculating, considering, contemplating. Perhaps his jocular methods had been overwhelming, domineering particles, and he hadn’t realized it. It hadn’t been his intention, and so he backed off the Cheshire demeanor, features rendering back to their inscrutable haze. “I would not pressure you. You do not have to stay if you do not want to be here.” A show of prowess and potential might not be enough, might not be tempting, might not be what she needed and required – and he’d already been sent down the rubble, the ruin, the path of those around him who simply left. Ultimately, it was her decision, and his ideals, his ambitions, shouldn’t have factored into it. They were there, if she wanted to have a part in their aspirations.
The Sword turned away momentarily, ensuring the cabinet and all its corresponding adornments were closed, sealed, shut tight and away from potential scavengers. A sigh threatened to pierce through him, and he didn’t want that, didn’t want its nuances, anguish, and sorrow to build back up, not when the day had been amusing. Her response caused his brow to arch, and he leaned back against his designated sanction, piercing gaze settling back upon Aisha. “Only if you are certain.”
12-05-2020, 02:05 PM (This post was last modified: 12-06-2020, 06:13 PM by Aisha.)
AISHA
and now we're breeding a feeling of animosity
As hot headed as Aisha could be, she viewed everything serious strategically. Quick wit and intuition were saved for the heat of a battle, when she could hear the roar of her own blood pumping through her body. For decisions like this, Aisha played her game; the long game of carefully placed pieces and choices, sculpting her future from the pawns to the kings.
He was not pressuring her, only encouraging, Aisha shook her head and took another bite of her jerky, "I make my own decisions general," she reminded with a smirk, the hint of her ambition and calculation in the look she shot him. Then a smile, "Of course I'm certain, I like it here. I want to be a part of this," she gestured to the room around her, its mixture of promised war and welcoming homestead. It just felt right, as opposite from her home as it was, the resemblance to something sweeter was just too good.
fear has the sharpest teeth, it eats and eats and eats
Assurances and certainties rendered permitted the slip of his spine to a more yielding posture, unaware how he’d immediately tensed, conjuring an instinctual, unbending physique when waiting for her reply. The depths of his small smile retained their prior position, and he nodded, releasing the sigh he’d held. “Okay.” Acceptance of the inevitable, that they’d play their war games and defenses, that they’d attempt to out maneuver whatever lingered on the horizon, that they’d rebuild and prosper, and there were things he could count on again. Stability – where roots wouldn’t be so uplifted, damaged, and blown, broken apart. He leaned over to procure another piece of jerky, eyes lifting towards the hall, the parlor, mind on everything else that would need to be done – and striving to funnel it away for a future moment, not bombarding instances with machinations for eternity.
A pause then, in the calculating efforts, while he chewed and stared, gaze going back to the fire, ensuring it was still roaring, before attention deviated back to Aisha. “Is there anything else you wanted to see?” Investigate? Snoop around? Despite avid patrols, he hadn’t viewed everything either (sometimes the affliction and sickness had forced him out of a more formidable endurance, and now he could make up for it). There was bound to be more discoveries to be had.
Aisha watched as the hellhound released his hackles, comfort easing it's way back to his muscles. He was so bound to the notion of loss, of hurt, disappointment; but Aisha refused to be that. It was perhaps instinctual in her as well, to prove herself, and show him that she was strong. Of course she wanted to be here, she had ambitions to be carried through and plans of her own, not swayed by outside judgment. But a little push, a promise of acceptance and friendship never hurt anyone.
As soon as he'd accepted her conviction he returned to his usual demeanor, she could see the wheels spinning as he turned to look at all the other 'projects' this building held. She could see them too, places where they would celebrate their victories and mourn their losses. It was clear as day, as tangible as the beating heart of the fire that warmed her skin. The metaphysical pull of Deimos's gaze as it landed back on her drew her attention, to his question and to the present.
She finished up her snack, swiping the crumbs off her palms as she responded, "Well for starters I'd like to know what kinda meat that was." Humor creased in the lines by her eyes, "and where we can catch some more."
fear has the sharpest teeth, it eats and eats and eats
12-06-2020, 07:50 PM (This post was last modified: 12-06-2020, 07:57 PM by Deimos.)
DEIMOS
Too inherent; those feelings and multitudes of loss, the Sword repeatedly on the receiving end of destruction and calamity, hurt and pain, internal anguishes he strived so readily not to bring to the surface. It was far too easy to bring up every damned wall, every malicious fortification, to ensure no one else obliterated another piece away from him. He was still trying to stick the rubble, the ruins, back together, hastily, swiftly, and every now and again they fell away from one another, so he felt like an empty, immense tower of wounds and lacerations, of scars, of brutality. Guarded, secluded, and struggling to break over surfaces before he drowned in the wake of so many other armaments reaching for his soul.
But Aisha had never been that way. She hadn’t mauled him. She hadn’t marred him. She hadn’t been altered, fragmented, or destroyed. Instead, she forced him out of the shell and into places not so touched or tarnished by shadows – an amiable, friendly comfort in their familiar walks of life, in vehemence, in the notions of similar aspirations, to boldly press their skills into these halls and strive for something greater. It gave him far more hope than what he’d had in the last few seasons, and he breathed, he calmed, he relaxed. In some swift turn of fate, he found himself safe in her presence. And the General wasn’t certain if he’d ever be able to convey his appreciation properly – save for the Attuned measures, where the storm in his eyes ebbed away.
There were other things to do besides linger in the space of future intervals. He turned into the humor, into the light accord, away from the brutality, down into the plains of mischief and potential instead. “Ningos. Fat, white, dim birds.” His mouth managed to curl into a juvenile grin, already twisting, turning, into other remnants of who he used to be, could be again, given time, given patience, given opportunities where he wasn’t devoured by his grief. “There were some by the Palace earlier.” And he motioned towards the door, a casual wave to Zuriel; the unicorn snorted and continued her rest by the fire. That semblance was well-earned too, with all the hours she’d spent painstakingly watching over him. A certain creed of devil-may-care notions spiraled over his mind as he stepped out, expecting her to follow. “As long as we do not tell Chulane. He wants to farm them.” Except Deimos and others were casually picking off the wild interlopers one-by-one.
Back to simpler topics, to joyous occasions now that decisions had been made and solidified. The breath she pulled in was deeper, fuller, more relaxed. It felt nice to have a real plan for once, rather than barreling through each day blind, relying on chance and emotion. Now she could ask about food, about hunts and blithesome things, moments they could share without worry.
Ningos, Korbin had mentioned those once hadn't he? That reminded her she wanted to look for him here, it'd been far too long. Not now of course, at some point, but now was reserved for a different friend. She grinned as he spoke, watching him formulate a plan, a strategy, a hunt. "I like what you're thinking," she chuckled, a warm sound resounding from her as she lifted off the table and shook a bit of movement into her muscles.
She followed him out as they plotted, mentions of Chulane, another name she knew, and his efforts to farm them. They'd only pluck off a few, the weak ones that wouldn't be much help to his initiative anyway. "My lips? Sealed," she replied, allowing him to lead the way through the palace grounds in search of the fat white birds.
fear has the sharpest teeth, it eats and eats and eats
With plans formulated, with secrets protected, doors closed as they ambled back out into the cold, and he could steel, and fortify his capacity again, a light smirk hastening in Aisha’s direction as they began their walk towards the Palace. At least this way she could survey more of its spires, turrets, and conjectures, made as though it’d been carved out of glaciers and ravines. He looped around to the back, where an earlier flight, a liberating jaunt of deliverance, of being alive, of reminding himself what it meant, had indicated the ningos’ presence. They’d taken no heed of him earlier, either too preoccupied in their avian activities, or too dim to notice a predator stalking them from above.
And sure enough, rounding the corner was a flock of the ivory fowl, clustered together in a group of around ten. They wandered back and forth, picking through the snow, apparently not the least bit bothered they were there, present, and staring them down. He shrugged, because he wasn’t certain how much of a hunt it was going to be, but it was action nonetheless. Shifts or weapons? Both held their fair share of amusements, and as the resident newcomer he’d venture Aisha to make the choice in how she craved to take down the assembled beasts.
she grabbed a razor for me and she did it, just like that
Aisha had left her sword (a rare occurrence) in the barracks, leaning against the wall by the fireplace. Even as Deimos asked the question, whether they hunt with the blade of their body or their limbs of steel, she had already chosen. This was how it was done on her world, and this is how her hunts would always be. His question permeated the attuned bond, and as it did her body morphed, fur sprouting over her skin and her eyes turning bright and slitted.
This obviously wasn't the right environment for a creature of her coloring, but these birds seemed dull enough, speed was all they'd require. Come on then, what'll it be today? she spoke, voice resounding through their link, deep and bemused. Deimos had so many options, all of them fitting for the occasion.
when she want something she don't wanna pay for it
He watched, waited for the choices to be made, the considerations rallied; and an instant later, the leopard unfurled. The General smirked at her instigating, pondering over the situation himself. He’d come to possess an ample variety of predatory creatures within his soul – those with fangs, those with massive paws, those with incredulous power, precision, and might. But it would be the raptor today – a preference in the schism of demolishing ningos. Some aspects derived for its speed, its complete and utter liberation, the eternal freedom he received from application of wings and plumage, of diving, of descending in great, swift speeds, and then controlling his freefall, his talons, and a ripple of destruction in its own wake.
So then Deimos was tawny feathers and sharpened precision, rising upwards, over the inklings of the Palace, tracing over one of the spires, contemplating a ruse, as if he wasn’t there at all – not to the dimwitted fowl below. I can flush them towards you. A reversal of roles from their last hunt, where she’d been the instigator, and he’d been the onslaught. Depending on their odds though, he intended to pluck several for himself – quick, rapid, and sure. He waited until she was ready, aligned in whatever complexity she wished – likely not requiring great stealth when mustering towards these creatures.
And thereafter, the eagle dove, streamlined in the chilling void, falling, falling, falling, extending talons towards one very large bird, while the rest flew, fluttered, and flickered in various directions – the main contortion and proportion of the flock fumbling directly into Aisha’s orbit.
she grabbed a razor for me and she did it, just like that
Ah, the raptor; sharp edges and slick plumage, talons built for tearing. They were similar in this way, in their claws and their teeth. Wicked points, extensions of their weapons while in human form, only melded with their blood and bone. Aisha loved the feel of it, the way her claws flexed through the packed snow.
She moved quietly behind a nearby pillar so as to keep her golden tones out of sight. The pathway would be clear for the ningos now, a path that Deimos could usher them through, only to be ambushed by the hiding predator. Her yellow eyes followed his wings as they pressed against the frigid breeze, a spear hewn from down and feathers. She saw him flex and dive then disappear from view, and she knew the chaos would ensue.
Flashing wings of white and claws of black, Aisha lunged at the closest bird that flew by her hiding spot. Bones splintered as her teeth crunched into it's shoulders, but a claw to the throat dealt her final card. Kill held between her jaws she glanced around to see if there were any other birds she might try to tackle, but unfortunately they were faster than they looked. Instead she moved towards Deimos to see what he'd caught.
when she want something she don't wanna pay for it
