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!
Aisha smiled at Belril as he replied, going into detail about how he'd come to be here. She was glad he was, natural though he may be she didn't trust the grounds with people so fragile. "Good, glad to have you," she smiled, moving on with the greetings and announcements.
They'd all set about their tasks swiftly, glances exchanged, Aisha's eyes following the work of the others. She drew a little from Kiada and Chulane, and considering the combination how they did she achieved a very average looking dummy. In her eyes, it was the best one yet, a step up from those she'd been tasked with originally. She smiled as she finished, smacking at the straw filled torso to fluff it like a pillow.
Deimos's presence behind her did not go unnoticed, she tossed him a grin over her shoulder, eagerly awaiting the praise. "Adequate. One drink." The leopardess scowled though the smile stilled pulled at the corners of her lips, she gave a humph as he moved on to the others. She couldn't help but snicker when Kiada's fate was announced, it felt somewhat good to know somebody was worse than her at this. Chulane's though, was fine or whatever was really really good.
She tossed back the first mug, thanking Kiada and turning to face Deimos as he announced the next step. Painting? Damn, couldn't they just wack the things to death already? She grabbed the tools and set about it, figuring she'd just slap some paint on and inspiration would grasp her along the way. By the end of it the dummy almost had some feather-like textures and eyes. She didn't claim to be an artist, but it was obviously meant to be a bird of some kind. A rival from another life, an owl shifter she grew up with who'd always pushed the right buttons. She could've gotten deep with this, but it was meant to be a fun day; she made no space for real anger on this night.
if you don't terrify people a little then what's the point
Unlike some of the others, who might’ve been taking the task into emotional levels, Deimos had a great number of enemies, adversaries, or rivals to choose from; and the only inspiration he required was a healthy dose of rage. While everyone else tended to their effigies, the contemptuous lines of his memories webbed and waned, passing over potential layers and upheavals. Mirage had been a worthy opponent for as long as he’d known her, but eventually their grievances had long since been aired. Jigano was an irritating measure of condescending sagacity and know-it-all proclivities with such a foothold on selfishness it vexed the beast even now. Zariah had been a ridiculous, overpowering, overwhelming dictator, but was now rumored to be dead.
So he settled into his movements, dipped his brush into blackened hues, and began to paint over the fixtures of one enemy stark and cold against his machinations. First there was her face – from what he could recall, remember, from days of battle, from lunging perilously at her disturbing, illusionary factions, from defending his people constantly, consistently, from season to season to season, until the debauchery settled. And then skulls; like she was a representation of skeletal remains. The loathsome creature probably would’ve enjoyed the image – so he rendered the figure nearly withered and decayed, bloodied from the scales of swords and blades robbing her of her senses, riddling and rankling her to nothing.
Then the temporary Warden stepped back, hastening a long sip and swallow from his beer; narrowing his eyes as the wrath simmered and seethed in between his ribs. It took a few more seconds to bring it all down, to have it washed away, and the alcohol was a pleasant little burn in the back of his head, easing everything into a tranquil, forbearing stature once more. After surveying it for a few moments, he shrugged his shoulders. “Two drinks,” he awarded himself; a job well done. He’d be more than content to batter the figure to pieces later on.
Polishing off his first and working on his second, Deimos went to make his rounds. Chulane was the first stop this time, and the image set upon the figure was something out of a nightmare. His head tilted vaguely to study it, figuring perhaps he simply required more alcohol or some of it had already spiraled around Chulane’s efforts. “What is it?” For curiosity’s sake, the intonations quiet during his scrutinizing. “One drink,” taking off some points for bizarre smearing and weird-looking teeth.
The Sword did naught more than snort at Kiada, the juvenile predilections remaining on the curves of his mouth as he wandered closer, intending to inspect her second attempts at the stitching. Unfortunately, this round didn’t go quite so well either, and the frayed ends simply couldn’t hold the ramparts and limbs together. No fortune or luck had been shared between Chulane and the Harpy, leaving the Sword to laugh outright, but also lending a hand to restitch the broken, pathetic fibers. “There. Now paint.” No drinks awarded for those efforts either – not that it would affect her much.
His motions toward Belril seemed to have caused somewhat of a mortification, and so he merely shrugged his shoulders at the semblance of the orphanage sending the child here. Perhaps the youth would be helpful, but it remained to be seen. He paid no heed to the promise, save for intending to hold him to it, before glancing at the target’s newfound paint. Something seemed very personal, very realistic, very true to form, and the Sword didn’t miss the uncanny resemblance – perhaps something parental, a descendant line of hostility and circumstances. He considered, but didn’t ask, didn’t question, awarding towards the point system, as the figure was well craft. “Two drinks.” Of juice.
Finally, there was Aisha. The scowls directed his way didn’t bother him at all, the depths of his snicker and smirk reappearing. Another drink, another dreg, down to the bottom of his second, before he inspected and examined. Avian, feathered, plumage draped and dissolved; curious about its disposition, from where it hailed, but voicing none of the inquiries flickering over his ruses and schemes. They were all entitled to their secrets. “Two drinks,” towards the leopardess.
Thereafter, they could place the targets elsewhere to dry – giving and granting more opportunities to earn the coveted alcohol. Deimos had already grabbed and cut a slab of bread, not intending to become hungover or sloshed on an empty stomach, handing it out to those requiring some sustenance before they moved onto the next task. The monolith maneuvered, still steady, still enduring, and took out five of the archery targets, clearly defeated, flattened, and dismayed from earlier sieges and assaults. “We need to re-stuff these.” He gestured and showed the hay, straw, and other nuances available, and where they could undo the stitching, place the wares within, and redo the strings.
--
Deimos has earned two drinks!
Chulane has earned one drink!
Kiada did not stitch her target well again, but Deimos has helped, and she can move onto painting. No drinks.
Belril has earned two drinks (of juice)!
Aisha has earned two drinks!
Her dummy was good, which was a welcome surprise. This is the best you've ever looked, she thought as she looked over the owl-like artwork. It was amusing, and comforting in a way, to be able to imagine a piece of her home world here in Halo. Even if it was just a rival from the past.
Deimos seemed to agree on the quality, appraising her artwork worth two drinks rather than one. She was no seamstress, but she could paint a nice feather. Aisha grinned, "Thank you," with a slight humph to her tone. That's more like it, the woman retrieved her next two refills and tossed them back, counting three for the night and washing it down with some bread. Her eyes were wider now, movement sprinkled in molasses. Tipsy, but she could do more.
Next they would be re-stuffing targets. Aisha sighed, once again she was pitted against the strings and needles. But she'd do her best, because fuck it all if she didn't leave plastered. She grabbed one and started ripping the seams, ready to fill and suture it back up in the end.
Welp, here's hoping this peaceful moment last. Don't expect it to.
A belch escaped him on starting the third drink finally as he sipped to give him something to do to steady his nerves, not wanting to waste any of it. Due to the difficulty of getting most resources in Deepfrost especially, you don't want to waste anything if you can help it.
Belril leaned over towards Aisha, catching the sigh from the slightly-woozy swordslady. "Need help," he quietly asked as he began to try to work on the target. First he pulled out a tiny blade he kept for trimming plants from one of his pockets, then aimed it to snip through the stitching that already existed without cutting through the cloth by accident. Once done, he would get to pulling out the super-flat padding within and replacing it with newer padding. He could probably do something with the old padding, once he figured it out, but one task at a time. Once stuffed, he tried to think back to his past stitching attempt while trying to think of how to do better this go-round with the needlework.
So far, his work has been steady during all these tasks, and he was admittedly glad he wasn't getting smashed like he could see at least one other getting to be at this point. If possible, he would try to repeat this whole stuffing progress with at least one other target...
Snip, stuff, stitch. Belril's gonna try to see if he can do more than one of the targets that need restuffing to make himself more useful.
Quote:Hollowed Grounds: The world is new to you, and you to it. During PQ/PQ+/KQs/Drops, you roll with advantage on luck-based rolls and receive an extra name during drops. (In order to use this, make sure to note the ability at the bottom of each post.)
i'm sorry to interrupt, it's just i'm constantly on the cusp of trying to kiss you, i don't know if you feel the same as i do
She tries and tries again, noticing that the edges just won’t come together. She curses in her frustration, quietly, brows furrowed before she quite nearly gives up. Deimos is there, with that smirk on his face, and her iceberg gaze lifts to look at him with an unamused, flat look, a huff of a sigh that she doesn’t need, setting her needle down to let him finish it up. “I think my needle’s broken.” She protests, flashing a soft smile at the thought when he allows her to paint.
And so she does, stealing a bit of the red and the yellow from Chulane’s paint in order to craft her target into a very specific, fiery haired woman that as far as she could recall lived in Torchline now. The further away the better – and if the Harpy didn’t have to see Melita ever again, she finds she’d be content. For now, however, the thought of shooting the girl with arrows and knives seems fitting enough. And so she attempts her best to paint it.
Kiada moves onto painting and tries to paint Melita onto her target ;D
but we could be together, if you wanted to do i wanna know if this feeling flows both ways?
Kiada has a large X scar on the right side of her neck.
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Kiada, without killing her <3
Happiness is not an ideal of reason but of imagination
He was mildly amused, through the haze of the alcohol, at the others’ response to his ‘enemy’. It was mostly true though – Pennywise had been the stuff of nightmares for the young Chuy, many a sleepless night and an eternal hatred for clowns born from the horror film he’d watched as a young and rather more foolish child.
“A demon of the underworld, who lures children into his realm with promises of gifts and abilities – then he eats them.” His words may have slurred here or there, as he determinedly painted the last touches to his target with intense scrutiny. He accepted more alcohol and having just finished his third, he was feeling rather pleasantly buzzed, if not well over the threshold of tipsy.
Hey, he was a cheap drunk.
He couldn’t help a snorting chuckle at Kiada’s fate, watching with amusement as Deimos had to step in. It would seem for all her ability in combat, she simply wasn’t gifted when it came to preparing training materials.
The next task was announced, and he continued to sip at his drink as he turned. When he made to move towards it, he found his steps not quite as coordinated as normal, and mumbled something that vaguely sounded like “Reckon all my luck’s pretty drunk” to Kia the next time she came in earshot. What did it mean? Not even he could tell you, having already forgotten what he’d intended to say and what he actually said the moment the words formed.
Then he got to work, tugging at stitches and stuffing materials in, absently thinking that perhaps it wasn’t the best idea for him to do the re-stitching in his current state – but then, he was so good at it before, of course he’d be fine with that again. And so he tried.
--
Rather drunk Chuy unstitches and stuffs, and restitches if the dice allow!
if you don't terrify people a little then what's the point
The restitching of the targets went very well, and the Sword was mildly impressed, especially with the amount of tipsy individuals beginning to thread needles into fabric. Perhaps they all had far stronger concentrations or constitutions than they’d been led to believe – as he downed his fourth drink, pleasantly buzzing. The weaving process was natural and inherent by now, and the goal was stuffed neatly, properly. Satisfied with his arrangement, he allotted himself two more drinks and another piece of bread, wandering down the ramparts towards the others – stride much less savage and sinister, and more of a stroll.
Aisha’s was sufficient as well – though she seemed borderline tipsy – and while he passed through he proffered some more bread and water. “Two drinks,” he announced, a Cheshire grin wrapping around his features, the reticent mask entirely dropping now, forgotten in the haze of contentment.
Juice boy (Belril) hadn’t fared as well as the others, but he was rewarded for his efforts just the same. “One. And a snack.” Which the temporary Warden provided – some form of chocolate he’d smuggled and snuck away.
Which then left time to taunt Kiada and Chulane – but both of their efforts were more than satisfactory. His eyes glimpsed towards the Harpy’s target, not recognizing the features painted into the surface. Perhaps she had more adversaries than he’d noted or realized, and shrugged his shoulders, holding up two fingers to ascertain her success, and then the same to the ningo farmer, as his target had been sufficiently stitched as well. Huh.
He made no note of the nightmare lurer of children. Best to leave that out of his mind.
Then, drink still in hand, the monolith meandered back towards the archery target. “More painting!” He announced, tilting his head vaguely, studying the effigy. “You can make a smaller enemy right in the center.” And he pointed to the middle of the faded bullseye, as if none of them could understand his meaning. He might not have comprehended it, to be fair, attention span beginning to wane and wander.
He grabbed hold of the nearby white and red cans, glass in one hand, paintbrush in the other, and dipped it into the ivory liquid first. And quite purposefully, on airs of alcohol-induced mischief, flicked the brush upwards, so droplets of the hues and pigments cascaded directly upon and towards Aisha and Kiada.
--
Deimos has earned two drinks!
Aisha has earned two drinks!
Belril has earned one drink and a snack!
Kiada has earned two drinks!
Chulane has earned two drinks!
Next up is painting the bullseye targets!
Deimos has also flung white paint at Kiada and Aisha.
i'm sorry to interrupt, it's just i'm constantly on the cusp of trying to kiss you, i don't know if you feel the same as i do
Whatever Kiada’s doing – painting more than likely – it stills at Chulane’s explanation of the demon, brows furrowing while her head tilts back toward him briefly, swallowing down the surprise and the similarities of how Kisamoa had managed to grasp her while she was young, promising abilities and gifts and power before sucking them into the Rift (his realm) where the world itself tried to devour them all. So she picks her pace up a bit more, finishing her painting of Melita on the target while Deimos veers back toward her.
Finally she manages to get some drinks, slamming down the two with a huff of laughter given toward Chulane. “Keep it up then.” She teases, flashing him a wink of amusement, a bump of her hip into his own as she goes onto the next task, restuffing the archery targets. However, in the process (she’d grabbed a new needle, don’t worry), she doesn’t entirely feel the paint as it splatters along her skin. She doesn’t feel the chill of it as it soared through the air, she doesn’t feel the impact it makes. But she sees the color in her peripheral, the pale white as it splatters across her nose.
Immediately, iceberg eyes slip around to spy who could have done it – deciding that Deimos was the likely culprit, she smirks through the white paint dotting her skin. “Well that isn’t very Lord-like.” She murmurs, grabbing a paintbrush and abandoning the stuffing for the moment to fling some of Chulane’s red paint his way.
Kiada tries to restuff her target before grabbing a paintbrush and red paint and retaliating against Deimos!
but we could be together, if you wanted to do i wanna know if this feeling flows both ways?
Kiada has a large X scar on the right side of her neck.
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Kiada, without killing her <3
01-21-2021, 06:48 PM (This post was last modified: 01-22-2021, 06:47 PM by Belril.)
Welp, here's hoping this peaceful moment last. Don't expect it to.
Belril, feeling like he let others down with the attempt of taking more than the burden he should have, slightly jolted when Deimos came up to him. He expected to be scolded for doing too much and doing a shoddy of because of it, but the gain of a drink, even if only one, was a small relief.
And while he may have just turned 17, he was still somewhat of a kid at heart, so there was a lot of sparkles in his widened eyes at the sight of chocolate...and for him. "Th-thank you, Mr. Warden," he managed to say before taking it and beginning to nibble on it.
And he became glad he had only nibbled into a sliver of the chocolate when Belril heard the answer to what Chulane's original target was...and he had but one question: "...what's a 'demon'?" The rest of it, however, he didn't need to ask about, just mentally replacing whatever a 'demon' was with a person and the concept was still pretty fear-inducing.
He was about to start to focus on painting targets, when he heard Kiada say something faintly. He turned to see her flick the paintbrush to try to splash some red onto Deimos, freezing at the thought of someone getting yelled at. It was then he noticed the white splashed on Kiada, then on Aisha after looking around and on the paintbrush Deimos had in his hand...and he became confused. "Wait, what happened?"
Fearing he might have to duck some amount of incoming paint, he turned his target around so it was between him and everyone else before focusing on trying to paint his particular target in the default way. Better the target gets hit with flying paint than him.
Belril begins painting a target of his own in the default way after turning it to be between him and everyone else.
Quote:Hollowed Grounds Citizenship: The world is new to you, and you to it. During PQ/PQ+/KQs/Drops, you roll with advantage on luck-based rolls and receive an extra name during drops. (In order to use this, make sure to note the ability at the bottom of each post)
Happiness is not an ideal of reason but of imagination
Chulane looked to the kid (who was a teenager, sure, but comparatively very much a kid) who posed a question on the definition of demon. And without missing a beat, completely oblivious to the strange looks the others were giving him, he simply said: “Evil.” With a deadpan expression, he finished his task with reasonable success – having lsot count of the amount of drinks he’d consumed long ago, he simply kept grinning like an idiot and downing more as they arrived to him (though he was a little bit fidgety as his bladder kindly informed him he’d had quite a bit to drink).
But he persisted on, delighted with the idea of more painting, laughing at Kia’s bump against him. But it was Deimos who inspired his next idea of complete disregard for the actual task at hand.
Paint went flying, and the only reason Chulane noticed it was because his focus was entirely on Kiada and not on the target he was supposed to be painting. He fully supported her idea of return fire, happily relinquishing a paintbrush before dipping his hand in some blue paint, along with a rag. Then, along with Kia, he made to throw the rag at Deimos – ever the defendant of his lover’s pride.
However, while he did this, he also came in close to Kia’s side, trailing his other, blue stained hand down her back, hoping to grasp one of her buttcheeks and leave a clear handprint of his appreciation for its shape present for all to see.
--
Chuy has his drinks and really needs to pee but is ignoring that for now.
He is also completely ignoring the current task and instead throwing a paint-wet blue rag at Deimos, whilst also squeezing Kia’s butt with a hand dipped in paint.
Aisha ripped and stuffed, sewed and reattached, and finally the target came together looking good. Maybe she should always drink a little during art, the buzz definitely gaze some creative edge. Deimos came over just as she finished, holding some bread and drinks. Two of them, and Aisha broke into a wide grin at that. She took the ale from him and downed her bit, glancing over to the others to see how they fared. Chulane's dummy still eyeballed them from the side, creepy.
They are to paint these target's too, and just as she reached for a new brush something wet and cool hit her forehead. Face scrunched up she raised her hands to wipe the white paint off, or more so smear it down, like sunscreen on her nose. Kiada had taken a hit too. Aisha followed the other woman's gaze back to Deimos with a scowl, and joined in with the retaliation, dipping her brush in the red as well and slinging some paint at the acting warden.
"Hm," she humphed playfully, chin tilted up and turning away from Deimos, shooting Kiada a grin before deciding to splatter her target in a similar way. Haphazard, abstract, you get the picture.
Aisha joins Kiada in throwing paint at Deimos, then does some paint splatter to her target!
if you don't terrify people a little then what's the point
The Sword was quite pleased with himself – the antics had heralded other obnoxious responses, and the antagonistic, instigating approach had gained a success. So much so that he completely forgot his own task in the measures to follow, lacking focus, distracted by mischief and devilry. The paintbrush didn’t hasten towards the target at all, and he dipped it further, soaking and burying the tool in the ivory bucket, intending to rise into further assaults. But then he was sieged in return.
Crimson hues flung from Kiada landed squarely on his furs, splattering nearly in a makeshift blood pattern, only to be followed by a blue rag to his shoulder, leaving a healthy blotch of cerulean. Aisha’s efforts cast directly into his beard, beginning to unfurl a telltale mess across his clothing and person; too large a target to be missed. And instead of growing irritated, vexed, or annoyed, the provocateur laughed – a loud, exuberant, ebullient rumble, exuding from deep in his chest, echoing and bounding off the stones. “One drink each,” he declared, based on their attacks, erupting into another volley of laughter, pretending to turn back to his own effigy.
Meanwhile, Kiada’s restuffing had gone well – and she’d be ready to paint, if not given in entirely to deterrents. Chulane, of course, much like Deimos, didn’t complete any at all. Aisha’s came along, and she’d be ready to fine-tune circles and centers. Belril had the best of all, likely because he hadn’t given into the temptation of idle, juvenile warfare, and only required a few minor touch-ups in order to ensure completion.
Thereafter though, the acting Warden lifted his paintbrush out of the white substance, and flung it haphazardly, in various directions. No aim was intended, save for the obvious ramparts towards the other three occupants (Belril didn’t receive a free pass), smirking and cackling all the while, the alcohol’s buzz working pleasantly in his mind.
--
Deimos has been hit by Aisha, Kiada, and Chulane! They each get one drink!
Kiada has stuffed her target and may paint it!
Belril’s target has been painted quite nicely and may make a few minor touch ups.
Aisha’s target has come out well and she may finish it up!
Deimos and Chulane haven’t even bothered to paint their targets.
In retaliation, Deimos has flung white paint towards every participant.
i'm sorry to interrupt, it's just i'm constantly on the cusp of trying to kiss you, i don't know if you feel the same as i do
The paint is flung and lands upon Deimos and Kiada can’t help the wicked fanged grin that spreads along her face, a huff of chimed laughter that leaves her that colors the air. It doesn’t last long, however, because there’s a hiccup of surprise that’s leaving her after, with the feel of Chulane as he approaches, as he leaves paint on her as well. A squeak of surprise leaves her, forgetting her target momentarily to take the red paint and turn to Chulane to press her paint covered hands onto his cheeks, rubbing a bit of it into his beard with a playful grin.
Her target is forgotten for the moment, giving into pressing a kiss to his lips before she turns away and begins to draw a little picture in the middle. She doesn’t know what it is, just that she spreads the paint around in a way that seems to be abstract and relatively pretty in comparison to most of everything else. Still, she glances over to Chulane, just in time to get speckled with paint by Deimos again – dipping her fingers into the paint to fling back at the acting Warden as well as to send some over to Chulane as well with an innocent ‘oops’ type of look.
but we could be together, if you wanted to do i wanna know if this feeling flows both ways?
Kiada has a large X scar on the right side of her neck.
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Kiada, without killing her <3
Welp, here's hoping this peaceful moment last. Don't expect it to.
And this was why he moved his target between him and the others. When the paint flew towards him, Belril tried to duck to be fully hidden by the target's size and use it as a shield. "Is the Warden drunk," he questioned more to himself than anyone else, a bit of worry on his face before daring to peek back around it to behold the mess that was spreading. "Looks like almost...hm?"
It crossed his mind, based on what he did know about the medical arts he had tried to learn, that there was a pretty-distinct nonzero chance that he and maybe one other, were the only ones not drunk. He glanced towards the one he saw wasn't acting with any form of drunkeness, wondering if she was an Ascended, before backing up with the target in hand. "...I'm starting to think I owe her a few apologies for being a pain growing up," he muttered to himself as he thought back to some of the past incidents he caused growing up while in the orphanage, focusing more on hiding from the flying paint and being ready to attempt to cure drunken headaches that may form than get himself involved in the paint-flinging just yet...
Belril's using his target to shield himself from flying paint and readying up to try to cure whatever alcohol-induced headaches begin to form. He ain't even bothering trying to paint it further right now, not until the paint stops going airborne.
