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!
ache first, but then let the cuts close spit out the blood
A march into the wind, free from the confines of the office, kept him grounded, kept him tied, kept him tethered. A restless, wild vigilance, following yesteryears and lives before, swept across thresholds, and he could only stand still for so long in their wake, before giving in to the enticement of following the breeze. The chill was familiar, crisp, and keen, abiding no other except itself, and immersed, embedded, in its eclipse, in the lantern-forged lights, in the angles of eternal darkness, his pathways threaded in and amongst the town. He lingered along its enamoring, enticing steel like a moth cast and ignited by flames, remembering a world that could never be again, and how it intersected with this one – aligned and patterned, cyclical and parallel, until it simply wasn’t.
Not one and the same. Not unlike the Reaper and the Sword. Not unlike the Aurora Basin and Halo. Drawn in familiar outlines, in hushed parameters, in the glory of power and menace and might.
Zuriel drifted behind him, breadths and breaths away, and together they meandered and wandered, taken in by the brushstrokes of time and space. His eyes, piercing, puncturing, took their moments of scrupulous images, tracing over the fabric of market stalls, of cobblestones, of reaches beyond the formidable walls – searching for anything out of the ordinary, unfamiliar. Happenstance, the incredulous unknown, or something stark and in between.
watch your body pull itself back together then let your soul do the same
02-25-2021, 06:24 PM (This post was last modified: 02-25-2021, 06:30 PM by Random Event.)
There is a cry in the dark shrouds of LongNight. Nothing akin to monster screeches of the Hollowed Grounds nor the partying sounds of Torchline. This one is different, this one is bright, and this one is not human.
It echoes off the walls of the homes that dot Snowcloak, hidden among the snowy recesses and dips and curves, somewhere back beyond the homes, somewhere close to the edge toward the Tundra. Almost as if something has just arrived, and it’s in pain.
And so the cries begin anew, whimpering, until it’s quieted by a blanket of ice cold wind.
ache first, but then let the cuts close spit out the blood
Another sound cried out – sharper, etched and edged in synonymous wakes of torment and terror. And immediately he tensed, spine straightening into taut manifestations, too used to the sway and call of monsters. Too used to LongNight dilemmas. Too used to presuming the worst; a lure, an enticement of damage and persuasion and trickery, veils and shrouds of valor, and then the dominion of damnation to follow. His eyes glanced towards Zuriel, and the calculations immersed between the pair.
To follow, or to ignore.
Warden and General and Sword and Reaper all coiled into one – and he sighed, expecting some other doomsday, ominous beacon to blister and scorch upon them as they moved, tracing after the sorrowful sounds, away from the lines of homes, nearing the walls of the Tundra abyss, as if something meant to pull them into the stark, ivory void. As if they’d be snagged and snatched, snared and destroyed. As if the haunting manacles would bite and rip, tear and grab.
And still, they marched, taking in the wind and attempting to find the cause.
watch your body pull itself back together then let your soul do the same
He goes and another scream starts anew. It’s lower pitched than the other one, but still a scream of pain nonetheless. But the General turned Warden isn’t too far off now. Zuriel will see it before Deimos does, a lean black body of a deer so at odds with the snow around it. It flecks within the deer’s pelt, offering it the briefest hint of spots that would vanish as soon as it’s warm. Its wings are tucked in tight, and its head rises from the creature it has just killed.
Its head rises and tears away a strip of flesh, swallowing it down, before its eyes lock onto Deimos and its stance changes to protect its dinner. And it stares and stares, before deeming Deimos worthy, that familiar tug through a bond that seems to split and change. The Warden will know what it means.
Its head lowers again and it begins to eat once more.
Heather has purchased a race specific companion prize for a peryton for Deimos!
ache first, but then let the cuts close spit out the blood
The circumstances turned anew – expectations shifting, calculations rendered into a range he hadn’t fathomed. Why or how he hadn’t imagined this bizarre unfurling, considering the range of experiences nestled in his time on this particular earth, only sparked and brushed against his senses.
Too many other things filled them now,
He hadn’t seen such an animal before – with only luxere and normal deer to guide his impressions. But not with wings. And not feeding like a carnivore. His eyes drifted to the carcass, likely a ningo, the segments of pain diminished and gone. Nothing there to save.
The Sword thought about turning back, permitting the animal to have its course, leave well enough alone. But it was the tug, familiar and overwhelming, that caused him to stay, to remain, chiseled there along the foundation.
Chosen.
His piercing gaze caught Zuriel’s, and some deepening sigh flickered through – uncertain if there was amusement to be had, or just the notion of understanding, of comprehension. Of another souls’ notions bombarding into his own – and now two aligned with his soul. How there was room was beyond his faculties. But it swallowed, wallowed, and consumed, a bestial little bravado taking up space alongside the unicorn’s haughty, imperial nature. “Come on then,” he implored, once the beast had completed its meal.
There were more mysteries to untangle, to unravel, to understand, and it wasn’t going to all happen overnight.
{FIN <3}
watch your body pull itself back together then let your soul do the same
