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!
The dawn broke over the haze of ivory, and he was already at the gates of the Citadel, eyes pinpointed towards the horizon. Sometimes he thought it would erupt into a cosmic stream of colors, and all of the suffering, all of the hell, all of the efforts wouldn’t have been a dream – back into the Aurora’s throngs, with the world at his feet and the mountains not so stark; familiar, loved, known. And each time he caught glimpses of the sunrise, it reminded him that the past had to stay there, caught in his heart, in his throat, in his ribs, where it could be buried, burrowed, and borrowed, and he would bow his head upon the grain of wind, swallow everything down, down, down. It would sink, rebel, and chase down the ramparts of his monolithic figure, and then the towering Colossus would move, before melancholy took him once more.
Another journey into the tundra, not to hunt, but to search compelled his movements today. He hitched his bag further up his shoulder, adorned the armaments along their designated thresholds, and checked over Zuriel. Despite her habitual growing of long hair for the winter, his concern in the glacial expanse caused him to have made a thickened blanket, now draped over her hide. No complaints ensued, and so he tucked his own furs around him, and they sauntered off, steps into the midst, tracing away from the confines of the backdrop, two figures immersed into ivory.
Luxere were meant to be plentiful here; not like the Hollowed Grounds, where they ventured along Deepfrost. He had no intentions of bombarding, of massacring, of bludgeoning, but required a set of antlers; presuming they were shed at some point. If not this season, then perhaps an upcoming one, or some had already been loosened, lost, in previous years and intervals. He merely wanted the telltale glow, the reverberations of their existences, to know where to trace, where to linger, where to look. The biggest obstacle might be seeing one in general, knowing, understanding, they shied away from the dark incantations coiled through his form.
We're just another hype But the pressure's getting harder
Hester is not exactly done with her adventuring, her questions. But homesickness is a powerful thing, and the Hollowed Grounds and Greatwoods both have inspired bucketfuls of them in her. It’s so easy to just pop back in, just for a little bit, especially with the portals. While she doesn’t intend to make the entire trek back to Snowcloak, she can spare a few hours, a day maybe, hiking down along the familiar paths of the Fangs into the Tundra.
The layers that she’d stripped off in warmer locales are clung to tightly now, Hester shivering, despite herself. It’s getting closer and closer to Deepfrost, to the months of isolation, and she can only hope the preparations they’ve made will be enough.
Rough shapes cooked in white make up the landscape, which only makes the figures stick out more, cloaked in darkness. The attuned’s first thought is Ursur, ridiculous and panicked and sending her dipping down, trying to make herself small, hidden away among the ground, but rationality breaks through the next beat. Hester squints in the distance, the shape becoming human, and something else, something not native to the frozen lands. ”Hello?” She calls, regretting it when she remembers the man could just as easily be a cannibal as a companion.
Nothing hastened from the snow except its blinding, alabaster components, and he breathed the lingering chill in deep, mustering more semblances, more determination, more fortification, as he forged onward. A voice breaking over the wind surprised him though, because he hadn’t seen anything in the haze, and Zuriel’s sharpened senses permitted her to shift, turn, swivel her ears towards the nuance of inquiries and hesitated salutations. The beast paused too, monolithic endeavors pondering, wondering, if this was a guise, a ruse, a snare, some ancient, primordial beacon sent to coax travelers to deaths, some fabricated ghost along the breeze, or nothing disturbing altogether.
There was a certainty in his motions, in the impact of his stride, that foretold he’d likely be able to take care of any threat. How many times had he done so across similar plains and tundras? How many moments had he rushed across wild, wicked expanses, to drive his protection and prowess, potential and precision, pernicious persistence, into the ominous wake of another? With no amount of trepidation left in him, emboldened by the snow beneath his feet, by the vestiges of a world he had to know, had to understand, had to comprehend, he followed after Zuriel.
Together, they didn’t come upon a frost giant, ursur, or cannibal; but a young woman, seemingly attempting to make herself tiny, insignificant, in the ivory backdrop. He might’ve snorted at the scene, if she didn’t seem apprehensive. The unicorn took it upon herself to shake her head, and he gave her a significant look before the lofty reach of her cranium seemed all the more prideful. Turning back towards the figure, he noticed he recognized her – very briefly, from other events and moments scattered along Halo – and extended a gloved hand. “Hello.” A curious tilt of his own skull maneuvered thereafter. “Hester?” Recalling the name as best he could, the way she hadn’t enjoyed Loren’s antics and display (fair, because no one ever really did). “What brings you out here today?”
We're just another hype But the pressure's getting harder
Even before the figure grows clear, Hester relaxes a touch, noticing the certainty with which they move, and brushing off cannibal easily, used to twitchy, feral motion's from them. The silhouette of a unicorn helped as well, though the stranger was too big to be Morgan, the attuned girl was happy to find that despite that, it was still someone familiar.
Albeit, not familiar enough to bring his name to mind, a realization that tinges her cheeks bright red when he calls out to her by name. "Y-yes, it's good to see you again." She's as polite as she can be in the circumstances, reaching out with her own gloved hand to accept his, shaking it.
"Oh, I was um..." Hester looks behind her, in the direction of the Fangs, the portal hidden somewhere among icy bluffs and sharp rocks. "Exploring. I went to the Greatwoods, and I was planning on going to Torchline too, but... I needed to see the snow again before I went." It's not quite the truth, though there's no way she could bring herself to say that she was homesick, not to Deimos.
She did however, turn his question back on him, a curious tilt to her brow. "What about you?" What brings him out to the middle of nowhere with a unicorn? Perhaps something she can help with, before she moves on again.
Hands shaken, the beast allowed his to rest down by his side once more as her apprehension seemed to buoy, seemed to brim, and the strong, stalwart essence of his existence remained, vigilant, mighty, muffling away the wayward conditions of a smile threatening to rest along his mouth. Likely out of amusement, or the pangs of yearning to see snow again – he’d understand it. Had in the very roots and edges and fringes of his soul, over and over and over again until sometimes he thought he’d burst from the memories, the pangs, and things always seemingly left behind. But he maintained his polite accord, gaze flickering away from her and following after her eyes to the Fangs, the stretches of portals, and other figments lingering within the caves. “And how did you find the Greatwood?” Sometimes pleasant, sometimes wicked, sometimes potent, sometimes grand; as enigmatic and mysterious as the rest of the void. The Sword wasn’t certain of how many Naturals from Halo ventured out into the worlds beyond their own, how they felt stepping into lands not immersed in ice and rime.
The inquiry bolstering back upon him didn’t rankle or bother, a shrug undulating along shoulders, underneath the burden of furs. Zuriel snorted, wandering her way forward to inspect Hester, the same dignified, haughty expression remaining on her features, while Deimos perused through explanations. “I have a task from Ludo. Was intending to have some communication devices made for Halo.” Mostly because he knew himself, and the amazingly foolish actions he often took in the wakes and throngs of protection and shielding. “I was hoping to find some shed luxere antlers.” His head tilted back to her after the rumble ceased – perhaps he’d be in luck and she would’ve already seen some, if there was a particular glow instilled nearby.
We're just another hype But the pressure's getting harder
”It was... pretty, I guess.” It seems rude to be so flippant about the Greatwood, to shrug and turn her nose up at the lush, life filled place, but it had all been far too much for her. ”I don’t think I like being surrounded by so many trees.” Not only the trees though, but the sounds, the bristling, encroaching life, the utter lack of silence.
No, Hester thinks she’ll always love the silent mountains and tundras of her home. Halo may be harsh, frigid, but it is familiar, in a way nowhere else will ever be.
Zuriel is a distraction, Hester’s gaze slipping from the General to the unicorn, an uncertain hand offered up for her to sniff, or rebuff. ”Oh! I was working on a task from Ludo too!” Not near as impressive sounding as communication devices, but a connection she was going to cling to regardless. And, as luck would have it, something she can help with. ”I saw some, on my way down here. Or... i think I did. There was a glow, but I gave it a wide berth.”
Hester leans in, a smile crossing her face. ”I could take you to where it was?” She offers, already stepping back the direction she’d come, back towards a telltale glow amongst jagged stone and stubborn flora.
The smile did appear then, at her claim of pretty, and too many trees. “Overwhelming?” He conjured, recalling all the times he’d entered – tracing back over foundations, trying to find abducted brethren, a call of spirits and orbs in the distance. There’d been remarkable things too, not so shattered or bizarre; but it took time, patience, and composure to find them. It hadn’t been like the World’s Edge, layered and lacquered in distinct fog and mist, with the rough tide barreling at the cliffs. It’d been twisted facets and enigmatic figments, brushstrokes of eldritch, witch adornments; the understanding passing, pausing in his senses.
For a life out here, amidst the wide open tundra, where everything could be seen in its chilling ardor, the forest might seem an imposing, immense void. Hidden, tucked away, until it wanted to reveal itself – and even then, one might not like the results.
Another arch to his brow inclined as he waited for Zuriel to come to some sort of decision about Hester – what about and why, he wouldn’t ask. She was far more judgmental than himself. But the Attuned seemed to have passed some sort of unicorn evaluation, for the mare sniffed at her hand, and then clearly implored for a pat or a scratch. His gaze went back to Hester when she inclined her task had been for Ludo as well, a curious tilt to his head flickering, following, very avian, feline, and canine combined – a raptor’s inquiry. “Ludo sent you to the Greatwood?” He recalled a shrine to it there; perhaps it was a favored haunt.
But at her inclination of seeing luxere antlers, eyes widened, and the smile turned more into a relaxed grin; relief bounding through veins and bones, even if it couldn’t be detected beneath all the furs and layers. “Please. That would be most helpful.” The Sword followed thereafter as she already begun her trek, piercing stare wandering over the lichen and bramble, the stones and moss, looking for the glow against ivory and ice.
We're just another hype But the pressure's getting harder
Relief blooms over the girls features as Deimos supplies the word she’d been looking for, without an ounce of judgement. ”Exactly! There’s just... so much. It’s always moving.” It sounds silly, especially to say out loud instead of just think, but there’s no better way to describe her discomfort. Zuriel is a distraction at least, a wide grin splitting her countenance as the unicorn sniffed at her hand. Hester took it as permission to lift her other hand and stroke down Zuriel’s nose, a touch hesitantly as she remembers at the last second that she is not at all familiar with horse or horse adjacent creatures.
Even distracted by Zuriel, the attuned does not allow herself to lose track of the conversation. ”Not... exactly.” Hester hums, stallingconsidering, just for a moment, to figure out the best way to summarize her quest. “It gave me a song to play, at a place significant to each Herald. I’d heard Ludo had a place in the Greatwood, so...” She shrugs, the connection easy to make from there.
Hester all but leaps at the chance to help, at the apparent relief that spreads over Deimos’ face when she says she’s seen the antlers. ”Of course.” She is more than happy to turn, and begin trudging back up through her footprints, already beginning to fade away, filled in by blowing powder.
The place she leads them too is not far, up the mountain a ways longer, then around a curve, ending up in a small crease in the mountains where a handful of stubborn trees hang on, the blowing snow concentrated here and filling the spaces around the trees, hollows gaping under the slight protection of their needles. ”I saw them around here.” She offers, a touch of worry entering her voice at the lack of any tell tale glow. ”Matbe... they were buried?”
Even in Hester’s unfamiliarity, the mare didn’t seem to mind, appreciating the light touch with an imploring for more. Mildly greedy and avaricious in her own wake, perhaps, or some of the Sword’s inherent vices had bent through companion figments. The beast, in his own wake, nodded towards the Attuned’s explanation, following and trailing after her, thoughts reeling to other trials and circumstances in the stead of groves. “And things meant to lead you astray.” The orbs of light, the wisps of air, the otherworldly countenances coaxing and enticing strangers, newcomers, and the ignorant to wander outwards, or into some other form of treachery. Danger in its beauty and allure; warnings to remember.
His attention flickered briefly to her quest, intrigue tilting his head again; the tangible semblances of curiosity unfolding through his entity. Worlds before, he might not have even cared – an impassive, detached, looming figure, only there to serve as a blade. But here, within Caido’s reaches, he found himself learning, discovering, and contemplating the people, rather than clinging desperately to a land, to a home, and placing all his weight, bearings, and abilities into pieces of kingdoms. He hadn’t known Hester was musically oriented or talented. He’d never been gifted into such an art (nor had he really tried – save for campfires, drums, and drunken shanties). “What will happen when you are done playing?” Or maybe that was a surprise too – to ignite and enlighten the heralds, and be rewarded for her efforts.
Then they continued, persisted; the billowing snow no matter to him. It was another portion of his elements, the pieces of worlds tying him together, borne to his limbs, his presence, his soul, watching, taking note of the twists, turns, bends, and curves along the mountain – all to some willful trees, timber just as resolute as the rest of them. Deimos could hear the slightest hesitation in her vocals, a worry, a brewing, brooding apprehension, and he nodded. “Then we can find them.” Every amount of confidence and assurance, easily spoken because he was a determined, tenacious figure, and ice, rime, wouldn’t stop him.
While Zuriel went to pockets of snow, moving them around with her lips and muzzle, attempting to uncover some tell-tale glow, he shifted. Furs became rearranged into the Stygian hide, the hellhound expanse, massive and imposing no matter the circumstances. With the canine nose and senses, he figured it’d be much faster to take in the whiffs of scent, the residual pieces left behind, and so his snout dropped to the ground, searching.
There's an art to life's distraction, to somehow escape the burning wait, the art of scraping through
Zuriel is catered to happily, Hester’s hands still gentle, even as her touch grows more confident. Her fervent agreement with Deimos’ words is obvious by her vigorous nodding, though she has no more words for the strangeness of the Greatwoods, unless she wants to begin repeating herself. The completions of her quest is a better subject, though she doesn’t have an answer for the question asked by the General. ”I think... It’s going to enchant my fiddle somehow.” A touch of distant worry swirls through her guts. Should she have asked more questions?
The quiet worry persists along the short trek she leads, compounded by the fact that Hester cannot say with any certainty that she actually {/i}had{/i} seen any antlers. And when they get the place she remembers, and there is nothing but a deep drift, that worry grows, until there’s suddenly a solution. Deimos shifts into a massive, steaming beast, reminds the bard of her own shift. Less useful perhaps, with hooves and horns instead of flaming paws, but she makes quite an effective bulldozer, scraping away layers of snow with nothing more than her fuzzy body.
And at first, their efforts seem futile, uncovering nothing. Just as apologies line up in her mind, preparing to stumble through the bond, there’s a barely noticeable shift in the colour of the snow, a glow that would be imperceptible if the day were even a fraction brighter. I think I see them! Hester hopes she doesn’t sound as nakedly relieved as she feels, a single hoof pawing at the snow ineffectively near the glow.
The Sword wouldn’t know what to do with an enchanted fiddle, and so he nodded, permitting the subject to disappear into its unsettled void. The coiled apprehension seemed to persist though, and he pondered if it was hers, sharp, insistent, a residual, inherent thing clustered and cloistered around. He would’ve arched a brow if hellhounds maintained them, but left it, the matters dropping away.
Paws and hooves it was to be then – furtively amused by the shifting of sheep horns and wool. From the corner of his eyes he watched as she became a battering ram through the embankments, and he shook his head, digging deeper into the snow, nudging his nose along into the wake. When that didn’t seem adequate, and the beast couldn’t catch any particular scent along the ice, he turned around, hastening to other potential spots. There was no semblance of defeat in his movements or motions, the perseverance, fortitude, and might a paramount insurgency in his blood. Even in the midst of searching for damned antlers; not the tried and true endurance and menacing prowess required for dealing with multitudes of monsters, but remaining all the same.
The hope sparking through the connections caused him to lift his head, narrowing the piercing eyes. Zuriel glanced at the scene rather indifferently, as if the motions were now suddenly beneath her, but the hellhound’s movements were distinct and predacious, an avaricious motion as he came to stalk at Hester’s pawing efforts. Therein, his massive paws aimed to make quick work, digging, shoving, pushing aside the snow, until he thought he could see the mark, the residual glow. There? And then he continued, prevailed, a tenacious striving, to unearth, to snag, to take.
When the gilded hues came more to life and light, relief flickered through his frame; antlers upholding, his teeth wrapping around their surface, and pulling their adornments from the rest of the snow. Thank you was an outright acknowledgment, the gratitude tangible.
There's an art to life's distraction, to somehow escape the burning wait, the art of scraping through
After a whole lot of digging in the wrong places, finally they unearth the glowing rack the General is looking for. Hester might not be able to smile on this form, but the feeling shines through in the bond, the girl happy that his hadn’t all just been a big waste of time. Little hoofs stamp a victory pattern in the snow, Hester nearly sinking to knobbly knees in her moment of victory.
I’m glad I could help! She bleats warmly, little hooves following along after the great paws. Confident as she is in these mountains, it’s always nice to have a companion, and there’s no harm in being home for Longnight. Besides, she doesn’t think Deimos will mind the company, so long as she’s quiet and out of the way, things she’s very good at being when she needs to.
