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 aftermath wasn’t bloody, but it stung and lacerated and burned all the same. Configurations made in cycles and circles of hurt, of anguish, pivoting and reeling off one another as far as he could breathe, could exist, staring off into the expanse. The sea glistened ahead; like remnants of worlds he couldn’t have and shouldn’t have even bothered craving, but that semblance of longing pooled in his chest – simply because he’d known how that one operated. Had been able to maul and mutilate, had been able to brutalize and bombard, because enemies were enemies, because adversaries were adversaries, and vengeance was keen, crystal clear.
Nothing really was any longer, save for the visible line of pursuits.
“You were right, in some regards,” Deimos murmured to her, while they pressed their way and wandered along the shoal of ice, out of the Citadel, out of reach of prying eyes, out of reach of the whispers already circulating about his dismissal. “Nor did I get very far after admitting about the fire.” There’d been no time to even try and convince – not with the layers of pain, not with the scalding of confessions, not with betrayal seeming to rise out of the fathoms like an asp.
The Sword’s gaze rose to Belial, searching and lingering overhead, peering along glacial manifestations for that long lost soul they’d once heard below the depths. Zuriel, for her part, remained uncertain about where she should be – especially in regards to Hotaru – and in the end, placed her muzzle on the Valkyrie’s shoulder. “It all felt pointless,” (and heartbreaking) came a quieter murmur from his chest, lifting into the air on puffs of warmth, like billowing smoke, like clustered abominations, like obvious mistakes.
maybe who we were then is shattered, but who we are in the end is what matters
The glare of the sun against the crystalline whiteness around them is the only resemblance to Torchline, heat still a notion beyond Halo's capabilities. It does not dissuade the pair of them as they walk, more accustomed to cold air against pink cheeks and the creak of ice floes in the distance than sun-rose skin and the cries of gulls. She feels less empty and numb with him at her side, a presence to fill the void, to pretend Atlas is simply too far to feel instead of gone forever from this world and her soul.
"She is not the type to listen past that which she desires to hear," Hotaru agrees quietly, their eyes on the horizon as the snow crunches beneath their boots. She'd not had much optimism for the situation, but she could not stop Deimos from trying - from confessing, as was his way when it came to taking responsibility for his choices. Though he'd refused to place the blame on her shoulders, Hotaru feels it all the same. There is so much she wishes she could have changed, if only to spare Deimos. Her own comeuppance is meaningless.
Zuriel's touch strikes the breath from her lungs at the familiarity. The unicorn is scarcely the touchy type, and Hotaru turns to press her cheek against the unicorn's soft muzzle, eyes drifting closed for a moment to drink it in. Knowing that the companion knows Hotaru well enough to surmise the gratitude there, even if they do not share a bond between them. Only Deimos' muttered words bring her back to the surface, and were he in the mood she would reach for him. "She did not even care about the Kraai?" Or perhaps she insisted upon investigating it herself, if Hotaru gave her the benefit of the doubt. Somehow she doubts that would happen regardless of what the Warden had said. It was clear she had thrown her lot in with certain people, and that was simply that.
Hotaru has a passive magic that makes her glow with an internal golden light; it makes her appear youthful and her hair seems to look like moving sunlight. Can only subtly illuminate dark spaces.
Deimos preferred the harshness of the wake before them, the unending ice, the reeling water, the way ancient, arcane things lived beneath the surface; untouched and unscorched by the way everything else smoldered above. He would’ve liked to have been numb in its conjectures, to freeze away in his broken, embittered nonchalance, but both of them know he was too far gone than that now; giving way to heartache, melancholy, and the rampancy of misunderstandings.
He tilted his head at her brief summary of Morgan. Before, he wouldn’t have agreed – more than once he and the Warden had immersed into deep conversations about various subject matters – friendships varnished beyond battlefield tactics and tendencies. In the present, his gaze briefly flickered back to her, and another molten sigh filtered its way through his lungs. “Instead, she said she felt betrayed.” But it hadn’t been about the Glacier. It hadn’t been about her manifestations in those moments. Everything twisted and turned, contorted and convoluted. The Sword’s jaw clenched as Zuriel’s soft maw wafted towards Hotaru’s head, striving to bring comfort where it might not have been found elsewhere. Not in this instant. Not while he glanced at the sea and relived barbed fruitions.
“Said she would have wanted proof about the Kraai, and the spy ring.” Understandable. “That I was a liability she could not afford.” Probably true. Despite everything he’d done – all blown apart in a single stretch of stupidity. “Called me a child.” The wind suddenly came rolling off the shoreline, and he welcomed it, rather than sinking further into his coat and collar, angling his head so the chilling void whipped at his face. Belial came further in, dipping overhead, and he could’ve reached for the peryton’s wings, but the hands remained down at his sides, fingers mildly conforming into fists, and then dissipating. “Denied, ignored, and lied to my face about the situation over LongNight.”
maybe who we were then is shattered, but who we are in the end is what matters
Betrayal. It's a notion that forces a scoff from her lips, maelstrom of emotions pressing against the icy, pristine surface of her composure. What does Morgan know of it? And to compare Deimos' actions - which could easily be viewed in a positive light if she wished - to grander betrayals like Neron's Ascension? It feels like a spit in the face, and the words had not even been for her ears. "Such an intense word, and yet she welcomed Neron into her bed after her Ascension, and changed all of Halo's official stance upon becoming Warden." Vitriol spills from her lips, but she is tender when Zuriel's warm breath washes over her cheek and stirs her golden hair.
"One perceived mistake and she cannot afford you?" Hotaru's voice rises an octave in her disbelief. "So instead she dismisses her best and only General, weakens her council and military in one fell swoop, and ensures your bitterness by demeaning you?" Ru is astounded by the shortsightedness of the choice, but she is not the same type of ruler clearly. That the woman had gone on to lie is merely the cherry on top of it all. "What do you think should be done?" It's a slightly more tentative question, though concealed enough that only he would notice with how he can read her. "With Safrin's demands, and the war..."
Hotaru has a passive magic that makes her glow with an internal golden light; it makes her appear youthful and her hair seems to look like moving sunlight. Can only subtly illuminate dark spaces.
Deimos would’ve thought Sunjata’s spread of duplicity as something of betrayal. Not hallmarks of alliances, armistices, or camaraderie. Maybe they meant for the word peace and naught more tacked onto it, looking, turning the other cheek when anything actually occurred. The Sword was someone to be tossed under the current; apparently no loss when it came down to it. Not in the midst of anger, hostilities, and anguish. He could hear Hotaru scoff behind him, and he tread a little further down the rocky, icy shoreline, guided only by the wind and the need for restless movement. But he wouldn’t, couldn’t, bow his head now – staring at the stones for a brief interlude, before casting his glance back to her.
Hotaru’s statement earned a snort, a slight crouch as he bent down to pick up a rock, flattened and scraped down by glaciers likely thousands of years ago, rolling it along in his palm, in between calloused fingers. “Apparently.” The world was allowed their mistakes, but only so far. He could hold his, carry it along his shoulders, always had - he wasn’t certain what Morgan had been thinking in those moments, save for rampaging into anger. Where the pair of them had been casting and hurling harpoons, landing far too surely. As expected of warriors. “Perhaps I was not worth the trouble.” In one quick, swift motion, he tossed the artifact, watching it skip over portions three times, before landing with a quiet plop into the rime.
Then he sat down on one of the larger boulders, leaning into its strong, sturdy, all-encompassing existence, certain and sure where everything else was not. Her question came on tentative means, and his jaw clenched habitually, routinely, as the thoughts mulled and mired in his mind. Back to Machiavellian roots. “I think we both know.” Zuriel gave one last puff of warm air along the Valkyrie’s cheek, before meandering further down the line, picking at lingering roots beside boulders. The statement itself was cold and unyielding, understanding, comprehending, that they would have to be the same. “No more impulsive tactics. This has to be done well.”
maybe who we were then is shattered, but who we are in the end is what matters
She follows where he leads, a shift in norm that is taken up without qualm. They are equal as they always have been, and she is dragged in his wake like a boat upon a river, their heading unspoken between them but known all the same. It doesn’t make it easier to see him doubt. Not quite wallowing, or she would pull him free of it more sternly, but ruminating over the sting of a betrayal of his own. One from his Warden, his ruler and friend, who should have stood by his years of loyalty instead of tossing it all aside after one mistake.
Hotaru watches the stone sink and cannot help but feel a budding resentment for the woman she respected. Deimos and his happiness would inevitably always measure higher than any other - even Ru’s admiration of the Warden crumbles like dry sand when faced with her best friend’s loss. “A foolish notion. You have scarcely ever fumbled in your role, and gone above and beyond in all ways. Do not let her shortsightedness plant a seed of doubt in you about your abilities.” Mistakes are to be made by all. Morgan is certainly in no position to be throwing stones. Ru will not let him say such things about himself.
Hotaru lets her hand fall to Zuriel’s shoulder in a caress as the unicorn parts from her side. The dawning reality of their decision should feel like a weight around her neck. It doesn’t. These are familiar notions, as routine as breathing for any other person. It straightens her spine, the Valkyrie settling like a cloak over her skin. “It has been some time since we’ve done this, but I don’t believe either of us to be out of practice in the planning.” Her way of agreeing - no more impulsivity. Not with this. Not if they are to succeed. “As peaceful a transfer as possible. For the people.” An entity she would always elevate to her first priority. “And you? I know you do not wish to rule.”
Hotaru has a passive magic that makes her glow with an internal golden light; it makes her appear youthful and her hair seems to look like moving sunlight. Can only subtly illuminate dark spaces.
She must have thought him sinking, waiting for him to fall apart, diminish, come unraveled at the seams again. It was tempting, and he’d worn his melancholy well in days past. It was easier to dwell where he’d errored, faltered, and stumbled; such was the way his mind worked, striving to immerse beyond the measures of his fumblings. It was easier to drown under the murk and mire of sorrow. It was easier to bend and break. But the Sword had worked far too hard, and for far too long, to succumb. The iron had re-forged. The steel had realigned. And in the place where the anguish still yearned to burrow, he placed strength and accord, reworked the fibers until his chest didn’t cave in and his soul didn’t bleed and his bones didn’t fetter away. It could hurt, it could tarnish, it could warp, but not in the way he had before. No more. “Thank you,” half-smiles flickered there, in the corner of his mouth, before he shifted, attention on her, and not on the ice that made up their lives. “No doubts.” A nod, as if to confirm he wouldn’t. He nearly added that she shouldn't either; then remembered Ru rarely placed herself on such wavering pinnacles. It almost made him chuckle.
And the rest? The rest could fall into their measures and machinations; normalcy in the wakes of worlds long since gone. But here there was no need for secret, furtive tents, just heads bowed over the portion of parchment and charcoal he created within his palm, placing it down on the flattened proportion of the boulder. His hand was steady as he sketched, as he drew, as he took sensible, plotting notes; minds born for calculations and divisions, decisions scattering across leagues and fathoms. “Unfortunately, no.” He barked a light reel of laughter, before continuing in the same pattern, making miniscule crosses over portions of the diligent work every so often. A nod here and there, as Hotaru supplied other particulars. “And no need for their involvement.” Safety, sanctuary, and refuge for those innocent.
Deimos passed her the paper and writing instrument when he was finished, leaning back against the stone, waiting her perusal and judgement. “What do you think?” He paused, pointing at fixtures he’d sketched and detailed along the side. “I can create these easily.”
But when it came to him? “Wherever I am needed.” Protection. Shielding. Might.
maybe who we were then is shattered, but who we are in the end is what matters
Perhaps she thought him sinking, but certainly not drowning. He is too open a book for her to read, even muddled as the words may be in the wake of such change and emotional distress in the both of them. Even so her hand remains, ever-ready to grasp and pull should he need an out. On his own time.
“Always,” she is quick to assure when his gratitude is made none, a whip crack of sound that emphasizes her surety and devotion. Far from privy to the source of his amusement, Ru instead only smiles at him when he parrots back at her. Repetition seems to work best with the Sword, she thinks fondly.
Moving closer as his stride stops, she watches from his elbow as he creates, ear tuned to each rumbling word. His mind is creative and beautiful as ever as apparent in the schemes and designs that flow outward from finger to paper. “Wonderful as always. Do remember to take my height into account though.” The twinkle of amusement in her eyes is a lightheartedness to the moment. Ru would never squander his talents, though she chafes anew at the idea of receiving anything for free when he has been used so freely in the past by others.
Ru’s hand comes to lay on his elbow, turning away from the designs to give a supportive smile. “Then you’ll always have a place.” With her - regardless of where or in what way.
Hotaru has a passive magic that makes her glow with an internal golden light; it makes her appear youthful and her hair seems to look like moving sunlight. Can only subtly illuminate dark spaces.
Ease gives way in the pinnacle of his shoulders, where they didn’t have to carry the weight of scorching legions or brandished, mercurial happenstances; free to relax in the shape and concentration of calculations. Why this was more of a comforting expanse than any other manifestation was not lost on him; giving him something to do, rather than a blatant call to arms, rather than brood and seethe. A moving forward, instead of sitting idle and trapping himself within the walls of shame, humiliation, and regret.
They couldn’t afford it now anyway.
“You are right.” And with a very juvenile, childish grin, he made several other marks upon the sides, chopping off whatever had been lined there in half. “Is that more suitable?”
Unaware of how his offer, because it was eternally there for her, and the dwindling number of friends he seemed to hold, was inwardly received, the monolith proceeded onward once the paper was returned. There within, Deimos notched and needled several more factors, tilting his head in deep thought, when her voice hastened back through, when her hand came to his elbow.
Reassurance – that not all was lost. And the monolith could do the same for her. “Likewise.” Wherever they managed to end up. Portions and pieces of home in one another; even if he’d always known one couldn’t make shelters out of people, even if he’d strived to do that for her, and so many others, regardless of the sacrifices.
maybe who we were then is shattered, but who we are in the end is what matters
Perhaps it should not comfort them the way it does, but these are familiar machinations. Plans already hatched once upon a time, giving support to those being laid in the moment. To others it may seem no laughing matter, but his teasing only sparks her own fond, exaggerated exasperation as he 'redoes' the schematics. "Far better," Ru deadpans, holding his stare as long as possible before her expression inevitably breaks into an impish curl. His reflection of understanding is a balm on her soul that has become far too wounded in the past meagerly few seasons.
At that she lets him sketch and plan in silence, content to stand at his side and watch the icy horizon as his plans come to life on paper. Only once it begins to take shape does she tap at his elbow once more. "I wanted to wait to tell you, but I saw Frey before I left Torchline. They gave me something that I want to show you." Ru had been practicing how to shift ever since, waiting for this moment. "Close your eyes?" Eagerly waiting for him to do so, that she might surprise him with even better news.
Hotaru has a passive magic that makes her glow with an internal golden light; it makes her appear youthful and her hair seems to look like moving sunlight. Can only subtly illuminate dark spaces.
A few more diligent marks were left on the paper, skewed in various directions; like little outlines, possibilities, and parameters. How his mind worked: traversing in alterations and calculations given any possible moment, how he’d been concocted and carved out of the battlefield, where tactics could be undermined and re-evaluated again and again. “You have some options here,” pointing to where they branched and brambled off. It’d be up to Hotaru’s comfort level and how she’d want to go about the probabilities – ending it on a shrug and another half-smile.
But then he was distracted by the words winding away; finally looking up from the parchment to gaze at her once more. He could presume – they’d talked about the potential of hybridding before – and some mischievous bounty meandered its way behind his teeth; nearly asking about her newest mosquito shift, but didn’t want to spoil the surprise for her. Instead, a low rumble and pretense of unease wrinkled at his nose; boyish once more. “I do not trust those sentences put together.” But showed he did place faith in her anyway – as he closed the piercing stare.
06-02-2021, 07:28 PM (This post was last modified: 06-10-2021, 04:04 AM by Hotaru.)
Her voice is a fearless proclamation of protection She lives what's within her out loud
As his mind toils away envisioning armaments and crafts, her own floats off like a balloon on a string, tugged back by its tether only with the thrum of his voice through the line. So much has happened since the fire, and yet much of it is somehow miraculously unrelated. It takes a slight shake of her head to refocus as she leans over his elbow to examine the new sketches. “Perhaps longer vertically? To cover more area.” Certain things could be sacrificed, while others spelled demise.
But that is as long as she can stand to keep the secret behind her teeth. The gleam in his eyes indicates he has an inkling of what she intends to show him, but the form itself is the surprise. His reluctance is amusing, but more for show than anything as his eyes obligingly slip closed. Only then does she reach for that primordial shape inside herself, smoothly dropping to all fours and finding herself staring up at him from a much greater disparity. Can you hear me? It’s her first time trying to tap into the Attuned bond. It’s a little too similar to Atlas, but Ru tries to keep a handle on her grief. Remi had experienced more than enough of her agony. Deimos does not deserve the same. And if he opens his eyes he will find her - an array of gold and brown fur, massive paws and intelligent, gleaming pale green eyes, long tail leisurely brushing the snow as smug pride exudes from her body language and mind alike.
Hotaru has a passive magic that makes her glow with an internal golden light; it makes her appear youthful and her hair seems to look like moving sunlight. Can only subtly illuminate dark spaces.
Per the suggestion, he nodded, silently lining out more of the sketches, the framework, until it was rendered somewhat complete. “Better,” in accord and agreement, before folding them up, placing them in his pocket, likely to be burned when they were done here.
Then the Sword gave his full attention to the proceedings – waiting, the piercing stare closed, proudly composed, spine straight and elongated once more. If either of his companions held inklings or deigned to ruin the surprise, they certainly didn’t show it; silent while they watched and lingered on.
Only when her voice pulsed through his mind did he indulge in a widened smile, opening his eyes to behold whatever form her soul had managed to conjure. The first response he gave her was vividly silent – but pulsing, unwavering, unyielding through the bond: proud, pleased, for her. For her efforts. For her abilities. For the things she’d found through boundaries and bounties and everything else layered in between. Well done. Very impressive. Even if the grief found its way in there, embedded firmly and deeply, the beast raised his own triumphant bastion, lending the fortress of munitions towards her. No wallowing, not right now, when she had something to hold.
Deimos resisted making a cougar joke; but appraised her form with his careful, quiet scrutiny, leaning back, folding his arms over his chest. He had no doubt what she’d be capable of now – with fangs and claws and carnivore intentions lodged into her soul. And how do you feel?
06-06-2021, 10:45 PM (This post was last modified: 06-10-2021, 04:03 AM by Hotaru.)
Her voice is a fearless proclamation of protection She lives what's within her out loud
His smile is sharper with these new eyes, but no less bolstering. An unfamiliar purr builds in her breast as his pride washes over her, an array of emotions with layers unlike anything she has ever felt from another human before. It sinks into her bones, filling those empty spaces that have kept her up at night since losing Atlas, and she clings to them with an eager vulnerability. Remi had assured her she could close the connection to conceal her feelings from her fellow Attuned, but the notion never even passes her mind when it comes to Deimos.
His amusement is not missed, and her tail flicks in warning even as her own rises to meet. Ruminating for a moment over the question, she stands and curls around his legs as if she is not multitudes larger than a housecat, embracing her new senses which catch layers to his scent she could never dream of as a human. Content to trap and begrudge him with her presence just as any other feline would. As if I have been looking for this form all along. A ready admission for all it is revealing. A form that does not require or exude sex appeal. One that readily displays her power and poise. For all her looks are imperative to seduction and manipulation, they are exhausting to live with at the same time, as any woman is familiar with. The urges are new, though. I have yet to hunt, but the desire is there. An urge she's confident he will be familiar with.
Hotaru has a passive magic that makes her glow with an internal golden light; it makes her appear youthful and her hair seems to look like moving sunlight. Can only subtly illuminate dark spaces.
