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!
Even without the Attuned measures, they had likely never hidden much from one another. Such measures came from other bonds: of worlds beyond this one, of sovereignty and despair, of rooted machinations spread through their hard-earned derision and sedition. Where he was hidden and furtive to so many others, his stoicism and reticence nearly meant nothing at all in her dominion. But this was different in multitudes and expression, and he quietly spread the amusements throughout the filaments, to fill in the voids, to lacquer over the exhaustion, the fatigue, the worn-out vestiges trying so desperately to remain. There would be newer, fresher ones eventually, acceptance in the inevitable, in the resurgence of their ancient, arcane methods, in the steadfast, stalwart credence of their souls.
But for now, it was immersed in the quiet.
A tilt of his head followed, one boot managing to poke her tail away from wrapping over laces, more in jest than anything else. It was always there. Just waiting to come out, be untethered, unmoored; either by gods or some other circumstances. His gaze lifted over, notching towards the horizon now, breathing lighter, easier, than he had in recent days.
He laughed at her insinuation though. It never really goes away either. The predator inclinations, the raptorial predilections, the need and drive to chase in all the rapacious edges – and he’d readily conformed to them all. Quickly. Efficiently. Maybe due to them always being there, borne from eternities, rather than the forms themselves; lodged deep into his entity.
Her voice is a fearless proclamation of protection She lives what's within her out loud
He fills the gaps as if his soul is water, and it buoys her to meet him, allowing her the levity to enjoy the moment and avoid the grief of the dark waters below. This is how she knows that what she's doing is right. His potential for happiness lays in her hands, and there is nothing she wouldn't do to assure it for him. He is worth it and more. The strength of her determination and loyalty must not go unnoticed, but it is tempered by a feline sort of purring pleasure. A simplistic enjoyment of this moment as it happens, free of plans and expectations.
Deimos' boot nudges at her tail, and it flickers without her conscious effort, as familiar to her as flexing a finger. It whaps against his leg moments later in retaliation as she uncurls from him to wander a few steps away, enjoying the crunch of snow beneath her large paws. I was never much of a fish eater before, but I swear it's all I can think about now. At least it's cheaper than red meat, she laughs freely across the bond, letting him feel the hunger that claws at her belly.
It is a short moment before she is returning to his knee, flopping onto her side in a languid display of trust as her paler belly is revealed. The snow is even less of a bother to her in this form. It's clear in the easy sway of her tail against the snow. I think we only need the one. Do you agree? It will be easy to overlook, unassuming. And she would like to see him make it, intrigued as always by his talents. That particular magic of hers has yet to manifest in the same way, but she hopes someday it will.
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.
Lifting, rather than sinking, even if it was far easier to imagine drifting below waves and over stones. It took less effort to simply cease and desist, to stop for eternities, to billow and streamline into nothingness; he’d know: in some proportions he’d done it all his life. But he had no need to loosen his strength now, to send them both spiraling into the deep end. Resolute, and not yielding to the hollow, to the enticing, tempting bombardments of grief, of anguish, set about in his teeth, in his entity, in his soul, until all that remained were those pieces he’d mended and sewn back together. They were a little frayed, a little bent, a little broken, but capable and sturdy, strong and stalwart, when it mattered. Calm, in repose, waiting for the next cycle of their fortitude to begin again.
Hers wasn’t ignored; but acknowledged in between those pieces and proportions, permitted where so many others were not. Passing graces, beholden to no one but themselves, like different times and different measures, all colliding together once more. He leaned forward and flicked at her tail again, as if to remove it from his person, in a very childish, juvenile wake, then leaned back once more, gaze and chin lifting towards the skies while her voice echoed back within his cranium. You can always try with hints of a smirk, the measures of some intentional provocations and goading resting and residing, his head angling towards the Sea of Glass nearby.
He lowered his cranium and stared at her with a slight smirk and the routinely-raised brow at her exposed belly – he would not be scratching it – the sentiments crawling back to former notions. The Sword retrieved his sketches from his pocket, unfurling it from its residual creases, studying the filaments once more. I could upgrade it too. Might be more useful? A quick strike of the charcoal, and the notions were once more revised – turning it back towards feline eyes so she could study it one last time.
Her voice is a fearless proclamation of protection She lives what's within her out loud
The flick of his fingers entices a snap of her large teeth in his direction, though her ears never waver from their forward mount upon her mighty head, clearly playful and juvenile in response to his own boyhood actions. His goading follows like a teasing echo in her head moments later, and she thumps her tail against the snow with a huff from her raspy vocals. Certainly not with you present to watch my inevitably hilarious failures. Envisioning herself soaked and freezing, clawing her way off an ice floe after a failed attempt at catching a fish. Far more likely than she’s willing to admit to.
His efforts are far more interesting for the moment anyway. She props her front half to better see the page he presents to her, pale green eyes sharp as they rove over charcoal strokes. I think with its usefulness it should be our priority. Upgrading it is the safest bet. The dark tip of her tail twitches as she waits for his response, for the creation that will spin from his hands as easily as cloth off a bolt.
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.
Inciteful taunting was a language both could understand without much prompting; and with a quiet, contented amusement his grin broadened, all boyish charm and unrelenting mischief. The fun was essentially spoiled as she glossed over his intentions – it’d been worth a shot to see if Hotaru would’ve relented into pratfalling into the sea, striving to snag at fish that wouldn’t dare me caught. The brief lull of laughter remained, forged but relatively idle, a mocking hurt flowing through bonds that was an obvious pretense. You believe I would not help you?
Rather than delving into anything resounding in offense, his head tilted, waiting for her judgments. Understood, he rumbled thereafter, pausing to fit the parchment back into pockets.
Then he began: bringing up his hands so they faced one another, all calloused bombardments, so used to holding weaponry – now utilized for creation again. In between the palms a gilded figment arose, shining beacons and golden perplexities, starting out as weaving fibers, before he widened the parameters. Complexities and elements stuck, accrued together, blending and mending and bending until his contortions were at complete control, focus eternal, piercing eyes only gathered on the roots of their certainties. When he was finished, before them was a large bag – not unlike his bag of holding, but with differing capacities. The Sword’s gaze eventually went back to her, and on a sigh, he presented it for another inspection.
--
Deimos has created:
Bag of Silence: A sturdy canvas bag, around six feet tall when closed. At Deimos’s mental command, the bag becomes invisible and completely soundproof.
maybe who we were then is shattered, but who we are in the end is what matters
Even without this new bond between them she would know his hurt is feigned, and her own amusement only grows deeper - if more fondly exasperated - at how it feels brushing against her mind. Hotaru is the manipulative one, and they both know it. Oh I'm certain you would help - after a good few minutes of laughing. Which would make the entire affair worth it really, but Hotaru doesn't intend to give Deimos the opportunity. Not today at least, she would likely get talked into it eventually. Just as soft and willing to bend to him as he is to her sometimes. Is that not how they ended up here, planning something like this?
She sits up straighter as he begins, watching the filaments of magic form into something tangible. It's beautiful. Artistic, for all the simplicity of the final item itself. Hotaru knows all too well that it is intentionally deceiving in that way. Transforming back is still an odd sensation, but it's smooth enough, and soon she is standing before him in human form once more. Reaching to brush against the coarse and sturdy material, she pulls at the opening with a quirked brow and a playful tilt to the side of her lips. "So which one of us shall test it? I'm not sure you'll fit." Though she hopes he won't cart her off like a joyful kidnapper if she's the one to submit to the bundling.
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.
I do have so few amusements these days, lilted and rallied back, by way of an arched brow and depths of his smile; and perhaps it wouldn’t wound so much if it weren’t the truth. The Sword let the sentiment rest in between the fondness and exasperation, while she watched incantations at work, and shifted back.
He waited for some comment, and sure enough, the bounty coiled, causing a roll of his eyes. He widened the top of the bag, allowing for more space, and called to his companion currently playing with a piece of ice. “Belial,” was a single command – and the peryton launched, with utter glee, to be heralded, signaled, and chosen for some special assignment.
Withholding another sigh, he gestured to the deer, who took the whole damned thing in stride (perhaps a bit more catlike than any of them realized). Within moments, the winged creature dove within: and while Deimos’ hand curled over the top of the canvas, closing and sealing it, the bag instantly disappeared. “Invisible,” for a proper demonstration, and then he obliged the miniature cretin to start playing within: a whole raucous of noise filled the container and his thoughts – Belial seemed particularly jovial to be dangling around in a closed sack – “And soundproof.” A pause, as he considered, shifting the artifact once or twice. "The only drawback is that it still contains the weight."
Thereafter, he reopened the sanction, and the peryton stuck his head out, positively smug. Deimos shook his head, but then glanced over at Ru. “Will that be enough? Or should we gather other things?”
maybe who we were then is shattered, but who we are in the end is what matters
Newly human, Hotaru merely sticks her tongue out, juvenile and unashamed at his teasing. Unaware that even if she desired to reply, the bond would not yet work in the limitations of her two-legged form.
Belial’s inclusion brings a smile to her face, watching the creature cavort about gleefully, diving into the sack without a single spared moment of trepidation. Deimos’ fond exasperation is similarly endearing, and somehow it helps the wound in her heart to see their interactions instead of worsening the depth of those lacerations. A soft noise of surprise at the disappearance of the bag rumbles in her throat. She’d anticipated it of course, but seeing it in action is still surprising. Then it’s opened, and Belial’s happy wriggling noises and bleats come through, and this time she laughs freely.
As his head pops out, she reaches to stroke a hand up from his nose to between his ears, fond and sad at once. “With what we have, I think the rest is up to us. But I will see if anything else can be added that won’t encumber us.” Hotaru is the one who prefers silence and sneaking over brawn and brute force. They had always equaled each other out, and she’s sure they will find their balance anew this go around.
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.
The Sword had to shoo the peryton out, before folding the bag up, and placing it once more in the thresholds of his pockets. Belial accepted the fond movements and scratches with more exhilaration, leaning into the motions scraping against his skin, tracing over his antlers. He knew. He’d been there. He’d seen it. He'd understood if she needed the companionship in another form, another way. He’d stayed still as stone while every urge had told the little companion to flee – because he’d had to be the watcher, the spy, the informant sending details back and forth to Deimos when Atlas was just…gone, and some part of that made the former General’s heart ache too. The young deer was far from innocent; but there never a good moment to witness a friend be bludgeoned to death.
Deimos expressed none of this outwardly, merely permitted the gestures to continue and persist in fond silence, lifting his eyes from the wriggling carnivore and back to Hotaru. Plans somewhat finalized, in between sketches, everything left to pen and paper, rather than said aloft. So he nodded, eyes downcast for a moment. ”I have many regrets, but I do not think this will be one of them.”
maybe who we were then is shattered, but who we are in the end is what matters
Belial’s willingness to be pet and scratched helps soothe her heart, though she knows he’s more open to physicality than Zuriel by leagues. It will not replace what is missing, but Hotaru has had a deep abiding love for Rae’s creatures long before Rae was a deity in her mind. Her hand parts from his fuzzy head with a last rub of her thumb across his skull, smile warm if small.
Deimos’ rumbling words bring her attention back to him. The bag is created and they have done what they came here to do. “No. No, I think not.” So saying Hotaru moved closer, sliding her arm through his to link at his elbow and pull him towards the distant dark waters. “Come, I think I really will try my hand at fishing.” Distractions and laughter abound to keep them from the reality of darker ruminations.
- FIN
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.
