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!
It was not much of a surprise nowadays to find a big, black dog running down the beach.
Much as he’d done in Halo, despite his massive size, the beast hurdled his way over portions and proportions of dunes, rocks, and stones, finding it endlessly appealing to rampage, to liberate, to be granted some semblance of freedom in the long, lingering stretch between jungle and sea. There weren’t too many onlookers at the press of morning, his favorite time of day during the summer, and so the Stygian outlier was nothing but a reckless thing abandoned against the tides.
Belial swooped in and amongst their run, diving from the side, and Zuriel watched from the borderline of the trees (no investment in the game) as different sorts of training escalated from their antics. He launched, evaded, ducked, and dodged the peryton’s fangs, the amusements escalating the closer the winged deer came – as if daring one another, pushing the envelope, the onslaught, turning and twisting gloriously in a sinuous arch of something that could’ve been disastrous. But as bonded and attuned, accompanying one another’s emotions in the rise and fall of zeal, it only became a silly nuance and drive of precision, might, and mayhem, before both were racing, racing, racing upon the shore.
He spends his days making food and his afternoons trying to arrange his affairs. It's incredibly adult and incredibly boring. So this morning, when he awoke to his family still sleeping hardily, he decided to go for a run. Except he finds the beach occupied but the strangest of scenes.
One of them is clearly an Attuned, or a hybrid, he supposes. There's no way there'd just be this assortment of beasts on the beach behaving so benignly. He stretches, golden spotted coat all shiny in the morning sun. Out for walkies this morning? He purrs through the bond, making his way towards the trio. Something something about being a friend to all or something.
Even as he stretched onward, all sense of boldness, intrepid designs, and archaic denizens racing and pulsing through his mind, another Attuned measure glimpsed through the bond, and he ceased motion in rapid accord. Stopping swiftly, just as quickly as he might’ve turned, launched, or sieged, the hound’s ears shifted, back and forth, intending to catch more than just the curl of another flickering along his mind. Zuriel did much the same, but Belial continued on, either blissfully unaware of indifferent, riding along the early sea breeze before rounding back.
Only then did Deimos spot the jaguar; canine head tilting vaguely, nostrils flaring, not recognizing the scent of this individual. Little did he know that the man’s name had been pressed into an information hoarding session only days prior, or where connections ambled and rambled. Stock still and massive, his piercing gaze pinpointed on the fellow beast. If hound brows could arch, it would’ve done so – instead the curiosity fed and funneled through the contemplations readily. A run, he corrected. And you?
There is something unsettling about the way they look at him. Or maybe it's just that he's being looked at at all. He feels like there's been too much attention on him lately. But he's not sure how he can except otherwise. The queen's business is everyone's it seems. A run as well. Maybe a little hunt, before the sun decides to crisp us all. He rolls a shoulder, tail up and curled over his back. A friendly gesture, or as much of one as a jaguar can give.
Would you mind another competitor? In your little race? Whoever this is, that's not a normal shift and Locke's not too keen on pissing off anyone who might cause problems. Name's Locke, by the way. Don't think I've ever seen you on our beaches before.
Even in all his power and might, the Sword remained still – a predacious stance if anything at all. Examining, scrutinizing, taking in builds and potentials and estimations with a fastidious, meticulous, but quick glance, the machinations content to be a constant. And while the other individual might be affable enough, Deimos had made multiple livings on being a specious, furtive, and conniving being. What are you hunting?
Belial managed to float his way back over, and was immediately, almost purposefully, impish – chirping and hooting out a hello, unfurling his wings in some challenge. It would’ve been enough for the soldier to roll his eyes, but the name following suit held him back. The very name aligned with a recent relic find, and the uncertainty behind it all. Hm.
Intrigued, he tilted his head a fraction. If you want. There was a brief pause, considerations coolly joining into place. I am Deimos, and he’d been on these beaches many a time. Occasionally setting fires nearby, or aiding in destroying sea panthers. I run the Monster Hunter’s Guild. Perhaps that would spark recognition; if not, it wasn’t a bothersome notion anyway. Sometimes it was better to not be known.
Whatever runs from me. Or hels. Probably hels. Most likely hels. Definitely hels. He'd shrug if he wasn't a feline. Instead he gives a little bow to Belial, content on playing with them. Not that he knows what they are but still. He makes his way over to the little group, as if to line up for the run. Not that he knows what the rules might be.
Ooh, that does sound familiar. The spotted head tilts and he inspects the hound again, You were at the house, weren't you? His shoulder still hurts from that but he's mostly healed at this point. Deimos hadn't been invited in so Locke isn't sure how much he knows. He's not too keen on probing too much thought.
See any ghost whales recently? Always wanted to see one up close. Maybe a change of subject.
Hels reminded Deimos of ningos, as the sort of prevalent, irritating birds of the territory. So he instigated a brief snort, listening to them flicker and caw in the distance – either inviting a chase or waiting for the inevitable.
To be fair to Locke, there hadn’t been any rules to the makeshift menagerie of exercise, exploding energy, and frenetic qualities. Just a dash across the sand, a streamline of muscles at work, practice and precision honed along dunes. A workout before the heat of the day forced them elsewhere, and other things called for their attention. Zuriel lined back up to where they’d been, though she gave Locke a distinct look – all supreme – and Belial hooted.
But before they could take off, as his flesh, bone, and sinew craved to do, the information and potential sliding through the bonds gave him a collected reprieve. Yes. Though I was not invited in. Instead, he watched a collective amount of friends wander into an ominous, threatening house, paced on the sidelines, and waited for whatever was to come. The sagacity collected thereafter had its own worth though, and he patiently bided his moments, plucking at strands and seams. Heard you all had an interesting time.
Though he could only shake his head at the altered subject lines, noting that in the back of his mind as well. No. I have not been that far out.
