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!
She wasn't suited for this kind of weather, living in Torchline most of her life hadn't prepared her for the cold like this, but she needed a clear view of the stars. At least she wouldn't have to be out here long. Drawing the jacket she still had laying around from when Seren came back from Halo all those seasons ago tighter around her frame, the Nightshade finds a sturdy patch of ice that doesn't seem to have any cracks going through it, setting her pack down to keep her off of the ice as she sits herself down.
"Only need to be out here a few minutes..." No offense to Halo or the people who lived here, but the queen had a feeling that this wasn't going to be the place that her chosen constellation looked best in. It just didn't fit. Turning her jade eyes up towards the skies, the Nightshade lets them drink in the inky blackness, marking out the pin pricks of light hung there by Safrin.
It is not easy to hide in this white wasteland, which glows into the black sky like a beacon of suffering and survival. Every shadow is a dark mark, every breath a bright cloud in this world of contrast without secrecy. Maybe there is comfort in the conspicuity, in the knowing that any creature that might take notice could just as easily be noticed in turn. But so too is it too easy to be complacent, as the insidious cold is a predator of its own.
Chaele had followed the deep footprints in the snow until it waned into the sea's hard ice, if only out of curiosity. It is not often that they find evidence of a lone traveler, without a companion or caravan to shelter with. Their instinct is to hunt, to practice tracking and hiding and stalking. Their cloak is made of snow hares which are strung together in a matting of camouflage behind an ivory skull mask, its stripped antlers the only prominence that might reveal them.
But when they finally spot their quarry, they pause.
The hunt is over. They had never intended to kill anyone, but the apparent fragility in the object of the hunt reminds them keenly that their idle exercise was no trifling matter. Her dark shadow of hair, her lithe neck stretched toward the heavens above, the warmth of her southern body against the melting ice beneath-- she is so entirely, intriguingly, and perhaps deceivingly human.
With a soft scraping of boots against ice they announce their presence, offering no other greeting as they sit cross-legged about a dozen feet away. Their gaze follows Maeve’s curiously toward the stars.
Except she isn't alone. Maeve is never really alone. In the air above her, a dark streak against the inky blackness that spans over them, Aidon circles. He's completely invisible to the naked eye. If you didn't know he was there, you never would. Ever watchful, orange eyes training on the hunter before they can get close, sending a flash of the image to Maeve along their bond. Her hand shifts down to her whip, ready to defend herself if necessary, knowing that not all humans that wander the tundra are the friendly sort.
She waits a moment longer for them to approach and when there is no more movement as the stranger settles a distance away from her, Maeve calls out, voice carrying across the wind. "Have you ever seen stars this bright?" The Nightshade wasn't sure she had. In Torchline there was more light. It didn't drown them out, but it wasn't like this. There are so many. Edmund would love it. At the thought of her son, Maeve's eyes instantly search for Hydra, his favorite constellation. "They're different here, but I suppose that's the point."
Chaele’s lips, just visible from beneath the stag skull at this upward angle, are notched with a nasty scar that makes their mouth seem lopsided as they speak. “They are simply stars,” is the reply to her first statement, their voice gravelly for lack of use. “It is their role to be bright. To guide the lost.”
They remain ignorant of the circling protector at first, content to take in the vast view of the stark, starry sky. They do not know the constellations as defined by scholars before them, but they have learned to read the heavens well enough in their travels to have identified a few patterns that serve them. Instinctively they seek them out now, dark eyes darting within the orbital holes of their mask as they add idly, “Different than where?”
Only then did they finally take notice of the dragon’s meandering form, a swathe of darkness crossing gently in front of speckled starlight. A sharp intake of breath reveals Chaele’s discovery, body tensing as they look briefly toward Maeve to see if she had noticed.
But they weren't simply stars. Not to Maeve. They were gifts from her goddess to light up the night. Meant to more than just guide those who were lost. Instead they inspired and blanketed lovers who took refuge under their light. Maeve huffs a soft breath, wrapping her arms around herself, trying to hold in the warmth. She doesn't look the woman's way, not needing to, already knowing what she looks like thanks to the flashes from Aidon. "No... They're more than that. Safrin hung them all. Just for us." The Nightshade murmurs, reverence in her voice, jade eyes reflecting the starlight back.
"Torchline. Where I'm from. The sky is different everywhere, of course. But Halo seems the most different so far." Maeve muses softly, bottom lip catching between her teeth for a moment, eyes shifting from the stars to Aidon where he was still circling. They find Drago next, noting it isn't as bright here, hidden slightly below the horizon.
Hearing the sharp intake of breath has Maeve's lips twitching into a slight smile, "Don't mind that. It's simply Aidon." Upon hearing his name, the dragon swoops own, large body skidding slightly across the ice as he lands. His eyes the only thing visible in the dark.
“Aidon,” they reply, as if it explains everything-- though it is moreso the flat, reassuring tone of Maeve’s voice that assuages them rather than the words themselves. They pull their cloak close as the named creature descends, as if it might protect them from its whims. But there is a strange sort of comfort in this moment, in the quiet conversation that sprouted from nothing, budded into contemplation, and promised to blossom yet on this frigid shoreline.
The word that lingers in the front of their mind is Torchline, a place which is so wholly distant from this one that it seems almost impossible to imagine the former is real. “I am from there too, I suppose. But I have not been back to that place for some time.”
It might seem strange to picture a savage creature such as Chaele walking the streets of Haulani or enjoying a warm breeze on an Ahi beach, but these are the memories behind her dark eyes as she finds the shapes of palm trees and long-beaked birds in the pinprick patterns above. “Why would Safrin hang the stars for anyone?” They muse aloud, savoring the bizarre candor between the two while it lasts. “I am told the gods and their heralds are fickle. Indifferent to the people and their needs, unless it suits them to be so.”
He snorts softly in response, a white cloud of breath puffing into the air as he presses close to Maeve, wrapping his large form around the Nightshade. She presses back into his heat, allowing herself to relax against him, soaking in the comfort he supplies. The Nightshade reaches up with a gloved hand to scratch beneath his chin, teeth threatening to chatter as the wind cuts through her.
She makes a soft noise of acknowledgement, sparing a glance towards the stranger, brows knitting together as she took in her appearance. Strange. "Many people come and go from there." Maeve finally settles on, not at all surprised that the woman had been there before. Many people had. Some stayed and some didn't.
Maeve laughs, shaking her head, "Those who think that are the ones who haven't experienced their kindness first hand. I used to think they didn't care for us, but I was wrong." Her smile is wistful, eyes still trained on the sky above. "She loves us. More than you might think. She's made many promises and kept every single one of them."
The quiet that follows the Nightshade’s assertion is heavy with incredulity. Chaele finds it hard to believe that the truth could be anything other than what they already think, and they resent the seed of hope that Maeve plants in the back of their mind. The empty eyes of their carcass cloak are the only ones that look back at her and her scaly blanket, as the shaman holds their doubts behind their teeth.
A grim expression softens a bit behind the mask as Chaele spies a constellation they recognize, except that its angle is a bit off in this place where they have not seen it before. A gloved hand rises to frame it in a thumb’s crook, the antlered mask tipping somewhat to the side to better view the star-speckled image. Meanwhile they speculate, “It is true that I have not experienced their kindness. But you speak as though you have been promised something.”
Her smile is wistful as she turns her attention back towards the stars, finally spotting the constellation she's looking for, the Siren peeking out from behind the mountain range. Drawing her cloak more tightly around herself, the Nightshade lets out a soft hum of acknowledgement, "I've been promised many things and all of those things have been delivered. I was promised a way to protect myself and get to those I love when they need me. I was promised a way to heal the people within Torchline. I was promised that not only would my child be safe, but all of the children of Caido." That was her greatest accomplishment. The thing she was most proud of.
"The gods and heralds may ask great things of us. They might put us through tests, but it's only to prove to ourselves we are capable. Everything has a cost." It was simple to her. The Nightshade had been just like this woman before. Untrusting of the heralds, thinking that she meant nothing to them, but she'd be wrong. It was silly to look back on now.
The Thorned Crown is what it is called, Chaele remembers, as their hand drops away from the irregular circle of stars. It is one of the few constellations that they recall from times of old, of shuffling papers and wooden boardwalks and clear Longheat nights. Their life is much different now, but there is something universal in stargazing, something which transcends time and experience. They do not know that the Crown sits above the Siren’s head this time of year, that two pairs of eyes had found approximately the same spot to watch Safrin’s glittering art in the heavens.
And yet the two women’s lives could not be more different. “We do not need gods to be tested, nor to make promises,” Chaele replies with their usual bitterness, but then they loose a white sigh which splits over either side of their mask. Their voice is a little more tender as they add quietly, “But one can hope those promises prove true.”
They look to Maeve then, only then noticing her upward gaze. “What do you see?”
Maeve lifts her shoulders in a shrug, letting the old woman's words roll off of her, not caring what her opinion is on the matter one way or another. There were plenty of people who bring challenges. Who put them through their paces and break promises. Safrin didn't do that, though. She challenged her, but only so she would grow. She believed in her. She kept her promises. Maeve wouldn't ever doubt that. Not because of some woman in the tundra.
"Siren. One of my favorite constellations." The Nightshade murmurs, jade eyes tracing the cluster of stars, a faint smile on her lips. "There is also Hydra and Drago... Hydra isn't as bright here. Drago is. Perhaps because he's closer to home." She muses softly.
Chaele looks for the named constellation, but even if it were pointed out to them they might not see it. The task becomes tedious, their neck aching beneath the weight of their mask and their own patience tested by the impenetrable calm of the woman and her dragon. The shaman themself cannot quite understand the extent of their own envy for Maeve’s serenity, her companionship, her certainty.
The stag skull turns away from the stars and the freezing waters to twist behind them and contemplate the world beyond. This has been a suitable diversion, but the night will only grow colder. “I should be headed home,” Chaele mentions, standing. Truthfully there is no home except for a small, secluded cave and a cold campfire circle. It occurs to them to invite Maeve, but the wildwoman is not accustomed to offering aid when it is not requested. Instead they simply suggest, “Perhaps you should too. The coldest hours are yet to come.”
Maeve isn't surprised that the old woman seems to grow irritated with her. Had she been treated this way by a stranger, the Nightshade likely wouldn't have stuck around, not often willing to deal with the same type of treatment from others. The Nightshade hums noncommittally, "Perhaps... Travel safely." She says softly, words practically lost on the wind. Maeve doesn't move until she thinks the other has left, committing the view of Siren to memory and already knowing that this isn't the place she'll gather from. Still, it's beautiful none the less.
She stands, beckoning for Aidon to follow as she sets back out towards home, knowing she has a bit of a trek to make given that she can't use the portal. Maeve likely won't make it home until dawn, but that's alright.
