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 ocean does not apologize for its depth and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
The Sword would be the first to admit that he lacked many fundamentals of plant knowledge. Any and all sagacity had been warranted into survival tendencies amongst fields of war, avoidance of poisonous leaves, or wisdom picked up here and there amongst experiences. And while he could conjure earthen roots and create flora to some degree, he left those notions to the masters of their profession; preferring the skills of battle and prowess of armaments.
Snagging at the verdure gathered from the festival upon Evie’s advice, the General marched into the greenhouse, preferring to leave Halo with the benefits, rather than any other land. Plucking off furs and layers, and leaving them along the many coat hooks by the glass doors, he surveyed the rows upon rows of crops, trees, saplings, and sprouts, before making a left, hastening towards the column of vegetables. Nodding towards some others nestled nearby, likely gathering for the markets, he crouched beside a bundle of peppers, opening the tiny satchel of seeds and pooling them into his palm.
Tal had been in the greenhouse for a little while, wandering up and down the rows with his nose wrinkled in confusion and the hint of a scowl tugging at the corners of his lips. Boreal followed sedately a few paces behind, sniffing curiously at the leaves that lined the path from various sources. As the courier peered into plots to the left and right of him, holding his sturdy wooden box in front of himself, the dragon's nose caught a familiar scent and her eyes went forward, fixing on the General.
Ever the lady, she casually shouldered past her bonded - causing him to yelp softly and struggle to keep the box even without losing his balance - and made a beeline for Deimos and his pockets which so often held treats. Rumbling a greeting, she butted her broad head against his shoulder even as Tal hurried to catch up, scowl lifting away into a surprised grin at finding his friend amidst the foliage.
Unable to see the seeds in the warrior's hand with his own box in the way, he hazarded a guess after spying the nearby plants. "Hey, Deimos! Pickin' some peppers for dinner tonight?"
the ocean does not apologize for its depth and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
He could hear the dragon’s rumble before he spotted her, shifting ever so slightly in his crouch to appease her presence and ground himself in the same stead; opposed to falling on the surface of the greenhouse soil. Careful to close his fingers around the seeds so they weren’t jostled or lost, he utilized his other hand to scratch at the top of the companion’s head. “Boreal,” he greeted with his own low vocals, palm dropping to find treats in his pants pockets, rather than the coat left behind at the entrance, offering them habitually, routinely. He didn't apologize for Belial's lack of presence - the peryton off foraging for his own meal. Deimos figured the dragon wouldn't mind anyway.
Talyson’s appearance coincided with the flying lizard’s arrival, and the General’s eyes lifted to spot the courier dashing down the rows and columns. Withholding a snort, and gaze going to the box (perhaps the Accepted had been doing the same thing), he rose back to his full height, showing the seeds. “Finding a place to plant these,” amongst and amidst its brethren, he’d figured. Jutting his jaw towards the container Talyson held, his own curiosity meandered, and then bluntly echoed. “And you?”
The dragon grumbled happily at the scritches and settled back, appeased as he went for the hoped-for treats. Tal huffed at her in exasperated fondness - hard to tell, in that moment, which one of them had learned it from the other - as she settled down on the path beside Deimos with her prize and nibbled daintily at the scrap. "Sorry about that," he mumbled, not entirely sincerely; it wasn't like he spoiled her any less.
Tal tilted his head up as Deimos stood, and the contents of his box were revealed from the General's new vantage: the cactus that the courier had obtained from the table.
Looking, if anything, even sadder than it had in the swamp.
"Same," he admitted, grin going lopsided. 'Which seeds did y'end up gettin'?"
the ocean does not apologize for its depth and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
“No need,” the Sword extended – apologies unnecessary where treats and companions were concerned; he willingly spoiled them all. With Boreal appeased though, his attention slunk back to the greenhouse itself, gaze fixating on the box – and the cactus contained within. “Will it survive here?” A purposefully humid climate, made to ensure Halo had their own provisions, incapable of farming any sort of crops with the constant snowfall and tundra-laden expanse. From what he knew about cacti, which was little, they preferred the dry, overwhelming heat of the desert.
He wrinkled his nose at its sad state, before glancing at his own wares. “Thought I would get some variety.” The Sword pointed to each in turn, as Evie had declared them, because they all knew he wouldn’t be able to recall them just by sight alone. “Pepper. Orange. Lemon.” Some amount of flavor to broaden horizons and potentially permit more trade.
Tal followed Deimos's gaze down to the box in his arms and his grip on the wood tightened (possibly why the cactus was in a box, and not simply postted). His grin faded and he squirmed uncomfortably. "Dunno," he admitted, voice falling to an uncomfortable mumble. "But I didn't want to just leave it there..." It was scrappy, dammit! And maybe he had a soft spot for scrappy, prickly things.
Relieved for the change in topic, Tal peered over at Deimos's seeds instead, some of his delight returning at the list. "Oooh, yeah! The orange an' lemon'll be really popular! What kind of peppers?" He knelt down carefully, setting his box aside with a pat for the wooden rim as he peered at the existing pepper bundle already planted, trying to identify them. "Same as these?"
the ocean does not apologize for its depth and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
The Sword wasn’t one to feel apologetic towards plants - people were lucky if they gained his empathy (and only a select few). Glancing back at the cactus, and beyond its prickly exterior and somewhat sad looking disposition, he could only offer a shrug. “Would it be better in your home?” Figuring most Halo houses to be molded in drier heat, considering the amount of hearths and fires burning. There was always the suggestion of the desert itself too, which they both knew to be a hellhole of its own designation.
As for the inquiry, Deimos nodded, hoping that much was true. Eyes caught along the variety of peppers, with differing hues depending on ripeness, before crouching down again beside a green one, along the end. He figured if he messed this one up, it wouldn’t affect the rest. Earthen incantations opened a modest hollow for him to place the seed within, before closing back up. Within a moment, just as he and Evie had done when snagging at fruit, he purposefully drew the incantations upwards, inspiring, encouraging, a seedling to sprout from the soil.
The scowl slipped out as Tal regarded the cactus but his mind was clearly on something else at Deimos's suggestion. "Nah, it would definitely get overwatered there!" A house full of older sisters who knew better than he did? They'd all be trying to 'help' and the poor little plant would be dead inside the month.
The courier shifted over to get out of his friend's way, watching the magic with his usual curiosity and flicker of envy in pale eyes. "Peppers are supposed to be planted in pretty dry soil, I think," he mused while he watched. "Spicy ones, at least. Anywhere those're planted in here, the cactus should like, too, I think." He reached out with an unmagical hand to push some dirt near the established pepper plants around, testing its moisture level. "D'you like yours spicy, or sweet?"
the ocean does not apologize for its depth and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
A brow arched at the notion of the cactus inevitably falling apart due to opposing measures – and though he could’ve suggested the desert next, the Sword blatantly disliked the environment, and after their latest endeavors with landsharks, he was set for the moment. “Safer here, then?” A muffled snort rumbled through, and then he moved aside to allow Talyson some room to inspect the soil.
Not one to understand the nuances and fluctuations of levels in loam, just with the comprehension that many differed (from swamp to sea, from tundra to riverbeds), he merely shrugged, persistent in his incantations. The sprout grew and grew, until bulbs of fruit began to appear, green at first, to match several of its constituents. The question notched caused a stifled rumble, the courier probably could’ve predicted the answer on his own, but while he worked, Deimos replied. “Sweet. Though I can tolerate some of the spicier ones.” To a point – as children they had long since made a game out of who could last the longest before screeching, crying, or hurling themselves into the sea. “You?”
After how the last visit to the desert had gone, Tal was feeling thoroughly chastened and not eager to return to the hot, dry wasteland. Not without company to share in the misery, at least. His grin made a brief appearance at Deimos's snort and he bobbed his head awkwardly in agreement. "Definitely!" Safe from his sisters, his dogs, his dragon... and himself.
Tal's knowledge of plants and dirt was not particularly deep. He had a broad sense from the greenhouse's caretaker, but little practical experience. Still, there was a certain boyish satisfaction to playing in the dirt and he decided the local loam was probably dry enough for his drooping refugee.
He grinned again at hearing that Deimos liked sweet peppers, nodding in agreement. "One of my sisters'll eat the yellow ones like apples," he confided, wrinkling his nose in judgment. "I don't like the seeds as much. They're all good fried up in a mess with some eggs and bacon, though!" The grin widened as he watched Deimos's magic work to make a tasty green pepper plant. Digging a few seeds of his own out of the box (carefully avoiding getting pricked by recent practice), Tal started making little holes in the dirt with his finger nearby to stick them in. "But the spicier, the better! I always won the family LongNight challenge," he added smugly. Even if his mother might have let him win a few years when he was younger.
the ocean does not apologize for its depth and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
The General’s versions of playing in the dirt could go in many different directions: blood-laden loam across a vast field, marching through torn and butchered ranges, or, on the mischievous angles, hurling mud and soil at friends. The latter had only been done to Ru recently, and were the greenhouse not so wholly occupied by other citizens or plants that probably didn’t need to be uprooted by his antics, he might’ve unfurled them. The glassy fixtures themselves kept him somewhat contained, apprehensive that he might destroy something in their vicinity.
He surveyed the green bulb, and then left it to its own devices. Eventually it’d catch up with the rest of its like-minded constituents along the row – so his eyes surveyed and watched the courier at work, brows furrowing at the mention of some game. “Family LongNight challenge?”
Seeds were dropped into shallow holes and carefully covered again even as beady eyes watched, all unsuspected, from beneath a nearby bush. A soft scuffle rustled the leaves, but Tal's attention was on his plantings and he grinned down at them when Deimos asked his question.
"It's one way to warm up in Deepfrost," he explained with a low chuckle. "Even if it's just for a bit. Mom used to collect peppers special, just for it. Back before the dome and bein' able to go out in the streets during LongNight. When we'd be trapped inside an' gettin' restless an' snappish towards the end of it, you know? To distract us. We'd all sit around the kitchen table an' eat the first round of peppers. If y'couldn't eat the whole thing, or when y'reached for the milk, you were out. Each round the peppers got hotter. Eventually there's just one person left an' they're the winner. Usually stripped down to shirtsleeves and all over sweat," he added with a wicked grin.
"What about you? Any fun familiar traditions from uh... where are you from?" He sat back on his heels, a perplexed furrow to his brow as he realized he didn't even know what land his Outlander friend hailed from.
the ocean does not apologize for its depth and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
His brow arched as he listened about the bouts of a family tradition – restless children mildly bullied by their parents (relatable) - youths encouraged to inhale fire in the form of food. Blinking more than once, because the reign of judgement almost curled over his tongue, but then he could recall a number of other moments in his own childhood that were likely just as ridiculous – so he settled for another snort and a distinct rumble. “What did you win?”
Deimos wasn’t surprised Talyson didn’t know where his Outlander prowess reigned from. While the Sword didn’t make it a secret, he also didn’t freely share it with every single person he encountered. One of his own traditions, to be furtive and walled off in precise measures. “Isilme first. Born beside the sea, in a place called Moonlit Tides.” His eyes lifted, studying the greenhouse around them, but memories churning elsewhere; of sand beneath bare feet and a constant lunar beam, the sound of reckless spirits echoing down the lanes of dunes and beach. His shoulders shrugged, mouth tugging into a modest smile, already knowing the next sentence to sound foolish. “We used to see how many gulls we could catch.”
Tal sat back and dusted his hands off, admiring his work tolerable, though far from a cultivational masterpiece before he turned his impish grin on Deimos. "Bragging rights, mostly. An' getting to pick dessert for the rest of LongNight." The latter had been more important as a child; the former, more important as he'd grown to youth and young adult.
The courier listened to Deimos with shining eyes, imagination stealing inspiration from Torchline's coast to build a picture of the General's lost home. For someone who had grown up dreaming of an unfettered sea when all he had known was ice-locked winter - and had dealt with his own share of bullying for his last name - Deimos had found at least one person who wouldn't make fun of such childhood games. "How did you catch 'em?" he asked eagerly instead - perhaps already considering a similar diversion the next time he was on the coast. "An' what was your record?"
