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!
With Frey’s instructions clear and concise, the Sword was much the same – inviting Evie to partake in felling timber amongst the Tundra would be an intriguing notion of a date, but he’d already found measures to instigate and unravel some semblance of mischief.
Drawing the sled towards the Citadel gates, and nodding towards fellow, familiar guards, Deimos ensured all of their necessities were contained within the framework: tools, food, water, and blankets all nestled amidst its simple design. Belial had decided to occupy it as well, snagging at opportunities until he was inevitably kicked out, and Zuriel snorted from beside the vessel, dragged away from hearths and fires. “When you are ready,” he called out over to the Evergreen as she made her way towards their early morning incitements – the ghost of a smirk nestled along his features.
we exhume our enemy's bones we are battling, hungry beasts
Freshly pink-cheeked from her morning run, Evie strides out of the Citadel gates with her long hair in a plait that sways over one shoulder, tied tail bouncing with each step. Deimos’ voice turns her attention from the east acknowledgment of the guards, and the Evergreen turns her eyes to him, all others falling away. A smile dawns beneath star-kissed cheeks. “Is that an invitation to dawdle?” It’s a tease of a response, aware of the exact opposite implication he had intended.
Belial has been evicted from his seat in the sled, so Evie spares him a boisterous pat as she walks past him to bump hips with Deimos. It’s a strange date to be sure, but Evie is sure their future holds stranger. “Do you think it’s blasphemous for me to do this given what everyone calls me?” The Evergreen: slayer of trees. Likely not what people had anticipated when they’d dubbed the apothecarist such.
His eyes narrowed briefly – never a dawdler by any stretch of the imagination – but the threat of impending, dragging feet already had the restless energy skimming over the surface of his veins. “No,” he rumbled in return, snorting out a plume of air as it rose and fell with his breath. There was always the possibility of dragging the sled out of the gates to see if she’d strive and catch up, and he would’ve taken the inkling one step further had she not relented soon after.
The peryton delivered a hoot, and unfurled his wings at her pat, claws snagging along the edges of the vessel, pretending not to feel the warning circumventing through the bond. He eventually relented with a heavy sigh, wandering beside the in patches of snow, waiting for the inevitable. For his part, Deimos snickered at the implications, tucking the impending eye roll away for provocation and challenges. “You could always alter it,” change the title for something she thought more suitable – his hands guiding her into the seat moments after. “Would you prefer something else?” Then, with a brief pause as he meandered towards the front of the sled, hands gripping the rope, he uttered the only warning she;d likely receive. “Best hold on.”
we exhume our enemy's bones we are battling, hungry beasts
The cloud of breath around his mouth is borne from the snort of his denial, but the mist it summons around her own is entirely mirthful. She is far too restless after her run to drag her own feet, but their relationship is not unlike an endless game of tug-of-war. It wouldn’t feel the same to greet him any other way on the cusp of a fresh dawn.
Belial is not nearly so lucky as she, and the mournful noises are given an understanding croon as he clambers out of the vessel to make room for her. But she forgets a moment later, distracted by Deimos’ hands as they guide her into the sled. Taken, as always, by the man’s presence and physicality. “It seems pretentious to choose my own name,” she laughs, a little awkwardly. Humbled, truly, by the fact that people call her anything more than her birth name. “It’s a complimentary name, at least. They could call me any variety of the grade school insults I’ve heard a thousand times. Best not tempt fate.” But amusement curls insistent on her mouth, having never internalized such taunts.
Her grin only widens, reckless, anticipatory, at his brief but meaningful warning. Her feet press and brace at the front of the sled, and her hands grip the side rails, grateful as ever for the quality gloves Halo produces. “Ready!” she calls, voice already threaded through with excitement.
“Evie the Pretentious does not have quite the same ring,” he gave in response, with the inkling of his boyish grin wrapped around his mouth. But he didn’t press any further – not over wounds she scarcely glossed upon herself. They’d both known the cruelty of worlds, no matter which kingdom, climate, or sovereignty; terrain might have altered, but people and history rarely did. The Evergreen would stick to roots, leaves, and fir; and he nodded, ensuring she was safely ensconced in the sled, before advancing in his own tactics.
The announcement was all he needed. The shift thereafter from human to hound was immediate, a maelstrom of Stygian fur and massive paws, taking the rope from the sled between his teeth, and setting off with one, long illustrious howl.
Long limbs swept up the snow in unfurling measures – freedom and fervor, liberation and salvation in swift, vivid movements. Power for power rippled through muscle and predacious, carnivore expanse, at liberty with the brawn and might in his forthright strides, carving and sculpting his own wake amongst the rimed paths, dragging the sled behind him. He waited for some squeal of excitement or outcry of the breakneck speed, while Zuriel careened behind him, and Belial zoomed above, their own little modicum of chaos uncoiling vicious and potent deliverance.
She can do no more than wrinkle her nose in petulant, mirthful rebuttal at his cheek, which is truly just desserts for her own empty threat of dawdling. Such is the cyclical nature of their shared mischievous natures.
Even if she’d had a comment in mind, it would have been deemed far less important when weighed against the chance to see Deimos shift. Given their shared magical abilities, it’s not often the Evergreen gets to witness the manifestation of his Attuned forms. Least of all the one he chooses, which she has never seen before and whose might she can’t help but admire. The pitch of his fur, the size of his paws, all appreciated in the few heartbeats she’s given before they’re departing. If it’s a squeal he anticipates, it’s what he receives, the sound of her excitement trailing behind them as hound, peryton, unicorn, and very lucky human all go streaming across the ice.
Evie knows it won’t be long until they reach the nearest trees, so she scarcely dares to blink, grin wide and cheeks red with wind and cold as she tries to split her time and attention between watching the ice fly by and admiring the beast that is making it happen.
It was an unsung reverie, beholden to nothing but the power undulating through veins and pulsing in bones; weighted by naught in apprehensive notions or trepidatious efforts. Carnivore impacts and potency prospered in the outright vigor of his movements, dragging and toiling and not giving a damn as they flew over snow and ice. The squeal echoing, caught by his swiveling ears, was only encouragement – he would’ve gone on and on and on into infinite maelstroms, chasing after pinnacles of memories and foundations of sedition, had the outline of trees not caught his attention.
Puffs and plumes of air uncoiled from his nares as he turned them towards the silhouetted timber – a cluster of them, just off the beaten path. Eventually his pace and strides slowed until they were an easygoing, unlabored stroll, limbs flickering in a casual display of sovereignty and revolution. The sled, and therefore the rest of the flock, obeyed his ministrations, rope still tight across his jaw, gliding behind, making little tracks in the snow.
He ceased entirely when the cracked, broken, and clearly decrepit wood lingered a few feet away. Perhaps they’d been deprived of nutrients, or aged beyond their capabilities out on the line of powder and outskirts. From there, he took a solid breath, bidding some silent goodbye to the shift, dropping the line, and casting himself back into human efforts. With one long stretch of arms and legs, he tilted his head back to the others. “All right?”
It’s a ride she wishes could last forever, and she’s sure Deimos has the strength to outlast her even if they tried. The wind is cuttingly cold, but Evie can’t feel it beneath the elation and wonder. He’s beautiful, a flowing streak of obsidian that seems to swallow the snow, and Evie has never wondered what it would be like to experience that but now she can’t help it. What would her own soul reflect if it were given form? Would she be half as magnificent as him?
The trees come far too soon. They are sad, sagging things, withstanding the weight of snowy boughs with a strength Evie never would have thought they still contained. Though her examination is nearly clinical, she’s swiftly distracted by the odd, horrible, yet persistently intriguing shift Deimos undergoes as the sled comes to a stop. Her smile is unbidden. “That was incredible,” she says in lieu of answering the question he’d actually asked. Gracefully hopping out of the sled, she touches her hand to the handle of one of the axes in the sled. “What’s the best way to do this without ruining the wood?” Experienced as she is in harvesting wood in the Grounds, they need to be intentional this time so as not to waste anything.
Perhaps one day they’d be able to match eternities – laden in snow and mountains – not clad in titles or ambition, but the lone aspirations of amusements, diversions, and the unsung liberation only the distance and themselves aimed to provide. For now though, he could only snag at his gloves, watch Zuriel puff and glare, or Belial streak across the horizon, before settling his sights on Evie – red-cheeked and smiling.
Bowing his head, he snorted lightly, hands snagging at an ax laden in the sled. “Thank you. We can do it on the way back too.” Even with the timber loaded in, he figured his strength would still cover ample ground. As for the inquiry, and presuming everything was fine since she hadn’t complained about the wild ride, his gaze went upward, staring at the timber doomed to fall. “I was wondering if we could use magic on it. Gently bring them down.” Then begin to break them apart enough to place into the sled. His stare returned to hers, waiting for either a new suggestion or utilizing the current one, before proceeding anywhere.
we exhume our enemy's bones we are battling, hungry beasts
For Zuriel’s omnipresence, Evie has never seen her willingly do more than lounge in front of the hearth, so she basks in the ability to watch the entire trio with an appreciative eye before she must join them in physical labor. The promise of another round only brightens her visage; never let it be said that fun and revelry couldn’t coexist with the drudgery of work.
Nodding absently as she surveys the trees in front of them, the Evergreen idly taps the blunt back of the axhead against her calf as she moves closer, intent and speculative. “Uprooting them with magic would also mean preserving every last bit of the base of the stump, roots and all.” Hefting her tool, she gestures with it to outline the shape of the closest tree. “Will we have any need for the limbs, or should we cut them off and leave them here?” Keeping them attached would mean greater difficulty transporting the trunks, but abandoning them was wasteful. Perhaps they could only preserve the thickest ones and leave them in the plaza for citizens to take for their hearths?
Regardless of his choice, Evie doesn’t dawdle much longer. Can’t stand to be motionless too long. Approaching the closest of her namesakes, she sets her magic to work moving the earth to free the roots, digging deeper and wider with each passing second to send the tree toppling.
Evie put his ideas into words far better than himself; to be expected, given who they were. He watched as she traced around the tree, at home and familiar with the woods no matter where they seemed to roam, and he waited with a tilted head, conspiring amidst the actions. “We can take them. Not much goes to waste here.” A wink extended, considering how each and every bough could be disassembled along the sled, perhaps placed or strapped down on top of the layers of timber. Maybe he could have Zuriel assist in carrying them along saddlebags, rather than simply forcing her out into the tundra for exercise. The Citadel citizens would be grateful for them nonetheless; fires always needing to be fed.
Neither could remain idle, so as she slid along and began to work, the Sword took one of the farther trees. Patting its trunk with his gloved hand, he felt the death and demise through its lifeless, soulless entity – the lines of decay threatening. Its days gone and done, with another cycle to begin; rebirth and renewal in its own justification. With an unfurled breath, much like Evie, he concocted the Mastered ends of his earthen incantations, beginning to peel apart the layers, bit by bit, plucking at the roots as though they were strings.
As her tree fell, so did his, with a resounding crack as it broke away through tundra plain.
we exhume our enemy's bones we are battling, hungry beasts
Out here in the snow, away from training halls and quiet, stuffy rooms, she looks at him smiling and winking, carefree and unburdened by war or leadership, and thinks oh.
Heat crawls into her cheeks, but the bite of cold conceals it well. And though her world has shifted, it feels clearer. The arc of her smile, at least, hasn’t changed - she can feel it the same as it always was as she nods her agreement.
They work in tandem, just enough distance between them to ensure the falling trees don’t pose any level of risk. Competency and power were not reasons to invite idiocy or injury after all. Each one is felled within moments of the other, and the cacophony is loud in her ears, seeming to ring long after the noise has passed. Snow falls from adjacent boughs overhead, and Evie grumbles as a sizable portion plops onto her shoulder, spraying up her neck and making her recoil. Not that it delays her - the next tree is approached, and she repeats the process anew.
It was unfortunate Deimos couldn’t be privy to her thoughts – there would’ve been more insistence in teasing demeanors and testing more waters, poking and prodding at the layers they’d immersed themselves within and seeing where it unfurled. Away from prying eyes or disgruntled citizens, permitted to be amongst their semblances of freedom, and one another.
Instead, they felled trees – listening to the wealth of sound as the once mighty toppled into the snow. At some point the noises caused Zuriel to scurry, scoff, and snort, but Belial was all the more amused and engrossed, picking up loosened branches and nettles, pines and boughs, and whisking them about mid-air.
The Sword might’ve seen the snow falling upon Evie, but didn’t say a word – not past a muffled snort anyway. Keeping the boyish grin in place, he walked to the next tree over, ensuring distance, and amplifying the multitudes once more.
we exhume our enemy's bones we are battling, hungry beasts
It’s likely a good thing he cannot, if only because Evie would surely work herself to distraction worrying over his reception of her budding awareness of her feelings until her face turned blue. Though she has worked hard to foster true confidence in herself instead of the gilded, cheap veneer of arrogance she’d worn as a young woman, things such as…well, that are far from her wheelhouse.
Tree after tree. They continue on, both felling their third trees for a total of six. The small copse thins with each loss, clearing the surroundings so she can keep an eye on her partner. There’s no need, but there’s also a comfort in habitually looking for him, an assurance in the fact she finds him there each time. Admittedly, she does it often; in the Barracks surrounded by soldiers, in meetings for armaments, even in the open rooms of his home where nobody else convened. Like checking a pulse, something she’s done countless times, but which tells her what she needs to hear without ever saying a word herself.
Another tree.
Gods, but it’s boring. So as her magic works on the fifth tree, she bends over and quietly compacts a snowball - and when his own falls, she throws it under cover of the noise of its demise, right for the Sword’s shoulder.
