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!
Normally yes, she would absolutely object, but after multiple years she's beginning to accept that acts of service and gift-giving are how he shows his love, and so long as he isn't hurting himself in the process it's easier to let him display it. No matter how hard it is for her to accept sometimes.
"Oooh yes, definitely that," she nods in a flurry of red hair, childishly excited by the prospect of essentially shooting electric bullets out of a sword. "That way it's long and short range." Which, given she has a shield she regularly uses now, would be immensely helpful. Few weapons can be paired with a shield that also supply long-distance damage.
The grin remained wry, eager and fervent to apply his incantations for her. With the acceptance of ranges and applicable variances, he rolled his sleeves further back, and returned the rest of the magic maintaining the image back into his veins.
From there, his hands glowed in their gilded manifestations, creation and elements contorting, conforming, to his requests and depictions constructed within his mind. The outline came to form readily, a shortened, curved blade, broadening toward the point, silver, handle bronzed (not without its own details – sleek little vines encompassed and etched into the wood, a few more plants crawling upwards along the sides), before the fixtures ran forth. Shards of other compunctions maintained their rich semblances, delving further and further into its mass until finally it finished – potent and regal.
And then, as others might hand their beloveds a flower, he brandished the blade. “For you.”
--
Deimos has created:
Lightning Scimitar:
A blade infused with lightning, capable of striking an opponent when directed along its length.
Evie will never tire of watching his magic at work, and she has ruminated on this thought many times in their years together, even before confessions and intertwined lives. There is an artistry and care that lives in his orchestrations that even his schematics and sketches - though drawn with the same hand - cannot hope to compare to. Though his oldest magic may not be creation, he proves himself the champion of life every time he breathes it into something new. Evie will never be disenchanted of her admiration; even now it's clear in the way she holds her breath and leans forward, eyes wide and unblinking as she witnesses this transformation of elements into something cohesive and uniform.
The elegance with which he presents the sword is not lost on her, and her cheeks flush as surely as if it truly were a rose in his hands. Reverent, her own hands come to gingerly transfer the sword from his hands to her own, still scarcely daring to blink as she feels the weight of it in her palms. "I wish I could ever find words for how amazing I find you," she confesses with nary an ounce of shame or embarrassment in her frankness. "It's beautiful. Thank you honey." The scimitar's steel gleams bright and unburdened by even a single fingerprint, the handle artistically curved, its smooth edge sharper than even the most freshly forged blade in the Halovian markets. Lifting her eyes slowly, a foxlike grin begins to grow on her lips. "Say...want to go test it out?" Because what's a date between them without a little destruction and tomfoolery?
He waited, a presence of patience and forbearance through eternities, as she sought the sword from his hand. Expectations unfurled with a widened gaze and a fresh flush to his cheeks and over his nose as her compliments rose and fell; quietly laughing at her forthrightness, and trying not to scare the napping pandas nearby with the joyful noise. “Thank you,” a careful pause, a way to grasp all the words and sentiments floating through his mind, but down into bare bones and simplicity. “You are welcome,” and he meant it, as he always did – eyes flickering back and forth between her and the blade, half-expecting her to suddenly swing it.
Better ideas formed though, and with a feral little touch to his brow, to the angle of his grin, he rose from the long grass, holding his hand out so that she might do the same. “Of course.” Elsewhere, without the slumbering beasts nearby.
