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Character of the Season
Once known as the Butcher of Whitebrim, he's now The Butcher of Dygra, stepping forward as the first created demigod of the Ancients. There is no question that Astaroth casts an intimidating silhouette. Tall, domineering and dangerous, if looks could kill you'd be dead already, but to get up close and personal with the Grounds' resident cannibal tells a much different story. Dripping with charm and clad in only the finest attire, Asta is a gentleman monster, as polite as they come and committed to his role as security for the Dusklight and those who have earned his loyalty. Be careful of that smile, though - those teeth are sharp.
Congratulations, Asta!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
OG Skinning provided by Kaons, with functionality and many custom plugins made by Neowulf!
"Shoot." Zavien takes a deep breath, the mists of the valley humidifying the cold morning air that hits his lungs, stimulating a short cough that he smothers behind a hand. He hadn't been expected Sol to lead him straight to a cliff - even if that cliff has a bridge spanning its width - but the dragon gives him an encouraging chirp that tells Zavien this is the only option to get home.
He should have just taken the skyship.
Leaning his head back, he tries not to look off the edge of the cliff while he grapples with the queasy feeling in his stomach. His hand grips the hilt of his sword, the other fidgeting with the strap of his bag, only letting a few moments pass before stepping towards the bridge. The longer he delays, the worse it will get, and he has a family to get back to.
Sol dives down to land along the rope lining the path, his golden wings spread out to keep him balanced as he trots effortlessly across the expanse. "Show off," Zavien mutters, hiding a smirk when he takes the first hesitant step onto the wood paneling, his green eyes fixed on the ground ahead rather than the misty drop to an unknown ground below, slowing his breathing as he hums a garbled, out of tune sound with no distinguishable melody.
The secret of happiness is freedom, the secret of freedom is courage.
Icarus catches the flash of soemthing in the sky and follows, heart hammering in the back of his throat. He doesn’t know what drew him to the Oerwoud, compelled him to ask a day’s leave and wander onto the Skyship in a perhaps ill-fated attempt to wake Ghilio. He says ill-fated because, if his hopeless sense of direction were anything to be trusted, he was hopelessly and utterly lost. And now, if the memories seared into the backs of his eyes and lacing the jagged, brutal scars on his chest are to be trusted, there’s a dragon flitting around here too. Wonderful.
His chest burns as he moves towards the source of the movement, drawn by some invisible tether of trauma. The air is thick with humidity, a largely unfamiliar sensation to the cold-hardened Halo soldier, and the jacket he had arrived with now resides tied around his waist. Long, lean arms push away foreign fauna in Icarus’ path; if circumstances were different, perhaps he would have delighted in letting his fingers run over the strange new life, reveling in the touch of vitality under his weathered fingers.
With a burst of desperate speed, sticks snapping and crushing under his heavy boots, Icarus emerges into a clearing holding a man, a bridge that could only be politely described as structurally unsound, and most pressingly, a dragon. The man upon the bridge is tall and strong and seems utterly unbothered by (rather small) creature of mass destruction perched next to him, and Icarus doesn’t want to startle him on this rickety bridge but—
”Excuse me,” He calls, voice soft as it ever is but with a note of urgency in it, ”There’s a dragon next to you,” It’s perhaps an unhelpful observation in this particular moment but echoes of talons on his chest and bloodied memories of wings against Citadel walls beat against his memories and his dragon-claw scars, remnants of near-death and grief, climb out red and angrily visible from the low collar of his sleeveless undershirt. His hands drift to his sword, more out of habit than anything else, resting there unobtrusively.
The first step has his jaw setting, determination lining his eyes when he looks at Sol, the awful humming echoing through the open space below. The dragon doesn't appear nearly as concerned by the height, practically trotting along the railing, but he also has wings that will do a lot more to stop his fall than anything Zavien possesses.
The second step earns a stuttered breath, gaze flicking down just enough to confirm the placement of his foot. Instinct has him wanting to look beyond to the threat of open air below, only stifled by pure willpower that forces his eyes back to his companion, fear and panic fighting for possession of his limbs. The world around him is muted, secondary to the danger looming below.
When a voice sounds from behind him, it takes a second to register. "Huh?" His third step hits the edge of the plank, shifting close enough to the gap that a curse attempts to push through his sharp gasp. He swears his stomach falls through his boot, falling continuously to crash-land somewhere solid and deadly disguised by the mist. The blood seems to follow, a chill setting over his body as if it can feel the death before it claims him.
Zavien's hands clutch the rope in a vice grip, adjusting his foot firmly on the plank, scrambling for a breath that doesn't make him want to vomit. It takes more than a few seconds for him to be able to think or hear past the feeling of plummeting in pieces, the irrational sense of doom pulling at his limbs. But when he does, he swallows, vaguely processing that someone's asking after the golden reptile propped next to him - the same one chirping softly at him, worry glinting in the yellow of his eyes.
Swallowing the tightness in his chest, Zavien glances at the young man in his peripheral, unwilling to turn in case he loses his footing. "Oh uh. Sol?" he verifies before adding, "He's my companion. There's rarely a moment he's not next to me." An airy chuckle huffs around the nervous smile he plasters on his face, talking over his shoulder when he says, "Sorry. Were you trying to cross? It might take me a minute." Or twenty. He hopes the man isn't in a hurry to get anywhere.
The secret of happiness is freedom, the secret of freedom is courage.
Icarus winces slightly at the abrupt way the man startles, his feet almost missing their standing and his already uncertain posture growing all the more uncertain the surprise arrival of his voice. He truly hadn't meant to startle the stranger, but he supposed it was a given, presuming the man on the bridge was likely extremely focused on the particular task at hand of not losing his balance and plummeting to death. A task which Icarus' presence was decidedly not helping with.
The bridge seem to sway from the force of the man's surprise, and though Icarus could not see the plummeting depths from where he stood, the image conjured in his mind was enough to send him trembling with sympathy. Perhaps more concerning though was the utter flippancy the man had towards his dragon companion? Icarus' throat tightens with something sharp and dangerous, the iron rod of his spine straightening to a soldier's attention. Either this man was deeply unlucky, cursed, or a very wicked person to hold himself companion to a dragon. His shoulders tightened in a defensive posture, his hands clammy from the press of the humidity against his body where they rested on his sword hilt.
His feet drive him a cautious step forward, enough so he can peer into the plummeting depths of the unending mists that lingered below the unstable bridge, and enough so he could keep a closer appraising eye on the mysterious man and his alleged dragon companion.
"Admittedly, I don't know if I am crossing. I'm lost," He said with an edge of defense, wary of revealing such possible advantage to an unknown and likely dangerous stranger. "So take your time." He swallowed the rock that seemed to have lodged in his throat, sharp as the memory of enormous raking claws against his chest. "...Did you say companion?"
The laughter that comes from his lips is a tumble of air, his smile distracted as he tries to pry his fingers from the rope. "I would be too if it weren't for Sol." Between the two of them, the dragon has the natural ability of height that makes him much better at directions, whereas Zavien couldn't find his way back from the bathroom in a one-story house with signs, let alone a forest where all the trees look vaguely familiar. "Where are you trying to go?" Maybe he could borrow Sol's exemplary navigational skills.
Peeking up from the torture of dangling hundreds of feet in the air, Zavien grins at Sol. "That's right! He's my best friend." A mandatory best friend for life. The miniature dragon turns his gaze to the stranger, a bright friendliness in his eyes when he sends a trilling chirp of greeting. He might have flown to demand scratches or treats if it weren't for the panicked situation of his bonded, his wings fluttering against the urge.
Zavien uses the conversation as a welcome distraction, replacing the discordant humming as he dares a fourth cautious step onto the bridge. "Frey bonded us together when he was just a baby." Not that he looks much bigger now with his pudgy legs and stubby horns. Zavien doesn't know the growth rates of dragons, but he suspects Sol would have been a lot bigger by this point if he was meant to be. And a lot scarier.
The secret of happiness is freedom, the secret of freedom is courage.
”I’m not exactly sure. That’s part of the problem,”” He starts, keeping his dark eyes glued to the mass of danger hovering above the man wobbling on the bridge. ”I came to try and help wake Ghilio. My unit’s dragging me to my first Flowerbirth festival and they say this is part of the tradition.” Which in this specific moment Icarus is now dreading.
The miniature dragon is cute in the way a poisonous flower must be beautiful to its victims. Its trilling, lilting chirp causes Icarus to flinch again, hand flicking on his sword, face contorting an a heartbeat of utter, absolute fear before he can master himself again.
The man on the bridge places another shaky leg in front of the other on the creaky bridge, and Icarus has to commend his bravery even though he’s clearly a madman and/or cursed. To be bonded to a creature of such immense destruction? And to call it a best friend? Icarus suppressed a shudder. Under the man’s feet, the bridge freaks and sways, and the wet bursts of wind blow Icarus’ collection of curls whisping around his pale face.
”And you’re… content with that? The bonding?” Icarus asks, drifting a hand up to rub at the burning canyons of his scars on his chest. The little creature is small, with stubby little legs and beating winds, and it occurs to Icarus that he should perhaps be more terrified at the plummeting canyon ahead of him rather than this stumpy thing, but his mind is echoing old visions of blood and flame and walls crumbling, half in memory, half in the misty stretch of Ourwoud, and he can’t quite drag his body all the way to the present.
”Dragons are dangerous,” He says quietly, more to himself than the man.
Zavien nods his head at the information, immediately regretting the decision when the bridge shifts beneath his feet, sending the world careening with nauseating force. He sucks in a breath, his fingers returning to their white-knuckle force as he lets out a nervous laugh. "Oh yeah. The Festival's a fun time. Lots of good food and music. Although hopefully we can wake Ghilio in time." Realizing that he's talking half to himself, he asks, "How did you plan to try and wake him? Did your unit have any suggestions?" Despite the fact that he hasn't gotten a full look at the man, he gets the sense that he's young, and having spent much of his life with the Dragoons, Zavien knows what it's like to be placed on a difficult task just to mess with him.
Unaware of the trauma being relived behind him, Zavien focuses on the familiar face that tilts in front of him. A sappy smile spreads across his lips, pure and bright. "It was one of the happiest days of my life." Falling close behind the day his daughter was born. Bonding with Sol had been a literal dream come true, a child's hope come to life after years of being alone. He'd survived every dark day after thanks to the love and support of his companion - even death.
The quiet comment reaches Zavien, concentration and confusion narrowing his eyes as he steps. Between clenched teeth and shaking breath, he focuses on reassuring someone else rather than the fear coursing through his veins. "Some are. Just like some people are dangerous." But just as all people aren't dangerous, not all dragons are, and he smiles through another trembling step to say, "But the only threat Sol poses is to shoes and snacks." As if to confirm his comment, Sol puffs his chest, gold tail wagging behind him as he throws the stranger a lopsided grin that shows off his lolling pink tongue and tiny teeth that are best suited for smiles than bites. Zavien might as well have named him 'Derpy.'
The secret of happiness is freedom, the secret of freedom is courage.
Icarus almost snorts at the assumption his unit would have been helpful in their recommendations. Sure, they had certainly had suggestions, but all of them ranged form ridiculous to implausible to impossible. One old-timer had suggested Icarus try stabbing Ghilio with his sword, and if the God woke up the mission was successful, and if Icarus got smote in the process, well, the unit would always honor his sacrifice for the greater good. Mostly the suggestions had centered around getting hammered, though Icarus failed to see the utility in how doing that could wake the God. "They were about as helpful as you might expect them to be," Icarus says flatly.
The images of mighty, deadly beasts raining destruction upon the Citadel begin to abate slightly at the man's reassurances, but do not disappear entirely. It's true that this flying, smiling thing doesn't look like it'll be ripping down civilizations anytime soon, but when it flashes its teeth, Icarus still flinches back and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. He tries to force the rise and fall of his chest, which had just ticked up its intensity, back into its regular rhythm. When he opens his eyes, he cannot quite tear his full gaze away from the dragon, his instincts too well-trained and well-honed to permit him entirely, but he shifts some of his awareness back to the man's struggle on the bridge.
Every new step carrying the man to each new rickety step send the bridge wiggling precariously, and the man's grip is knuckle-white on the rope. "Can I help?" Icarus calls, stepping slowly closer towards the bridge. He doesn't want to startle the man (again) and send him more unstably forward, so he moves slowly and noisily, stopping about five feet away from the start of the bridge. Wrists twisting, he conjures up a large tendril of water magic, sending it floating slowly to the underside of the bridge to push up against the planks. There, he holds the water, forcing it into a solid non-moving form, keeping the rickety bridge from swaying. "Is that better?"
Chuckling through the nerves, Zavien makes a conscious effort not to nod this time. "I know how that goes." His fellow Dragoons (Koa included) had enjoyed finding gaps in rookies' knowledge, filling them with whatever absurd misconceptions they could. It led to a lot of hilarious misunderstandings, and quite a few showing up for their first day dressed in nothing but dragon patterned underwear.
"Maybe shouting from the bridge will wake him up," he suggests, his voice echoing faintly into the mists. It'll certainly reach farther than trying to shout through the dense forest.
Sol turns away from the stranger with a weightless bounce, determined to lead Zavien across the bridge. His steps are easy along the ropes, barely shifting the railing with his movements while his companion struggles through each placement of his boot. The golden wings at his side take most of the weight, tilting carelessly from side to side.
The stranger's offer is originally met with confusion. He hasn't the faintest idea what would help him more than the conversation they're already having; but then the ice is solidifying beneath the planks, spreading into a path before him. Surprise lights his eyes, spine straightening at the change. "Oh! Hm." He inspects the ice, testing the press of his foot into the bridge. When it proves sturdier than before, Zavien takes a full breath, the air clearing his lungs as much as the terrified thoughts. "I think so?"
His next step is less shaky, some of the tension leaving the shoulder he peeks over. "Thanks. That seems like some pretty handy magic."
The secret of happiness is freedom, the secret of freedom is courage.
When the man on the bridge steadies himself, shoulders back and moving forward with more confidence, Icarus lets out a little huff of relief. "I have to stay within a certain radius. The magic doesn't extend too far. So I guess I'm crossing the bridge after all," He calls, both an explanation and a warning that there's about to be another moving body on the swaying bridge.
He peeks over the edge again, looking at the dizzying drop into an enormous canyon of unknown swirling mists and feels the blood drain from his face. Alright, he could do this don't look down, don't think about the dragon flying around, don't think about falling and smashing into an unknown amount of rocks and sharp jagged things and--
The dragon flitters around in the corner of his eye and he resolves to wipe any and all anything from his mind except for what he strictly needs to survive. He's great at compartmentalization. He'll find a time in his regimented soldier's schedule to freak out about this later. With one wrist still locked in its position to hold the ice in place, his other hand clutches onto the rope of the bridge, wobbling legs stepping onto the first plank and letting some ice solidify under the plank to stabilize it. His palms are sweaty and that damn dragon is looking at him again and his scars sear on his chest.
He chokes it down, chokes everything down, and single-mindedly focuses on keeping the ice under the planks solid, putting a foot in front of the other, and talking to the stranger.
"It is handy," He says absentmindedly as he balances. "There's plenty of ice to go around in Halo so I don't even have to make it half the time. Though sometimes it's a little useless because of all the ice."
The heads up is more than appreciated. When the stranger joins him on the bridge it doesn't move, but with his attention so fixated on Sol and each step in front of him, Zavien likes knowing what else is going on in his peripheral. He gives a confirming nod of his head before he remembers to stop it. The world careens around him, and Zavien braces his hands on the ropes, pointedly avoiding looking at the gap between the planks.
Swallowing the bit of nausea, he huffs another bit of laughter. "Well, I'm grateful for the help. I'm not a fan of heights." An understatement really, but he doesn't want to focus on his racing heart or the deadly drop beneath him for fear of becoming paralyzed.
Instead, he takes another step, his smile stretching wider when the stranger talks about his magic. "Ah. So you're from Halo. Deimos is a good leader - and I'm not just saying that because he's a friend." Another laugh falls when he proceeds forward, Sol appearing to relax with Zavien's progress. He bounces farther along the bridge before looking behind him at the other two. Holding back the urge to call his companion a showoff, Zavien asks, "How long have you been part of the Shields?"
The secret of happiness is freedom, the secret of freedom is courage.
Icarus flinches as the stumpy dragon takes some happy leaps forward, barely registering the sway of the bridge under it and focusing more on the thing's movement. This would be significantly easier if the manifestation of his trauma wasn't bouncing around on the bridge, and for a second, the ice flickers back into water as the little dragon flits around in the corner of Icarus' vision. Then his soldier's instincts click back into place and it fades out of view, everything but the bridge and the ice and the man's voice focusing his attention into a singular, determined pinprick.
"You're friends with Deimos?" If he sounds starstuck, it's because he is -- Icarus admires the man with a fervor typically only reserved for the kind people have for their own father. Constantly traipsing around in his shadow, working harder and harder at every exercise, fighting tooth and claw for a single indication he's making the man proud, Icarus would do anything for a glimpse of that mysterious, curved smile directed at him. This man on the bridge suddenly grows significantly more mysterious to him -- and dangerous. Anyone friends with Deimos with a dragon companion is an unsolvable something not to be trifled with. He can feel his spine stiffening again, iron laced into his bones, and keeps the man in the center of the corner of his eye as he wobbles across the bridge.
His knee wobbles and the ice thickens an inch or two under his feet. "Since I was a kid," He answers, mindful of the way the sky sways back and forth as he places another foot on an ice-backed step. "I was twelve? Thirteen? Something like that. I think it's been five years now." The youngest in the company by years, the chip on his shoulder grows in anticipation for whatever the man has to say.
"How do you know Deimos?" He hedges, placing another foot down in front of him.
Concentrating on the steps as they lost some of their solidness, Zavien answers with little more than a "Mhm." His breaths are controlled, bracing for the moment the magic failed - or the bridge - or his focus - or his dragon. Honestly, he's just waiting for the wind to blow and knock him off the side.
But luckily, the bridge continues to hold, and Zavien pushes on towards the end of the bridge while Sol prances carelessly across the structure. "That's impressive!" he remarks of the young man, who's apparently much younger than he'd though. "Is it everything you dreamed of?" Zavien asks, curious if the Shields had been as much of a dream for him as the Dragoons had been for Zavien. He at least wouldn't have to worry about which of his brothers in arms might be infected, but sometimes dreaming about something for so long can leave the reality lackluster.
As for Deimos, he smiles at the memory. "We met when I was training up in Stormbreak. I ran into him and Ronin before I had anything but a rusty sword." Laughing, he isn't afraid to admit the truth of that lesson. "I was face down in the dirt before long." The two men had left him with more than enough bruises to remember them by, but it had only made him more determined to improve. And improve he had.
"Over the years, we've spent more time training together and sharing information to protect our homes - although I admittedly haven't been much of a friend to him recently." What with his city falling from the sky and all.
The secret of happiness is freedom, the secret of freedom is courage.
Icarus flushes a bright red at the compliment, knuckles going white against where they're clutching the stabilizing ropes of the rickety bridge. "Not that impressive," He deflects, embarrassed eyes firmly on his feet below him. "I didn't think I had any other choice. I took up arms when the Ascended War came to Halo, and when the dragons attacked the Citadel..." His face turned an even darker red, if that was even possible, and cast a sidelong glance at the happy, deadly dragon. The silence that follows finishes his story on his behalf. "I want to protect my home." He finishes quietly. Under his feet, the endless mist that promises a long and painful plummet looks like smoke from a burning city.
It doesn't surprise Icarus that Deimos absolutely kicked this guy's ass upon their meeting. Not that this guy wasn't impressive -- he's sure he's an excellent fighter in his own right -- but against Deimos? He didn't think anyone in Caido stood a chance against the Warden. "He's given me a fair number of bruises myself," Icarus says with a grin, mind briefly wandering to countless hours in a training courtyard, Deimos topping him with an easy flick of his staff. Then the bridge gives a slight swing and his mind gets violently thrown back to the present.
Icarus gives a sympathetic hum. He doesn't know if he should tell the man that he should reach out, doesn't know if that's his place as Deimos subordinate. "Life is short," Is what the young soldier says instead. "There's a lot of people I wish I could have spoken to one last time." His face flushes from the accidental veering into too-real territory, and he abruptly tries to change the subject. "Where are you from?"
