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!
They won't stop our evolution. Who do you think we are?
Morgan's guard team had been thoroughly depleted in the chaos following the explosion: good soldiers she had known for years carelessly bleeding out on the snow after a matter of seconds and her entire lifes work tossed aside like it was nothing. There was grief to be done, there were funerals and apologies and promises, but more than anything else, there had to be new guards.
After all, there wasn't another way to protect the Citadel and while she still had a few remainders on street duty, there was no way their troubles for Deepfrost were over and she knew she needed to start training new faces now. Admittedly, it was a hard sell to get people to join after what had just happened, but...she hoped perhaps it might mean only the bravest applied, ready to protect even after seeing the massacre at the gates.
She had put out a notice for anyone interested to come and find her at the centre square; she had put out a chair and a table with a sign up sheet and some basic weapons and armour, hoping that the promise of new stuff might help turn some heads. Until they came she sat back, folded her arms and waited, watched the townspeople shuffle by.
Fight against your execution. Who do you think we are?
It hadn’t taken long for Mallorie to become bored of sitting in her room, staring at the walls and wondering what she was supposed to do now. Her quest had come to an abrupt and unsatisfying end. She hadn’t felt so useless in years, and bereaved in many more. She’d toyed with the guard captain’s offer of employment and, the night of the explosion and attack, had regretted not taking it.
She might have died, but she would have died without regret, defending civilians. Now that things were settling down, her mind was made up.
The news that the guards had been depleted, combined with Morgan’s words and the notices, led her to the central square. Heart set and nerves only the slightest bit jangled; she felt remarkably like she was attending her first day at school.
That there were no people queuing up to sign up wasn’t a surprise - especially given recent events. Mallorie noted the displayed equipment with mild amusement, having seen the same tactic used to recruit guards in her old life before. She couldn’t help the tiniest tug of a smile as she approached the table where Morgan sat, and braced herself for human interaction.
They won't stop our evolution. Who do you think we are?
Morgan leaned up from her seat as she saw Mallorie approach, honestly slightly impressed that the woman was alive: Outlanders tended to do poorly in their first weeks and Mallories had been eventful, to say the least. It spoke to at least some sense and determination and given the woman seemed to be headed right for her recruiting table, that was a good sign.
"Good morning. It's good to see you are well." Presumably she was staying and eating at the local inn Morgan had pointed her to and Morgan found herself glad that just before everything had gone ballistic she had helped this Outlander settle in. "Have you come to inquire about the Deepfrost Shields?" She asked, trying not to sound too desperate. It was entirely possible Mallorie had just come up to thank her for the other day, but she remembered that the woman had told her she used to be a guard: she really was exactly the kind of person Morgan needed right now.
Fight against your execution. Who do you think we are?
That Morgan appeared to recognise Mallorie was at least mildly assuring. Mallorie nodded at her and did her best to appear personable. At Morgan’s query she allowed the faintest trace of a smile to twitch at her lips.
“Among other things,” Mallorie acceded, before continuing, “I also wanted to thank you for your help. I’ve learned not many outlanders are so fortunate here.”
She thought of bodies out there in the snow, and of starving to death on a street corner. Just how lucky she’d been to meet Morgan in the tundra wasn’t lost on her. And now...she supposed she should put that luck to use.
“I seem to have arrived at the wrong time.” She said solemnly. “But I also seem to have been brought to a place my abilities can help. So…”
Mallorie gestured at the forms and the equipment in lieu of explanation, some small part of her wondering faintly if signing the registration form was signing her death warrant. Not that it mattered much - it was the right thing to do, whether she met the previous guards’ fate or not.
They won't stop our evolution. Who do you think we are?
"You're welcome. ...They are not." She had come across evidence of those lost to the mountains on her travels before: whether or not they were Outlanders was difficult to say, but since the portal had opened there had been considerably more remnants of life buried in the snow.
Mallorie's straight forward nature and bravery (it was not lost on Morgan what it was to sign up right after the disaster they had just seen) impressed her and she pushed the form closer, handing Mallorie a pen. "Name and preferred weapon on the list, please. You can select armour and whatever you like from the stock behind me: if it breaks, we have a blacksmith to repair our things and if you lose something, try to make sure I don't find out." A touch of humour, though there was no amusement in her voice.
As Mallorie wrote, she leaned over to watch the name appear on the page. "Woodbourne? Interesting name. Is it an old family name?"
Fight against your execution. Who do you think we are?
It was a shame Morgan - and others here - seemed so used to death and loss. Mallorie grimaced slightly, and focused on filling the form instead.
She blinked when Morgan asked about her name, but didn’t pause in writing. Finished signing with her left hand to no fanfare and debated how much to explain. That her name was a common name where she came from? That all of her people were named in such a way?
That what she was before didn’t seem to exist here?
Mallorie bent forward and added ’sword & shield’ to the list, feeling a little too aware of the fact that she currently bore only the former. Hopefully the blacksmith could get her a new shield without too much trouble.
Finally, she said, “It is...old.”
That much was true. She hesitated before adding. “We’re named for where we hail from. My...family lived in the woods for many centuries.”
They won't stop our evolution. Who do you think we are?
Sword and shield. Simple weapons but effective, and certainly something Morgan could provide. It spoke of someone not afraid to be on the front lines but cautious enough to still want some defense; she respected that. "We have a selection of shields in different sizes and weights. Feel free to find which you prefer." She motioned to a rack behind her, where wooden and metal shields hung. Seeing that Mallorie had her own sword, she did not say anything on that: she knew warriors often carried a lot of pride in their weapons.
"In the woods...here, the only people I know of that live in woods are the Fae folk." Not that she'd actually met any when she'd travelled to the Greatwood, but she'd heard enough stories that they were likely to be true. "Did you have Fae in your world?" An attempt at conversation, at getting better at knowing her guards; it did not come easily, but Morgan did her best to lean forward and look interested.
Fight against your execution. Who do you think we are?
Once the form was signed it felt like something had lifted from Mallorie’s heart. Making a decision, making headway on it, let her feel less like an invader here. Choosing to take a job meant choosing to stay - as a resident, as someone still breathing. It felt like an anchor, holding her steady, stopping her from wandering back out into the deadly wastes.
She exhaled as she put down the pen, and looked at the shields available. It’d be a while before they felt like her old shield, but just having one was a start.
“Thank you,” she said, with a nod, “I don’t have any special requirements.”
She paused at the mention of fae. Perhaps there were more similarities with her old world than she thought? That didn’t explain the change she’d experienced coming here, but still…
“We had rumours, if I recall. But there were other beings who lived there. Humans, like you, were most populous. Other races preferred to keep to themselves. Personally I never understood the human need to spread themselves out but…” Mallorie sighed, offered Morgan something that could be considered a small smile.
“I'm in no position to complain about travelling, nowadays.”
She’d travelled further than anyone else she knew...save one. Her smile dropped and she huffed, a sad little sound. Mallorie turned to study the shields on display, unsure of quite how much she needed to tell.
“Coming through the portal changed me in more ways than one, let's put it that way. She admitted in a flat voice. Almost grieving, though the loss felt strangely disant.
Mallorie reached out to the shield closest to her - metal, kite. Plain but could probably be embellished with a seal, if she were the type to be ostentatious. Silver in colour (though not material) and weighty enough to protect as well as damage.
They won't stop our evolution. Who do you think we are?
Mallorie went to look at the shields available; Morgan looked her over and noted that some kind of sudden calm seemed to have overtaken the woman. Good. She couldn't stand a skittish guard, looked for in all her soldiers people like herself, balanced and forthright, sure in all things.
Perhaps the Outlander didn't realise what she'd said, but Morgan immediately picked up that she addressed the humans as another race, something separate from herself. "You were not human, then?" For now she kept her tone very neutral, though she worried where Mallorie's loyalties might eventually lie if it turned out she was from a people more similar to the Fae or perhaps even Ascended. Still, for the moment Morgan was willing to keep an open mind.
"..It is a lot of change for many." She agreed, thinking of the Outlanders she knew and how they'd described their lives being turned upside down. "...I am sorry, about your friend who died in the mountains. I wish I knew more." That was the right thing to say, she believed: truthfully she had not cared for the man when he was alive and had never wanted to learn more.
At least shields were something she was far more qualified to talk on. "He does. That is a good shield: you chose well."
Fight against your execution. Who do you think we are?
“Humans in our world called us ‘elves’. I spent more time with humans than my own kind, to be honest.” She shot Morgan a look, faintly aware of the discomfort between people in this land, and the measure of her voice. “Our people’s conflicts were internal though. Nothing like the cross-country friction I hear about here.”
She took the shield off the and felt the weight of it, before testing the fit to her left arm. It slotted neatly in, though could probably do with some tailoring. But it was a good start. Mallorie felt better just having it in her hands.
It is a very fine shield.
Morgan’s apology was...unexpected. And unnecessary. Mallorie blinked in surprise and shot Morgan a look. Peered at her, curious about why she felt the need to do so. It wasn’t like she had killed Adam through not knowing him.
Awkwardness made her movements jerky as she unstrapped the shield, and rested it on the ground. Hands holding it in place and leaning on it, lightly. Tapped her fingers in a rhythm with the still steady ache in her heart.
“It’s...fine. He didn’t like being known too well.” She said, quietly.
Then she cleared her throat and fixed Morgan with a stare.
“From what I understand, loss is a companion to most of the people who live here.”
They won't stop our evolution. Who do you think we are?
Mallorie's easy confirmation took Morgan by surprise and she found herself momentarily looking the other woman up and down to see if there was any remaining evidence of her last species..of course, there wasn't: She'd heard that coming through the portals erased anything like that (especially for those Outlanders that had been horses...).
"Elves." She repeated, trying the word out. Not one she'd ever heard before. "Is it hard for you to find yourself now human?" Morgan realised after asking the question was likely too personal, but was not one to backtrack.
There was nothing else to say about Pikely; Morgan let that one fade away, nodding at Mallorie's comment about loss. It was sewn into the fabric of life here; a part of Halo as much as the mountains or the wind. She had grown so used to loss that it was almost like an old friend. "We do gain things, though. They are sometimes harder to see."
Fight against your execution. Who do you think we are?
The shield was cold beneath her fingertips, and Mallorie was amused by Morgan’s discreet look over. Mallorie seemed to be entirely human now, as far as she knew about human physiology.
“I miss some things,” she said, “but I suppose being alive is better than having pointy ears.”
She’d studied them, back in the inn. Still pointier than the average, she thought, but not elven. She decided to return Morgan’s kindness and explain a little more.
“We were humanoid at least, so most of it’s the same. But we perceived the world differently. It’s...a bit like the portal put blinkers on me.”
Mallorie let a small smirk tug her lips, and added, “We were also very long-lived. Though we could be killed all the same. That’s one thing we have in common with this place.”
Morgan’s comment about loss surprised Mallorie, and she froze. Fingers whitening on the shield as she absorbed her words. Of course, she thought, there is poetry in living, even as you walk among the dying.
She frowned and pondered it. Tugged at the faint thread of thought that had come undone at the idea, and felt a little foolish. For all her experience she’d let herself miss that even in absence there were remnants, things from which life and direction could be made.
Mallorie looked up at Morgan again, and said, “You’re right enough, Captain. It’s just been a while since I lost anything.”
They won't stop our evolution. Who do you think we are?
With no concept of what an elf was, it was news to Morgan that Mallorie used to have 'pointy ears'; she wondered how similar elves were to Fae. It seemed like Mallorie had never had wings, but pointed ears and living in the woods...it was certainly a remarkable coincidence. "Put blinkers on you? How do you mean?"
As for being long lived, she knew that was the case for a new races on Halo: she'd never envied them that. To live forever sounded like a great burden, knowing there came no end to your time and having to search for ways to fill it; she was much happier with her finite existence and doing what she could with the years she had. Which, if she was fortunate, were still many.
"Then you have been fortunate." Morgan said gently, looking over the courtyard: it felt like she could see the absence of her guards in the crowd. "I am hoping with our new Warden we may enter a period of stability, but...that seems like a lot to hope for, right now."
Fight against your execution. Who do you think we are?
Explaining the effects of going through the portal felt a little like trying to explain the colour red to someone who could see only grey. Mallorie frowned in thought before settling on an explanation.
“We could perceive things beyond what humans could. Sort of like having an extra sense. It doesn’t matter now, though,” she said with a wry twist of her lips, “I don’t perceive much here beyond the cold.”
It was a half truth, but Morgan didn’t need to know that. Mallorie’s failing in her old life seemed to be mundane here, and she was almost...relieved by it. She didn’t know what the other people in this land were like, but she took to humanity as if sinking into a bath. Of course, there was the tangled knot of ‘ascended’ and ‘attuned’ and ‘abandoned’ for her to figure out, but as a baseline, human seemed as good as any other to start from.
Mallorie followed Morgan’s gaze, at the curious lack of fellows, and for the briefest moment felt she understood.
