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!
But what does it take to break you, to awake you?
To make you bow and spit it out?
The murmur of voices that filled the air was a distant buzzing of flies in his ears, the kind that swarmed around corpses in every part of the world. One would think that nothing would rot in a place that was always frozen, but they did. Food forgotten, people abandoned, animals with hidden wounds left to fester. The rot was everywhere, and all it took for it to thrive was a little neglect. Or willfull ignorance.
The taste of stale food lingered on his tongue. Whoever ran the kitchen now was doing a poor job of it. The grease was old, an unwashed pan or butter not kept cool enough, or maybe it was the meat that started to turn rancid - either way, it ruined the flavor and left an aftertaste of carrion in his mouth.
Korbin pushed the plate aside, barely touched. The whiskey was already gone from his glass, and he couldn't muster enough energy to call for more. Already his blood was humming with it, enough to make the trembling of his hands stop. What was he even doing here? He was not hungry. Did not want company. And looking around at his sister's bar - his bar, now - was like poking a dagger into the open wound, as if to make sure it would never get a chance to close.
Maybe that was why he had come. Tormenting himself had become Korbin's favourite pastime. Bonus points if he could make others around him miserable too.
Weaver would smack him over the head if she saw what he had become.
Doesn't matter if I hate you or embrace you
Nothing makes you turn around
Noah was making himself a frequent visitor of the Kraai. It still tugged at his heart whenever he walked through the door, but this was a place where people could reach him. With his position in the cabinet, he needed to be easily available to the people. The thought of them all coming to his personal doorstep made him uncomfortable, and so despite the pain he continued to visit the Kraai.
He watched Korbin for a long time before he decided to go over to him. Noah listened to the concerns and complaints of a few people, mostly about the coming Longnight. He offered them suggestions of what they could do to prepare differently this year, and also kept some information in his mind for the rest of the cabinet. Finally, when there was a lull in people coming to him, Noah picked up his whiskey and closed the distance between him and the Hale.
Noah sat down on the opposite chair without looking at Korbin. He turned it slightly and rested his back against the wall, looking out to the people scattered around the tavern that was soon becoming a dive bar. "This was her dream, you know." And it didn't have to be this way. Korbin could change it. For her.
But what does it take to break you, to awake you?
To make you bow and spit it out?
Others seemed determined to keep stabbing him too. He could have ignored Noah when the man came to sit by the table. It was a forgiveable offense, especially with how crowded it was. But he went further. Broke the silence, spoke, twisted the knife by dragging up the woman they had both loved, if by different degrees.
Korbin's knuckles whitened around the empty glass, his grip tightening until it was a miracle that it didn't crack. His gaze flitted to the sticky table tops, the sweaty seats, the uncleaned hearth, a serving boy picking his nose behind the bar while someone repeatedly delivered the wrong food to the wrong table and couldn't seem to get it right. Refugees were sleeping on the floor along the walls and a gaggle of ningo-brained teenagers marginally younger than himself were throwing knives at a wall, whooping and growing rowdier by the minute.
"Then she shouldn't have left it to do someone else's job," he said, his growl made rough from booze and sentiment. "If she had stayed here, she would still be alive."
But when had Weaver ever minded her own business? And once again Korbin was left behind to deal with her mess, whether he wanted to or not.
Ironic. He always hated this place. And now he wished for nothing more than to see her behind the counter again. Leaning on her elbow, sphinx lazy and mysterious. Always a gleam in her eyes.
Doesn't matter if I hate you or embrace you
Nothing makes you turn around
The hunter watched as the boy's knuckles turned as white as the snow outside around his glass. He didn't turn his head to look straight at Korbin, but he still watched him nonetheless. He let his eyes scan away from the boy and to the rest of the tavern, taking in everything Korbin saw as well. His face remained neutral, cold as ice. "She couldn't help it," He sighed, taking another sip of his own whiskey. "Even before she was the Warden she felt a responsibility to be a protector." Why else had the woman started a quest to be able to keep her weapon with her at all times, without startling others, if not to have it ready at a moment's notice to come to aid of someone in need? Weaver had always been a helper, even if she could be rough around the edges with it.
Noah set his glass down on the table, the ice clinking together like the teeth in his jaw as he thought. The muscles in the corner of his face feathered, and he finally looked at Korbin. "So how long are you gonna continue to let his place fester?" It was a bold question, and his cold eyes bore hard down on the younger man. The raven needed to build some grit, some determination. Was he truly going to let Weaver's legacy die? If he couldn't have her, no one could? Was that how things were going to end? "No one else can do this like you could, Korbin."
But what does it take to break you, to awake you?
To make you bow and spit it out?
Korbin frowned but didn't answer. Knew the truth of what Noah said, but still didn't like to hear it. She would have made an excellent Warden. Had been the best, so ready to give everything for her people that she died for them, giving up her own dreams and wishes in the process. Straia would have been proud; it was a sacrifice worthy of a Hale.
"This is Weaver's dream, not mine," he muttered, scowling down into his empty glass. Saying her name hurt, but he forced himself to anyway. "What makes you think I want to be stuck behind a bar for the rest of my life?"
Truth was, Korbin wasn't sure what he wanted. Ever since he talked to Neron and the man pointed out that this actually was his place now, Korbin had been feeling wishywashy about it. On one hand, no, he didn't want to be a bartender and be forced to deal with drunk idiots all day long. But the alternative was to leave it to Sunjata, and that was definitely not going to happen.
Slumping further down into his seat, Korbin dragged a hand over the face, looking haggard and older than his years. Some of the barbs in his mannerism blunted as he heaved a heavy sigh, finally looking away. Unable to stomach the sight of the Kraai like this.
"I don't know what I'm going to do, Noah. Just getting up in the morning is almost more than I can manage right now... I think you're expecting too much."
He was no Weaver. No matter how he tried, Korbin could never adopt her winning, charming, disarming ways. She genuinely cared about everyone who set foot in her bar, at least on a surface level, and he really fucking did not. How could he hope to drive a thriving business revolving around people when those very people made him want to bash his head against a wall?
Doesn't matter if I hate you or embrace you
Nothing makes you turn around
Noah leaned against the table as he watched the raven. Noah's body was ready for what Noah expected to happen, but the younger man did not stand and strike out at him. He was relieved for that--mostly because it meant that, maybe, Korbin was starting to step into the other phases of grief. It was a process, Noah knew that, having gone through it with his parents when he was just barely younger than Korbin is now.
"Sometimes other people's dreams have to be protected as their legacies." Noah leaned back again into the chair, and took his forearms off the table. "We've always seen that, Korbin. We've seen sons and daughters take over their parents mantles, running their businesses and trades with the same values as the ones before them." While it was common in Halo, it really wasn't demanded of the people. It had been an unspoken way of life, but the hunter supposed Korbin could change that. "You might not want to run this place like Weaver did, but maybe you should find someone that does. Letting it rot like this, it's like spitting in her face." Noah did not want the raven to feel shame for how the tavern had become, because it wasn't his fault, but he did have the power to change it. Korbin could appoint someone as a manager of the Kraai while he advised them, as he would have Weaver when she was Warden. He didn't have to stand behind the bar, but someone with a heart for this place and the people did.
He sighed when he spoke, for the first time to Noah, aloud about his grief. The Olson took another sip of his whiskey. "I know." He had watched it happen to his father. He let the grief of losing his wife, Noah's mother, and his daughter, Noah's sister, entrap him. He spent weeks in his room with the door locked, barely moving. Even before he had ventured into the tundra on a hunt he should not have attempted, and was killed, Noah had to take on the responsibility as the leader of his family for the sake of himself and Ezekiel. "It's just one step at a time. No one is expecting you to be all better tomorrow."
But what does it take to break you, to awake you?
To make you bow and spit it out?
The only step Korbin had taken was to give up the notion of giving up. That was as far as he had come. To not die because people would forget Weaver if he did, and somehow make sure that the co-founder of this bar never saw the inside of it again. Wonderful life goals. Really a stellar thing to base a new reality on. Guilt and spite.
"It really just feels like pointless bullshit," he muttered. "Nothing makes sense. I don't even know what I'm supposed to be doing. Where am I going, and why? It was all about keeping her alive before, and that failed. I failed. Now... all that's left is a bar? A shitty fucking bar. Some legacy, that."
Definitely Weaver's style. Drink and fuck and live in the moment, not caring about anything beyond the next season. What kind of future had she seen, when she stood behind that counter? What had she dreamed about, when she looked at Loren? Had she imagined a family growing around these tables and chairs, before the oversized, opulent hearth? Korbin guessed he would never know now.
"Not you, maybe. But there's been no end to the people that hound after me. One crazy chick even offered me a knife to open my wrists with, just so it would feel better." He snorted and made a bitter grimace that might have been meant as a smile. Korbin really hoped he wouldn't have to face that woman again. Not after their last run in. He still got a foul taste in the mouth after that altercation... it was an ugly can of worms that had been opened there.
Doesn't matter if I hate you or embrace you
Nothing makes you turn around
Noah nodded along as Korbin spoke, his once glacial face softening with understanding and what might look like compassion. He truly did care for the youngest Hale, and it showed. Korbin was dealing with grief, plus what seemed like an identity crisis. For his whole life, he had always been wrapped up in Weaver. Now, he was the way she would be remembered. But what about Korbin? How would people remember him? What did he want? "Okay, if you're still searching for what you want, what don't you want?" Perhaps talking that out might give them an opportunity to find the next right step. In Noah's mind, stopping the drunkenness was the next right step, but he was starting to feel less willing and obligated to tell Korbin the hard things all at once. The getting up, the moving past wanting to die, that was enough for this moment. They would still need to take another step forward, though.
When he went on about the blonde woman Noah's jaw muscles feathered as he clenched up slightly. He knew, without question or hesitation, who Korbin was referencing. Noah had stopped the woman from cutting (and healing) her own wrists and legs and arms night after night after night. Now, that woman shared his bed. He would need to talk with her about what had happened, from her end, but Noah took Korbin at his word for truth. He usually always did (except, of course, when it was easy to tell that Korbin was trying to get the reindeer by his tail). "When I saw you that day in the aviary, I thought that Korbin might take up that offer." He didn't need to add to the boy's grief and guilt, but Noah had been worried sick after that day.
But what does it take to break you, to awake you?
To make you bow and spit it out?
It was tempting to retreat back behind the reticent wall and stop talking when the topic grew difficult. And it was. Not only Weaver's death and life and dreams, but his own mental landscape too was one giant quagmire and every step brought pain and discomfort. But... Noah had gotten him to start talking now, and it grew a little bit easier each time. Ever since Chulane's drubbing, Korbin had been... trying. Not always successful, but at least attempting to do all the things.
Still, that didn't mean he had any real answers. "I don't want an outsider to be in charge of the bar," he replied, after a beat of silence. "That's... about as far as I've come." And dealing with that was a path, a mountain to climb. Maybe it would lead to him taking back what was rightfully his - it seemed likely, but not certain - but it was... gods, it was still difficult.
Glancing sideways at Noah, Korbin thought back to the last time they met. If you could even call it that. Complete refusal to interact on his part, quiet stubbornness to leave on Noah's. No words had been exchanged, but clearly his old friend had been able to gague the danger he was in. His assumption was not wrong. A knife - Weaver's own dagger - had cut him around that time. Was it slightly after, or just before? The days had been a blur, Korbin couldn't remember. Not slicing wrists, but biting into his neck... A thin white scar across his throat was all that remained of the act, and obviously he had been stopped. But somehow Korbin couldn't bring himself to tell Noah about it. Kiada knew, and Loren, but.. probably no one else.
"I'm sorry," he said softly, as he stared down at his own hands. Couldn't meet Noah's eyes. "I couldn't... didn't know how to accept what you offered. Still don't." The idea of being taken in and provided for, of being surrounded by so much kindness... for some reason it was more terrifying and confusing than having nothing and no one but himself. And if that meant he would sleep in the kitchen or among the rafters instead of a bed under someone else's roof, then... at least he would only be making himself uncomfortable.
Doesn't matter if I hate you or embrace you
Nothing makes you turn around
With grief, there were only steps forward. There was no cookie-cutter, correct answer that worked for every person when they were hurt. Merely, it was a series of finding the next yes, of moving towards the next healthy answer. Knowing that Korbin was moving towards those things was enough for Noah, and he would stand by his friend on this journey. He would walk the road with him and help him as he needed.
"Okay, no outlanders. No strangers. Halo born and bred." Noah let his eyes scan the staff throughout the tavern. They were fairly young, and seemed to lack real direction and motivation. "If you didn't stand behind the bar and run it, would you train someone up to eventually manage it while you oversaw it all?" If Korbin wanted to have ownership of the bar, but not serve drinks and meals and assign rooms and beds, he could surely get the place squared up again and take a step back. but, knowing the Hales, none of them had a "hands off" approach to anything they did.
The reindeer could feel the raven's eyes on him, and as he turned to look at the younger man one more he watched as steel eyes fell. Noah's face, softened from initial neutrality, sunk a little. "I just don't want to lose you, too, Korbin." The raven was all he had left of Halo untouched. He had relationships with other people, but none as close and as deep as the ones he had shared with the Hales. Other Halovians had other pockets of people and chumming groups. Without Korbin, Noah had only outlanders.
But what does it take to break you, to awake you?
To make you bow and spit it out?
He'd had one specific outlander in mind when he said it, but as Noah put his own spin on the words, Korbin realized it hadn't carried across. Of course it wouldn't, Noah didn't know the history with Sunjata. But as he listened, he realized that yes... local people would be best. At least for now. Until everything was back in order, until he found others who were loyal, who...
Then he caught himself. Skidded to a halt like a horse with reins tugged sharply. Ached at what he was doing, where his mind was going. Had he already decided? If not, then why was he making plans? Was he serious about this? No way should he set hand to his sister's dream if he wasn't serious about running it properly. Some things couldn't be half assed, shouldn't be...
"I don't... I mean.. yeah, maybe. I'll... I'll think about it," he said, bemused. That much was safe to promise. He already was. But this... It seemed like such an insurmoubtable task. He would have to think. Make up his mind.
But maybe. If he couldn't leave, if he had to stay, Korbin would have to do something.
There were still difficult issues he had yet to even touch though. The way Noah's face fell was one of them. The soft words, the implications of care in them... He didn't know what to do with it. What kind of expectations did that place on him? What did Noah want from him? They were not blood. Friends, yes. His oldest one, the closest, now that Zeke had made himself scarce. But it was not the kind of bond he had shared with Weaver. Had not kept Korbin from trying to leave. So what did it amount to? Memorabilia of times long gone?
Someone should put him up as a memorial. It was a testament to his reclusivity that they wanted him as the link to Weaver more than because he was actually needed. But it was fine. It's why he stayed. For her. So they wouldn't forget.
"You won't," he replied quietly, with eyes on the empty glass.
Would that it wasn't empty.
Doesn't matter if I hate you or embrace you
Nothing makes you turn around
The answer was enough for Noah to move on from it. He watched Korbin's face. "Good, Good step." He nodded and took another sip of his whiskey, circling the ice around in the glass once more.
He couldn't look away from the raven as he spoke. He noticed how each muscle in his face twitched. He noticed the hollowed, sunken cheeks and the bags under his eyes, dark circles entrapping them. Relief flooded Noah when Korbin said that he wouldn't lose him. He had been so worried about the boy, about him taking his own life or losing in by putting himself in some sort of foolish danger. His father had, after all. Grief clouded people's minds and trapped their hearts, and Noah knew that. He did not want Korbin to fall to this part of grief--he didn't want the man to kill himself. He noticed the scar across his jugular, but said nothing, able to at least put some pieces together for himself. After all, it was a new scar.
"Is there anything I can do for you, Korbin?" Noah wanted to be helpful--it was ingrained into his every fiber, his very being. He felt useless to help the man heal, but he didn't want to be. He wanted to support his friend and offer him a shoulder should he need it. He would give his skills to ease Korbin's responsibilities so that he could try to focus better on moving forward.
But what does it take to break you, to awake you?
To make you bow and spit it out?
He knew that feeling of helplessness. Of being willing yet unable to help. So even if he wanted to say no, tell Noah that there was nothing at all that he could do... Korbin stopped himself. Forced himself to think, if there was anything he actually needed.
Clothes. A roof over his head, food. He had all of that. Enough to get by, at least. Weapons could be borrowed or otherwise acquired, and Korbin had no need for them. All of his had burned, along with Weaver's spares. Her own daggers and scythe were gone with her, and he would never drag around that bulky oversized polearm anyway. Materially, he was set. Had less of everything, but...
"There may be..." he said slowly, as his mind turned to less immediate concerns and went through all the issues around the Kraai. "Weaver had a business partner, when she set this place up. Someone who backed her, provided the stock. Picked the name. Name's Sunjata Senzaok." Korbin's expression darkened.
"I've met him a few times. An arrogant asshole, but a charmer too... He might try to stake a claim to the bar. Problem is, we absolutely do not get along. And he is a Torchline official. I highly doubt we will be able to settle the matter of ownership... especially since I have no intention of letting him keep a single bottle from here."
Looking up, Korbin regarded Noah almost cautiously. Unaware of how possessive he sounded when he spoke of the place - every syllable about the tavern was a half growled mine, whether he was convinced he could do the work or not.
"If he starts to flex rank, or muscle, or entitlement... I might need some backup." If rumors served, Noah had been getting a promotion lately. Wasn't this the sort of thing a Chief of Public affairs should help deal with?
Doesn't matter if I hate you or embrace you
Nothing makes you turn around
Noah had no idea about how Weaver had built and taken possession of the Kraai. He knew she had been doing it, and working with some outsiders to do so, but he had been too busy in that season to pay close attention or be a part of it himself. While he would have loved to, his own duties called and took over most of his waking hours. The preparations for Longnight sometimes lasted more than a season, and with the way the herds had been this year, it had. While it was Weaver's dream, and Noah supported her in that, he had just been too busy to put his own hands on the project. So when Korbin detailed it for him, he committed it all to memory. The name, in particular, he was sure to brand into his mind: Sunjata Senzaok.
Korbin's concerns made sense to Noah, and the hunter nodded. "We will protect the Kraai." His voice was solid, and sincere. He would stand in the defense of this place, of Weaver's memory, of the solace that many Halovians found here. Noah trusted Korbin, and if his judgement of Sunjata was accurate, Noah was sure he did not want the Torchline man behind the bar. The fact that he was a Torchline official -- a government member just like himself -- made that even clearer. The port city's government did not need a hand in Halo, and Noah would go down fighting to make sure that didn't happen.
"Will you stay here, then?" He asked, finally. "I know about your house."
