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!
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
Action, movement, motion, permitted him opportunities to commit to something other than wallowing, brooding, or sinking into despair. Leaving the Temple had helped, but everything else thereafter, pyres, funerals, brewed against his sanction. The Sword required routine, habitual circumstances, some commitment of maneuvering to gain a foothold over the surrounding, pervading maelstroms. So his first stop was the Artisan’s Guild, and once he’d wandered down the aisles of stalls, tools, merchandise, and kiosks, assured everyone and everything within were in one piece, his long strides took him back to the barracks.
This was the most familiar entity, aside from his own home or the bakery, and as he opened the front door, glanced over all the artifacts, the maps, the tables, a semblance of calm released over his chest. Here were emblems of strategy, of planning, of something beyond meaningless apertures, a sanctity, a sanctum, a sanctuary requiring nothing from him but his existence; to protect, to guard, to shelter. The monolith placed his bag down in a favored chair, content and satisfied with its idleness, before maneuvering through the armory, and then the training grounds.
The former maintained their proper glinting positions, weapons holstered and defiant – but the latter was a different story. Despite his careful insinuations and meticulous planning, the scene was a mess. Whether it’d been the monsters, storms mustered in ample fortitude, or anything else in between scarcely mattered in the end: bullseyes splayed out, broken or split, the wooden armaments often resting against the walls tossed across the sections of open plains, and pools where snow had thawed remained.
So he rolled up his sleeves, and started with the targets.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
I might only have one match, but I can make an explosion
While Halo needed a lot of her attention at the minute, Morgan also thought it was important to her role for her to get out of the snowy mountains sometimes and re-familiarise herself with those that lived away from her jurisdiction: forge ally-ships and learn of enemies, discover the lands that were now their neighbours.
She walked through Sanctuary and the surrounding ruins with no particular goal in mind for the moment; just observing, seeing how the people here recovered after their violent Longnights. It was obvious right away that something was terribly wrong, though she couldn't tell if it was the general despondence after the dark winter nights or a specific event; it was only as she passed the market that she finally heard: Rexanna, their Queen, had died.
That was quite the news. Before she'd ever had a chance to meet her and Morgan didn't know how to feel about that; on the one hand she'd been hesitant about an Ascended Queen..on the other she'd heard good things. Either way, she found herself headed to the barracks once she had some directions, thinking immediately of the General she had met in the woods who had spoken so fondly of his Queen.
Walking in, unsure if she would actually find Deimos here, the first thing to strike Morgan was the mess the room was in. Looking around, she was silent for a moment, taking it all in: then she remembered herself and glancing up to the General, nodded her head. "General Ignatius. I wanted to express my condolences for your people's loss."
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
More action, more movement, his own act of repose, peace in the aftermath of calamity and ruin. Fallen apart targets and their remnants were pulled across to a pile along the corner of the field, edged upon the perimeter for pending circumstances (likely burning – ashes to turn into something else fertile; and he struggled not to flinch at the implication that some weren’t able to resurrect). The act carried on for a time, where he didn’t have to think, brood, or brim over in rage that had nowhere to go; until ultimately the newest fragments had been sent to wait for their upcoming pyre.
He’d managed to parse through the others only needing minimal repairs, had grabbed one target to stitch up the top portion where some stuffing and snow moss threatened to escape, when the sounds of another approaching caused his head to shift upwards. The Sword’s expectations were bent towards someone seeking training, or to utilize the arena, despite its poor composition at the moment. It hadn’t been Morgan.
The monolith displayed none of his surprise though, no widening of his eyes, no flicking away of the veneer. His habitual nonchalance remained chained and chiseled over his features, not bending, not breaking, even when he nodded his head, respectful of her recently gained position, of the shifting changes in the world – still striving to catch up with the piles of debris and rubble around his entity. The last time they’d discussed anything had been when they were in similar roles, and Rexanna had been alive.
He swallowed down the sorrow, magical contortions of creation prowess molding through the target in his hands, giving him something to do other than grieve or choke. Her words were tactful, meaningful, and not too much; no faltering apart at the seams. “Thank you. May I give the same for the loss of Weaver.” Another thing he hadn’t fully grasped yet; too many friends gone in too short of a time. Eventually they’d blend together and lacerate him whole, become more ghosts, more figments, in the ether of his hollowed out memories. “And congratulations on your new role.”
The beast’s eyes went back to the completed efforts of his enchantments, and he walked across the sodden soil to place the goal amongst others of its brethren, picking up another to replicate the process. Curiosity compelled, and he dreaded the possibility of politics. “What brings you to the Grounds?”
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
I might only have one match, but I can make an explosion
As shameful as it was, with all the continual advancements of the last weeks, Morgan had grown unused to hearing Weaver's name; for a moment she was almost confused though she quickly recovered, nodding thankfully and letting just a touch of a smile grace her lips at his congratulations. "Gained in unfortunate circumstances, but I am hoping to do my people justice." Moreso than Neron had ever done, anyway.
She looked over what he was doing, the ruined room: similar to the streets of the Citadel. While Halo did not have the same problems with monsters, Longnight was a time where the land took over and tried it's best to destroy the efforts of humans. "I was hoping to meet with whoever the new leader is and to see how your town has survived over the Longnight. Were there a lot of fatalities to the monsters?"
That question asked, she took a couple of steps in, determined not to just irritate the General with her queries. "...I will help you clean. Tell me what needs to be done."
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
Deimos didn’t have the ability to forget faces and names deceased, perished, and gone. He carried them on broad shoulders and taut, rigid spines, along his ribcage, through his blackened, nefarious heart – their memories, the moments he saw them last, things likely meant to be buried alongside their forms. Ghosts, fragments, wraiths, filaments; all held in his grasp, amongst and amidst the multiple lives he’d led. Perhaps that was why they impacted him so, because each was one more to add to the dominions of slaughter and devastation. So he could only nod at her implications, intending to commit actions for her citizens – and sometimes it was all they could do.
Try.
He didn’t want to insinuate what his latest attempts had done.
The Sword’s eyes lowered again, back to his task, allowing the creation contortions to once more fold over stitching, mend broken coils back together, frayed strands spiraled back into whole measures. “Evie is our new Queen.” Perhaps they knew one another already, considering Amalia’s sister had been training in Halo for a while. And fatalities…the clench in his jaw feathered, then tapered away, a breath long and slow following the unwinding factions. “Not many. But the losses were felt just the same.” Monumental – with Rexanna’s demise. “Thank you for taking in some of ours. How did Halo prevail?” Kiada had given him some of the news in letter form, but there were other enigmas and pathways.
Per her following statement, he looked up once more. Ordinarily he might refuse, content to leave the entire day to disassemble and reassemble everything along the grounds, just to occupy his restless mind. But he couldn’t afford such amounts of time dispersed, too many other things to do and comply with, so he nodded in gratitude and acknowledgment, allowed a choice. “You can help repair the targets, or pick up the scattered weapons.” His gaze went to the pools settled along the grass. “I will take care of the water.” Excessive from thawing snow, collecting in low spots of the field. With little thought or machinations, the puddles rose on his predilection and control, droplets cascading, collecting, until they evaporated into nothingness.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
07-09-2020, 07:55 PM (This post was last modified: 07-09-2020, 08:08 PM by Morgan.)
I might only have one match, but I can make an explosion
"Evie...Wordsworth?" Morgan guessed, never having expected to hear the name of the girl she had once trained with. "I...have to admit I'm quite surprised, from what I know of her. Is she a worthy descendant from Queen Rexanna?" The General had spoken so approvingly of his last leader that Morgan thought his opinions on this Queen Evie would have to be rather obvious: if he failed to speak her praises quite so confidently, she was unsure she could trust the new power of the mage she had once known.
Perhaps though, people here simply believed in their monarchy no matter what. Morgan didn't know the structures in the Hollowed Grounds...she realised she didn't even know if Evie was the daughter of Rexanna, or unrelated.
Of course, she knew even 'not many' losses hurt; her guards had been a small sacrifice in the grand scheme of things, but their deaths still weighed on her every moment. "I see. We did not have any trouble over the Longnight--" At least, not the fatal kind. Certainly the irritating kind, as far as Korbin was concerned. "--but just before, our gates were destroyed by an invading party intending to have...revenge, of a sort, against Neron. The Citadel was protected, but my guards..." She fell silent, sure Deimos could assume. "..thankfully, after that, Longnight went peacefully, so our lowered defenses did not matter."
She was holding back some details, aware that it was not smart to tell anyone from another land of their weaknesses in their entirety. Morgan found that she trusted Deimos, but she had not known him too long and knew well how quickly someone could turn. For now though, they were comrades in a certain unspoken militaristic pact and she willingly set to the task he set her, going to pick up the scattered weapons and organising them, occasionally testing the weight of one in her hand. "These monsters you face...your weapons are not effective against them?"
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
The Sword had made complimentary remarks towards Rexanna and her position because he’d known her so long, understood her capabilities, worked alongside her in juxtaposition as they strived to counter fellow foes. He knew Evie well, but not her abilities as a leader. “Yes.” A pause after the Wordsworth title; from what he’d learned, either from scraps of Samuel’s nerves, apprehension, Evie’s notion of hiding her incantations, and Amalia’s connections, just the throne alone had been a symbol of overcoming the lineage’s judgmental tendencies. “I have faith in her.” Strength, endurance, and fortitude made up her backbone, he’d seen it firsthand; ensuring she had the perseverance and wherewithal to carry on with upcoming trials would be a test of mettle, fire, and grit. These were new grounds for her to step upon – and he wouldn’t sweep her under the rug so readily. But his loyalty had never been bought, nor fed to layers and lacquer of a crown, but the fiber, the character, of the individual.
That Halo didn’t have any troubles during LongNight, at least not like theirs, was some assortment of better news. Thereafter though was a repeat of what Kiada had wrote to him, and he faced it all with an indiscernible gaze, the losses not heavy but the notion of guards perished sent a primordial twinge down his spine (he’d known those feelings all too well). “Revenge against Neron? For what?” He tilted his head, but his eyes roamed back down to the finishing touches of his stitching, the insinuations from Kiada’s letters about the Eirachi, and cultists coming vaguely together. Then there was always the underlying concerns of a certain Merciless. “What of Zariah?”
He didn’t pry any further than that – not asking about defenses, sieges, or assaults, comprehending the pieces that no one ever wanted to give away to another land. He’d done the same time and time again; leaving out details and broader pictures, simply to ensure his kingdom remained protected. The beast maneuvered along the grounds, removing more and more puddles and pools as he went, replacing the targets, moving them back out, where they belonged. Morgan had set about her task, and the inquiry didn’t bother him, a haphazard shrug thrown in as he lifted a sheet covering the catapult. “It seems to depend. I have not fought them personally,” as he was often in the sanction and sanctums, holding the fort while others ventured out on their godly tasks. “Magic is more effective.” Capable of adhering to more than one thing at a time, he carefully inspected the wooden structure’s armaments, ensuring nothing was too damaged or out of place. “The monsters wield physical and psychological torture.” Both of which the monolith had endured.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
I might only have one match, but I can make an explosion
"Good. I hope I can see her again soon." Morgan nodded. She found herself wanting good things for the Hollowed Grounds, when she thought about it: it was a place that had suffered many hardships in a short amount of time like Halo, but unlike Halo they didn't even have the natural beauty to make up for it. Just dry, bland fields and an oppressive black tower. Hopefully, when she did see Evie, they could discuss some kind of allyship between their two nations.
Inhaling as she lifted a heavy set of two hammers, she wondered if she had made an error mentioning Neron's crime to someone who apparently did not know of it: she decided that no, Neron was no longer Warden and his family had no right to Halo's throne. Their secrets were not the states. "The Eirachi was angered he had Ascended, as far as I understand, because it meant he could no longer give her a first born son." Morgan wasn't sure how familiar Deimos was with Ascended biological limitations, but hopefully she wouldn't have to explain that further. "Zariah has been missing since that day. Our remaining guards have completely searched the Citadel and it appears she is not there." Possibly dead, possibly run away, possibly hiding: whatever it was, Morgan was relieved the woman hadn't been there to cause trouble during her rise to Warden.
Setting down the hammers, she was a little surprised to hear Deimos didn't have much experience fighting the monsters himself, though the news that magic was more effective wasn't that surprising. "Psychological? I did not know they were intelligent enough to inflict that sort of pain."
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
A nod indicating his understanding of political matters, diplomacies, and everything else associated with it followed her remark, as he inspected the measures of his catapult. Pulling off the sheet meant to protect it from elements, monsters, and anything else lurking, his meticulous measures followed traces of lines and framework. Scrupulous predilections only flickered away at Morgan’s mentioning of Neron and his unfortunate cataclysm with the Eirachi; anger at Ascensions (much like Rexanna had done – to get out from under Zariah’s claws?). The pattern of evasion and escape all pinpointed towards the Merciless – who had, apparently, since disappeared.
Which she’d done before, stretching out her talons in the Grounds’ streets one day, and then gone the next.
Only to reappear in Halo, seasons later.
The Sword clenched his jaw, a schism of machinations working through his skull at the notions. “She is skilled at hiding, and finding a place for herself.” Deimos wouldn’t put it past her to have already traversed to some new land – sinking her might and menace into terrains and territories. Her lack of a presence was a grand thing in theory; a lifting of tension and venom, an intense relief, but one would have to wonder if she’d discovered another foothold along the way.
Inspection of the catapult complete, he dragged it out further, intending to retest its mettle, and fix anything not harpooning or assaulting to the best of its ability. Might as well rampage against the targets he’d already set up – something else to do other than think about damnation and its doubts. The Warden picked at the psychological aspects of demonic figures though, and the heathen strangled a sigh he’d been holding. “They assume the identity of your friends, family, and loved ones, to try to lure you out.” To death, to desecration, to ruin, to wreak havoc inside and outside. He went silent, not describing how well he knew about the horrors and terrors, the carving of soulless attributes in his skull.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
I might only have one match, but I can make an explosion
Deimos' words of warning about Zariah were certainly sobering, but Morgan was quietly confident that if the mage were to return and attempt to cause trouble that she could now put a stop to it, as Warden with the Citadel for the moment happy under her command (or at least, happier than they had been with Neron). "We will be prepared for her return, if it does come."
With the weapons stacked, Morgan came to stand by the catapult, helping Deimos get what he needed into position to test it, using her full strength to pull the mechanisms about as needed. As a matter of pride, she had never asked a man for help with a strength-related task and this was no different, the Warden moving pieces of the catapult with seeming ease as she listened to Deimos talk.
"..Oh. Similar to what I've heard of Ludo then, in some respects." She commented, never having met the God herself but having heard before of the way it could become loved ones: she never wanted to attend a shrine after that. "Are they convincing, these monsters? Surely you must be used enough to their tricks by now?"
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
Maybe his warnings and foreboding wouldn’t matter – he suspected Morgan could hold her own – but it was mere experience scraping down the edges of his spine. Zariah had habit of unwinding away from the problems she’d caused, and ultimately finding new ones to infiltrate, to infect, to sow sedition. The Sword nodded at her insinuations, and let it be – casting his attentions back upon the catapult.
She seemed experienced with the machine, which made him wonder if Halo had their own outfitted somewhere on the desolate tundra and plains, forgoing the notions of his old mountains unwinding through memories – eyes narrowed as he studied, listened, to the whirl of wooden pieces. He lifted his head from where he’d been crouching along one of the gears, the most minute of mischief curling over his mouth. “Want to test it?” He rose and towered above the device again, giving it a pat along one of the ridges, before maneuvering towards the targets previously assembled. If he had to clean them up again, it’d be worth it – a distraction from any other emotions contorting their way through his blood. The monolith was better adept for violence, for vehemence.
While he staged some of the dummies into position, the beast continued listening, a shrug to his shoulders on the situational aspects with Ludo. He’d seen the herald work those similar actions before, while they all meandered and amused themselves along Torchline, but nothing to the extent, nor seemingly as deadly, as the monsters during LongNight. “Some are still deceived.” Some still went out. Some still wandered into the bleakness. Some still didn’t heed the warnings. Some still, like himself, thought they could overcome portions, protect, guard, and shelter, when they really made things worse.
He’d heard a mockery of Amalia outside those walls – screams, shouts, cries and pleas for help, and had known, through machinations, cunning, and familiarity, that they weren’t her. But it hadn’t hurt, scarred, or brutalized any less.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
I might only have one match, but I can make an explosion
Deimos' question drew from Morgan a smile and a raised eyebrow; as much as she was sure it was for very professional and orderly reasons, it felt for a second as if they were naughty children playing with something they shouldn't: of course she had to say yes. "Tell me what to do." She replied with a grin that was very quickly brought back under wraps, Morgan going to rest her hands on the mighty contraption.
Watching Deimos put the dummies into position, Morgan did briefly wonder if any time in the future the catapult would be fired towards Halovians, if something went wrong...she decided it wasn't worth the worry. For the moment, her and Deimos seemed to have a good relationship and she did hope to lead with democracy and fairness, not violence.
"I see. Do you believe...I've heard some people worry that the monsters could come through the portals and infect other lands. Do you believe that is a possibility?" Morgan asked, unsure if she herself believed it or thought it to be simple fearmongering.
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
The barest sentiment of mischief reverberated through his features – not worn in what felt like centuries when it’d merely been days and weeks – at her agreement. The telltale grin almost immediately vanquished from her own told him just was what necessary, and perhaps it’d be a moment to shed the overbearing grief and capacity of LongNight’s menace. Seasons before, he’d done the very same thing with Jigano, creating, contorting, messing around with the contraption as rocks sailed and weapons (or flower crowns, as demonstrated at Fiat Lux) waged upon the fields, and now even the Loreseeker was gone, traversing to different lands.
Everything altered, skewed, impacted, in some greater shape or form.
He maneuvered away from the assembled targets and over to the catapult. “You place items here.” Various artifacts, whatever means necessary in times of war and skirmishes (the monolith was partial to some fiery emblems when the time was right), his hand ghosting over the open container. For now, his machinations and incantations brought forth stones of various sizes, dropping in, echoing against the wood, sliding amongst one another. “Aim.” The Sword shifted it ever so slightly, perhaps the only cumbersome thing about the machine, intending to knock out a few of the painted adversaries yards upon yards away. “Pull.” He slid his palm over the lever, following through on his own directions, and watched as the arm flew and then ceased abruptly – poised just as it had been before, the rocks sailing through the air, and demolishing the fake enemy. The devilish smirk lingered for a little while longer, before it too dissipated, and he reached for the arm, tugging it back down, nodding for her to try.
The discussion about monsters brought him back to the present, gaze nestled on the horizon. Wandering demons through portals had been discussed before – the uncertainty layered over them again, understanding Morgan’s concern. No one else would want the certain level of hell that transpired here to go anywhere near their kingdoms. “Worth pondering.” Because he didn’t have the right answer, and given his past predilections and attempts, had no intention of laying out false hopes. “One would think if they had not this year, they would not in the future. Depends on their cunning.” Or if they could be rid of, destroyed, before it could occur – another set of calculations prospering across his brow. He had no intention of giving too much away, especially when it was currently just a Hollowed Grounds issue. “It is likely wise to keep blocking portals.” So the cretins couldn’t have the ability to crawl their way in – but the unknown was too vast, and everything shifted abruptly. “They are supposedly old Ascendeds from the Voice.” Left to rot, fester, decay, and maul within the bubble, before borders were torn down, before worlds were released.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
I might only have one match, but I can make an explosion
Morgan would have immediately chastised one of her guards for even attempting to play with a weapon or war-machine, but with Deimos, after all the stress of Longnight...there was something tempting in letting her guard down just once (at least, in a different way than she had with Neron, something that she immediately made herself stop thinking about - Deimos could never know). She watched Deimos place the stones with a probably unreasonable amount of excitement, watching appreciatively as they soared in an arc through the air.
"Very impressive indeed. I can see why a series of them might be valuable, if you could time the blows...how many do you have here in the Grounds?" She asked, wondering if some kind of munitions trade could be in the future for their nations: it would certainly help to solidify the allyship, and the Citadel had it's own secrets to share. Eagerly she took over when offered, placing stones in the barrel and preparing the lever.
Before she fired she stopped to listen to Deimos' words on the monsters, still there to be a diplomat and Warden first. It was good to hear Deimos didn't think it was hugely likely, but he was right that it was probably smart to be prepared. "I hope our mountains might provide a deterrent too, though I'm not sure how much that would stop them. Either way, you're right: we will continue to block the portal in Longnight."
As for them being Ascended...she nodded. "I know. Have you...ever seen signs of a currently healthy Ascended becoming close to one?" Morgan didn't know how quick the transformation truly was and wondered if she was about to see Neron become long-fanged and sharp-nailed in the next months.
