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!
Days upon days later, when the numbing paradigms had clenched tightly over his heart, locked and butchered and squandered away, he journeyed towards the mountains. In some aspects, the mere sight of summits brought a multitude of memories, a haze of rampant familiarity, touches and fringes of a world that used to be home. One glance along walls, along peaks, along valleys, coiled and nestled fragments of years spent meticulously, savagely, guarding his world. And then within the next, he’d remember that this wasn’t the Basin, that this wasn’t his realm, and they’d left behind some of their friends in those caverns far, far, off.
That Kiada had been here, and that Chulane was somewhere in the distance, waiting for her to return.
The Sword clenched his fists and continued his walk towards the palace; a letter sent Morgan’s way earlier to inform her that he’d be arriving, to honor his commitments and convictions on promised weaponry. He went no further than its castle complexities, staring up at structures and fortifications, piercing spires and turrets, a portrait of power, strength, and prestige. But it didn’t hold his attention for long – soul called out towards the horizon instead, at the pillars of minarets and monoliths rising towards the sky. You cannot go back whispered in his mind, either from the unicorn beside him, or his own machinations, and he’d known it for a long while – but the delusion of worlds without the strife laden across his shoulders, and ones he knew, understood, still manifested from time to time.
And I'm not expecting you to care, but I have finally seen the light
It was a rare day when Morgan found she did not have too much to do: everything was in motion and this was a day of continued work that needed little supervision, just the odd check in. Actually quite excited to meet Deimos, having liked the General when she'd seen him in the Grounds, she was at the Palace early, sat in the entrance hall on a chair absolutely not meant to befit the leader of the place, a small one in a dark corner; she would never be a throne kind of person.
A guard announced that someone was arriving and she stood to stand in the entrance and look out; sure enough it was Deimos. With a quick smile she raised a hand in greeting then stepped down the walkway into the Palace, looking about him with some confusion on her face. "I thought you were bringing the catapults?" She asked, trying not to sound disappointed.
Staring at horizons didn’t morph them into something else, something once real and whole, but it didn’t stop him from dreaming it. To hide away in a cavern, to conceal in the cover of ranges, to pretend everything wasn’t falling apart around him; stark and cold and defiant until the end. He swallowed down the vestiges, the ethers, the outlines of ghosts and phantoms, pressed them to the back of his eyes in one, long, slow, lingering blink, as if to discard them was to forgo and forget.
But he wouldn’t.
They’d be there in his slumber, in his nightmares, in the haze of languid listlessness pulling him along these roads and pathways.
The sound of steps, of another, echoed around his skull, forced him to remove the peaks out of his sights, standing tall and stoic as Morgan waved. He nodded in greeting, as if mustering the movement to grant the same semblance in return might shatter the last of his veneer. The confusion managed to garner the quickest of laughs, as if it couldn’t fully escape his chest. “No need. I make them with magic.” He lifted a hand, turning over a palm so it began to glow, faintly, since naught was in his mind to compel.
Stoic again, a revolution of thorns and nettles cutting him inwardly, his eyes twisted back to the foundations of this world. He maneuvered out of her way, Zuriel snorting along his shoulder, presuming she wouldn’t want the armaments lined up against the palace walls. “Where would you like them, and how many?”
And I'm not expecting you to care, but I have finally seen the light
Seeing Deimos look amused, or at least as amused as Morgan supposed he got, she was confused herself for a moment; once he revealed how he intended to deliver the catapults her eyes widened and she took a surprised breath: the General really was abundant with magical talent. "I see. I've never known someone able to make such elaborate structures with magic. You must have spent a long time training, to know as much as you do." Clearly impressed, she gestured for him to follow, walking up into the Palace.
"Through here and to the side door, we come out to our training grounds and weapons store. For the moment they can stay there...I will discuss with my council proper placement for defense later. They will be able to be moved after?" She asked. As for how many, Morgan paused, unsure how many were reasonable. "..Perhaps three? To cover every angle of attack around the Citadel."
They walked through corridors and halls, towards the door that led out into the guards quarters; Morgan thought as she walked it might be appropriate to share some pleasantries, make it clear she didn't only view Deimos as a means to an end. "How are you, General? Has the Grounds been doing well?"
Deimos never really knew what to do with compliments. They’d been few and far between in Helovia, and while Caido contorted acceptance and devotion, he still tended to shirk and shrug away from accolades. “Yes. Best to train in any tactic available.” He wrinkled his nose briefly, some sharpened sign of amusement, before that too fell away, and he followed along, into the palace.
A studious, meticulous individual, he examined and scrutinized the layout, eyes riveting over doors to training grounds, armories, before being addressed again. A nod first for the clarification. “I can put them on wheels.” Much like the one he’d designed within the Grounds, capable of being maneuvered to wherever they wished. Three to accompany, and defend, noted in the back of his mind as they walked.
He didn’t expect the question, and didn’t know how to respond to it either. The Grounds had been fine, for the most part, but reeling losses kept hastening their detrimental effects across broad shoulders, already weighed down by everything else clambering over them. “The Grounds have been quiet.” Which, really, was ideal nowadays. Quiet moments here and there, calm intervals where they could assess damages or recover – just not enough to physically do the latter before the next great upheaval. “I have been better.” Not a lie, and not something he wanted to go into detail about; an avoidance, as he extended the questions in return. “How has Halo fared?”
And I'm not expecting you to care, but I have finally seen the light
"Saying it is one thing, doing it is another." Morgan said, dryly amused at how casually Deimos gave his answer, as if picking up a new magic ability were as simple as wanting it. "Do you have any advice on picking up such a wide variety of magical ability as your own? In all my years of training I have mastered Water and Telekinesis, but finding a new aptitude is difficult."
She nodded, thankful that he could make it easier for them to reposition the catapults if needs be: with the long list of potential threats to Halo, one could never be sure where a danger would come from. "Thank you."
As they came to the door, a way out to a humble training grounds that seemed to almost defy the elegant palace in it's simplicity, Morgan held it open for Deimos and listened to his answer, realising that she did not know the man well enough to enquire further. "I'm sorry to hear that. We have been well. I have lead projects to fortify our gates and build a council hall, both of which were successful, and we have begun to discuss how to approach issues that the portal being open has brought to us, such as the role of our Ascended citizens."
Walking to a far edge of the grounds where a space had been made, Morgan gestured at the packed dirt earth and stepped back. "Here would be perfect for the catapults, please."
Discussions over magic, over things not related to death, damnation, or how ineffectual he always seemed to be were far more welcome – a change of pace over the crashing, gnarled failure of his life recently. He didn’t have any notion or sagacity for her though, the wisdom only proclaimed through experience. “I am not certain how it transpires. Some days it just seems to be there.” Like a new strand, selected and honed from the other fibers and entanglements. “Perhaps it is the more we experience and grow within the world.” Just like foreign shifts, arising in their blood. He proffered a shrug of his shoulders, the insights provided.
Morgan must’ve known better than to pick at any of his open wounds, so he nodded his head at the information, including Ascended discussions (which had been a topic everyone seemed immersed within lately). Halo had been productive though, garnering and re-establishing defenses, far more than the Grounds had. Another project for another day, when the world didn’t seem to implode beneath his feet. “Congratulations.” At least this realm had found a way to arm and guard themselves.
His eyes went to the edge of the earth where she’d pinpointed the adequate space, and the General delivered one more nod, understanding, comprehending. He rolled back the sleeves of his clothing, and on a intake of breath, began to hone in the concentration required for the wooden machines. Gilded collections of fragments built, and he began the outline, rendering it slowly, efficiently, giving more to the form, etching several snowflakes in corners, symbolizing the ownership of such an armament, the wood a paler form, and perhaps not so easily seen in glimpses of snow. When the first was complete, he stepped back, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. “Is this adequate?” Because then he could begin the others – or restructure the entire thing.
And I'm not expecting you to care, but I have finally seen the light
Deimos could not give her an instructive answer, which Morgan supposed was not a surprise; she had never been a scholar, but the little she did know told her that really, no one was sure how magic worked, or how different types chose people. "Possibly. In...your old world, before you came here, could you wield magic?" She wasn't sure if abilities could be taken through the portal, from one world to the next.
"Thank you." Morgan was proud of all that Halo had accomplished in the last season and would not turn down any praise of it; in her vainer moments (of which she tried to have few), she had imagined how this era might be written about in future histories; she hoped it would be a time of great prosperity and improvement, when looked back upon.
She watched him build with intense interest, never having gained an aptitude for creation magic. It was fascinating to see the catapults take shape. Even before they were completed, she was sure they would be more than sufficient and there was a smile on her face, Morgan glad for the gifts this alliance had brought. "Absolutely. Thank you."
A nod for her approval, and he went back to work, carving along the winter expanse, compelling the incantations to come to fruition. They chiseled and sculpted in their gilded fathoms, implored and contorted, controlled and maintained, shaping identical pieces of armaments and machinery from the previous equipment. While he maintained concentration, he could still contemplate, think over the inquiries layered within, brows only slightly furrowed as he crouched and bent, following wooden pieces and contraptions. “Yes. I was born with magic.” Bloodlines, ancestry, descendants passing on potency, potential; he could presume the embers and water coiled within his soul were from his parents, but otherwise he’d never known where the other detrimental courses had seethed. Life drain had been the first devastating thing stored within him.
He maneuvered along, inspecting the second weapon, before beginning the third. “Most of us were. It was more surprising to find someone without.” Something accepted, rather than shamed, like here in Caido, where it held to stories of the Voice like knives, like nettles, like thorns, incapable of being erased. “Does Halo hold a stigma towards the Abandoned?” An arched brow in her direction, then naught more, half-curious, half bemused, while the tertiary machine formed beneath his hands.
And I'm not expecting you to care, but I have finally seen the light
Morgan nodded, not surprised that one so fluent with magic as Deimos had experience from a young age. It did smart a little, though, that she too had been born with magic (her mother insisted that immediately after birth she had made the water in the glass on the side shake, but she doubted the veracity of that story) and yet by an older age than Deimos, did not have as many skills with it.
She supposed they all developed in their own ways, but it was still something that would make her feel jaded sometimes at night.
Seeing the catapults simply come into being was fascinating enough and she was surprised by his question, not knowing him to be one to ask much in return. "...I mean..not anymore than I think the rest of the world's devout believers in the Old Gods do. There are those that value the Old God's approval more than anything else, and to those people Abandoned are abhorrent. ...I think they are a minority in Halo, though." Morgan had certainly not come up against the belief often, something she was glad of. "Why do you ask?"
The Sword had always been so apt with his incantations – time, patience, fortitude, and might had blistered its way through his boldness and precision, marking and chiseling away the factions of ineptitude. There’d been many intervals where he failed, and still did, something going awry, a new emblem or conjecture to apply, a foreign strand, a mistaken notion, culminating in mistakes and errors. But flaws were par for the course, and frustrations imminent; and perhaps the trials and tribulations were worth it, when everything finally came together. “Has the Academy helped in your growth?” And what happened with it now, with Zariah gone and no longer at the helm?
Deimos continued his quiet ministrations, bringing the third catapult to fruition on the same vestiges, eaves, and ethers as the previous two – a pattern of precise work, of his meticulous, scrupulous, detailed design. As he smoothed over the wooden proportions, gilded palms rising over a lever, he listened, tilting his head to indicate inquisition over the answer.
He’d never really cared if anyone viewed him as abhorrent. He’d never really given a damn if they saw him as a rotten, wrecked thing. He used and wielded his magic for the lot of them in this world and the next – a shrug maneuvered through his shoulders, shaking off undulations of the past, and hopefully not the future. “Curiosity – especially with the recent events surrounding the Ascended.” Because the Voice had been Abandoned, just like them once, gaining and gaining and gaining until she thought herself more.
Not something they had in common then – considering the General frequently thought himself as less, as the days, months, and years carried on.
And I'm not expecting you to care, but I have finally seen the light
Now there was a question. Morgan paused, chewed on her bottom lip, an oddly out of character moment of uncertainty for the Warden, who usually answered questions immediately and with the utmost confidence. "I'm...not sure." She didn't want to speak badly of an institution within her own walls to an outsider, but Morgan liked Deimos enough to show some honesty.
"I did grow in my skills after attending one of the training sessions there,but I'm not sure I found Zariah's methods very efficient overall ...though admittedly, some of that may be perception tainted by my dislike of her." Perhaps it was wrong to say such things of the dead, but this was hardly a secret. "With her son in charge...well, I guess we'll just have to see how it goes."
The catapults continued to appear out of thin air and she put an appreciative hand on the solid wood of one of them, amazed at the realness of it. While Morgan was not one for fear, she hoped she would not have to ever face Deimos in battle: the man was clearly a mountain, both physically and magically.
"Which recent events specifically?" She asked, idly following the pattern of the wood grain with her finger.
Deimos didn’t comment on the uncertainty lingering along the glacial expanse. It was embedded in his bones too, in all of them in some measure, when facing debatable circumstances, when striving for something more, and the doubt crept, crawled, and slithered in. A normal void, plumes of consternation. He wouldn’t judge her for that. Not when it ran so rampant down his own spine, in ridges and bones where people couldn’t see, couldn’t view, couldn’t fathom, between scars and lacerations, that he’d ever be anything less than steadfast and sure.
With his features pinpointed towards the third catapult he was rendering, Morgan likely couldn’t see the flash of disdain, abhorrence, and malice flashing over his eyes at the notion of Zariah. For some reason he’d forgotten her initial touch on the Academy’s creation; perhaps forced out of his mind when he’d heard of her death, when he was relieved of one less threat, when he was disappointed one of them couldn’t have taken her out.
New information though gathered against his ribs, and he turned his head from the framework, arching his brow. “I was not aware she had a son.” Perhaps he’d overlooked it, or hadn’t cared. Most likely the latter. A shame she’d reproduced.
The Sword wasn’t certain which news of Ascended dilemmas and ongoing sagas had reached Halo, so he commented on the most recent. “The body parts sent out.” And a hunt for the one who’d cast them out – hands continuing to glow as he began to orchestrate, create, and contort the final lever on the ivory-embellished wood. “And there is supposedly an organization called The Order. Targeting those that could become demigods. Likely going to use them for a war against the Voice.” If the information Sunjata supplied him was anything to go off of; he’d yet to ask his wife, based on their current status. The latter thought was brushed aside with a clench of his jaw, waiting for the Warden’s response.
And I'm not expecting you to care, but I have finally seen the light
"Neither was I, until he appeared at the gates with his mother's body." Morgan sighed, shaking her head; since the Launceleyns had arrived in the Citadel, they seemed to have caused her nothing but headaches, one way or another. "Odd man. Quiet, says he grew from infancy in a matter of weeks." She shrugged; ultimately, as long as they didn't interfere with her leadership, she would not stop the academy.
Deimos' hands moved elegantly over the new forms and Morgan was surprised to see the craftsmanship in the smaller details of the catapults, the attention paid to form above the usual standards for weaponry. The mention of 'body parts' was almost a complete contrast to the finer beauty of the wood and she grimly nodded. "We received hands." Not much else to say about it, really.
This was the first Morgan had heard of 'The Order' and she listened with an intense interest, always wanting to know about new goings on and groups appearing. "I see. Have you spoken to any of the Demi Gods they have targeted?"
