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 always had, truthfully, in the back of his mind when the day was done and slumber fell, when dreams ignited into the past and he saw eternal winter before his eyes. They whispered in the dead of night, in the glimpses of mornings, in the beckoning twilight where auroras had once burst, where he’d stood at the top of summits and felt alive.
He barely was now, anyway – stumbling, fumbling, chasing down figments, mind deluded, consumed, by subtle nuances, by siren wails of fury and stone. By the time he’d marched into the desolation, into the sparks of something more, something else, something he thought had once been his – before bones were buried in the sides, before he’d perished, before he’d been taken right into the rock and rubble themselves…
The beast fell, the monolith toppled, and he breathed, heavy, lungs yearning to collapse, as he rolled over to stare at the desolate sky. He could see, feel, Zuriel’s teeth snapping at his clothes, threatening to pull him, to drag him, to not let him remain there, eventually frozen.
The Sword did nothing but remain very still, waiting for the earth to bind and tear and sear him again. Maybe there’d be no bones left. No one would notice. No one would care. It’d been easy to slip away before, to just sink into the ground and die, exhausted and alone.
Because that’s how he lived and breathed and existed – alone.
”Again, son?”
A voice, familiar and long, long gone, pierced through the haze, and the ghost of his father crouched beside him – flames and infernos, embers coiled around his head, a crown of cinders and ash, and suddenly everything ached. He thought to turn away, brutally, bitterly ashamed, but he could see the rampant look of disapproval on his mother’s features from the corner of his gaze; trapped and haunted by memories, by fragments not real.
He could hear a tsk under the other man’s breath, and he permitted the snow to wrap around him, grinding his jaw together, the heat of his fever overwhelming. A large hand, imagined, placed itself across his forehead. ”How many times has it been now?” Deimos had no answer.
For what? And probably many.
Stone made no sound. She didn’t have to – the look she gave him was enough. His father took no such stance, snorting in the midst of his silence. ”Not your time yet. Not now, anyway. Gets old, taking you back and forth.” The monolith swallowed everything down, down, down, watched as the world around him blinded his sight with endless ivory. There was some fraction of rubble nearby – maybe the outline of the Citadel. He wouldn’t know anymore. He had no idea. He had nothing. ”Wasting yourself again though. You always sunk like a…” the ghost paused, glanced at Stone, and didn’t finish the joke.
Instead, perhaps more wisely than in his time alive, the infernal man glanced back down at his hushed son, as if he were the biggest fool. ”There will always be loss. But you have to learn to rise. Or this,” and he made a wide gesture with his hand, encompassing Deimos’ prone figure, busy hallucinating, ”Is all you’re ever going to be.” A light touch, a flick against his brow, and then they were gone. ”Think about it.” whispered against his ears – and then all he had was the clouds, and the ice, and Zuriel, and –
Chulane was Morgan's most trusted council member (he'd proven himself again and again to be competent and reliable, which was what she needed) and so she often asked him to accompany her on business; especially when it came to matters of sustainability and food within the Citadel. They were on one such trip out to the Tundra to see a few farming experiments, Morgan talking to him about some intricate detail of policy, when the clear silhouette of a body against the snow caught her attention.
"Look, there. Do you see that?" She asked, walking faster to see if she was mistaken. The last time there'd been a body at the gates, Zariah had been dead: Morgan really didn't care for this trend of corpses showing up uninvited at the Citadel.
When she got close enough to see who it was, she gasped. "General?!" Morgan knelt down, now hoping for entirely different reasons that this was more than just a body. A quick feel of his pulse and the back of her hand to sense his breath confirmed that he was alive, but in a bad way. Looking back to Chulane (and in the process noticing Zuriel, who she had not seen in the presence of the figure in the snow) she was clearly very shocked to see Deimos here, when he had been struggling to even navigate the streets of his own home.
"Can you help me lift him, Chulane? We need to get him out of the snow." She asked, plans immediately dropped, Morgan going to try and lift one side of Deimos, balancing her shoulder beneath his arm.
MORGAN
Snakes are biting at my heels
The worries that refuse to let us go
Auni trotted happily through the snow, the luxere finding himself able to travel further and further with every passing day. And when he got tired? Well, Chulane would carry him, clinging him across his broad shoulders the same way he had the night he'd shown Kiada the cottage he had secured for their use during Deepfrost. It didn't happen often though, and today the luxere seemed particularly energetic, his bob of a tail bouncing happily as he explored the tundra while his bondmate worked with the Warden.
Chulane's attention swivelled at the Warden's words, sights spotting the same mass she did, his form breaking into a run. As he got closer and closer, he felt a sense of hope rise up, a knot of anxiety tightening in his stomach at the same time. And when he recognised the form proper, the same moment that Morgan exclaimed, he sent a prayer - to who, he wasn't sure, but he sent it anyway. Please let it not be too late. He wasn't sure he would be able to endure it if it was.
The luxere had followed along, energised by his bondmate's concern and greeting Zuriel with an excited bleat. The Chief nodded wordlessly at Morgan's question to him, already bending over at the Sword's other side, mirroring the position and effort Morgan was putting in, to get the General back on his feet and towards safety.
it is better to know some of the questions than all of the answers
He could hear voices; familiar, at the edge of his mind, broken up by the fractures of echoes against his senses. You can leave me here, he almost said, but his throat was raw and his head was spinning. Everyone else does. They saw nothing in him, after all. A machine. A weapon. A sovereign. A fortification. A rubble. A ruin. And down he went with it, every inch a monolith felled upon by his own weaknesses, flaws, and inabilities. He couldn’t keep anyone with him. He couldn’t save his loved ones. He couldn’t do much of anything but try and watch it waste away before his very eyes.
The beast lifted eyelids to see the Warden, and Chulane, and didn’t understand, couldn’t fathom how he’d come to be here or why they were there. Pieces of movement and motion had no rhyme or reason to them now, blank slates on stark canvas, each blink a bewildering glimpse into confusion and self-torment. “Not a General anymore,” he murmured, thinking about closing his stare off again and drifting back to his ghosts, until maybe they’d be frozen with him. That was gone too.
Everything he’d ever worked for, he’d strived so hard to become.
Then there was Zuriel, tugging at his clothes, attempting to an absolution he didn’t deserve. Her head swung to both Chulane and Morgan, and any proud, dignified manner was obliterated too, in the strife she’d encountered over the past few weeks. Did unicorns beg? No – but this one had, with her sharpened, pleading gaze riveting over to Auni, and to the Halo pair, silent and imploring.
There was some notion of a fight in his stance as Morgan attempted to lift him, and then it fizzled out too – weak, disheveled, incapable of remembering when he’d eaten last or if he’d even bothered. Chulane’s efforts solidified the motion, and suddenly he was no longer engulfed in the snow, but on his feet, unsteady, limbs immobile, body faltering and flickering despite its mass and bulk and muscle; the fever contorting over him in waves. “Sorry,” was all he could say, an apology for so many, many things.
Ever faithful and reliable, Chulane came to help her lift Deimos: with a push from the knees and a strong hand on his back, he was up, Morgan holding him up as he stumbled on their journey through the gates. "Let's take him to Loren's infirmary. In the Palace. I...don't know where Loren is, but there are beds there." She instructed, heading with the General (or ex-General?) down the main street of the Citadel, the Council Hall and Palace not too far directly ahead.
As they passed the threshold into town she heard Deimo's apology and shook her head, using the hand not on his back to pat his hand. "Nothing to apologise for, Deimos. You are ill. I'm not sure how you ended up in our Citadel...but we will do our best to care for you while you are here." Of course, hundreds of questions went through her mind: How had he gotten here? Where was his wife? Didn't she care? How long would it take for Deimos (and the others) to recover?
All she could do was look over to Chulane to make sure he was alright continuing to support Deimos, then walk with a new determination forward. "We are going to take you somewhere comfortable."
MORGAN
Snakes are biting at my heels
The worries that refuse to let us go
Despite everything that was going on, Chuy managed to huff a laugh at Deimos' declaration of no longer being a General. The relief of him being alive was enough to bring a flash of euphoria through the Chief, and he said simply to the Sword in reply: "Still a friend though."
It was slow and hard work, but neither the Chief nor the Warden flagged or admitted to fatigue, both determined to see the Sword safely away and on the mend. Chulane nodded at Morgan's instructions. "The other healers Loren trained will manage well enough." There were plenty of nurses and experienced healers in Halo, and while their magic might not work to eliminate the illness, traditional means of keeping the fever at bay (ice packing the bed) and keeping him hydrated were easy enough… if the man was compliant enough.
He looked to the unicorn, and gave Auni an impression of where they were heading. "Zuriel, we're getting you both to safety." He wasn't sure how much the unicorn would comprehend, but he had faith that between he and Auni, they could reach an understanding, and settle some of the anxiety the unicorn was (justifiably) exhibiting. The luxere bleated softly, and made to lead the way for them all, tail bobbing happily on his rear.
Then the Chief mostly kept quiet and focussed on getting the man to their goal, grateful for the direct road, remembering it well on his first night ever in Halo, being led by a raven in the snow. "Auni, stay with Zuriel. Take her home, share your food and water," he instructed as they neared the Palace, out loud and over the bond, that the unicorn might comply. "Zuriel, we have to go inside with him. Auni will keep you informed."
it is better to know some of the questions than all of the answers
He didn’t deserve their kindness, knew it deep down in the cracks in his ribs and the scars on his heart; thought about shaking his head, but everything else was too dizzying already, and the words wouldn’t come out. They were held there, against the back of his throat, and he could feel them brimming and brewing along his skin, dying from within, like knives and stilettos, like cutlasses and blades, slashing and tearing him to ribbons. Maybe he’d fall apart there, when his flesh was exposed and torn, and they wouldn’t have to carry him any longer.
Carry him; because he was weak and pathetic. Because he couldn’t do it on his own anymore.
His skull burrowed against his chest and he stared at the ground as they managed to move, as the sickness drove its way through his soul and found measures of nothingness there – unraveling at the seams, unfurling at the strands, watching as the threads loosened and fell upon the eternal snow.
You have to learn to rise; and when? When was he supposed to do that? How? When everything consistently fell apart?
There were buzzing words around his cranium, and they echoed and bounded, back and forth, some he could grab hold of, some he could understand. Something about Loren and the palace, something that sounded like comfort in hell, and he quietly murmured into the expanse, uncertain if it would reach their ears. “You are good friends.” And they marched, and he dragged along, and maybe they were closer – he couldn’t tell anymore. Had he been here before?
Zuriel understood, but didn’t like the implications. Her ears pinned back briefly, the modicum of irritation bristling in the shake of her tail, directing the nuances and notions to Auni, in hopes they’d be repeated via bonds. Not leaving him was direct and clear, adamant and defiant.
Morgan nodded, having faith in the healing team; honestly more faith than she had in the Grounds', if this was how the General had been left. She focused on keeping her path straight and lifting up Deimos as much as she could, idling listening to Chulane speak but concentrating more on their journey forwards. Eunike, sensing her master's distress, came out from the direction of the stables and walked with them, Morgan smiling as she felt her companion's energy. The Unicorn went to comfort her kin, trying to gently nudge Zuriel.
She caught Deimos' words as she bent her head down to take a breath for strength and smiled, though the expression was somewhat sad; what had happened to this man to bring him so down? "We are doing what any good soul would, Deimos. You will be well, I promise."
When they finally reached the entrance of the Palace, she looked to Chulane, to see if he wa flagging as much as she was. "Let us...take a break, here, for a moment." Morgan went to the side of the door, where a bench was available for the General to lay on; setting him down she rested against the wall, regaining her breath: Deimos was a large man and she had not expected the exercise. "Deimos, is there anyone you would like me to write to, to notify them you're here? Once we have you settled."
MORGAN
Snakes are biting at my heels
The worries that refuse to let us go
The Chief hoped that Eunike's appearance would further soothe Zuriel, but he had his doubts, knowing what he did about the proud and fiercely loyal unicorn. When they came to a rest and gently laid the former-General on the bench, he breathed about as hard as Morgan did. Between them, they had managed, but it was still quite an effort. "Zuriel, I'm sure you've tried to heal him," he continued to speak to the unicorn, reading her body language and the sensations through Auni to accurately estimate her feelings on taking Deimos inside and away from her immediate reach. "We need to keep him safe, inside - I promise you he will be safe."
They had to help the Sword, and to do that they had to convince his bondmate that it was worth having this time apart. "Please Zuriel, Auni will take you to shelter, where you can find water and food. You need to be strong for him, too." He didn't know what else to say, how much of his words would be comprehended - he didn't have the ability Amalia had, to speak to animals directly, to understand them intimately, but he could try in his own way, at least.
Speaking of Amalia…
"His wife… well," Chulane began talking, in hope of providing an answer for the Sword. "They're not exactly together at the moment." He looked at Morgan, almost apologetic for not informing her of this knowledge before this moment. "It wasn't relevant until now. I don't know who else might need to know he's here." Kia. Kia would've wanted to know. But she's gone. He looked to the man, putting a hand to his forehead gently, feeling the fever rising despite the cool environment they'd just crossed. "Deimos? We're gonna get you better."
it is better to know some of the questions than all of the answers
He hadn’t meant to be a burden to anyone or anything; a life instilled in fortifications and strength, in might and endurance, persevering through every damned thing sent his way. Except for this, and all the other things before it – and he should’ve been ready for some semblance of abandonment, he should’ve known, should’ve seen –
The apology rested in his mouth again, against the back of his teeth as he realized just how difficult he was making it for everyone. He curled and coiled along the bench, every inch defeated and fatigued, something in his blood telling him to remain. Maybe he would grow ice from his soles and be a glacier there, frozen in time and space, incapable of being hurt again. Maybe he would melt from the inferno coating his soul, and be rendered back into cinders and dust.
His eyes lifted from the ground at Morgan’s question, widening, brows no longer furrowed, sorrow bounding and leaping over their piercing slate, until he dropped them again. Chulane provided an explanation, and Deimos had nothing, nothing, nothing. It came aloft on his tongue and likely made no sense – a puncturing wake in his heart, an organ that should’ve been full. “The Harpy was in flames. The Penumbra was felled. The Valkyrie has disappeared. The Shield does not want me anymore.” So he shook his head; no one left to correspond to. He doubted he mattered to anyone else; despite things he’d done for the world.
For Zuriel’s part, her ears pinned back against her skull again, and his hand went to her mane, tugging at the strands, a silent imploring, and her pride was wounded too. A snort funneled through her nares, and a very stern promise rendered, before she shifted towards Auni with an air of impatience, only mildly soothed by Eunike’s presence.
The Sword glanced up once again as she moved away, as one last piece seemed to go – Chulane’s hand on his brow, everything burning. “You do not have to.”
Hearing the news about Deimos' wife was certainly awkward; Morgan sucked in air through her teeth, wishing she'd never mentioned the woman before. At least it seemed like Deimos was too lost in his own mind to be too offended. She listened as he listed off titles; she didn't know who most of them referred to (faintly, Morgan recalled 'the Penumbra' might have been the old Queen of the Grounds, but it was clear he was speaking of lost friends.
Her heart ached and she knelt before him, if he would allow it taking one of his hands. Before her was a good man, a strong man, one who had fallen on hard times, but who she would not judge on his worst moments. "Well. The Glacier is here and she is going to help you. Not because I have to, but because I want to." Hoping he took that to heart, Morgan stood, nodding to Chulane to help her lift Deimos again.
"Come on. Let's go to where you can be laid down." Hopefully, he could fall asleep and be relieved from his clear mental torment for a while soon.
MORGAN
Snakes are biting at my heels
The worries that refuse to let us go
Names, titles of being with renown in other lands, some he recognised (the Harpy, hadn't it been what some called Kia?), other he didn't. It seemed hopeless, and he felt helpless, at least in that he could do nothing to contact people who were dead, or gone, or decidedly apart. But it also filled him with a determination, a promise to be a friend, a confidant, a loyal and reliable contact to the Sword. Hadn't he said so, the first time he'd ever met the hellhound in the forest?
The unicorn bent to her bondmate, and they seemed to reach an understanding. Auni happily complied, trotting with antlers held high to show her to the nearby stables - later, they could venture to the Chief's house, but the luxere was aware enough to recognise that lingering as close to the Palace was preferred in this moment.
Chulane couldn't help but smile at Morgan, as she voiced much the same as what he had been thinking, even if the Sword's situation was heartbreakingly morose. "You're with friends here Deimos. We're here," he reassured, nodding to the Warden, getting back into position to help the Sword rise once more, that they might get him inside, to a healer's bed. He got in by Deimos' side once more, and made to lift him in time with Morgan - hoping some kind of relief was imminent for his friend.
it is better to know some of the questions than all of the answers
The Sword’s addled, rattled mind didn’t hold any expectations other than devastation and ruin – just as much a part of him as the magic flowing through his veins, a dominion of constant, unending turmoil. The kindness and benevolence shown, displayed, and granted to him was suddenly an overwhelming thing, and eyes usually stoic or piercing, stark or shrewd, cunning or meticulous, stared in genuine shock.
Because he always remembered a time where he hadn’t earned anything compassionate or warm – I do not deserve this a reverberation sinking down into his spine, and a thousand other echoes resounding back. Yes, you do might have been Rexanna’s voice, unfurling from a dream, or Kiada’s, lost somewhere in flames. For some reason he instantly wanted to hide, to retreat, to coil back into ethers and shadows, to get away from all the piercing light. His gaze went to the hand Morgan had managed to catch, and swallowed down a merciless torrent of sorrow. Deimos nodded at her statement, at the blunt way in which these people had somehow crawled into his life, and how much he’d need to repay them later on (and he would - there was a vow he could maintain).
He did, he did, he did take it to heart. He rested their proclamations upon the drumming beats and along the scars, and hoped it’d all absorb. Reform. Be better. “Thank you,” was a whisper, but there all the same as he bowed his head, uncertain how else to express his gratitude.
With Zuriel gone, glancing back while following Auni, and then turning a corner towards their own destination, he was left with naught to do but lean into their efforts. No fight, not in the midst of his exhaustion, no magic drawn, no onslaught granted. To the best of his ability, he rose once more, but not a tower.
Chulane chimed in and Morgan nodded to his words too, wanting to make sure Deimos could see how many people were willing to support him. The Sword did not say much but she felt that she could see in his eyes some understanding, something vulnerable there open and willing to accept their friendship. Between them her and Chulane got him back up again and she felt a new energy in her determined to help Deimos to the infirmary.
When they finally reached it, empty as it was with Loren gone and the underlings busy trying to see to the sick, she guided Deimos to the first bed there and turned him slowly so he could sit on it and lay down if he wished. "There. Would you like me to remove your shoes?" She asked quietly, knowing it was undignified but willing to do the task if he required it.
MORGAN
Snakes are biting at my heels
The worries that refuse to let us go
