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!
09-28-2020, 08:21 PM (This post was last modified: 09-28-2020, 10:24 PM by Morgan.)
MORGAN
the glacier
Now these days are feeling dark We're struggling to figure out last year
It was a hopeful thing, the water she brought back to the hall. The small barrel was heavy, only one for the Citadel but she was sure more than enough, with the relatively low number of sick in Halo. After wishing the other leaders luck with their own curing missions she had sent out guards to gather the sick in the Citadel: Neron, Loren and the others that had fallen to the illness.
As she waited, she did feel nerves bloom in her chest, worry about the effects the water might have on Neron. Morgan wished she could pretend she didn't care, but he was her friend...that she might be holding poison for him made her feel sick to her stomach. On the other hand, it was the only chance they had.
She had prepared a little basin of the water and a few cups, along with some waterskins. With the aversion to the fluid that many of the sick had, Morgan had thought it pertinent to provide numerous ways for it to be delivered. Hopefully, they would take it. As people from the Citadel began to drift in she gave cups and spoonfuls to thankful family members that took their loved ones aside, going to help pour it into their mouths.
Tapping on the edge of the table anxiously, she waited for the twins.
When the woman in the sky keeps saying things that no one wants to hear
Neron does not enjoy being gathered. But the Ascended is far from at his best, especially after his little jaunt out in the snows to find a dragon egg, and he’s relatively easy to corral into the Council Hall by the various guards. He’s addressing them all by name, given that they used to be his guards (and all the names are wrong but whatever), and he shies away from those who have their cups of water.
With flushed cheeks and a glazed look about him, the ex-Warden arrives before Morgan still dressed in his increasingly tattered garb. He’s maybe changed his shirt, maybe not, and either way, his sane self would be horrified to be in such a state.
Were it anyone else, they might have a fight on their hands, but as he finds himself before Morgan he offers her a lopsided and fanged smile. ”I s’pose it’s ‘bout time you served me a drink,” he mumbles, very nearly making mention of the other drinks he’s had from her. They’re lucky today, however, and he reaches for one of the cups to knock it back in one. Easily bribed, is the Hailstorm.
Down his throat it goes...and then promptly back up again.
Neron vomits up the water almost instantly. It burns his throat and, had he the need to breathe, would have choked his lungs. He doesn't, but fluid will pour from his nose and eyes as his system violently rejects the water.
There will be no change in his symptoms or illness.
We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be
He didn’t want the water.
Strange, for a man born beside its depths, but the inclinations were in his skin, in his veins, all the same. A revolt, a seditious spread, a vicious thing in his adamancy, and there were several moments, as Zuriel dragged him closer and closer to the pivotal points and junctures, where he considered controlling, contorting it all away.
To whisk it off into the ether, where they wouldn’t have it again. Where it couldn’t touch them, couldn’t taint them, couldn’t curse them.
Much like a large child, petulant and weak due to every other nuance and blistering inflection coursing through his body, it didn’t take long for the unicorn to snag at his clothing and lead him towards the basin. He was distracted, momentarily, by the individual vomiting, eyes narrowing suspiciously, pondering if that was how this entire fiasco was going to go – before Zuriel had a damned cup in her teeth too. “No,” was a pout on his features, and a declaration of subversion, to his unicorn, and to anyone else nearby.
DEIMOS
Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
Astra appeared first, leading the way. Trotting through the snow, she'd stop every few steps to turn and bleat, she stared at the enormous lion padding behind her. Loren looked worse for the wear: his fur was matted, his mane was ratty, and he looked like he'd been through several battles, mostly because he had.
Stopping at the sight of the crowd, he growled a little. Swaying, he eventually collapsed onto the ground. No, he echoed, not wanting the water being offered.
But he was exhausted, and weak. Although he struggled to keep them open, his eyes fluttered shut. He slipped into a doze, barely coherent, and lacking the strength to fight anyone. The luxere bleated again, and stared at Morgan.
Now these days are feeling dark We're struggling to figure out last year
Seeing Neron arrived in his dishevelled state, Morgan held back a sigh. He looked wrong, the usually suave attitude replaced with an odd pathetic scruffiness. Still, at least it seemed like she wouldn't have trouble convincing him to take the water, and she watched expectantly, hoping to see him stare down at his outfit in horror once he'd swallowed.
That didn't happen.
As soon as she saw him begin to bring it back up Morgan rushed forward to hold Neron's shoulders, her concern betraying to all around her that she was close to the man, but for the moment she didn't care. Grabbing the edge of her cloak she wiped the vomit from his face, stricken horror on her own. "I'm sorry, I...I thought it might be dangerous for Ascended. Sit here, please. I'll take you back to the Kraai myself soon." Guiding him towards a chair in the corner, she held both his shoulders for a moment, watching his reaction, then had to force herself to turn around. The rest of her people needed her.
Of course, that reaction from Neron did little to convince those that were already shy of the water. She heard Deimos refuse to take a drink from Zuriel and sighed deeply, turning to face him. "You should be fine, general. I've seen people drink it. Do you know Amalia? She fell into an entire spring of the water and was cured, I saw it myself. Neron..." Morgan looked back over her shoulder. "...I think it does not agree with the Ascended. But you? You will be glad you drank it."
The Hall was swiftly filling up with companions. Astra was next and not long behind her Loren, though in his lion form. Morgan had to hold back a groan, knowing that this would be difficult. As he slipped asleep she nodded to the Luxere and quietly took a ladle of the water from the basin, holding it out carefully so that Astra could take the handle in her mouth; it seemed she might have better luck than the Warden at convincing Loren.
When the woman in the sky keeps saying things that no one wants to hear
We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be
The titles and names mentioned, the Warden’s current tools to convince him, felt like lifetimes ago. Like different worlds. Like different planets. Like different realms. When he’d had the Shield, when he’d been General, when the kingdoms hadn’t suddenly been so cracked and frayed, and not some broken husk of things he once knew. It wasn’t the tone, or the insinuation that committed to the persuasive ends, but Zuriel, staring and standing there, cup handle in her teeth, a begging, pleading notion in her thoughts.
He could run.
Not far, and not for long, and he’d be out in the hollows, and gone. They wouldn’t have to worry about him any longer.
He could bury himself in snow until the cold crept in and the winds swept over his frame.
He could leave everything behind. It’d be easy. Simple.
But she kept invading his mind, and he could hear echo upon echo of ghosts, of souls he’d loved and cherished, of a heart filled with their essences because that was all he had left. That hadn’t given up on him, despite his personality, his figure, his demeanor, that had stayed, that had tried, that had thought he was worth the time, and the effort.
His hands reached for the cup, and the mare stared – defiant of one another in that moment. Maybe it will undo me too he thought; morose and melancholy, eyes flickering back to the Ascended, the words that he’d be glad to drink it curling over the fringes. He wanted to do nothing more than spill it upon the surface of the earth, and race off into the void. Let it consume. Let it devour, just as he once had.
The Sword raised the cup to his lips, and swallowed down the liquid; waiting for it to burn him to ash.
DEIMOS
Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
Astra took the ladle with her teeth. Water sloshed over the sides as she did, and even more was lost as she trotted over to Loren. By the time she reached him, there was just a little bit left in the bottom.
Still, she knelt down beside him. He didn't stir as she did, eyes still closed, a feigned relaxation brought on by exhaustion. His companion managed to maneuver the end of the ladle between his lips and tip it.
As the liquid dripped into his mouth, he instinctively lapped at it and swallowed. When he realized what it had to be, though, he growled. Ripping the ladle away, he bit down, breaking it in half.
Tossing both halves aside, he twisted away. However, he stopped halfway through the motion. Collapsing onto the ground again, he whined. Wh-what...wh-where? There was a stuttering and uncertain quality to his thoughts.
Spluttering and bringing up all the water almost as soon as it’s touched his lips, Neron might be sick and delirious but he can at least still be grateful for the hands on his shoulders. He’s compliant as Morgan guides him into a chair, trying to shy away from the feel of her cloak but allowing himself to be cleaned up.
”You said,” he slurs, not managing to get the rest of the words out. Mainly because Morgan hadn’t said - she hadn’t spoken a word to suggest he ought to drink the water. But Neron has, and he can’t say he feels any better for it. Grumbling and rubbing at his forehead, he slouches back in the chair and tries to ignore the hubbub around them.
Now these days are feeling dark We're struggling to figure out last year
At the end of the day, at the point they were at, Morgan wasn't ready to physically force anyone into drinking. Maybe if this continued for much longer she'd be attempting to wrestle Loren or Deimos into it, but for the moment she just watched. Thankfully, it seemed the both of them got at least some of the water; hopefully it would do them good.
She kept glancing back to Neron, hoping he wouldn't still feel betrayed by the end of all this. Wanting to get him back to the Kraai soon, she passed duty of giving out the water to a guard and went to stand on a stair, giving herself a little height over the room. The aim of this meeting was to inform as well, after all, and she didn't intend to keep any information withheld from her people.
"Thank you for coming, everyone. Those of you who drank, I know how much bravery it must take; I am proud of you." She didn't look at Neron as she said this. "We found this water in a place called 'Frey's Breath' in The Climb. I would not advise anyone attempt to make that trip themselves; it is dangerous. I myself nearly died on the mission." She hoped that might make a true impression of how it was, given her reputation as a hard and competent captain. "This cure, as far as we know, is not permanent, but the search continues. We are also..." Morgan sighed. "We are now also looking for a cure that will work for the Ascended."
With a final grim, but hopeful smile at her citizens she stepped down, ready to answer a couple of questions but standing by Neron, ready to leave with him soon.
When the woman in the sky keeps saying things that no one wants to hear
Blinking, Loren looked around. Then he saw Morgan leading away and one thought cut through the fog around the healer's mind: something was wrong with his brother. Whining, the lion tried to stand and pad after the Warden and the Hailstorm, but Morgan was already returning and speaking by the time Loren found his feet.
As she did he froze. Turning to stare at her, his mouth opened. A...a cure? For what? Pawing at his face, he stopped when he felt Astra press his side.
Something from the Climb? Tanau's metal. And there was...something about an archway? Sinking to the ground, he covered his face with his paws. Could I get a drink? I'm so thirsty. The luxere trotted over to one of the guards distributing water and tugged on the woman's sleeve. She frowned, but approached with a bowl of already icy water, which the Firebrand began to lap at. Thanks.
Chulane was there, of course. He helped bring in the supplies of water, helped corral the infected to the Hall, and did his best to simply be present. He'd done all he could to be involved, to contribute in whatever meagre ways he could. Guilt ate at him, whether it was justified or not, he was in no state to decipher for himself. Many of his closest friends had been lost, swept up in this delirium, still there but also still very much changed, different - altered, he hoped only temporarily.
Why was he guilty? For the secret he held, the initial reason why he'd ventured to the Climb the first time, without company or other tokens of preparation. For the way he yearned for his friends to be normal again, for life to be normal again. For the way he still felt so utterly useless, as he watched yet another friend suffer.
Hadn't he been the one to suggest getting the Ascended to drink the water, despite Remi's warning? Shit, he thought regretfully, turning his attention to Deimos and Loren instead, hoping and praying (a new concept for him that he found himself doing more and more lately) for better results.
"Do you think the water will work for him... if he drinks the blood of one who has ingested it?" he aimed the question at Morgan, the idea having sat within him since their return from the Climb. It was a... concerning thought, but not unbearable, if it meant a cure for his friend.
We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be
A sudden lift of his senses, a brief restoration to clarity as the water slid down his throat – eyes blinking rapidly, as if striving to understand how the aches and pains became residual, vacant, there, but in the background. It took him several breaths to realize what had occurred, gaze darting back to the glass in his hand, to the gathered around him, to the way he’d manifested himself here, in this wake. Stunned and disbelieving, he twisted his head in every direction, mind rapidly attempting to salvage information, then shaken, as if he were a great beast rising from the ashes, advancing momentarily, struggling to realize it was of his own volition, and not a delirious wander into highlands.
Morgan rattled off a series of informative notions, and his brain struggled to keep up, permitting the words to wash over him, the senses and indications from Loren nearby warping into his membrane simultaneously. Frey’s Breath. The Climb. Don’t go alone. The cure not permanent.
He wouldn’t have this for long, and neither would the rest of them.
Time was of the essence then, and as he placed steps and strides towards the water, he created and contorted several larger vials, placing them nearby, in case someone required a longer journey or had a far more massive thirst. “Thank you,” the monolith indicated to anyone nearby, piercing gaze segmenting towards the Firebrand. We can go when you are ready. Volunteering himself, to repay, to mitigate the damage he’d caused, and at least try to solve the current dilemma; to go towards the Climb and find something. That hadn’t required any forethought at all.
DEIMOS
Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
Free from all old stories Ive been told, I walk through the valley of my own shadow
Noah worked closely with Chulane, herding in the sick and doing all he could to help the people. No matter what he did, however, he still felt almost useless. He knew nothing -- all he could do, ultimately, was hunt. Where did that help him? He was supposed to be a member of this government, ready to serve the people, and yet here he was--the only one among them who spent his days in Snowcloak and on the Tundra, only doing what he had always done. Was that good? He was an Olson -- he was meant to be good. He was coming up short over and over--totally consumed by keeping people fed, and keeping his own home warm for the woman inside. What had he done, truly, that was above and beyond?
Nothing.
He stood silently, near Chulane and Morgan, and listened to the people. They had all been to this new discovered land of fire, and here he stayed in the snow. The hunter's jaw tightened as his own anger--focused on himself--bubbled and churned within him. Was he too afraid to die? Was that it? Others would answer no, with his continuous ventures out into the tundra. But...the tundra was no longer the most danger that the people of Halo knew. Now that they were open to the rest of the world, and that world continued to grow larger and larger, the danger followed closely on its heels. And Noah? He stayed in his comfortable tundra, with the ursurs and the wolves. And everyone else? They went out and risked their lives for the betterment of the world.
Noah sighed, small and unnoticeable, waiting and watching and listening.
