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!
Loren shrugged right back at Deimos. As the lion did, he shook out his mane. As the men exchanged glances, Astra trotted up to Zuriel. The luxere bleated at the much larger unicorn, staring at the Sword's companion with wide eyes.
However, both the healer and his companion followed the other man as he led the group deeper into the tunnels. The Firebrand examined Deimos' work with the rocks as the lion passed it, but didn't comment. Instead, he looked at the Sword as the other man explained his excursion into the elemental storms.
There were unicorns in the lightning storm? The healer looked at Zuriel for a brief moment, as if she could explain the presence of her kin. Well, even if you didn't make it far, making it back is the most important part. He could've bit his tongue if the words had actually come from his mouth, but they left his mind before he had a chance to think about them.
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
Zuriel tilted her head at the luxere, calm and composed, attempting to mitigate and cease any further dramatics – the Sword had had enough as of late, and the rarely-seen overprotective qualities of the mare had been pervading throughout the season past. She wasn’t certain what Astra needed or required, other than staring, so she consolidated the efforts with a brief snort, following along lantern lights as they went further and further into the dark.
The inquiries marched along as they wandered into another section of the darkened terrain – and raising the light, piercing through with Attuned complexities, there appeared to be another section of pathways; conveniently three, and Deimos was reminded briefly of the Labyrinth, with its intertwining roots and cataclysms. So far, there’d been nothing dramatic or life-altering; a relief. “Your turn to choose.” His head gestured in the general directions, indifferent as to which, when there was no sign or indication of anything in particular exuding from either cavern.
“I think they came from whatever land is beyond the storm.” But with the elemental reaches in place, there’d been no plausible way to get them through – even if they had come underground with them, he would’ve spent a majority of his time digging, tunneling, and not getting anywhere closer. Exhaustion would’ve crept in long before they’d ever had an opportunity to do much else.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
Astra tilted her head right back at Zuriel. Antlers glowing softly to banish some of the gloom, the little luxere just trotted by the unicorn's side. Loren eyed them, but didn't comment on the actions of his companion.
Padding along the junction, he peered into the three tunnels. Nothing jumped out to his eyes or nose, so he shrugged a shoulder. Let's go right. Why change a winning strategy?
Glancing at Deimos, the healer led the way deeper into the cave system. I guess I'm not surprised there are lands beyond the storms. But new lands always seem to make things more complicated. And dangerous. He whined in the back of his throat pawing at the ground a bit as they walked.
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
The Sword took great efforts to not sink into the mire of the darkness, into the residual effects of caverns, into how many times he’d been rooted into their miseries (visions of ice; Peter and Adam frozen solid, desperation clinging to the wild and wicked damnation near the Greatwood, times where he nearly died just trying to ensure another didn’t). His eyes went to the soft glow of antler-light, nodding his head in the luxere’s direction, understanding, comprehending, the potential dire consequences of the situation, and striving to loosen the breath suddenly choking over his lungs. It was tiring, when every action seemed to hold a ripple effect from another, when memories had become smothering, clawing, asphyxiating turns, instead of brighter aspects.
Do better his mind said in between the strains. He knew their hold on him, and overcoming the barrage would be a long, arduous process.
To the right, wandering further and further in, while the twists looped around, endless darkness marching on. Diligent and forthright and quiet, the beast continued onward, begging for something out of the daunting void. A clue. A sign. An indication this was worth anything at all. His head yearned to hang again, out over the loam and soil, and Zuriel’s muzzle bumped into his free hand, senses reeling back to the voice in his head; the statement stirring some other machination. Like cobwebs, he attempted to shake them out, from the dust, from the ashes, from the aspects of illness still clinging to them. “Have you heard of The Order?”
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
The right tunnel was dark and winding and Loren felt his steps slowing as he tired somewhat. However, the gloom didn't stay that way for long. Up ahead, a glow started to appear, along with heat and the smell of ash and molten rock. There was lava ahead, although he couldn't tell from here if it was blocking their path, or just a nearby flow.
At Deimos' words, the healer glanced at the other man. Astra did as well, bleating just once. I haven't heard of them, no. They should pretentious though. He picked up the pace, trying to see if they should turn back or not. Should I have heard of them?
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
The Sword felt labored too; the particular pull of exhaustion, of a weakness borne from the damned sickness, compelled at his sides, contorted down his ribs. It was an ineffectual, inept designation, and he instantly loathed it; he hadn’t felt so physically pathetic in a long while, and the glowing abyss ahead, with the sheen of crimson playing upon the walls, only indicated there was more to come. Torture, musings, or both, went unsaid, feral in the unknown. Instead, a low grumble emerged from his chest, and if he’d noticed Loren flagging too, he didn’t say anything about it. “I need a break,” and there wasn’t any of the shame embedded throughout his vocals, only sticking to the inward vices and iniquities, reaching into his satchel to grab hold of some canteens. It hinted too, that the healing process wasn’t complete, wasn’t over, and their time was sorely limited in the aspects of normalcy; a dread to flicker and follow.
The monolith, feeling more like a crumbling tower than any upstanding structure, leaned against the closest wall and slowly slid down it, using it as a support until he reached the ground. Zuriel marched her way over, waiting for some notion that he needed healing, and he stayed still, other than to extend one of the waterskins towards the lion, hand already gilded with a bowl in his palm.
Loren hadn’t heard of the Order though, and the notion of snagging at any further details was gone – his features rendered impassive again, save for the subtle arch of his brow in the darkness. “According to Sunjata,” and he left that statement there, indicative of information passed from the Flood holding its own warning signs, “They are an organization that comes from where the Voice originated.” Wherever that might’ve been – when a human opted to become powerful and potent, not unlike themselves, until she couldn’t be contained any longer. “They are supposedly targeting demigods, or those to become demigods, to ramp up for some war against the Voice.” The Firebrand would be able to draw his own lines and conclusions from there.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
At the sound from Deimos, Loren glanced at the Sword. As soon as the other asked for a break, the healer halted. Yawning, the lion settled onto the ground. Astra joined him and he pulled her in close. Fine by me. Eyes growing half-lidded he licked his lips.
When the other man offered water, though, the Firebrand stirred. Making his way over to Deimos, Loren started lapping from the bowl. He looked up as the Sword started to explain about the Order.
When the other man finished, the healer growled deep in his throat. A war against the Ascended? I have no interest in living through another war. And I will not let my friends and family come to harm. The lion clawed at the ground, leaving furrows and marks against the dark stone.
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
Moments of repose, water shared, and then he dug around in his satchel for a few pieces of dried meat from storage, tossing them over to the lion. The lava waited nearby, no change or alteration in that stance, but at least some portion of strength could be renewed, revitalized, on this coursing, irritating plain and venture.
He arched a brow at the growl – and gave no indication on his thoughts on the matter. Ordinarily, in another time, another place, he wouldn’t have been affected – an impassive, neutral relic, standing on the sidelines, protecting his own, waiting for some other eventuality to take place, hone them in the right direction. Without discussing anything further, without knowing any of these Order conditions or people, he had very little to go off of – but he did have friends amongst and amidst the Ascended, which only made the details that much murkier.
And he’d lived through four wars already between two lifetimes. It was nearly routine.
“Best be prepared when the time comes then.” Which indicated either Halo itself, Loren’s family, or anything else in between. Perhaps it wouldn’t come to fruition. Perhaps it would ignite. Perhaps they’d have to choose sides, and the world would erupt into chaos. Another pattern to these moments – sanctuary and shelter so infrequent.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
Loren gobbled up the meat, though not before huffing at Deimos. As the healer ate, Astra trotted up to the Sword bleating and licking her lips. She stared up at the taller man, practically begging for a treat.
The Firebrand stopped growling. However, he began to pace, though with the narrow walls of the cave it was mostly turning. I'm prepared. Sometimes it feels like I've spent my entire life preparing for losing battles.
With that he started heading down the tunnel once again. I'll scout ahead. Turning a bend, he saw that the lava wasn't in their path, but it was visible through cracks in the wall. Halting, he waited for the other man to catch up. There's some lava visible on the other side of the walls. Think we should seal the gaps in the stone just in case?
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
At Astra’s insistence, he dug through the bottom of his bag, locating some carrots he’d brought for Zuriel. Breaking them apart, he shared them amongst the companions, placing them flat on his hand – the unicorn snatched hers quickly, leaving only the luxere’s behind.
He listened to Loren’s preparations - could’ve told a lifetime of stories where all he’d ever done was lose too –invasion after invasion, land after land, but it hardly seemed to matter. Here was different – kingdoms weren’t conquered, and instead, there were other bizarre infestations, sicknesses, ailments, prejudices, flickering and faltering, human and moral qualities consistently called into question. They could arm and guard and fortify all they craved, and sometimes things worked under their boldness, and others they went into a steady opposition. Their friends, family, and loved ones perished. They often survived on either fortune or happenstance.
The break seemed over though, and he remained in silence. Rising back off the ground, he snagged the lantern back from the earthen floor, following after the lion’s pacing. The monolith wasn’t certain if it was dread, apprehension, or some other emotion flickering down the back of his spine at the lava – perhaps mere circumstances and calamities surrounding Kiada’s death. He wouldn’t ask about it. Had been told enough, enough, enough -
A breath, and then he stared at the cracks, at the magma flowing along walls. “I will leave it alone. If it causes an issue, then I can seal it.” The Sword had no intention of tampering with the formations, or the land, any more than necessary; shifting rock out of their path had been one thing, but restructuring contortions quite another. He kept going along the bend, the apprehension not left behind.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
10-03-2020, 10:10 PM (This post was last modified: 10-03-2020, 10:11 PM by Loren.)
like thunder gonna shake the ground
Astra was not so quick to gobble down her treat as Zuriel. Instead, the luxere munched on it slowly, her tongue licking at Deimos' palm as she did. When she finally finished she bleated and rubbed against his side before following Loren further down the tunnel.
Nodding at Sword's suggestion, the healer began to pick his way deeper into the caves. Makes sense to me. He glanced at the other man when the distinct scent of uneasy pheromones filled the air
Although the Firebrand didn't comment on what he'd picked up from Deimos, Loren picked up the pace, turning the corner and leaving the lava behind them. Unfortunately, the glow still flickered on the air around them and he could still smell the ash and molten rock. His companion dropped back to walk by the Sword's side again to offer what comfort she could.
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
Astra received a scratch on the head for her attempts to comfort, and Zuriel snorted somewhere close behind. They merely tread their way further, and it was nearly disappointing to feel the apprehension not dissipating; for a boy who’d once laughed with delight at his father’s fiery calamities and conflagrations, designs burnt and scorched into the air, and rapacious, seething edges he could call his own. But it was ash, molten rock, flames upon flames and heat he had no true control over, curling and carving into the land, into the void, and where the Harpy had succumbed. Perhaps not in this particular venue, but the symbolism, the rites, the barrage was there, all the same.
And it would not leave his mind; distorting back to where he’d previously refused. Maybe it was an aftermath of the sickness, to be drawn straight into delirium again, to be concocted and distracted, to be meddlesome and defiant to his own wellbeing. “You were there, when Kiada –“ he stopped himself, gnashing his jaw tightly together; no accusations, no hidden meanings, just attempting to comprehend, to understand, more than what he’d already been told.
Because he’d always known her to be fire; and not to fall victim to it.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
Closing her eyes momentarily under Deimos' ministrations, Astra bleated contentedly. When she opened them, she stayed by his side, ignoring Zuriel. Loren didn't look back, just continued to try and put some distance between them and the lava.
At the Sword's statement, though, the healer stumbled to a halt. Frozen in place, he took a deep breath. I was, he eventually responded, bond locked down tight to prevent any emotions from bleeding through.
When he started walking, the click of his claws against the stone echoed impossibly loud in his ears and his heart pounded in his chest. Do you want to...why did you bring it up? Something glittered up ahead, throwing back the light from the lava, but he disregarded it, craning his neck to look at the other man instead.
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
He was likely stepping on a landmine, ready to burst and billow and blister in his direction, a barrage of his own making; but there was some portion of his mind that failed to understand the circumstances. That failed to comprehend how an individual of her strength, fortitude, and caliber simply fell, diminished within an instant. That failed to connect how everything had gone so horribly awry, when all they were doing was exploring. She should’ve been able to come home.
She should’ve been able to live. To survive. Just as she’d always done.
The Sword cringed, but kept on fortifying, kept on walking towards those lines, those extremes, the haunting thorns he’d readily impale in between his ribs and lungs. “Because I cannot fathom how it happened.” Did he want the mental images? Did he want the disturbing nuances, another thing to corrupt and contort? Amalia had told him before, and he still couldn't grasp the situation - how she could be gone. How she was no longer there. How she didn't even have her mother with her. How souls were dispatched and lacquered into Mort's realm and he had no chance, no opportunity, to see her any longer until he'd departed (again) too. He should've. He knew he should've. He'd walked amongst death so many times it seemed like an old friend.
Realizing the Attuned proportions were alive and well, he shut down the emotions – grave and serious and sinister and deprived; arcane reticence driven in onslaughts and walls upon walls. Deimos glanced upward, and nowhere near Loren, stifling down sharp inhales, catching at the glitter up ahead, twisting and turning himself into knots.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
