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!
After getting back to Halo, Loren had decided to fulfill Morgan's request to look for some mageglass. He'd informed some of his fellow Halovians of his plans and asked them to accompany him to the Fangs. Once they'd gathered their supplies, the group had set off and he'd let them to the cave entrance where he'd last found mageglass.
Pausing, he glanced at his companions. "Stay sharp. I hope the cultists have cleared out of the area, but this place was dangerous even without them." Waiting for that to sink in, he turned to face the cave entrance and took a deep breath. "Follow me." With that, he went inside, taking out a torch and lighting it to combat the gloom.
Movements towards completing their tasks, of things that aligned with his own goals, only solidified his intended efforts. With the sickness no longer spread through his veins, through his mind, the fortitude, the might, the perseverance, the endurance, was a steadfast, machinating machine – and he’d be more than ready to adhere to whatever was necessary.
He’d been in the Fangs on several occasions, though none of them had been to hunt down mageglass. The Sword would have to rely on Loren’s skills and planning in those regards (whether or not that sent a particular inkling of apprehension down his spine was another thing to forgo and push aside) – placing his bag of holding over his shoulder, stride dignified, straight and tall and forbearing. Deimos nodded at the inclination of cultists, not quite certain what to expect in those aspects, rechecking the weapons he diligently carried. The torch in his hand loomed as well, and he was ready to proceed, with Zuriel trailing alongside, when the group had assembled, advancing along into caverns for yet another time.
if there's a reason I'm still alive when so many have died
Noah was an expert in the tundra. He spent his entire life moving about the frozen wasteland, up and down the Fangs, bringing home game and fuel and other important things. Despite all of that, the hunter had never seen mageglass in all of his endeavors. It was never something he had personal vested interest in, nor had he ever been asked (before now) to try and retrieve any. He followed the group Loren had gathered and stayed on an edge, bow ready and his quiver full of arrows. As the Firebrand spoke, Noah listened. A surge of memory flooded down his back and made his fists close at the mention of cultists -- the last time Noah had encountered any "other" on the tundra that was not a functioning member of this Tundra, Noah had killed him.
He followed, and hoped it would not come to that again on this journey.
With his silent companions in tow, Loren led them deeper into the caves. It didn't take long to reach the area where the tunnel split into three. Staring at the middle path, which was incredibly small, he sighed. "This way." He had to stoop and twist his body to the side to fit, and even then it was a very tight squeeze.
Eying the other men, who were much larger than the healer, he ran his free hand through his hair. "Deimos, can you enlarge the opening?" Otherwise, he was pretty sure neither Noah nor the General would be able to make it through the small gap.
A nod was extended towards Noah, the quieted form of greeting, memories very brief and sparse of the man who’d sought to give him some relief in the middle of his afflictions. It was another check in his figments, fractions, and factions, to give back to the other individual in some wit and measure; before marching forward, collecting himself in the intertwining measures of one more cavern.
Eventually, they came upon a bombardment of the usual order; only the obstacle was amplified not by a sudden menace, or devastating onslaught, but by the small path and their far larger sizes, and even Deimos, in his most minute form, would likely have to bend and twist amidst incapable notions. Zuriel snorted at the implications, and he fought off an eye roll in her direction.
Instead, he adhered to Loren’s request with a nod – earthen incantations immediately beginning their maneuvers, intending to widen, alter the path, and restructure along as they went – he’d been in far too many near collapses to not give it ample forethought.
While he worked, the Sword’s deepened vocals echoed, bounded, and resounded along the chasms. “Who are these cultists?” Had they been the threat Kiada mentioned in letters, last year, when the Halo portals were locked away, and the winter isolation had amplified, bombarded, in an entirely different way? As General, he should’ve known of the ominous beacons, of the potential for upcoming dominions.
if there's a reason I'm still alive when so many have died
The hunter stopped and watched Loren try to maneuver his body through the small crevice in the wall cave. He knew there was no way he would fit, and was glad that Loren knew better Deimos' gifts and had the knowledge to ask him to use them. Noah took a step to the side as the warlord went to work. Glacier eyes moved up the cave wall and to the ceiling, his body tense in anticipation. Noah had never been in a cave when it collapsed, but he had known other families who had lost good men to these structural failures. In this moment, as he swallowed down the worry from his throat, he could only trust that the magic-wielder was experienced enough to keep them safe.
When he asked his question, Noah's jaw feathered some, and he moved through the wider opening that Deimos made. "The cultists attacked our palace last year, after Neron and Zariah made the Eirachi destroy it. I'm still not sure why they came, other than their involvement with the Eirachi." Noah still, to this day, did not know that the cultists could have been dealt with before. Unlike those that lived in Whitebrim, they had not directly come to harm the citizens of Halo before the attack on the palace.
Standing on the other side of the small gap, Loren nodded as Deimos widened it. Stepping back, the healer waited for the other two men to move through the now larger opening. When they were through, he turned to lead the group further into the caves.
Frowning at Noah's explanation, the Firebrand shrugged. "They're cultists of the Eirachi as far as we know. No idea if we got all them or what their plans are." He didn't comment on Neron or Zariah or the Deepfrost goddess, but Loren's shoulders tensed.
Taking a left at the next fork, he brought them to a small chasm. "Deimos, think you can bridge this?" The healer raised his arms, freezing the wicked looking icicles on the ceiling so they wouldn't fall like they did last time.
As he did, a familiar sounding cackle echoed ahead of them. Jaw dropping, he spun to face deeper into the tunnels, blood draining from his face. "No. No it can't be, she's, she's dead." But he hadn't seen the corpse, and Zariah's mad laughter was unmistakable.
With no other issues, a welcome reprieve, relieve, and surprise, the gap was widened, permitting them all to pass through with no circumstances. He refined it again for good measure, in case they had to traverse this way back through, and continued on in following Loren, Zuriel at his heels. The aforementioned proceedings with the cultists filled in the gaps of what he’d known previously only by hastily scrawled notes: Eirachi, Neron, and Zariah’ influences, cultists for a goddess of the season, and the unknown beckoning, clawing, within the abyss. “Have you heard of them since?” Were these people normal threats, deigning to regroup, clamber back together, and something else to prepare and shield the world against? The notions intermingled down his spine, and it was one more thing he’d have to ask the Warden about, one more potential root of demolition he hadn’t known or thought over.
But for now, he’d have to settle into the caverns, into the hunt.
There was more to assemble anyway, as they arrived at another potential issue. His glance, eternally studious, scrupulous, and meticulous, surveyed the chasm, the gap, and how far, how stable, he’d have to manifest the structure. He proffered a nod towards the healer, before unfurling, unleashing, the earthen enchantments again, constructing an overpass meant to hold them while they crossed, pulsing and placing rock and stone into the adherence, intending for strength, fortitude, and might.
The Sword was only distracted by the high-pitched cackle resounding, bounding, and echoing along the walls – pausing to become entirely rigid, instantly a predator, a vice, a damned heathen ready for malice. He’d been told the Merciless was dead - but a look towards Loren, with his paling features – insinuated that may not be the case. The instinctual drive for menace, for vengeance rooted deep from within, conspiring in the onslaught of his thoughts, and his response was only a feral growl. “Where?” Where was she, and how could they get to her?
if there's a reason I'm still alive when so many have died
"Not before, and not since." In his entire life, twenty-eight years of it, Halo had never been victim to the attacks of these cultists. In all actuality, the hunter did not even know they existed until the Eirachi helped them attack the Citadel. It was, however, a new threat that made him hyper-aware each time he stepped foot out the new, fortified gates they had built in response. Cannibals, cultists, and wildlife were a constant reminder that he needed to be on guard at all times. Especially on a mission like this -- moving through the Fangs, where he imagined the cultists to have lived. While that speculation could not be met with full certainty, it was the most logical explanation to the native Halovian.
Moving behind Loren, Noah kept his attention high. The cackle that echoed through the cave made him startle in a way that he only knew how to. The movements were rapid and clean, the removing of his bow, stealing an arrow from the quiver, and nocking it with ease. It was almost faster than he could blink his own eyes. While, unlike the other two men, he did not recognize the source of the voice, he could feel the intentions of it.
Loren shook his head. "When I found them here and when they attacked the Citadel are the only two times I heard or encountered them." Grimacing, he rubbed the back of his head.
Waiting for Deimos to construct the bridge, the healer moved towards the edge of the chasm, peering into the darkness. "Don't know. The way these caves echo..." Voice trailing off, he shrugged. Then he shook his head and smacked himself in the forehead.
Summoning three bats, he sent them winging ahead, trying to scout out any sign of Zariah. When the bridge was finished, he crossed it, not quite at a run, but certainly walking briskly. Holding the torch high, he waited for his bats to report back. They didn't tell him where Zariah might be, and he frowned. "Nothing. I'll keep them out there though." With that, the bats went flying off, one behind them and two ahead.
Heading forwards, he began to lead them down the tunnel where he'd found both the mageglass and the cultists. There was a pang of sorrow, one he was quick to hide from the General and Noah, since the last time the Firebrand had been here was with Peter and Kiada. Up ahead, there was a blue flickering and he narrowed his eyes. I don't know what that is. Stay sharp.
The cultists didn’t appear to be a constant, ongoing threat, or merely worked in silence, in duplicitous efforts, building and biding their time. To not have heard of or about them since was bizarre to him, and then the semblances of everything else were such a distraction, that he had to pinpoint them for further recollections, for future interminglings of minds and council predilections.
Roars and echoes, cackles and melees, ghosts of the past resounding, rebounding against cavern walls, and even as he completed the bridge, his figure was on edge, an unyielding, unbending predator, merely waiting for an opportunity for onslaughts and destruction. It was a finely stoked vehemence, layered and lacquered in brutality, in the bits and pieces of memories coming back to life, verging right behind his eyes, so he could almost hear the manifestation of the Merciless all over again. How she’d altered. How she’d reigned. How she’d dominated. How she’d threatened and imprisoned.
How they rebelled.
The Sword’s eyes narrowed as he crossed the manifestations, the structure holding firm, his breaths sharper than he would’ve liked. Nothing murmured too, and Zuriel snorted. Following, glancing, monitoring, a scrupulous figure ready for violence – and then the flicker of blue up ahead; more caution needed, expected. A huff of frustration left him, but he didn’t bore it any further. Fire? he mentioned; out of no other reasoning.
if there's a reason I'm still alive when so many have died
The hunter followed the others over the bridge. He kept the arrow nocked in his bow, his body tense and ready to fire. The back of his neck prickled as Loren mentioned finding the cultists here before. He wondered if anyone else knew that the healer had stumbled upon them in these caves. Noah, himself, did not know the details -- and his curiosity knew its place. Now was not the time to further dissect Loren's history. So, he simply stored the information away, should it become helpful later for him to know more, he would know to ask.
The voice was brushed off, for now, but that did not make Noah feel comfortable. He knew these two men were powerful -- he had seen Loren in action before, and there was something about Deimos that screamed power. The hunter was not so keen to brush something that both of these men reacted too so quickly. However, he would not let this discomfort slip through the mental bond they shared. The blue sparks ahead caught his attention just as their's, and their hesitancy leaked over into him. He stayed silent, and followed, unable to express anything across the bond in his human form.
The cackling grew louder as the eerie blue flickering intensified. I don't know. Fire isn't usually blue. Loren instructed all three bats to move ahead, scouting out for them. Their echolocation made it hard to interpret their findings, though, and his brow furrowed as he tried to parse through the information.
Then the laughter cut off, to be replaced by a chilling voice instead. "Pathetic. Weak as always. Unworthy," it claimed in Zariah's unmistakable and derisive voice. Nostrils flaring, the healer picked up his pace as the bats reported back that there was indeed something ahead.
Turning a corner, his eyes widened as he saw the Merciless standing there. Shouting, he threw out a hand: ice speared out from it. However, Zariah tossed back back her head and cackled again even as she loosed the lightning she'd been holding.
There was a flash and a boom of sound, scattering the bats and leaving the Firebrand deaf and blind, his spell going completely awry. When his senses recovered, he realized they were in the cavern that had housed the cultists and the mageglass, though there was no sign of either now. Nor was there a sign of the Merciless.
However, there was a family of Ursurs that had taken up residence. And two of them were charging towards the trio of men, leaving cubs behind.
Too many things at once; ghosts and their tethers, their lines, their words, the Sword following after the healer, eyes narrowed, the world specious and suspicious. Thereafter, the only warning uttered from Loren was a shout, and then ricocheting ice, flash, booms, thunderous echoes throughout the caverns –
And ursurs.
“Get back!” His own towering command, instinctual, precise, as the great bears charged. He drove into his machinations, into his enchantments, corresponding and creating an icy shield, thickened by the mastered water churning through his veins, intending to block the bears from the party. Zuriel snorted and stayed close behind him, ears pinned, and there was a shuddering, earth-rendering sigh funneled through his chest, as he strived, as he contemplated, efforts that might go completely awry.
We are not here to harm you, and his eyes went to the cubs behind. Or your children. Would the beasts understand? He wasn’t certain how far the attuned natures reached, how strong his own abilities had grown, or if the notions were a moot point anyway, with Loren’s actions already rippling through the caverns.
--
Deimos tries to make an ice shield around the party to block the ursurs, and tries to speak to them.
Beast Speaker | Can speak to rare creatures/companions/regular animals. Requires permission to "speak" on behalf of someone's companion. Regular animals speak in varying levels of coherence.
