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!
11-19-2020, 12:38 AM (This post was last modified: 11-19-2020, 12:39 AM by Deimos.)
cover you when the sky comes crashing in
The Sword had spent a greater part of a morning within his apartment fine-tuning plans, orchestrations, and means, studying sketches, highlighting particulars, paying fine attention to detail. Only when he was satisfied with the preamble, did he finally make way in regards to creation adornments and tangible threads, honing in concentration and efforts into the hollowed structures eventually taking shape. Between palms, the familiar gilded outlines cloaked and daggered in precision, ensuring the framework was substantial, before applying the outer indications, pulsing incantations into the metal taking shape, and finally, the fragments of a pendant. It became a healthier distraction, application and absorption into a task, into motions, rather than sinking very quickly into the semblances of anguish and rancor again.
Thereafter, Deimos permitted himself the slightest of breaks, a few rounds of swordplay and honing in on targets below in the training grounds, before returning for the item, Zuriel accompanying, and threading his way through the Citadel. The artifact rested neatly and safely in the pocket of his heavy coat, and while the unicorn traced her way through newly-fallen snow, the beast stalked and presided towards the Council Hall, trying to remember he didn’t need to hang his head here. That these routes and pathways would eventually become known and habitual too.
Eventually, the Sword found his way to the Warden’s office, forgetting he had one too, lifting a hand to knock on the sides of panels and wood, announcing his presence, uncertain if she’d be busy at this particular hour. “I have what you requested,” rumbled and resounded, blunt and to the point, and then he waited, patient and composed.
And I'm not expecting you to care, but I have finally seen the light
Somehow, even as she put away piles of papers a day, there was always more to do. The Citadel was a large place full of many working, interlocking pieces, people with their own agendas, thoughts and wishes, and many of them looked to the Warden for answers. When Morgan had agreed to be the Warden she had not considered this part of the job, oddly enough; she didn't dislike it, but it could often be overwhelming, and she was glad for any breaks that arose.
Deimos' knock was therefore welcome, and she smiled as she looked up from her desk. "Deimos. Come in; I'm excited to see it." Honestly she would have been glad had he only come in to say hello, but the addition of his gift was obviously welcome. Morgan gestured to the seat in front of her desk and put down her pen, leaning forwards with her hands laced together in anticipation of what he had brought.
Permission granted, the General entered the office in his normal stride, a nod of his head in respect to the Warden’s title and role. Though he greatly preferred standing, as it gave him just that figment more time for evasions, movements, and assaults, at the inclination of the offer he sat in the seat. The lightest of smiles slid along his features, and then he procured the item out of his pockets, placing the item down upon the desk for her perusal and inspection.
Not entirely ornate at first glance, he’d carved the filaments into a snowflake – but the twist and turns of patterns along the ivory and silver pendant would note several inlays of weaponry, from one warrior to another. Each point and line of the crystal was etched as an armament, and there were several varieties of stilettos, daggers, and swords, all miniaturized to exact precision, not one alike from the other. The center itself was argent, unassuming, until one pressed upon it, and the chain meant to be adjusted accordingly. “Try it?” Uncertain if it would exactly as she wanted, he sat back, spine unyielding and unbending again, rigidly composed in the mild curiosity and slightest apprehension.
And I'm not expecting you to care, but I have finally seen the light
Deimos came and sat and handed out to her what he had made, which Morgan took with delicate hands; perhaps it was ironic, for something intended for use in battle, but the pendant was so beautiful she found that her fingers automatically wanted to treat it gently, to hold it lightly in her palm. At first she struggled to find something to say, overwhelmed by the care and detail in the piece; eventually she looked up and simply addressed him with: "Thank you. It's very well crafted."
He asked that she try it so she took it and attached the chain around her neck, letting the pendant hang down over her chest. It was heavy, but not unbearably so, and felt solid on her skin. Morgan let her fingers raise to brush over it's surface then looked up to Deimos again. "How do I activate the magic?"
As he so often did, the Sword waited in reticent silence. His stare went back and forth, from pendant to Warden, attempting to gauge a reaction. Disappointment? Disgust? Revulsion? Contentment? Satisfaction? She held it like it might break, and he had every intention of reassuring her that his artifacts were made of stern compulsions and compositions, when he received the acknowledgments, and he nodded. His eyes fell back to the table, and perhaps that’d be it then, either his concerns unjustified, or she was too polite to say anything. Maybe it didn’t matter, as long as it served its purpose.
But with the chain over her neck and the pendant awaiting its moment, the thoughts drifted there. “Just press it.” It would rebound with the slightest touch, and then unfurl over her figure – bronze, threaded through with slightest nuances of mountains along the sides, but naught decadent or ostentatious, gilded armor, intending to magically conform over her torso, down to her hips, shielding and protective. “If it does not work well, I can make adjustments.”
--
Deimos has made:
Armor Pendant:
A pendant that hangs over Morgan’s chest. When pressed, it magically armors her torso down to her hips.
And I'm not expecting you to care, but I have finally seen the light
If she had known that Deimos was so concerned about her opinions on his work, Morgan would have been sure to reassure him further, really genuinely impressed by the pendant and it's magical function. It was always hard to read the General, though, to know what he was thinking behind the silence and hard eyes, so all she could do was press the pendant as instructed.
As armour spread over her body she took in a sharp breath, the sensation new and at first a little odd, but looking down and seeing the metal under her clothing she nodded approvingly, a smile on her lips. "It's perfect. Your magic really is unparalleled, Deimos." Morgan liked to think she was in good touch with her powers, that she could work with the elements within her control well, but she had never been able to create the way her General could. "Thank you."
Pressing the pendant again to remove the armour (not planning to get into fights in her office), Morgan leaned on her desk. "Is there anything else?"
The Sword finally allowed a smile to pierce along his features at the acceptance and approval, the rigidity gone out of his spine. “Good. And you are welcome.” He snorted, nodded, at the indication of his incantations and how far they would reach – an expansive assortment of demolition, ruin, and then capability of forging things out of the elements, differing from the world of Helovia, where all he’d ever done was destroy. Unparalleled was probably a stretch though – and he would’ve desisted on the comment, had the subject not been made into another turn.
Because there were other things, and the grin diminished, faded, back into his usual, habitual compliance of reticence, nonchalance, and impassivity, a breath steeling over. “I received information about the Order from Sunjata.” Which she could take with a grain of salt, as he usually did. Returning to his unyielding stature, the machinations and calculations seared and seethed through his head, and none of them were echoes and throngs of repose. “Supposedly they wish to kill the Ascended and take down the Voice.” He took no issue with the latter; but the former wasn’t in his periphery; and he figured it wasn’t going to be in the Warden’s either. “The Gods have called their demigods, and placed them somewhere. He was not certain if the motions were related to the group, or something else.” What Halo would, or could, do about it was likely another matter, spiraling out into the unknown.
And I'm not expecting you to care, but I have finally seen the light
Morgan's fingers idly stroked over the surface of the new pendant as she listened to Deimos speak, the news he had troubling indeed. Once, seasons ago, she might have potentially listened to what the Order had to say, which sickened her now that she knew Ascended, knew that they were just as much people as anyone else; of course her mind went back to Neron.
"I see. Demi Gods...including Amalia, Remi and Ronin?" She asked, trying to think of which she knew and if she could appeal to them for further information. "You must know Amalia better than I; do you think she would work with a group wanting to actually kill the Ascended? That she would go so far?" Morgan would have liked to have thought that no one would, but she had seen first hand just how persuasive those that hated the Ascended could be.
11-27-2020, 12:11 AM (This post was last modified: 11-27-2020, 01:02 AM by Deimos.)
cover you when the sky comes crashing in
Calm, rational, straight to the point, and his eyes narrowed briefly, nodding at the distinction, at the names he knew. “There is the daughter of Mort, Delphia, in the Greatwood as well.” If there were any others, he wasn’t aware of them – jaw clenching habitually, routinely, as if biting back a series of ruminations. He didn’t have much else to go on, no other information to provide, the wheels spinning, the mind turning, and distracted, outwardly flinched when Amalia’s name was cast again into the room.
The answer came smoother than the reaction though. “Amalia has always tried to uphold life, no matter who or what it was.” Be it animals or people; it’d been one of their arguments ages ago, though not origin or race-directed – just a varying of viewpoints, where he’d long since been tainted and diluted into a gray morality (contorted in vengeance, in ensuring no one touched or scalded his own, mauling so they wouldn’t be mauled in return), the Shield had been firmly ensconced amongst the black and white depictions and beliefs. “I do not believe she would work with them to kill the Ascended.” He could see her going against those proclamations immediately, if all of these notions, and ideals, were said to be true. What if she didn’t have a choice? How many of these Order individuals existed? And what if it was all a ruse, and naught more than wool over their eyes? Or if the destruction of the Voice held far deeper, worse parallels?
And I'm not expecting you to care, but I have finally seen the light
"Mort...has a daughter? I didn't know the Gods had children." Morgan supposed the Demi-Gods could be considered, in a fashion, the adopted children of their respective Heralds, but that relationship she had never heard described in the same way as one might describe a human parent. The idea made her feel a little queasy, though she wasn't entirely sure why.
Deimos' reaction to Amalia's name was obvious enough and Morgan sympathetically cringed, but did not retract her question; this was a matter that could result in a lot of suffering, and to know the philosophy of all those involved was a valuable thing. When the answer came it was generally encouraging, though Morgan wondered how much power Amalia would have to object, if the Gods declared Ascended massacre to be their plan.
Sighing, unsure of how to process all of this new and disturbing information, she rubbed her fingers on her temples. "And Remi, Ronin? The other Demi God? Do you think they could be reasoned with, or are these people out for Ascended blood?" Not that they had blood, but she didn't want anything spilled.
“Apparently.” He could only shrug; not putting much thought into the insinuations. It’d been the same in Helovia – demigods sprung from those supposedly worthy enough to be chosen vessels, and something about that made him narrow his eyes too, uncertain if he was disgusted or confused. Maybe both. Maybe everything simultaneously, with the world pressing in on them in all directions; grasping at strands, already set to unfurl further down the line. And they’d be behind every step of the way.
The Sword breathed away any other connotations corresponding to the Shield, gaze falling downward, to the floor, to anything else, while the Warden seemed to interpret as best she could. He’d apparently caused more frustrations, had an apology set behind his teeth, when the other inquiries spun, and he glanced up, back to the desk, memories churning. There were time he would’ve easily said yes, they were perfectly reasonable, but now? Now he didn’t know. He felt like he hardly knew them at all anymore, everything altered, changed, and he’d been ostracized, forced away, tossed aside, with one catastrophe after the next. Perhaps he’d done it to himself too. “I do not know for certain, but I doubt they would be out for Ascended blood.” There were always ways of manipulation though; and without an awareness of the people within the Order, they could only speculate, only ponder, only wonder.
And I'm not expecting you to care, but I have finally seen the light
"I'm not sure I like that..." Morgan sighed; she had never liked the idea of monarchy, of people inheriting any kind of wealth or status with no basis in their own accomplishments or worth. With the child of a God, the problem had to be tripled - those powers given to someone new, someone without centuries of experimentation behind them? She feared what this daughter of Mort could do...but with nothing she could do about it, Morgan did her best to put it from her mind.
Deimos' assurances that the Demi Gods they knew would not be aiming to murder the Ascended did give her some relief; at least they weren't dealing with a taskforce of assassins, not yet, which had been her worst fear. If this Order did have the goals she'd heard, and they were in contact with the Demi Gods, there was certainly room for things to grow dangerous, but for now they had time to plan.
"Thank you for the information, Deimos, and the armour. Both are very useful." She smiled at her General; he was proving himself a good council member already.
