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!
There were very few other things Noah enjoyed more than being out on the tundra hunting. Teaching people how to hunt -- or how to hunt specifically in Halo -- might be a contender. When Noah offered to bring the General along on a hunt with him and he agreed, Noah was glad. Sharing Halovian traditions was not something that the general population of ice born naturals would do, but if it helped ease the tensions of outlanders and naturals, Noah would do it. He had taught a great deal of youngsters how to survive on this tundra and bring home provisions that would help their families survive.
The hunter met the warlord at the gates of the citadel at the time he said. Noah suspected that Deimos had shown up earlier than Noah had instructed. It was the nature of soldiers -- be on time by being early. Noah appreciated that. He had done his fair share of hunting with soldiers to know their tendencies. Even though he was still getting to know Deimos, there was a truth about soldiers that rang deep that Noah already knew well.
As they moved along, Noah explained how things generally worked on the tundra. He kept his voice low and his tone controlled as they moved along the path Noah had picked out. He hoped it would be fruitful to them -- he had been following a small herd of luxere doe for weeks now. As they walked, Noah explained the tundra. There were always ursurs to be aware of, but with Deimos' ability to compel creatures and Noah's polar bear shift, the hunter felt more at ease (not totally unguarded, though) about the thread of ursurs. At least he now had more than his bow to fight them off. Noah explained to Deimos about how ursurs were a thread because they would throw a full-frontal assault, but wolves were a dangerous threat because they had a reputation of stalking and tracking hunters before attempting their kill. He mentioned how cannibals and exiles alike were a thread before, but not as of late.
i'd fashioned my own cross been crushed by its weight there's no stronger message than dirt in your face
There’d been a time when the mountains, the valleys, the tundra, had been his He reigned over the summits and ruled over the peaks, and together they were a formidable, unattainable wake, a balance of ferocity, treachery, and power, and he would’ve stopped at nothing to protect everything within the domain. So it felt almost familiar, almost a mind-numbing ache, almost surreal, almost like home, so step out into the tundra, and lift his head to the chilling wind, to the glacial vestiges, to the air interspersed with snow. It took him several movements to not lock and cord himself away in those mirages and seconds, to not instantly embody the Reaper, and stalk the world at large, not flicker into shadow, not savagely press his void into the realm, to not hover like a demon, to not wander into its berth as a reckless, unfurling, unwinding heathen.
But he did stare over the expanse as he waited, dressed in his furs, adorned in his weaponry. None of it ornamental, and all of him a munition, blood and ichor pulsing, pervading, with the persistence of vehemence, a stirring ambition of predacious footfalls and soldier mentality. Zuriel was quiet behind him, as if she too were part of the backdrop, the scenery, the sovereignty split under his boots, over the livelihood of his existence here and now. Not the Basin he always told himself, and some days it was easier to believe. And some, like today, could be permitted a second, an instance, where he was back in their sights, stoking ambition, aspirations, and sedition.
Noah’s arrival bid the drawl of silence away, but only in quiet platitudes, as the hunter shared the wisdom, the sagacity, the knowledge of a people who had been born and raised here. Not an Outlander, sworn to protect a range of fortifications long since gone, and his bones carved into the sides of its cliffs. And still, his strides were swift, sure, and certain, like he’d spent lifetimes in the reach of snow, like refugee spirits came back to him, like ghosts and wraiths and phantoms of Steppes and frosted breaths curled into his flesh and bone. Matching pace with Noah, and the unicorn not far behind, they could finesse themselves into an unwinding glimpse of the endless, ivory abyss, stark outlines in the scenery of nothingness. He listened, head never bowed, piercing eyes on the horizon, every inch, every movement, one of predators, behemoths, and monoliths, searching for alike beasts. “What else do you typically hunt?” His voice a reflection of the low rumble, the tones that wouldn’t go far; meant to dive into pockets of snow, and not drift outward.
Deimos seemed to absorb everything Noah had to say, adding it to a knowing that permeated between them. Noah didn't quite understand it, but wherever Deimos came from must be so similar to the lands of Halo that the tundra brought him back. He moved with calculated, experienced steps. Noah did not have to change his normal pace at all. More things to appreciate about the general.
"My typical game is luxere." He responded, adjusting his parka some as they walked. The hunter stopped for a second, turning towards Deimos. "There are a few more deer type creatures that you can get once and a while, but luxere seems to be the most bountiful." Bountiful, in relation to this place, at least. That word might not be something that everyone would choose to use, though. "I've been tracking a small herd for a few weeks, now. I think we might pop up on some of them around this bend," He gestured to their left, where a patch of snow-blown ice curled around a rather large rock formation. They were downwind of the creatures, who Noah hoped were soaking up the last bits of sun just on the other side of the rocks.
i'd fashioned my own cross been crushed by its weight there's no stronger message than dirt in your face
Take me back nearly hummed and droned in his ear, in his mind, sharpening over the haze, and then he brought it back into the renderings of silence. There was naught left to go back to; the Basin was gone, the world was dead, and the sharpening of homesickness could rattle against him for an eternity, and it wouldn’t matter. Perhaps Halo would be the closest he ever came to a realm he’d sharpened, honed, and guarded, and maybe it was all he could embody now, drifting in and out of memories, of wonders, of years, of days where there’d be reckonings, and now, where he strived to learn, to understand, and to heal. One step towards, one step away, one step on the embankment of both, as if he existed, pressed, maneuvered between two kingdoms.
A minor head tilt, demonstrations of his listening, spine straightening slightly at the notion of hunting luxere; withholding a sigh, a penchant for sentimentality. Had he grown up here, in the midst of this region, he likely would have been just as forthright about hunting the deer. But his experiences had hailed from barriers, immersions, assimilations, amongst the Grounds, where their inclusion, their wiles, their kindness, had been a benefit. The low rumble began once more, cloistered and curled from his chest, as the piercing slate of his eyes still never gave away from the tundra, absorbed into the starkness, into the endless ivory. “They are a great asset during LongNight, in the Grounds.” He made no mention of Auni, of Astra, and no argument beckoned from him – just the hesitation, just the lingering apprehension beginning to filter through his frame.
But he gave away no outward signs of the dread, features still impassive, body still maneuvering as if he’d belonged for centuries, following after the curves and bends the hunter pointed out. He had no say in what they preyed upon, and had no inclination to cease and desist something they’d likely orchestrated for decades upon decades. His Outlander inclinations would likely not be wanted or appreciated – and with a subtle glance towards Zuriel, he traced the same motions as Noah, waiting to see the herd. "How often do you go tracking?" Uncertain of that too - of when they opted for such maneuvers, of the timing between hunts.
“They are a great asset during LongNight, in the Grounds.”
Noah turned to the general.
They're a great asset everywhere. He thought to himself. Their meat sustained his people. their hides kept their bodies warm. Their antlers decorated their homes and were made into ornaments of protection. They were well-respected animals. Their relationship with Halovians ran deep, and Noah did not want Deimos to think his people barbarians. "What function do they serve, for you there?" He asked.
Noah's eyebrows knit together and his forehead furrowed. Obviously, he did not understand. Noah, held up in his icy kingdom, was completely unaware of the dangers that lurked through Longnight anywhere else--at least, he didn't understand that the dangers there were a higher threat than the dangers here. He had been told of the monsters, but he didn't truly understand what they were or how devastating their reach was. Surely, he didn't understand how much the grounders relied on the power of the luxere.
Keeping his body low, Noah continued to move towards where he had gestured. "I'll take day trips out from the Citadel at least three times a month, and I'll do a longer trip were I watch the herd more closely once a season." He noted.
i'd fashioned my own cross been crushed by its weight there's no stronger message than dirt in your face
The Sword wouldn’t think of the Naturals as barbarians; he’d been much the same with hunting, ensuring every portion and piece of an animal could be utilized, rather than wasted. It was simply his sentimentality bleeding and beckoning through, a strain, a difficulty, in condemning a creature that had provided so much in other lands. So his notions were straightforward at first, lacking in the torture, the screams, the howls, the claws of LongNight’s demons, infidels, and shapeshifters, in the treacherous wake of everything that damned week stood for. “Their light keeps the monsters away.” Kept them consuming the world whole, from ravaging the shelters, the barricades, the ramparts, until they were too dim, too numb, and let the nightmares in. “We lured them by singing, apples, and hay.” Which perhaps made it more personal – even if they didn’t care for his presence, even if the darker incantations of his soul made them nervous, edgy. “If they had not been there the year our shelter burnt down,” the guild he’d sent to the ground, full of the infidels, “I doubt we would have made it.”
A shrug maneuvered through his shoulders, the explanation finished, piercing eyes sliding out over the horizon again, listening to the frequency of Noah’s trips, making mental notes of the pursuits. He might’ve angled into more inquiries, especially over the formations of Deepfrost, but then another noise punctured through his senses, and he raised his head, shifting in the direction of the nuances –
Ursurs, a pair, wandering in from the east, noses in the air, either sniffing them out, or the herd nearby. His figure tensed, ready for something, anything, within those arches of potential danger. What do you want to do? Presuming the hunter would’ve spotted, seen them too – and the machinations began to turn, churn. He could always try and compel them away, as he’d done in the caverns while they searched for mageglass – but perhaps Noah, with more experience, knew what was required.
Otherwise, he’d likely default to damnation and demolition.
Noah nods along as Deimos explains. Noah knew the creatures to deter dark magic, but he did not understand how powerfully so. Their presence saved people. Just like their presence here.
It was the way things went.
The hunter stopped moving instantly, his mouth open and prepared to respond to Deimos, but silenced. The huff in the distance, the crunching of snow beneath massive paws--it was unmistakable. Noah didn't have to look for them, he knew where they were, and he knew why. As Deepfrost approached, the civilians of Halo were not the only ones looking to bulk up in food. His jaw closed with a snap and his eyes narrowed. Fluidly, Noah drew an arrow from his quiver and nocked it. He glanced at Deimos from the side of his eye, glacier eyes to glacier eyes.
They two men had only one choice -- the ursurs needed to go.
Without speaking and without hesitation, the hunter lifted his body from his semi-crouched position and lifted his bow. Time seemed to move in slow motion around him. He breathed out slowly as he aimed his weapon. The pair of ursurs saw him quickly, their keen eyes always looking. The larger of the two -- male, he guessed -- bellowed and turned towards them. He stood ready, challenging, and Noah took it. He let his arrow fly.
It soared through the air towards the challenging creature and landed with a thick, sickening, wet thunk as it sunk into the beast's right eye-socket.
i'd fashioned my own cross been crushed by its weight there's no stronger message than dirt in your face
The hunter made his decision and the arrow flew – the Sword watched for a moment, impressed when the serrated edges landed squarely in the ursur’s eye. No need to worry about that particular creature any longer.
So his attention went to the smaller beast, the movements already in motion, the unfurling from his veins calculating, pooling, contorting in rapid formation. The water incantations and enchantments flowed with ease from his predilections, twisting, turning, in swift shards, changing quickly to daggers in their icy shoal. Pinpointed solely for the bear, they were only deemed suitable as a warning, orchestrating their means, their rampage, but sliding off of hide and hair without any real damage. Perhaps the distance was too great.
The shards glinted downward, collected amongst their rime brethren, and the bear continued onward. Maybe, as it closed in, Noah would be able to fire off a better shot, or Deimos could escalate the mastered webs; but clearly not intending to depart from this latest venture.
01-08-2021, 04:37 PM (This post was last modified: 01-08-2021, 05:00 PM by Noah.)
NOAH
Despite the cold ease and confidence Noah displayed, his heart pounded inside of his chest. It threatened to crash straight through his bones and land, red-hot and panicked, in the snow before him. He steadied his breathing as best as he could as his arrow thunked into the eye of the ursur. Relief flooded over him, but only momentarily. The larger ursur stumbled two steps to the side, then landed with a loud crash against the snow. Noah lowered his bow, waiting.
The other beast turned towards them. Glacier eyes flitted sideways to Deimos. The general responded by sending icicles flying towards the beast. It hardly slowed the creature down. Shards of ice shattered against the ground as they fell from the beast's woolly back. The ursur threatened them back -- it's jaws opened wide and it roared toward them. It cracked it's jaws shut, swinging its great head and tusks. In the distance, Noah could see the herd of luxere that had been their target dart away, each bleating out the familiar call of apparent danger.
Noah swallowed hard as he felt something new rise up inside of him. It rose like a flame, starting small but soon engulfing everything he was. The hunter set his bow in the snow and slid off his pack. His eyes hardened on the ursur as he stepped away from Deimos and towards the beast. His own roar started as that of a man, but as he began to run towards the beast, his body twisted and his bones cracked. Within a blink, Noah was in his polar bear form, charging headlong at the ursur that matched his charge. The hunter roared again and went in for the attack. He crashed into the ursur with his front paws, trying to push the creature down and away. His strong jaws bit at it's neck, aiming behind the head.
i'd fashioned my own cross been crushed by its weight there's no stronger message than dirt in your face
And with that – the world further unfurled. His eyes drew to Noah as the hunter shifted, drifted, straight into polar bear formations, kin and brethren to the tusked adornments they currently fought. The frustration coiling within him from a previous, lackluster assault was damned and doomed to repeat unless he came up with another strategy – taking notes from the hunter’s capabilities.
His own alterations began, gliding from monolithic, towering Sword to Stygian hellhound, the reaches of his limbs pressing, gnarling, crashing into the rime and ice, flickering over the boundaries and edges, another merciless wake in their unrelenting pursuit. He was a malicious, unwinding blaze now – the fervency, the piercing, puncturing undulations of merciless convictions resounding from his essence, his presence, his entity, a master of howling voids as he chased and pursued.
Honed fangs and sharpened ideals further persisted, an unrelenting, vicious thing in the stark outline of snow – seeing Noah’s efforts and continuing in their stead. He bit into its left front leg, jaw locking, clenching over fur and hide and the outrage from the ursur as it gnarled and dared; but he wove his audacity into its forelimbs, tugging, pulling, lacerating, tearing. Until the bear could take it no longer, until it toppled into the earth, until its bulk fell into the ice, and its death sentence roared in his ears.
The two bear-creatures waged war on each other before the hellhound came in. Tusks and canines and fangs and claws sliced and tore and pierced under a blanket of grunts and growls. When the hound joined the fray, it was not long that the ursur lasted. Noah felt the creature go limp beneath him, felt the life fall away as he held the creature's nape in his powerful jaws. He dropped it, and stepped back. The ursur, though smaller than the first one, still fell with a great thud against the hard-packed snow and ice.
The polar bear looked at the fallen ursur pair, and sighed. Well, it's not what we came out here for, but they will prove useful. He mused to Deimos, looking over at the man in his hellhound form. Ursur meat is not as tasty as luxere, but it's palletable. Their hides and fur make excellent cloaks and coats. Their claws and tusks can be used for weapons or jewelry... He let his sentence die off, thinking the warlord understood the point. He had already told the outlander that Halovians used the whole animal, and that was not an exclusivity to luxere.
Noah stumbled for a moment, a rush of pain suddenly hitting him. He couldn't see the wounds for himself, but he could see his paws stained red with what he assumed wasn't just his blood. Ursur tusks were dangerous, as Noah knew well, even without the puncture wound in his shoulder that bled down his leg. Blue, bear eyes moved to the hellhound for a moment before he turned his head towards the companion -- the unicorn. Does she heal, like the wild ones? Noah asked out across the bond, his eyes landing on the mare.
i'd fashioned my own cross been crushed by its weight there's no stronger message than dirt in your face
Gone and vacant, a vessel promising bloodshed rendered obsolete. The hellhound grew very still, waiting, watching, for some other trial or tribulation to conquer over the ice, to roar across the horizon, but then everything was yielding, and he was merely a beast once more. Noah’s voice in his head echoed and bounded, but his eyes didn’t leave the ursurs, calculating, pondering, wondering, tilting his cranium to indicate he was listening. He had no inclination or predilection towards the bear meat, potential pelts, or tusks; the preference had been in naught but the twist and turn of hunting, of learning, of experiencing.
The only alteration in the situation would be getting them home, and he had some ideas already forming in his mind, when Noah’s movements grew abrupt and far more morbid. Stumbles, fumbles, the adrenaline of the stalking, attacking, and assaulting likely wearing off, and the wounds beginning to show their marks. He shifted immediately, for he could only do so much in the wake of a canine, summoning Zuriel to the hunter’s side before the inquiry was truly prompted. “Yes.”
And with a commanding sweep of his head, the unicorn advanced, a proud, dignified, haughty creature, noble Queen of some woodland she’d left behind to stay with the Sword. Her horn dipped toward the injuries, intending to infuse healing, to stitch, to mend, to obliterate the pain, the torment, of their latest endeavors. She’d done this many, many times for Deimos, and for others, in the midst of demolition, destruction, and disaster; the nuances accustomed, natural, inherent, the process quick, swift, and there.
Meanwhile, Deimos kept himself busy too. Never capable of doing anything more than heathenous sieges, he didn’t tend to the healing process. Instead, he opted for constructing, creating, outfitting a massive sled, intending to utilize its proportions and capabilities for hauling the newfound prey back to the Citadel.
The hunter shifted his weight onto his great haunches as the unicorn came to him. He stayed in this shift, kept as much energy as he could. She was a swift creature, and there was little pain as she drew her healing magic across him. Noah sighed and looked upon her with thankfulness before letting his body change back to his first form. "Thank you." He said the the unicorn as he settled in on his feet. He lifted his arm and rotated his shoulder. Pain free.
The hunter turned to Deimos as the general started work on the great sleigh. It came out of nowhere, and Noah was amazed. He had never seen such mastery over the elements that someone could create something out of nothing. He couldn't help but only watch as the man worked -- he was totally enthralled by what was happening. "That is amazing." He finally breathed out the compliment and smiled broadly. On normal hunts, if the game was small enough, Noah could carry it home. If it were larger, he had a piece of canvas he kept in his hunting bag that he usually rigged up enough to drag a quartered animal in a few trips. Sometimes he lost parts of scavengers that way, but he had hoped with his bear shift he had the strength to pull anything he hunted off the tundra.
This, though, was much better.
i'd fashioned my own cross been crushed by its weight there's no stronger message than dirt in your face
Zuriel eyed Noah; a speculative, imperceptible glance. It said nothing and everything all at once – the weight of disapproval, the haughtiness of her species, the myriad wisdom behind her piercing brow. She snorted, accepting the acknowledgments of her strength, accord, and efforts. The mare knew her capabilities, and quite frankly never understood why the rest of the world pushed themselves to the brink. Maybe that was why she stayed. Maybe that was why she bonded to the monolith. She’d never say. Instead, the equine marched back to the Sword’s side, a diligent mask back in place while he created and contorted.
Deimos, never one to be considered arrogant, had eternally concocted his incantations with little fanfare. The nefarious ones reached and scorched, bludgeoned and diminished, destroyed and damaged. The lighter ones coasted, ghosted, and pervaded. Those notched in between simply permitted things to become, to be, created and managed from the semblances of his mind. They weren’t ever to put on a show; meaning, purpose, and goals behind their contortions, and as the sled manifested, he’d forgotten others had yet to see him undergo these feats. In the Hollowed Grounds, amongst the dangerous, treacherous layers they clambered and tethered themselves to, it was likely expected. He hadn’t been in Halo long enough to establish any sort of reputation other than his statuesque presence.
He’d forgotten the wakes of some earths had yet to see his visions come to life – and eyes widened briefly at the compliment extended as the sleigh’s expanse was completed. The gilded glow from his palms ceased, and he lifted his head back up from the inspection of his handiwork. “Thank you.” Uncertain what to do with the commendation thereafter, he hastened it to the back of his mind, formulating notions and nuances back into the scene – puncturing gaze landing upon the two ursurs. “I thought we could load them on and drag them back.”
