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!
01-22-2021, 12:04 AM (This post was last modified: 01-31-2021, 05:28 PM by Ludo.)
DEIMOS
ache first, but then let the cuts close spit out the blood
Hunting completed, artifacts, wares collected, the Sword marched along the Citadel’s cobblestones – purposes direct and clear. There was no intention of angling his way back towards the Sea of Glass’s shrine again – not during the winter poise and the memory of Ludo’s distaste towards the frigid wake – and so he returned to the ornate shrine, tucked away, out of the winds, out of the voids.
Standing before the sanctum, the monolith reached into his bag and retrieved the luxere antlers, gilded and glowing, shed from previous, prior seasons, once laden beneath contortions of snow, placing them along the mantle. Next was the claw of an ursur, hunted down in the midst of other preying antics, taken and rendered apart to feed more of the Halovians. And finally, the wishbone from a ningo, snagged during one of their many flights of demolishing efforts. All were displayed, accounted for, and then he stepped back, surveying the wares, before bowing his head.
A silent musing and mulling conjured, rumbled from his mind instead of his chest. Ludo, I have brought the items you requested. Then he waited – steeling, forging himself, ever a blade.
Does Ludo appear, jovial and childlike in its rags, purely to counter the Sword's incessant gravitas? Probably. Either way, appear it does, scrabbling up the items Deimos has brought and clicking them together, like it's trying to knit with the antlers and the wishbones. They obviously don't fit like they should, and it raises its mask suddenly at the General.
"A communication device, wasn't it?" That makes sense, at least.
Ludo changes tactic, and the items float up into the air and start to glow with a strange, dark light. The wishbone snaps, as does the antler, and the set of claws rake along them as the deity works.
There's a sound like popping joints, a flash of shadow, and then... it's done.
Two delicate pieces of jewellry hover before Deimos; the wishbones have been warped into ear-cuffs, and from each dangles a delicate ursur claw. They glow, as if suffused with a luxere's light.
"Ta da!"
Ludo has created the following for Deimos:
Bone Ear-Cuffs (pair) | When worn by two individuals, communication is possible between them regardless of distance. Conversations are opened and closed by reciting the individual's full name.
ache first, but then let the cuts close spit out the blood
Ludo’s appearance, carried on the childlike expression, eased some of the rigid proportions in his spine. He managed to shake his head, snort, a muffled gesture in his chest, before raising his head, fully intending to watch the emblems and artifacts play out. Nodding at the intentions behind the gathered supplies, tilting his head in sharpened focus as neither antlers nor wishbones sought out solidarity with one another, arching a brow in puzzlement, and then everything else seemed to take shape.
Whittled away in complexities and powers he’d never be capable of understanding, the Sword watched as the items meandered, hovered, left in suspension along midair, until they glowed. Until they snapped. Until they were fitted and cloaked, transfigured. He watched in silent awe, eyes rounding slightly, a very boyish curiosity taking hold, until they were done and complete, set out before him. His hands went to their pieces, taking hold of them, placing their delicate fixtures in his calloused palm, not yet closing his fingers over their segments. “Thank you. These are wonderful.” They would do well, suited for those without his Attuned elements, capable of communicating across voids and perils; which would always happen sooner, rather than later.
And then his piercing, scheming nuances flickered again – stare going back to the ragged god. “While you are here, may I ask you about what occurred at the festival?”
--
Turning in my plot info from the birthday gifts! <3
watch your body pull itself back together then let your soul do the same
"They are, aren't they?" Ludo's rags clap together, the deity clearly quite pleased with its creation. And it might have ended there, jovial and filled with a vibrant and childlike energy - but Deimos has to go and mention the festival. And the Sword will swear that the area around the shrine has just been plunged into the Tundra for how cold it gets. Even the candles dim, leaving them shrouded in shadows, leaving Ludo's mask a ghostly rictus of fury.
"The barrier between life and death grows thinnest, at the time of the Festival of Lights," it explains, monotone, livid. "The Voice found a way to slip through that barrier, to corrupt that which is sacred to all those who live and pray to us. She perverted the natural way of things."
ache first, but then let the cuts close spit out the blood
The alteration was anything but subtle; one moment jovial, the next a demonic contempt. He stood still, stark and vast in the pervading emotions – for he knew the clarity of rage well. It brimmed and bristled against him, in the cold, cold, cold arches and eaves of the Citadel, and for half a moment he thought to be absorbed in it. It had been a long time since he gave into all the wrath, all the abhorrence, lodged within his chest and ribs and bones; too calm in the constant, unleashed parameters. It was tempting, enticing, to drown in the wake of another’s indignation – because he was angry too.
That they were all under her spell now.
That they were going to be used for her bidding.
That one of those he cherished the most was doomed and damned.
So the Sword breathed, listened, standing within the immersion of Ludo’s upheaval, of the seditious roar. He listened, taking it all in while other calculations stirred. How the Voice had managed to sneak in. How he’d never heard of this before. How there’d been an opportunity to divest both Old and New God followers alike, to turn them against pieces of their livelihoods. How they’d been lured, and enticed, and for what? To battle monsters? To ensure she had some semblance of an army? So they could be slaughtered?
His hands balled into fists, his jaw clenched, and he slid another breath, a sharpened, clear inhale out of his lungs. “Is there a way to fortify Mort’s realm at this time of weakness?”
watch your body pull itself back together then let your soul do the same
Deimos's inner machinations, conflicts and struggles fall flat against the wall of Ludo's fury. It is motionless throughout the mortal's thinking - for it does not care about those souls who returned now, given that they have made their choice to destroy themselves after being cradled in paradise. "Thank goodness we are in the presence of such genius," it hisses, as if the question Deimos has asked is an insult - because it is.
"Leave the complexities of Mort's realm to the god of death," it suggests, surging up and away from the shrine. Its bubble thoroughly burst, mood soured further by the prospect of a weakness between realms, it glowers down at the Sword. "Is there anything else, sweetling? Or wish you to ask after more trivialities?" If he does have any other questions, they had better be good.
ache first, but then let the cuts close spit out the blood
What the Sword had thought an inquiry into understanding and complexities simply reminded him that he knew very little in the ways of gods. No matter how many times he’d tried, something bolstered and spurned, and though he’d meant no rancor or bitterness by his term, it had clearly done just that. A harsh, unrelenting learning curve, education somehow still sorely lacking. He’d once more snag this one with some level of sagacity, impart it into some other venture.
Deimos muffled his sigh, shaking his head, taking the hiss for a warning. “My apologies. I did not mean offense.” Though it was too late for those predilections, apparently. Despite only wanting notions, information, on how they could ensure the event wouldn’t happen again, his mortal, human prevailings remained just that. He’d own the mistake, and likely regret the mishap, ensured he would obtain no more in these moments.
So the beast pushed no further. The beings of death could have their boundaries. “No.” Then he proceeded to turn, to leave the herald to its own devices. “Thank you again for your time, and the item.” Features rendered into their inscrutable design again, Deimos took what he’d gathered, and departed.
{FIN}
watch your body pull itself back together then let your soul do the same
