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, 11:25 PM (This post was last modified: 01-22-2021, 11:56 PM by Deimos.)
DEIMOS
the fire can't touch me for I have burned too many times
Evening pressed, twilight curled and coiled, quicker in the winter hours, as he made another escape from the council hall. More of the same oaths and complaints had made up the day there, and his head hung as he walked along the cobblestone paths, craving nothing more than the familiarity of the barracks. Home was an assemblage of weapons, armaments, defenses, and schemes; where his heart was at ease, where his soul was at rest. And perhaps this was an opposing conflagration from others, who craved repose and sanctuary in the quiet respite, in calm voids – but from a man who’d lived multiple lives in bloodshed, in bedlam, rest took on a different venture.
By the time he’d arrived back into the training grounds, there were still other guards left in the arches and vestiges, and he was quick to hasten them for spars, for rapid, swift presses of swords hastening, clashing. Inherent, natural, and completely at ease in the fluid complexities of steel against steel, the beast shifted against his opponents, mighty, stalwart, and strong, alleviating the tensions of the day through the undulations of his movements. Choreographed upheaval, with a swing of his blade, with the rich laughter pouring from each of the assembled, as they met with the monolith, clashed and skirmished, practiced and dueled. Learning experiences and curves for all of them, as Deimos analyzed his opponents, as his rivals and recruits attempted to find pockets of faults and flaws to exploit.
For while he was a temporary Warden, Deimos would always be a soldier, diving headlong into the stone and earth for a way to reach, to protect, and to guide.
the sea can't harm me for I have been drowning all my life
Elide is a persistent student. Darkness comes, and she with it. It does not take her long before her steps have reached the fortress, with its promises of greatness and battles, and risks to be taken. An onslaught of clashing weapons echoes through its chambers, and she sweeps towards the sounds that are like music to her ears.
There is something lodged in the back of her mind, however, and that is the message she heeded from none other than Wessex. The Ascended Queen, if you will. If ever there were a time to sharpen her blade and ready her armor, it would be now.
She arrives to find him fighting and brandishing his recruits, which is just as well. She will not wait in line, however, and she only watches for a few moments until the next soldier is down for the count.
It is impertinent that she grows stronger, as time ticks by and the nights ebb into dangers of the LongNight monsters. Something she has never had the chance to see for herself. No, she stayed tucked away in the wilderness of Halo. Such matters had never had to do with her, until now, until she pledged herself to the Voice - and the family that comes with it.
"Deimos," her voice echoes across the training grounds, strong and clear through the cacophony of the soldiers. She surges forth, dressed to kill. Well, not literally, of course, but she looks the part. Leather armor clads over her daring figure, a longsword in her hands.
While there is something more she needs to ask of him than the practice of a swinging sword, she aims to charge into the fray first. Talk can come later. The heat of the moment is contagious, even if Elide is always cold.
So her sword bucks against his, attempting to contain all of the knowledge he has already shared with her. Attempting to move faster than him in the hopes that she is, given her smaller and more agile frame. She grits her teeth and readies her muscles against the clash she knows is coming.
sewn together, my humanity and my immortality together, they hang, trading places like sun and moon
the fire can't touch me for I have burned too many times
It took him half a moment to register his name called across the stones – an adjustment of piercing eyes and puncturing gazes, before landing solely on the newest Ascended recruit. An arch of his brow was the only other movement on his features; otherwise, they were an impassive decree, manifesting in the upcoming surge of energy. A challenge. A provocation. A time to learn. A time to build. A time to prosper.
For Deimos never lingered in the aptitude of lethargy or stagnancy. Eternally devoted to an education of the mind, of the body, of the blade, scholarly intuition melded, molded, sculpted, carved, into a form of prowess, might, and ambition. And he’d assist the same with anyone who yearned for the same – for protection, for guidance, for support, for defending, for becoming better.
“Elide,” he responded, enough to ensure the skirmish was on, accepted. The rest of the guards backed away, taking places along the sides, granting and giving room to the upcoming measures and motives. He knew she was eager, hungry, fast, and swift; and he didn’t underestimate her abilities, no matter how fresh or new to the scene.
Her sword clashed against his, and he held it, contemplated, considered, and weighed his options. His strength and brawn would always be a piece of movements and motions – but he’d been intending to work on his dexterity. Especially against one like an Ascended, who maneuvered far better in the realm of the evening –
So why not become a thorn in those scopes now? She had an advantage in not being capable of feeling pain either; but with those notions came some air of audacity – because when did one know to cease and desist?
The monolith countered by motioning to the left, and attempted to angle the swing of his armaments into a slashing array towards her legs. To scatter. To irritate. To annoy. To hasten her away, where he could continue charging.
the sea can't harm me for I have been drowning all my life
Elide is not surprised by his tenacity, his ability to hold against her gnashing blade. She fully expects it, but to understand and to actually feel the pressure of his might are two different things entirely. The man is a mountain wielding a sword, impenetrably strong and deadly to match. Here Elide rests, beneath his icy gaze.
She does not tremble in his wake, she endures it. Even when he takes advantage of the brief moment where she realizes she'd never stand a chance against him, she solidifies. The swing of the blade that disrupts her own connection to it, it sends her backwards on unsteady feet. Fortunately, thanks to the weight of her own sword pulling her forward, she manages to stay afloat.
Determination clamps her jaw as she sees him charging.
Thinking quickly, she parries him with a mirror of the motion that had nearly toppled her. Except, instead of down, she circles her sword up and across his with a single step to the side, intending to use his own momentum and tactics against him. It was the only way she could gain any sort of upper hand in this duel.
Audacious indeed, with such close proximity, there is only one move she knows that can save her in this fierce, fast-moving moment. She lifts and points her blade, the tip of it touching his furs and armors, keeping him at bay, keeping him from charging a second time. A triumphant smile tugs at the corner of her lip. Checkmate.
sewn together, my humanity and my immortality together, they hang, trading places like sun and moon
the fire can't touch me for I have burned too many times
Hardly.
There was much to be said and orchestrated in the measures of experience. Deimos hadn’t lived for as long, hadn’t survived the multitudes of mayhem, without understanding the nuances and notions of potential, prowess, and pernicious sedition. Of movement. Of ensuring survival any way he could snag, grasp, and pull. Wars created monsters, but also sagacious, intrepid warriors – and he’d bow to no one.
She could have her victorious smile all she wanted and craved. It didn’t matter much. The battle wasn’t done.
His features didn’t change, rendered impassive, calculating, the machinations coiling, contorting, constantly unwinding into something new, something tangible, something scrupulous. He maneuvered, sliding off to the right, not even bothering to heed the tip of her serrated edges. If it cut into furs, then so be it; his manifestations were for instigating, provoking. Not to be snared, not to be trapped, not to be taken and savaged.
The beast didn’t need to charge; lowering his frame, giving less opportunities for menace, and instigated whatever speed he could muster. Honing in the longer limbs, the farther reach, intending to inveigle and expose; his blade slashed towards her ribs and torso, attempting to see how she blocked when the action became too close for comfort.
the sea can't harm me for I have been drowning all my life
Her blade went ignored and therefore it would dare to snag at his furs. It ripped through, the sound catching her off guard. Her triumph vanished and Deimos was upon her once more, circling and making his next move. He'd teach her a lesson for being so brazen as to think that she had caught him in her trap.
For a moment, frustrations peak and snap inside of her as the sword crashes in on her armor. The humanity in her almost felt the pain of the blow, like a phantom memory. When the pressure of the blade punctures her poise, she recoils away from it as soon as she can with a speed that is inhuman.
Her blade sweeps out to impede whatever continuation of his assault there might be, to prevent further damage. The block is lackluster as it catches the end of his swing, the weight of it making her muscles falter and quiver.
Grimacing, she swings her sword back to slam it against his for good measure before she takes several strides back. She lowers her weapon, silently admitting defeat. Whatever frustration had built up inside of her fades away and an eerie stillness takes its place.
Although, one thing remains; dread. It pierces and threads through her dark gaze, holding notions of a dampened flame as she unsteadily glares up at Deimos. Only, it isn't Deimos she's looking at in this moment. It's the physical manifestation of her future, of nightmares coming true.
"What do I do, then? When I can not beat my opponent and they aim to end my life. What am I to do?" There's a sense of desperation in her tone as she looks up at him, her question half-expectant, half-rhetorical.
sewn together, my humanity and my immortality together, they hang, trading places like sun and moon
the fire can't touch me for I have burned too many times
Furs, clothing, and armor could be mended. Even parts of his flesh, tissue, and muscle could be warped, pieced back together, stitched in its seams by the unicorn nestled somewhere. It mattered very little too – his body was a canvas, a litany, of triumph, loss, and the things he’d done, conquered, to protect others. If her blade nicked and nettled, he’d continue; a fortress, a monolith, a tower of tenacious pursuits and Machiavellian wiles.
Her inexperience showed now in the surprise, in the rippling accord of blades meeting, and her stepping away, her grimace as he continued to snag and take. The upper hand was his, shifting, turning the tides with footwork, movement, and motion, the slash of steel a promising, indulgent sound, a preference in the cacophony, echoing and bounding over stones.
Then she proceeded further back, back, back, and outside of this world, in the realms of true battle, he would’ve pressed. He would’ve lunged. He would’ve stalked and presided and marked her as prey. But this was a learning center, a battleground for education, and his eyes widened as she simply seemed to admit defeat. Based on her previous ambitions and aspirations, he’d thought Elide to be one of the more stubborn individuals, someone to raise their head, their jaw, and extend defiance, sedition, into the void.
The monolith’s sword rested, lingered, at his side, as the rest of the crowd began to disperse. They returned to their duties, and he did the same, muffling the sigh threatening to linger down through his lungs. Maybe this was a lesson they all snagged, sooner or later. “You cannot expect to know so much in so little a time.” For one – immersing herself into being conquered so readily, in the midst of a spar, was not a grand start. The piercing, puncturing gaze weighed down upon her, and he tilted his head, breaking apart the role of some ominous, overwhelming, dominating figure (not the Reaper, not now), and measuring his countenance with calm, with patience, with understanding. “What do you value more? You will stare at death many times in this world.” She would’ve known that – a Natural from Halo – but the perception needed to be clear. Especially for one who hunted dragons.
the sea can't harm me for I have been drowning all my life
01-28-2021, 05:52 AM (This post was last modified: 01-28-2021, 05:52 AM by Elide.)
Elide
Elide's gaze falters with Deimos' stance and she shifts her weight uncomfortably, almost flustered. A life spent hunting had taught her that death lays around every corner, that she is lucky to see the wonders of the world today, to learn from a warrior like Deimos. On any other occasion, she might've stayed resolute, might've kept swinging her blade until there was nothing left of it. The truth of the matter weighs heavily on her mind, though, Wessex's unexpected call to arms echoing between her ears.
Deimos is right, though, and she knows it but, unease is a cog in her machine. She feels underprepared for what's to come, and she feels that no amount of training now will truly ready her for it either.
"No. I know that. I have to learn... faster than I anticipated. I didn't come here tonight only to spar," she lifts her gaze back up, glancing around as many of the solders dissolve into the background now that the action is suddenly over. Her eyes slide over Deimos' form, and she explains, "All of the Ascended have been called to help fight against the monsters in the Hollowed Grounds this upcoming LongNight. As you might know already. There doesn't seem to be much leeway for those of us that are... not as strong as we could be," there's a grimace on her face as she clenches her jaw, looking down again. The sword in her hands lowers further until it clinks quietly against the stone ground. "I made a promise to the Voice when I chose to become... this. If she calls me, I must go, even if it means I go marching toward my death. I will admit, though," she scoffs, peering back up at him with a cold smile that doesn't reach her eyes, "if I die so soon, it will be very wounding to my pride."
sewn together, my humanity and my immortality together, they hang, trading places like sun and moon
the fire can't touch me for I have burned too many times
The pieces of truth finally began to unravel, and it stilled his blade even further – because there were suddenly implications catching their nettles, their thorns, over the brambles of his machinations. Clarity was a startling juncture, and something kept a steady rivulet in his lungs, a beckoning, reaching, grasp until he finally had to relent and take in a sharp inhale. The mountain grew impossibly rigid, jaw clenching, everything beginning its stoking endeavors of impassivity because that way he could hide. He could decipher. He could run through the machinations over and over again until they made sense. “I am aware.” But only in bits and pieces. In the overview. In the way they assembled, and he’d believed the Harpy out of harm’s way – protected here, tucked away in the stretch of frigid might.
The ramifications built and bristled. Why Elide was in a hurry. Why nothing felt quite right. Why the ominous trepidation had still gnarled its way through his bones, even as they were all behind barriers and frozen portals.
Because this also meant Kiada wasn’t safe. And he’d only just gotten her back.
Was she damned and due to die again?
And there he was, utterly incapable of doing anything. Of pressing what scarce knowledge he had, of granting advice to those who might be going there just to fall apart. And not even more than a year ago, he’d been so damned angry at Samuel for refusing. For permitting LongNight to continue. For refusing to fight, to gauge the onslaught. He was seditious all over again, could feel the contempt launching and leaping in his ribcage, in the slate of his lungs, in the breadth of his being. So the beast didn’t fall apart there, not at the seams, not in the multitudes of motions and ruminations, sentiments burning against him, struggling on where to even start. His vocals were a rumble, a start to a muted roar, breaths tightly controlled. “How are you to get there with the portal closed?” Maybe that would be all it was – a call to arms, to slaughter, and they’d be off, taken from shelter and sanctuary. “And what do you want to know about LongNight?”
the sea can't harm me for I have been drowning all my life
Elide, vaguely, figured that Deimos had known about the events that had been planned to unfold this upcoming LongNight. However, how involved, how much he knew beyond his own experiences in the Grounds - that part she was uncertain of. Before Wessex's message, Elide had presumed much the same as he had. That she would not be forced to fight this battle. Now, though, she was not so sure. Of course she wanted to help, and her muscles stiffen in protest at the idea of refusing. However, with her level of experience, she doesn't pretend she could be more than what she is now.
Ambition roils inside of her mix and mash of inorganic parts. It rears its head at the possibility that all hope for any future might be lost to gnashing shadows. At least it is a death she could be proud of; fighting until her last breath. Disappointment clouds over it all, though, at how soon it may happen. All of the dreams she has falling away because of someone else's nightmare.
"If..." her tone becomes guarded over that one little word, "if the Voice wants us there, she will have us. Do not doubt that she can summon Ascended from any crevice of Caido. After all, she brought many of them back from the realm of the dead..." her gaze is urging, "It is not without reason that she did. Bringing back lost lives, that's not a random act of kindness. She needed more of us to fight for her - for each other. That has always been her mission, has it not? Why she resurrected the Spire to let in Outlanders - so they could break down the Barrier and release her and her beloved Ascended." Now they would have to be instrumental pawns in ridding the Grounds of monsters.
Elide straightens her back, but no breath is taken to stabilize her shaking resolve. The only thing that could calm her nerves is knowing more. "Tell me everything you know. Tell me as if I know nothing." She does know about LongNight, she isn't ignorant to the history there. However, she's never experienced LongNight in the Grounds - and experience is much more valuable than anything you could read about it.
sewn together, my humanity and my immortality together, they hang, trading places like sun and moon
the fire can't touch me for I have burned too many times
Oh, he hadn’t had any doubts about what that Goddess could do, could orchestrate, could muster. He’d seen her devastation. He’d strived to alleviate the disease she’d spread. He’d attempted to protect those readying themselves for another week of hiding from her monstrous creations. He had his suspicions over her implications behind resurrecting, taking, snatching, clawing at not only her own souls, but those within Mort’s realm. Not just for these moments. Not just for these small seconds of counterattacking experiments she’d released upon the world – but for later, when they picked up the pieces and rubble of what was left. More wars to come. More battles to fight. “I have similar impressions.” At least they could agree on that; the compassion, the generosity, was a veil, a shroud, a farce, over the other preambles. His jaw clenched once more, and he tapped his blade against his boots, mind going, spinning, constantly.
Pawns and pawns and pawns; and more loathing settled into his wake.
The Sword’s eyes had cast away and onto stones, merely for a pause in senses, in the overload and overwhelming factions, when she requested information. The piercing gaze slated back upon her, and he sighed, memories circumventing through the last three years. “The monsters are the Voice’s failed experiments.” Allowed, permitted, to roam for one week, as if they deserved to gallivant and roam, destroy and massacre. “We used to lure luxere, gather snow moss, and arrange designated shelter.” Would those be applicable now? Probably not – if they were intending to bring them all out, to wipe every last one of them out of existence. “They are cunning and ruthless. They will be on the ground. They will be in the air. They will attempt to torture you – emotionally, physically – there do not seem to be boundaries.” An infiltration of their minds – and the torment didn’t cease, didn’t desist, with scratching at doors and screaming into the void. The sounds of allies and kin helplessly begging for their lives. Even if one knew they were safe behind walls, or capable of handling themselves. The seeds of doubt could’ve been nourished, watered, and spread apart – until souls wanted to claw out of sanctum and sanctuary. “They can pretend to be your friends, family, and loved ones, to try and obtain what they want.”
Deimos released another breath he’d been holding, stare flickering off elsewhere now – to the braziers, to the remaining notions and experiences coiled in his vessel. “They once tried to take upgrades from other Ascended.” Uncertain if Elide had any to call her own – a warning, just in case. “And fire seems to be deterrent.” Only then did a ghost of a smile dip into the edges of his mouth; she’d know that one too – brethren of similar ilk.
the sea can't harm me for I have been drowning all my life
Elide trepidates as he relays information to her which she is somewhat familiar with. They could be anywhere, could be on the ground, in the air, within a convincing disguise. "I can handle the torture," she says grimly. Mental fortitude is not something she takes lightly, well, for obvious reasons. "But, when they pretend to be others, is there a way to tell? A sign? Or do you only know when it's too late?" She can only presume that, once these monsters realize they are being pushed back upon, pressed into corners, threatened with extinction... that they might do everything within their abilities to cling to survival. Such is the nature of most creatures, especially those that cling fast to darkness.
"Tried to take upgrades.. like how Ascended can siphon abilities from other races?" She concludes this herself, referring to the Ascended's special ability to steal magical powers through their bite. She imagines it might work similarly, given that these monsters are a failed experiment created by the Voice.
Fire being a deterrent could be, perhaps, the most manageable means of self-defense for someone of Elide's caliber. All she'd need is a way to create it, such as a match, and a means to feed the flame, such as a torch.
"Fire is manageable. Keeping it lit may be another matter, especially in the heat of the moment. I'm sure the other Ascended are figuring things out as we speak but, I don't know what their plans are yet. Hopefully, I will hear from Wessex again soon... so that I can know for certain what's to happen."
sewn together, my humanity and my immortality together, they hang, trading places like sun and moon
the fire can't touch me for I have burned too many times
His eyes widened slightly at her bold statement, and then he tilted his head, the recollection of yesteryear all too real, all too blunt, all too keen. I thought I could too. With all his fortitude, with all his might, with all his damned, bloody convictions, he’d barely managed to hold it together. There were some that broke. There were some who succumbed. There were some who could take it no longer, and joined the demons of the evening – enticed, coaxed, and allured to their deaths, to their ends, to their edges. Steel and steel and steel still couldn’t prepare for the onslaught – because one could never guess, never know, what they’d hear beyond doors, windows, and frames, until it was too late. “It depends on who they imitate. Or what they want.” He’d been able to know it wasn’t Amalia clawing at the threshold because of the Attuned bond – because she hadn’t shouted back at him through those silent connections. And what of others, like Bastien, who’d been promised Rexanna’s soul? What of all the rest, who’d faced the bleakness, the void?
The second inquiry had him shaking his head. “No. They will use brutal tactics to remove them.” And another LongNight before; when the Penumbra had been impaled, a steel rod in her chest, his hand grasping, sliding, pulling it out while she could see nothing, nothing, nothing. Fluid running rampant over the table they’d used, Zuriel rushing in while he compartmentalized every action he’d taken, like he’d been a beast back on the battlefield, trying to find ways to save his compatriots while they bled out over dried grass and soil. Deimos’ mind could concoct a series of ways the torment must have gone, distantly remembering Samuel too, fingers gone and vanquished. “Sometimes they will try to strike a deal.” A trade; like in Kiada’s instance, where her failure had still marked potential – Ru’in’s soul for an Ascended’s upgrade.
The Sword’s gaze lifted back to hers, and he could’ve clenched his jaw all over again. Flames being manageable for an Ascended was entirely different from other races, and posed an imminent threat to both demons and Voice constituents. “They once set fire to our shelter.” And he’d completed the rest – tore it down to pieces to ensure they suffocated and smothered and seethed under its oblivion. The notions of Wessex though called back to actions he’d have to take soon too. “She will be here at some point. I offered to make weapons for their cause.” Perhaps they could speak then, and Elide (and Kiada), could gain insight on the hell that awaited them.
the sea can't harm me for I have been drowning all my life
Elide nods once, understanding that each imitation will probably be unique to the situation. It doesn't help that she has such little connections with the other Ascended, as it is now. Couldn't get to know their peculiarities and mannerisms so that she might better scrutinize an imposter. "I will have to learn fast," she repeats, a little quieter, more to herself than to Deimos. Fortunately, Elide has a mind open to the teachings of experience, of those around her.
"I won't have to worry about that too much, considering that I don't have any upgrades yet," Elide admits, gaze lowering. She'll have to look out for the others, though, because she's guessing some of their upgrades will be critical in their mission's success. Her gaze grows more critical, lifts back up to eye Deimos, at the mention of deals. "I already have a deal. The Voice makes me stronger, and I do what she asks of me," she tightens her grip on the hilt of her sword, feeling the tension springing back into her muscles, "I will also make you a promise. Right now. I will survive this, I'll come back, and we will resume my training. But there will be no other deals - or promises, or trades - for me. Between now and Flowerbirth, I will keep good on my word to you." There is, obviously, potential for that promise to extend as far as it needs to but, he likely gets her point.
No temptations to give in to, not if Elide steels herself against them now, not if she holds herself to this new promise later. A promise of greatness that goes beyond ascension, that speaks to her soul, that vibrates in her kogs and bones.
Deimos informs her that Wessex will be here, and that is at least somewhat relieving. To be able to speak with Wessex personally. It will either soothe some of her anxieties surrounding being ill-prepared and underpowered - or, it will only serve to agitate further. She can only hope the outcome is the former. "I hope she gets here soon," she says, simply, only a twinge of concern that wrinkles her nose and narrows her eyes.
"Thank you, Deimos. This is enough for me to think about, until I can speak to Wessex. Now," she loosens her stance, "are you ready to try this again?" The sword in her hand lifts, so that she might grab it in both of her hands. She holds it straight, at eye-level, ready to make a cutting blow or direct a strong block. "I believe it was your move," she tilts her head at him slightly, attempting to analyze him, predict, and - in the end - derail.
sewn together, my humanity and my immortality together, they hang, trading places like sun and moon
