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!
Deimos might have portrayed cool, cold indifference, but the bond would paint different aspects; consternation, calculation, and the residual trepidation burrowed down in between his ribs. They always had to be on the lookout for something, and perhaps that was the weight of the unease pressed and withered down into his presence. Because while some were mere monsters with no clear distinction except animalistic means, others were demons of the human distinction, and far, far more cunning. The waiting and seeing game was not new to him, but a frustrating strategy – eternally uncertain which road or pathway to take, when the notions seemed so unclear, murky, shrouded, and veiled. Their isolation meant safety for the moment, but they also didn’t have the means or measures of obtaining new information. Stuck, within their icy walls.
Make no mistake, he had no intention of letting the Order have Kiada either – the monolith simply didn’t know how or where to construct the machinations next. So his piercing eyes wandered back to the horizon, to the tree down below them, clutched in talons, wreathed in charms they may not be able to have, hold, and cherish for much longer.
He shook his noble eagle crown however at the next inquiries. I do not know. I am not aware of any revealing themselves here. Not with Morgan’s notice nailed to the boards, to any passers-by, to anyone yearning or craving information. Their whereabouts were furtive, and given their objectives, the Sword could understand it. How many times had he sent out his own, as the Reaper, to snag at details and scruples, without revealing sources? Not an easy game to play, but something an individual adapted to. If the beast had shoulders in this form, he would’ve shrugged, the air of frustration palpable. I am ignorant of that too. Bare, minimal things and nuances. Warning signals and fires, without anything else in the midst.
The isolation of Halo had been something of a comfort to him as he nursed his grief-ridden self through the last few seasons. But now it felt… too isolated, too far from everything, too separated from where he might get more information on this new threat, to be able to take action on it.
Perhaps he wouldn’t have been nearly as invested in this news if recent events hadn’t unfolded the way they had – perhaps he would’ve continued living his life in a fog, a barely-there existence.
But events did unfold that way, and he did have quite a vested interest in any threats that would take away that which he held so dear. He found the bond reflected similar emotions to that he was feeling, though he might not be as stoic as the Sword in maintaining a cool façade. It was a comfort to know he, and importantly Kia too, had an ally, a friend, family in this (whatever this was).
‘Thank you for informing me.’ Tones rumbled softly, though genuine gratitude was given. ‘I’ll be sure to inform you if I hear anything,’ though he didn’t hold much hope in his ability to gather information, he could at least start trying now that he knew there was something to hear, and someone to hear it for.
‘Would you… ensure she is trained? Able to defend herself in her new body?’ He would do what he could to help too, but he had nothing compared the experience Deimos had, with physical combat or ascended. He trusted the Sword would know who he was referring to – who else would stir such concern within either of them?
Both Reaper and Sword had held a fierce, ferocious, protective nature towards those they cherished. For the former, it had been most of his brethren and constituents contorted within the Basin, devoted to ensuring they were safe, while combatting adversaries left, right, and center. For the latter, it had been those loved, and even if he couldn’t voice it completely, even when the revelations poured from him in those quiet, unsung emotions, it remained, chiseled and stalwart, as they waged their battles too. And perhaps that was all he could be for now – that stoic bastion and fortress, rendering shields, might, and blades, when it was in his power, in his control, to do so.
Because they all knew and understood the unpredictability of this world. And for all his information gathering, all his schemes, all his calculations, sometimes they could only go so far – to see the ominous horizon, but be incapable of stepping out of its shadows.
He nodded his head at the thank you, accepting it for what it was worth, withholding another sigh intermingling in his lungs. Thank you. Maybe, between the pair, once this season was over, they’d be able to strike out and gain some more insights. For the time being, they were stuck.
The request caused him to tilt his avian head, glancing downwards at passersby again, but not truly seeing them. His mind was already churning, the eagle eyes narrowing to certain degrees, piecing together possibilities and practicalities. But the Harpy had to be willing too – uncertain, despite accepting what she’d been offered, how she felt about her new form overall. Yes, was a declaration anyway. She’d at least be able to listen to some reason from him; and then his rumbling tones ventured in Chulane’s aspects of it all too. You should think about training as well. Ningo farmer he might be; but the birds wouldn’t be able to grant Kiada any salvation in upcoming tangents.
He was incensed, though he guarded his emotions carefully, falling into old habits of closing himself off, stewing and chewing at it like a dog knawing at an old bone. He was frustrated, suddenly angry, that he’d been given this gift, this chance, and that the world would dare to threaten her existence so quickly. But he would do everything in his power to prevent that, to hold onto this gift, no matter what the rest of the world wanted.
Had he always been like this? Overprotective? The world he’d come from had never been so tumultuous, so chaotic – nor had he ever felt quite so deeply in love with another there. Magic, the attuned abilities, ascended and gods – all of them seemed to combine to create such a harsh, wild world, that was also inspiring.
He let the attuned bond quietly acknowledge the General-Warden’s confirmation of seeing to Kia’s training. It was comforting, and he was sure that Kiada would agree, would welcome it – she was always combat oriented, a fact he doubted had changed with her transformation into this new body, this new ascended self.
‘Yes,’ he agreed to the comment about his own training. Piercing, eagle eyes roamed the surrounds for a moment, as he seemed to take renewed stock on where they were. ‘Gods. A world without them was arguably simpler.’ The statement was delivered with a huff, a shifting of wings and feathers, as his gaze darted about.
Deimos wouldn’t know about worlds without gods. In every one he’d been within – from birth to death and birth again – they’d been there. Manipulative. Scheming. Indulgent creatures, positioning their favored ones into pawns, maneuvering the pieces and angles like a chessboard. They’d orchestrated war, whispered in ears, to take and take and take merely because they could. They’d plotted murder, controlled another until he took the lives the deities wished gone. Was here any different? He was wary and suspicious of all of them, yet he’d fallen into that same pitfall as the rest – bound, albeit on a small tether and line, to their integral designs. Had he remained Abandoned, perhaps it wouldn’t have mattered, but the Attuned measures were there, collected in his soul, unleashed, and so had the angles of loyalty.
No matter how carefully he’d tread.
That Chulane had experienced a realm without them was intriguing, holding the Sword’s curiosity – of kingdoms where they were truly masters of their own fate, faith in themselves upheld, their abilities and capabilities unleashed and not so quickly damned, doomed. Control, control, control, a vehement passion of his. What was it like? His eagle eyes roamed away from the fellow bird, gesturing down to the people below again, as they whispered, poked, and giggled at the sapling, another group forming below the branches and boughs. I have only ever experienced the influence of deities.
Was it better or worse? Different, certainly. Where money and wealth were the conduits of greed and power, magic and influence seemed to be the drivers in this world. Having lived in both, he could declare that they were hopelessly similar, with deities replacing the greedy megalomaniacs who were determined to run Earth into dust for their own benefit, uncaring for the future generations.
Perhaps it was too harsh of a judgement, too far a leap to make. And yet… his innate distrust of anything who would call itself a god or a herald of a god was happily making these leaps today. Kia’s return had done much to stir up old prejudices and judgements within him, despite all that he’d been through personally with the gods.
‘The history of my world is written in the blood of those who tried to explain the world around them using deities and gods – the stories became twisted when some cunning, evil individuals would think to label themselves Gods, and demand such rituals and services that would keep them and their friends rich while their followers would become poorer and poorer. All in the name of enlightenment.’ A bitterness tainted his words as he conveyed them. It was something he’d said as much to mostly anyone who dared strike up the topic with him.
‘I had come to hope the deities here were different. Real.’ Silence followed, heavy with thought.
‘I don’t quite know what to think of any of it now.’ Softly, the words came, the admission, before more silence. Then, as if he abruptly remembered what Deimos had actually asked, he added: ‘Many on my world choose to believe in religion, in false gods. Some parts of the world do not have a choice.’
An avid listener and absorber of knowledge, wisdom, sagacity, and experiences, the stoic entity maintained the same semblance. The stories didn’t sound dissimilar; weren’t there always tomes playing homage to legends? To the words of disciples? To the loyalists, who fostered their deities’ names in blood and bone, wrath and deceit? In love and compassion, and somehow found them intermingling, woven together in a clawing, maniacal fist? It was all in how it was ordained, proclaimed, and unbidden, which side lost within which interval. The only portion he was confused over was the notions of rich; for Helovia’s spoils had always been in land, in power, in prestige, in the prowess of their capabilities to withhold those kingdoms.
The deities here are real – though I am not certain that makes them any less or better. Still manipulative. Still garnering for absolution. Still moving their pieces when opportunity struck. He didn’t bristle. He didn’t hover in the abyss, just in the memories of other times and other worlds. And due to Kiada’s stories, he knew Helovia had imparted its own false god into the narrative.
And the others had perished.
I find they are not unlike most mortals. Flawed, complex, no matter how black or white they wanted to appear – lines were drawn, but also wavering, tempestuous, and mercurial. The ones in my land from before instigated warfare. Which was why the familiarity of the moments spurned against his flesh. It was happening again.
Real, unreal, it was all a matter of perspective to Chulane. What were deities if not beings who had harnessed power to their own wills, and used it to bend the will of lesser beings to their whims. Power on Earth was in commerce and influence, power here was magic and mystic, immortality and the ability to raise pawns up on pedestals and have similar results – mass manipulation, mostly for their own gains.
Were the Old Gods and the New Gods not similar then? Were they not simply hoarding power, more power than the rest, and using it for their own whims and fancies?
Thoughts, ugly and scornful, churned within him, though he did his best to maintain composure now, to sit in silence, to let it speak what he could not without letting his insecurities about the world taint the conversation. ‘Helovia?’ he asked softly, remembering Kia’s tales of the land that held other such powerful beings.
It was times like these that he realised just how stuck on his own plane he still was in his thinking. Magic existed. Portals that pulled beings across time and space and dimensionsexisted. And he seemed to go through phases as to whether he accepted that fact or not. ‘Maybe I should try a shrine again.’ Go direct to the source, as it were, ask these questions, see what they had to say in response. He let a soft note of amusement be inserted to change the tone of the conversation. ‘Though if I get sunburnt again…’ the eagle shook his head as if banishing the memory of the training her had undertaken with Deimos in his roasted condition.
Left to mull in their perspectives and experiences, the beast watched the horizon once more. Consistently, constantly on guard, the eagle witnessed passersby glorify in the sapling, or give it a great berth. Figments of Frey, of another god’s devices and instruments below their feet – though why remained a mystery. He took the enigmatic facets as customary rote when dealing with any celestial being, and thought little else, content with the silence, still and stoic on his branch.
Only when the soft reply came again did he take notice, the piercing eyes once more downward, spying on falling snow. Yes. A pause, considerations in their usual state of nuances. And Isilme. Where he’d been born and raised, beside the sea, with the salt on the wind and animosity coiled beyond their regions, where glory was in strength, in persistence, in the tether and lines of his bones, sometimes called to the siren swell of the ocean, sometimes chiseled and marked by the mountains instead. Alternating elements, but they made, sculpted, and carved him out of their follies and might.
His avian cranium tilted a fraction at Chulane’s proclamation; at the semblances of returning to a shrine, at the potential for more disaster. Who do you seek, and what would you ask? For it to be of worth, of merit, of putting himself on the line again.
‘Rae,’ he said simply in response to the query on who he’d seek. The deity of Nature seemed to most align with the farmer’s limited theological ideologies, and even aligned with his scientific view of the world too. ‘I’d ask for… knowledge. Information. They preach about the nature of life and death – I wonder, do they also go through the phases of life and death and everything in between? Or are they the exception, and if so, why?’
It was probably too much to ask, to expect an answer to, and yet he felt a renewed urge to ask it nonetheless.
Then the question of what he might do with that knowledge stirred up within him. What use was knowing if one did not act on it?
‘I suppose… I might ask if there was a way to let the Ascended live as they are, a way to keep those souls that have returned to us without fear that they or their followers would seek to remove them again.’ He had a vested interest in the ascended now, in keeping them alive.
And he also wouldn’t mind giving Kia more of a semblance of her old life. More sensitivity to touch, more of her old attuned senses back the way she used to have them. He could only wonder if it was at all possible.
He supposed he had a long list of things to ask the Gods, whoever happened to answer.
Deimos hadn’t spent much time in the throngs of nature’s heralds; more drawn to the life and death perplexities. Instead, he’d been immersed in the flora and fauna created, contorted, by Rae and their intricate oblivion, fighting or distorting, discovering or hastening. The Sword couldn’t be certain if Chulane would obtain the information he sought – if Rae would answer, if Frey would divine knowledge and sagacity, if the immortal ebb and flow would even be bothered to receive and deign such a request.
And the Ascended – a sharpened notion in the back of his mind curled and contorted there. Was there a way to destroy the Voice, without it harming the kin she kept chained, tied, and tethered to her? Would they be altered? Changed? Or caught in the oblivion too?
Interesting propositions and intermingled notions – and Chulane had every ambition, aspiration, notched into his soul. The eagle nodded, growing restless, plumage unwinding. Let me know if you find anything about the Ascended. They had similar investments and interests in a singular Harpy anyway.
Then they could be off, departing from the firling, making way for new tidings and waves.
