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!
I won't stop breathing 'til my heart stops beating
The murmurs happened quickly and the wonder spread throughout the Kraai. It hadn't happened at all yet this Longnight, and the people were excited. Those who could withstand the frozen night moved from their hiding places. For the first time in quite some time, the streets of Snowcloak were crowded. Even Noah, shifted as a polar bear and moving away from the Kraai and into the streets, was filled with the excitement and near child-like delight. There was something about this that always sparked hope in the chest of the hunter.
Above Snowcloak, the creatures of light danced. Noah reclined on strong haunches to watch them, golden lights above a dark and dreary home. He felt at ease, and the whispers and gasps and giggles around him faded as he stared up. The people were still there, but for Noah, it was as if they weren't. He just watched, totally encapsulated by the ice lights.
The lights lured him out of the confines of the potential, drowning melancholy. With Kiada gone, and LongNight pressing in, the inclination and habitual routine of sinking into the void, of plucking back into residual darkness and waiting out the storm, curved and carved over his spine. As Warden, he shouldn’t, couldn’t, and striving to be better than years and lives before manifested in a deep, self-loathing sigh, and then trudging on through the interloping streets of the Citadel, maneuvering, keeping to himself, nodding vaguely at passersby, consumed in his wake of movement and motion.
Canine paws clicked over the cobblestones, and with his head down most of the time, he hadn’t noticed the flickering lights – until there was a polar bear (recognizable, from their earlier hunting adventures), and the barbs of illumination gathered nearby.
But instead of wandering or dismissing them, he sat on his haunches, gazing upwards, at patterns immersed into the twilight, of a day and age so remarkably similar it spurned and coiled in his heart. No colors, no varnish of hues painted across the skyline, but as one lingered at the end of his hound nose, he reached across the attuned span, by way of greeting. Noah. A nod given there too, before the minute light bounded off his nares. What are these?
I won't stop breathing 'til my heart stops beating
The hunter is totally lost in watching the ice lights until he is pulled out of his own head by his name on someone else's lips. It echoes in his head and he turns to watch the standing-Warden recline at his side. Deimos. He responds with his own greeting, the warmth he felt from watching the lightning-type bugs flicker above him evident over the attuned bond.
He does not flinch at the outlander's question. Ice Lights. I heard an outlander once call them lightning bugs. Beautiful creatures, they way they glow like they do. He polar bear shifted some, lifting a paw off the ice and gesturing towards them. But like most things in Halo, they can be dangerous, too. It was hard to believe what these tiny creatures could do, but Noah knew the stories and tales of people throughout history who had been devastated by the tiny bugs.
Lightning bugs made him wonder, ponder, the lengths of potential electricity flowing through the veins of the minute creatures – and as always, didn’t bother to underestimate them. Deimos had long since learned to treat all the flora and fauna with a potential wide-berth; he’d combatted a slew, been nearly diminished and perished by quite a few.
And since he longed for education, for knowledge, for wisdom, about a land he’d promised to defend, the Sword felt no shame in his ignorance. He’d prefer to gain insight, rather than continually immerse his mind into calamities, problems, trials, and tribulations. Time and experiences had proven it best to ask, rather than dig themselves into potential graves and perils over and over again. So the Attuned bond was a mixture of inquiry, amusements, and curiosity, piercing eyes following the trail and beams, the sanctity and tranquility, the serenity and danger. In what way? What were they capable of?
I won't stop breathing 'til my heart stops beating
The bear brought his massive paw back to the hard packed snow covered street beneath him and shifted his weight a bit. I am not sure how they do it, I've never studied them and I am not a scientist, but somehow they can just decimate meat. Any kind of meat. My father told stories of how they've devoured the bones and bodies of dead animals on the tundra before ursur can even get to them. Noah had never seen it for himself, but he hardly counted that as luck. It was merely a fact -- the only thing his glacier eyes had seen was the swarm of creatures lighting the cold, dark Deepfrost sky, but that was mostly because it was rare for him to venture out into the tundra during this season. He could count on two hands how many escapades he had been on in the tundra in his life during Deepfrost.
I don't know any other creature that can totally consume like these ones can. Whether it be the way they consumed meat, bones, flesh and blood or the way they consumed the starless sky, Noah's words were true. Even the most notable of scavengers had nothing on these swarming creatures.
Whatever expectation, riddle, enigma, or musing Deimos had expected, it wasn’t the information formed between the attuned nature. He blinked steadily, mind trying to keep up with the spinning cogs in his brain, in the images placed amongst the multitudes of wonder, awe, and suspicion. Scavengers, capable of ravaging and decimating fallen forms and carcasses faster than an ursur, which they’d both hunted and mauled, gave him deliberate pause. Interesting. For it was; uncertain of what other parallels to draw. What brings them out here then? His eyes glanced around, pondering if someone had left out valuable stock and resources. The Sword couldn’t imagine that being the case; not along this threshold, amongst hardy, stern, and formidable individuals.
Then the beast lifted his maw again, chasing after one of the lightning creatures, merely to study, examine, and speculate, along the ends of his nose.
02-25-2021, 02:38 PM (This post was last modified: 02-25-2021, 02:39 PM by Noah.)
I won't stop breathing 'til my heart stops beating
The bear shook his head. They always come for Deepfrost. It was his only answer. The swarm of bugs above them and before them danced in the black, starless, cold sky but did not bring their legion down to the village to devour and gorge themselves. A few stragglers flitted about here and there, one finding the end of Deimos' muzzle interesting. The bear watched the acting Warden inspect the tiny, glowing creature.
Have you ever seen anything like them, in the Hollowed Grounds or your other world? The hunter turned his eyes back to the dancing swarm. The sound they made, the dull hum of their wings and tiny bodies crashing against one another, was almost soothing. There was a strange dichotomy with these creatures, Noah realized as he looked upon them now. They were so beautiful and brought signs of hope with their life and light, but also could wreak havoc and destruction without a second thought.
He nodded at the indication; a seasonal piece of the backdrop, where they flourished and beckoned from the scope of carcasses. They represented the stars now, in the haunting, lilting expanse – LongNight’s hold just a tenuous, inky surface across Stygian blots, shadows upon shadows. He tucked the dread behind him, maneuvering his muzzle, watching the end of his nose as the bug followed, not content to wish it ill will yet.
The question coiled back along the bonds and connections, and he pondered the angles. Flinthoppers, in LongHeat. They can produce fire and cause a lot of destruction. He’d been burned by their resurgence before – the massive, giant beast, as they all scampered around, trying to stop the blaze. An Outlander persuasion, considering most of the Naturals had thought it all a cyclical circumstance; their fields churned and burned over, decimated quickly. Chorus bees in Flowerbirth, though if you leave them alone, they are no threat. Content to engage in harmonies, in melodies, in the rebirth and renewal of spring; and something in those thoughts slashed and bit too.
So he remembered the Basin instead – the wolves howling and coming home, the triumph and tragedies, the rise and fall of summits. But nothing stood out in the stark memories; their brands of chaos combined into war efforts and human infidels.
I won't stop breathing 'til my heart stops beating
The bear took in all that Deimos had to say. While Noah had never seen any of those creatures up close and personal, he had read a little about them in the books in the Academy during last year's Longnight. Delphine had had him read every night to try and unwind from the stress of taking care of the majority of the populous of Snowcloak huddled into one building. In that time, Noah had learned quite a bit. It wasn't that the hunter had never wanted to read before, to learn from books before, but he had a hard time setting aside the time to sit still and take in the information. He always felt he had much more to do, and it usually took precedent over book learning.
Talking of the Hollowed Grounds and what was there brought a question to Noah's attuned mind that he had been thinking on for quite a while now: Deimos, he started, pausing again as if he were re-weighing the thought and the words, what are your plans and intentions for if Morgan does not return? Noah was still getting to know the man, and as a Halovian native and member of the council, he did not find his question out of turn at all.
There were likely more insects and monstrous heathens he could’ve given name to, measures of the wicked, innocent, or something layered and lacquered in between. But the subject gave way to silence, and then shifted, predominantly across the mantle laden along his shoulders.
And he gave no judgement towards Noah and the question – he’d asked himself the same, deep within the figments of his Machiavellian mind. Not out of the morose notions that Morgan wouldn’t survive, but the quandaries, scenarios, enigmas, and angles, a mass of preparations always looming behind his eyes. Best to have the ideas already kindled and stoked, in case of the worst (because that happened in Caido, over and over and over again).
And he didn’t want it. He’d lived, immersed in power and demolition, amongst mountains before. He’d waged war and onslaughts and terror because other portions of voids had instigated the same upon them. He’d fought and fought and fought, breathed molten crescendos in the infernal keeps, and knew exactly what he’d become the moment another ominous beacon hovered over something he’d sworn to protect. No more Sword; but Reaper precision and disaster. Find someone willing and suitable, he answered, with the insect still on the ends of his muzzle.
Then return to barracks and General instruction, training, regimes, pursuits; live a life of shields and blades, instead of a position, a role, he feared and dreaded the most.
I won't stop breathing 'til my heart stops beating
Noah wanted Morgan to return. He wanted her to come back, whole, and ready to take up the mantle of leading their icy kingdom once more. He hated the idea of her being gone. He still had not come to a place of fully understanding her decision (totally unaware of her following her lover), he felt he had to honor it. But, with his seat on their council, he had to think of what the possibilities were. He had been mulling over them her entire absence, trying to figure out what would need to happen whether or not the woman returned with her warhammer in hand.
The hunter had not expected Deimos' answer to his question, in all honesty. Noah half-expected the man to give him a line along the vein of Morgan trusted me and I will serve with honor or the like. But, Deimos did not want to be Warden. Noah knew now, sitting her beside the hellhound, that there was no aspiration to be King (again) within his breast. Noah sighed some, a hefty bear breath, and nodded. It takes a great deal of wisdom and humility to decide that. But Noah had to ask himself in the wake of the answer: would he want to lead here, if he was called to?
He was not sure, and he sent a prayer to the gods he knew were unable to hear him that Morgan would come home unscathed.
Deimos only had the sagacity and wherewithal because he’d done it before. The crown had been heavy, cumbersome, and pervading, a tether he’d never rid himself of until he perished. Until he’d fallen apart. Until he’d burnt himself out and flared and became a crescendo of conflagrations; withering in each and every direction, and then death came to retrieve the one who’d conjured its incantations. His preference would never lean towards being the high King on the precipice, hissing at matters of diplomacy and politics. The Sword would forever be suited as a living, breathing weapon, a bastion of armaments, a siege unleashed, unfurled, and assisting others in the potential for protection, shielding, and preservation – especially in a world constantly undermining the latter.
He kept the notion of Morgan not returning out of his mind. The same for Kiada, Elide, or anyone else caught in the scramble of LongNight. He didn’t permit the apprehension to curl its way through his spine, or claw its terror through his ribs. The calculations were there, if and when the time, the moment, was necessary.
And on the first day of Flowerbirth, he’d likely hover and haunt the portal.
His head lowered at Noah’s words, and the insect went to join the rest of its glowing brethren. A sigh still managed to choke and rumble its way through, a shrug, a ripple, through canine shoulders. We will see when the time comes was all he’d surmise, because for now there was no use in planning too far ahead, when the possibilities were endless, when the quandaries wouldn’t be answered immediately. The Machiavellian decisions were there, ready and able, but not quite so willing. He’d hadn’t written them all off yet – these brethren and kin of the mountains.
I won't stop breathing 'til my heart stops beating
The Ice Light moves from Deimos' nose and back to its flock. The lights dim out as the swarm moves further and further away, closer and closer to the horizon. Noah watches them go in silence, stewing over his thoughts and feelings about Morgan's well being and possible, continued absence. He did not have much else to say in regards to all of it, and Deimos had settled his end of it all. So, Noah just watched until the lights disappeared and the darkness came upon them again.
The rest of the world around them silenced as men and women and children went back into their homes, or merely closed their curtains from watching the ice lights dance and flicker above them. The polar bear turned his head towards where he knew the hellhound to have been sitting, but now there was only darkness.
When the sun returns, we should hunt. I want to go outside of Halo, and you have much more experience anywhere else than I do. The hunter nodded, matter of factly, no to one but himself. Then, he stood and shook out his thick, white coat. I plan to visit the Hollowed Grounds to hunt with a man named Henry, who sought me out before Deepfrost set upon us, as Flowerbirth comes.
Darkness descended as the flickers and beams of latent glows finally moved on – stirred by something else, intending to settle elsewhere. His eyes followed their pathways and glimmers until they faded, and they were left on the outskirts of torches within the expanse. Otherwise, the beast remained perfectly still; content in the folds of shadows. Except for what these signified and meant, encircling and pervading the threshold of LongNight. That too would fade – but what else it would bring curled and coiled over his being, a tighter clench of a canine’s jaw unfurling in the Stygian outlines.
But then there were suggestions, of hunting, of stalking, of preying again – restocking the supplies of Halo. That Deimos had experienced much more outside the world of these winter eaves was true; knowledge and sanctities to be shared, rather than shattered. He didn’t know this Henry individual, but if he was a Natural, Noah would be fine. We can. Wherever the fellow councilman insisted; Deimos had never been picky about his raptorial range. His gaze scanned the horizon, not to see anything, but to envision the woods, the meadows, the grasslands, he’d once pursued and immersed within: the faint rise of knolls, the beatific oasis, the clearings around water and dream fish settled beneath abundant shores and greenery. Things he never thought he’d lose. The Grounds’ fields and forests have decent game – deer, turkeys, occasionally some moose. Smaller fowl. A pause segmented, some quiet, solemn pondering, before he added. Beware any land sharks.
