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!
Snakes are biting at my heels
The worries that refuse to let us go
It felt good to be back in the whipping winds of Halo, her familiar, harsh home. How Morgan loved it; in the Grounds and Torchline, the Flowerbirth sun would be wiping away snow and frost, but in Halo the cold grey sky seemed to refuse to even consider the possibility, ice lingering underfoot and gusts of crystallised snow still blowing before her face as she made it to the Citadel.
She was sure Deimos would be glad for her return as well; he had not made it a secret that he hadn't wanted her title, though from the fact that the Citadel and Council hall were still standing, she was sure he'd done well with it. It felt strange, approaching her own office and knocking on the door, but it was the last time she'd have to do it for at least a while, she hoped.
"Hello, Warden." Morgan said as she entered, a wry smile on her lips. "I've come to relieve you of your responsibilities, unless you have grown attached to them."
I've been kicking them away
Been hoping not to let them take control
the ocean does not apologize for its depth and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
The sun rose, and time ticked away. Instead of alternating between apprehension, hovering, and harpooning his way through the void and along the intricacies of the dawn haze, he spent his morning as he’d had over the previous season. Routine, save for the glancing back and forth from the windows and along the Citadel gates, hoping to catch signs of movement, of motion, before retreating to the desk, hanging his head, and starting the process of paperwork, meetings, and placing his thoughts away from the potential cataclysms.
But they still lingered, and his concentration and focus wavered.
By the time the door opened, his head was bowed over a series of documents he’d read three times for simple comprehension. The Sword didn’t glance up, making several notations along the sides, until the familiar voice contorted over his senses, and the sharpened stare fixed, pinpointed, on Morgan. Returned, survived.
Visible relief slid down the angles of his shoulders, as if he was no longer holding up the world, and a sigh funneled its way through his nares, a snort following through on her words. Deimos vacated the seat, the desk, instantly, maneuvering out of its depths as if it had stung him, permitting her to take it all once more. “Not at all. They are yours again.” His hands went towards the stacks of papers he’d already organized, intending to detail them out to her, when the inquiry rounded out along the office. “How was LongNight?”
Snakes are biting at my heels
The worries that refuse to let us go
Morgan's smile widened as she saw how Deimos sprung away from the desk. It seemed she wouldn't be facing any competition for her title, then; she walked through the door and towards her workspace happily, quite excited to get back to business. She had missed Halo, the comfortable position she had there with her people, the biting cold of the air and the relatively solid foundations of the Citadel.
"It was...chaotic." She sighed, hands pausing on the edge of her desk as she tried to find a fair way to put into words what she wanted to say. "The mission did not feel well prepared. Immediately something managed to separate us, and the group I was with were not fighters. One of them thought I should sacrifice all my blood to give them magic." Morgan sighed with a sardonic smile and shrugged; would those two people still be alive if she had? Maybe, but she had not gone there to kill herself.
Pushing a hand through her hair, she leaned back against the desk and glanced at Deimos. "They could have used someone like you. As it was, it felt like children with wooden swords against an army." They had killed some of the monsters, but only out of necessity and she was sure that had not been all of them.
I've been kicking them away
Been hoping not to let them take control
the ocean does not apologize for its depth and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
Stepping away from the piles of documents, he too leaned against the desk, arms folded across his chest, awaiting the re-established Warden’s assessment. There were other inquiries, restless and igniting, behind his teeth, but he bided his time, head bowed to listen. Chaotic sounded much in the way of the preparations Wessex had detailed to him – messy, disorderly, and fragmented at best. It hadn’t given him much hope beyond faith in his own brethren to make it out of the disastrous overtures. That they’d had ample time and done little to utilize it had been another cause for concern, not to mention the multitudes of armaments the Queen of the Grounds hadn’t decided upon. For while Wessex had always been potent, always been powerful, her endeavors towards her own left a lot to be desired. He put none of the blame on her subjects, who'd likely been along for the unfortunate ride. “It did not sound thought out when the Wraith came to obtain weapons.” A feeling of last minute deliberations, of asking him for advice without the adequate nuance, and then the smoldering condemnation, the seething emotions, the rancor, when everything else erupted and boiled over. He’d stood in her tirades and storms, unimpressed and all the more stunned by the lack of parameters and particulars. To put it mildly; as though she were tossing her own kin to the slaughter.
Not fighters. Not skilled in the array of devastation.
Then what had they been doing?
The Sword shook his head, snorted at the prospect of Morgan being there merely to sacrifice herself for the Ascended factions. “Did they all survive?” He didn’t give names, but the notion was there – Kiada, Elide, Bastien, Azrael, Adam, Peter; names and faces of those he considered friends and family, even if time had and deaths had set them apart. Were the monsters defeated? Or was it all for naught?
Her next comment had him glancing her way, a brow arched, the lightest of smirks embedded. “Apparently I was needed elsewhere.” Joking measure aside; he hadn’t been asked or told to go. The intentions had once been there to complete Kiada’s quest, to fight what she hadn’t been able to defeat, but without the lantern, and with the Harpy’s resurrection there’d been no need. He’d stayed and held down the mountain world.
Then he sighed, piercing gaze slipping back upon the walls, on the door, on the windows of the office he’d no longer have to occupy. “I apologize for my anger before.” Justified and deserved, perhaps, but it’d been on a string of overwhelming multitudes, and he’d succumbed very quickly to the apprehension.
Snakes are biting at my heels
The worries that refuse to let us go
"I can't say I saw any use of particularly impressive weapons there. In fact, most didn't have them." Morgan sighed and shook her head; there had been a few stronger Ascended, including obviously Wessex herself, who might not have needed them, but some of the weaker members could have absolutely done with the help. "It is honestly a miracle that as many survived as they did."
She looked up at him, meeting his eyes as she announced the names of the dead, not knowing who it was Deimos was attached to. "The only dead I know of were called Mara and Ezra. Everyone else that was with me survived, though some were injured." Once she'd ascertained he was not about to break into weeping for the fallen, Morgan went to step around the desk and actually sit down, looking over the various documents and running a hand over them. "...Mara...returned as a spirit, briefly. It was...unpleasant."
It was fortunate, that she hadn't had to make the killing blow on the ghost.
She laughed at his joke then glanced up at his apology, surprised by it, not least because it was unnecessary. "I owe you an apology, Deimos. It was a lot of pressure to place on your shoulders at once. I knew you could handle it, but...I must remember that not everybody yearns for these kinds of positions as I do." To Morgan, Warden was an honour, something she loved to be; for Deimos it seemed like a shackle. "I think we shall continue on as we did fine."
I've been kicking them away
Been hoping not to let them take control
the ocean does not apologize for its depth and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
The Sword attempted to fight off another wave of frustration at the notion of the weapons. He wouldn’t be surprised if Wessex had kept the multitudes; and his gaze narrowed, staring at the wall again, clenching his jaw so it feathered. Eventually he simply had to shake his head – over and done with, moments gone and receded, even if the result was stupefying. Nothing to be done now. Bare bones in the midst of survival. Somehow. Someway.
Deimos didn’t recognize the names of those deceased, and so he nodded, giving no emotion. No one he cared about was listed, no recognition granted, and so the nonchalance remained, steeling back over the wakes of apprehension. While it hadn’t meant Kiada lived, there was a glimmer on the horizon. A potential, rather than a crushing defeat. Than a weighted blow in the center of his chest.
He arched his brow at the semblances of spirits, of unpleasantness – though she didn’t go any further, so he didn’t angle the deeper inquiries. Best to leave it aside.
She rounded back to the desk, and his eyes fell to the ground at the laugh, muffling another snort. He didn’t expect an apology in return, gaze lingering on documents. He’d taken the role on, but with reluctance, with the dread, the feeling, of too many ghosts, too many moments parsed in ruthlessness, in unrelenting fury, in parallels of haunting, disastrous wakes.
No, he’d never yearn for it. Never had.
Another nod then, acceptance, before he turned, shifted, back to a diagram, presuming everything else was in the clear. “I took some time to sketch out a potential design for a road, if we intend to have the portal open next Deepfrost.” Whether or not it would be good enough, or feasible, had swung along thoughts too – but he lifted it her way: covered bridge ramparts, braziers on the inside and outside, long eaves to guard away the cloaking of snow.
Snakes are biting at my heels
The worries that refuse to let us go
There was something quite comforting about the way Deimos listened, all stony face and stoic silence, unless one knew what to look for (the odd movement of a brow or huffed laugh at the floor). No extra questions let Morgan speak as much as she needed to about the whole event; she wasn't one to ramble, but it had been silence all the way through the mountains, and with so much on her mind, it was hard to keep it in much longer.
A road through to the Portal was a good plan for the future; Morgan would have to speak to the Gods again to get it completed, she was sure, but they could begin to clear and prepare before that. "Wonderful. I'll take a look. Free transport from Halo during Deepfrost would be extremely useful. That, in combination with the protection for the Citadel, will allow us to operate much more trade and business during the season." And if she ever did need to go away to help with something again, she wouldn't have to leave for quite so long.
She shuffled some papers into a neater pile. There was a lot to go through here and a lot of work to do. Morgan glanced up to dismiss Deimos, a polite smile on her face, when something made her pause - a twinge of guilt, that he didn't really know the reason she'd gone for Longnight. For a moment, she tried to shape her lips into the words to try and explain, but faltered and shook her head. "Sorry. Thought that didn't matter. Is there anything else? I was hoping we could train together soon."
I've been kicking them away
Been hoping not to let them take control
the ocean does not apologize for its depth and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
Details of LongNight adventures and frustrations seemingly over, he turned his attentions towards the notions of open portals, trade efforts, and the thoughts of not so lingering isolation. Whether or not this would invite other trials or tribulations wasn’t lost on him; but they could potentially also be better off in the long run. Supplies wouldn’t have to be stocked, and therefore frozen, so readily. There could be a greater boon in the market. Or another refuge; uncertain of what the future held. The monolith nodded in tangent with the Warden’s agreement, the paper placed down on the desk for her perusal.
Scrupulous, meticulous, scrutinizing, and observant from years upon years on battlefields, in skirmishes, learning to read an enemy or adversary from beacons away, the Sword hadn’t missed the way she’d shifted, alternating motions until it was brushed aside and away. Curious, his eyes narrowed briefly, as if he was seeking to delve further, pondering over the enigmatic motions, before letting it slide off, into the midst of silence again. If she’d wanted to disclose it, he presumed the Glacier would have.
Other than that, he had nothing else to divulge. Halo had survived, had remained strong and enduring, a quiet season spent preparing their Ascended for the unknown. Shaking his head in response, he turned to go, presuming there was nothing any further, when the inquiry stopped the motion. A very brief snort flickered, mostly due to the nature of their last training, when he’d been recovering in between bouts and blows of sickness, and Morgan launching from a roof into his sides. Felled within a matter of moments. “If you want,” though he paused, the slightest of smirks echoing and resounding in the corner of his mouth. “No more aerial assaults though.” He was far stronger now anyway, back to the enduring, fortified, steeled heathen. Considerations continued, consistent and calculating. “Magic or weapons?”
Snakes are biting at my heels
The worries that refuse to let us go
Morgan smiled too at Deimos' rule for their training session. "Alright. Though you know, in battle, it is good to be prepared for anything." She was sure he knew that and was not serious, though; Deimos was by most measures more practiced and skilful than herself in war and had the right to request things of their training sessions.
"Weapons are probably the better use of my time. I tend to find when I use magic, it is to protect or move, rather than to fight." She shrugged, not quite sure why that was, but it was the definite pattern in battles she had been involved in. Maybe it was due to the nature of the magic she held, able to move and shift and douse rather than harm for the most part. Morgan had always been comfortable with a hammer in her hands anyway.
With their session planned she dismissed him, happy to be back in a position to do so. There were plans to put in action, and the sooner she could act upon them, the better.
{FIN}
I've been kicking them away
Been hoping not to let them take control
