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!
Neron also looks away, but unlike his companions with heartbeats, the smell does little to bother him. "At a glance it looks fairly recent," he remarks. "It must be, for the bodies to not be completely frozen over. Do you think these were the last of them, perhaps?" Needing no excuse to get out of the house and away from the threat of fire, however considerate Deimos has been, Neron steps back out into the snow and glances around, his hands sitting back in the pockets of his coats.
"Do you think we ought to split up to try and explore the others?" he asks. "All of us are capable of holding our own, I think. If we find anything of interest we can always call out. For my part, I think the sooner we make a cursory check of this place, the better." He smirks over his shoulder at them. "Wouldn't want to be caught out here at nighttime, would we?"
Her companions spoke about their options; Morgan listened, nodded, but for a couple of minutes didn't move; stood with her hand still on the door handle, looking over the corpses. She'd seen dead bodies before, of course, it came with the work she did, but something about the scene before them was so bereft of mercy, of humanity...she finally managed to pull her eyes away as Neron left and she took a step back, shutting the door and letting the bodies have their rest again.
Heading out of the door herself (taking a heavy breath of the crisp cold air when it arrived), she frowned at Neron's suggestion they might split up. Maybe it was a selfish, emotional desire, after the sight of the death she'd just had, but Morgan found the idea of discovering more scenes alone was not one she wanted. "I believe we can do what Deimos suggests and mark out the buildings quickly together. No need for a thorough investigation of each, just a quick look in to see if there's...well, anything like what we just saw."
That said she began to walk to the door opposite, a leaderly confidence to her movements she really didn't feel. However, just as her hand was reaching to push on the rotten, chipped wood - a noise from inside. Something falling, crashing to the ground, then scurrying away to a far corner. Immediately alert, Morgan reached back to grasp the handle of her hammer, then looked to Deimos and Neron. "Could just be an animal." She said, to try and calm the immediate tension.
MORGAN
Snakes are biting at my heels
The worries that refuse to let us go
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
The monolith threaded his way back out of the hollowed sanction, and back out into the air as well – relieved, despite a multitude of occasions spent within the same proportions. It didn’t mean they needed to linger in the confines of the rampant death, with all its bloodthirsty, ruthless regard. He took a few deep breaths, head lifted to the sun, unfurling each and every strand of the filaments away from his form, away from his mind.
Only then did he tilt his cranium towards Neron’s suggestion – eyes narrowing, never believing in the splitting up tactic. It wasn’t in distrust towards any of them gathered there, but what could ambush and lurk within the dwellings. If only one of them entered a building, it wouldn’t take long for them to potentially be surrounded and subdued. Best to keep their strengths and prowess formed, collected, and together. As far as time was concerned, the beast shrugged. “We can always come back another time.” Accomplish what they could, and set out.
Morgan seemed to agree on the not breaking apart, and the General nodded – silently hastening a wooden stake in between his hands, and then plunging it into the snow in front of the building. A makeshift marker; before following towards the next interval.
He caught the noise too – immediately suspicious. “If it is an animal, I can try something.” Holding up one finger, intending to ensure a moment of attempts and trials, he hastened towards other measures. Reaching deep within his Attuned senses, he stretched out parameters and particulars, fine-tuning the semblance of an inquiry into the enclosure. Hello?
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
Okay, so no splitting up then. Consider Neron told. Shrugging his shoulders to Morgan (it was but a suggestion, of course, and he isn't to know that she has been so affected by the sight of death). They approach the building opposite and, like his fellow Abandoned (hybrid though two of them might be), his ears pick up on the sound of scurrying inside. Again Neron straightens up to approach - again their beloved General takes the work in his stride, and he drops back again.
If there was a point to it, he might have been carrying some cigarettes to smoke and pass the time. "We could... open it?" He tilts his head. Unfamiliar with Attuned in the way that others might be, Neron isn't to know what the heck Deimos is getting up to. Only that he's standing before a house that might have a cannibal in it, and... listening to it? Whatever floats your boat, bud.
Neron shrugged his shoulders and Morgan sympathetically gave him a quick glance and a smile, knowing that he was always trying to think his way around situations; usually, he was correct, but sometimes he'd be overturned. "I have a feeling accomplishing anything of merit here is going to take time and quite some effort." She said grimly, thinking Deimos was right, they'd have to come back.
Maybe she could assign one of her councilmen a team to work on this project independently; first she would need to assess the danger.
Tensely waiting to see what Deimos would do, Morgan watched him. At first she too was confused when he just seemed to stand there, but she assumed he was doing something with his Attuned or Abandoned abilities; she knew he was too competent to be wasting their time and not without great power. Still...not much seemed to happen, and eventually as Neron spoke, she nodded. "I think we might have to."
Taking a breath (though not too deep, for the scent of blood still lingered in the wind here), Morgan reached forward to gently, slowly push the door, not wanting to seem threatening to anything peaceful within.
-- (Please wait to reply until someone new does! >:3c)
MORGAN
Snakes are biting at my heels
The worries that refuse to let us go
The first thing the group will see within the hovel is a dim and flickering light coming from a fat, greasy candle near the centre of the room, just enough to suggest the horrors within.
Of course, the light is immediately overshadowed by the smell; a bright metallic tang that wafts out like some spectre, coiling around them. Bodies in various states of freeze and thaw, of decay and disassembly fill the edges of the room, the edges of the light, the floor and walls painted with strings of gore and horror.
Then the voice comes, thin and soft, winds creeping in through a crack. ”Guests, guests?” A hand reaches out into the light, no more than skin wrapped through around bones, with black nails and blood coating the pale skin. ”Come come.” As it gestures for them to approach, the owner of the hand leans closer into the light, revealing a trembling, shaking body, and eyes that are so sunken into the skull the light doesn’t seem to reach them, save for brief flashes.
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
Maybe it’d been foolish, but Deimos had always been cautionary just the same. “Not an animal,” he declared before Morgan proceeded – given nothing in the interim of Attuned responses and gestures. Which meant the alternative in human, in cannibal proportions –
And as he followed dutifully, the wayward press of the ominous, overwhelming smell flooded through his nares (and he couldn’t resist a cough here, snorting and choking down the bile, attempting to muffle it through his chest as best he could), the sharp, pungent array, and the disturbing way in which bodies were displayed – frozen and disassembled in the fringes of light and fire. Emotions were a rampant plunge, memories conjured of a cave, mired just the same, and his spine grew taut, backbone ramrod straight. Prepared, as always, for something inevitable and treacherous.
But not for the voice, creaking in like an ill wind and bitter breeze, ushering them onward. For the first time, perhaps, he could understand why Sunjata had ripped apart the remaining man in that dragon’s cave – by the pulse of his sunken eyes, by the residual mire coating, suffusing, suffocating the building. And he would move no further, standing outside of the clattering beams. His features went to Morgan, to Neron, narrowed and suspicious; uncertain of how they wanted to proceed.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
Neron automatically moves to pay a little more attention when Morgan does go to try the door, his magic buzzing in his fingertips, ready for whatever might be lurking inside. Or at least that's what he tells himself; when the door does open and the horror within peeks its greasy little face out, it takes a couple of seconds at the very least to even realise what he's seeing. "Uh," he begins, then glances at Deimos.
General, he wants to say, shouldn't you be like... General-ing about now or something. Of course he doesn't, because either Deimos would step on him and he'd be dust, or Morgan would turn him to stone with a glare. So Neron steels himself and steps forward, raising a hand and letting ice start to creep up from the ground before them. He's ready to either launch an assault or to raise a defensive wall.
"Yeah, I don't think that sounds like a good idea," he drawls. "Who are you? Are there any others in there with you?"
Seeing the room was lit within was a surprise in of itself, immediately setting Morgan to be wary as she continued to open the door (the scent, of gore and blood, was expected, though it still made her nauseous). Perhaps after the last building she ought to have known she'd see more bodies dissembled around the space, but her eyes still bounced between each hand or unidentifiable piece of meat with horror.
Then there was the flesh that still lived, however barely. An invitation was given, one that she had no interest in accepting; she was glad when Neron broke the silence of their group, his skillset probably suiting him to be the best negotiator here. Thankfully, he declined the offer, though she wasn't sure the questions would be answered - nor if they should be asked. Perhaps it was better, kinder, to just end this life now before they strung it along any further; she glanced to Deimos to try and see his reaction, and couldn't find it in his eyes.
Letting Neron speak, she still adjusted her hammer in her hands and stood right next to him, ready to intervene to protect the Spymaster if she had to.
MORGAN
Snakes are biting at my heels
The worries that refuse to let us go
Oh how they cower and quiver from a mere hand, from a gaze in the dark. How a voice has the power to turn three of the most qualified in Halo into skittish kittens. An unsteady and hysterical burst of laughter leaves the shadows, filling the bloody workshop, making the candle flicker and sputter.
”No no.” The voice mutters, that beckoning hand slapping weakly to the floor and dragging more of the bloated, trembling body forwards. ”Thing, one.” Scraggly hair, matted by grime and blood, frames the face, the mouth that still wraps cracked and bloodied lips around silent words.
The body shakes with the effort of pushing itself up from its prone position, even then it it sways, unsteady. ”Come.” Newly insistent, that hand rises again, though it stays clenched in a fist while it’s counterpart lifts, a thin cruel knife locked into its grip. The very edge of the blade is the only part with any shine to it, it’s sharpness easily demonstrated as the cannibal shaves a strip of skin off their arm, flicking it to land at the parties feet. ’Come, eat.”
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
Deimos was an analytical creature to a fault. He’s studied individuals on the battlefield, across from war tables, and between volleys of machinations and schemes. But what occasionally threw him were depths of depravity he’d never quite experienced – and so it took more than a few moments to comprehend exactly what he was hearing and seeing. The nonchalant features slipped for a second – baffled, perplexed, bewildered, eyes rounding, widening, brows rising, before they returned to their residual reticence at the layer of skin tossed at their feet.
“Enough,” echoed from his chest, and his Mastered Air incantations conjured, volleyed, rapidly contorted from his entity – intending to pick up the cannibal on gales and wind, hopefully tossing the knife aside – and attempt to place the heathen amidst the wall of arms, limbs, and other appendages. From there, he opted to strive placing it along a hook, nestled along the back of its clothing, and sighed.
Only then did he turn to Morgan and Neron, a low whisper exalting while his enchantments remained in place. “What do you want to do?” There were options, viable, certain, and likely more than what he could avail at the current debacle, but he saw no advantage in entertaining the antics of a madman. “We could try to get information,” and here he glanced pointedly at the Ascended, presuming he’d like to continue working some array of skill. “We could search the premises.” For more individuals, trappings, snares, or whatever lurked further into these corridors. And the other option, putting it out of its misery, was left unsaid, but there just the same, in the justified manner of the bloodied hovel.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
There is nothing about the proceedings that Neron wants to be a part of, and as a sliver of flesh lands at their feet, his lip curls in a way that can only be involuntary, since he can neither smell nor feel nauseated any longer. "I could encase the place in ice. The creature will merely fall asleep and never wake up." And I don't ever want to see the inside of that hovel properly, he wants to add, but instead he settles on glancing at Morgan for the final verdict.
"Nothing good can come from further conversation. Whatever they are and whoever they used to be, they are quite mad now. But if you want to search the premises, I will happily guard the door." Do you still feel against a god's presence here, he wants to ask. Because if this is what they have to look forward to, it's going to be a long day, and it's going to take multiple trips.
Like Deimos, even though she had been shaken by the sheer amount of death in the village, Morgan had seen a lot throughout her life. In the moment, as the skin fell to the ground with a quiet yet deafening noise, she didn't react much; it all felt not quite real, too horrible to be true all of a sudden - she'd see it later, in her mind, but in the immediate she was all action.
The creature (was it a man, had it ever been?) was easily lifted and pinned on the wall by Deimos. She looked it up and down in a sliver of light from the window, wondering what possible information it would be able to give in this state. They knew all they needed to about this dismal place; it had been a tragedy, it had been a nightmare, it was almost over.
Looking to Neron she nodded, approving of his plan. "I'll help. We can do it together quicker." Morgan paused to look back at the resident, lips parted, her nature telling her to give it a choice. Shaking her head, she simply said: "This will be quick, then you will not be in pain anymore."
Stepping out of the building, she would begin to summon ice up from the ground within, looking to Neron for his help in quickly encasing the area.
MORGAN
Snakes are biting at my heels
The worries that refuse to let us go
Wind sends the cannibal back, rolling head over heels until the sagging, bloated body is trapped on a hook. There is strength enough in thin limbs to writhe and wriggle, grasping hands lifting and falling over and over again in the direction of the group. A thin, giddy giggle pours from cracked lips, the cannibal choking and gasping around the sound.
It’s impossible to tell how much they understand, if they’re even listening, but as Morgan pauses the giggles putter to a stop, some scrap of sense, of sanity flashing in hollow eyes. ”Bitch. Bitch!!” Hands reach out fruitlessly again the writhing taking on a new insistence. ”Freeze! Flee! Guilty, evil! Murderer!”
Even as they turn to leave, the insults, the screams and curses do not stop. Even the ice that rises only muffles them, a desperate, angry whisper in the icy tomb.
