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!
05-15-2021, 06:47 PM (This post was last modified: 05-21-2021, 11:29 PM by Deimos.)
DEIMOS
what tried to destroy you didn't have the strength
On the last few days of their visit to Torchline, the monolith climbed the stairs of the lighthouse, watching the flickering, morning rays coil and contort along works of ornate glass, over a wave of endless blue that resounded in too many memories. Nothing of hardship, but of grandeur and life, before toppling works and wakes. Before everything else smoked and unfurled.
But he wasn’t here to reminisce, and he was certain Safrin would be cross over any of his inward crawls towards the past again. Maybe she'd be irritated anyway, given the manner of a smoldering building. He didn't know. So he shifted and turned his attentions to the beacon in the center. “You were right,” contorted from his mouth on a low rumble, a bludgeoning sigh, and maybe a portion of laughter as he shook his head, staring along the pedestals of the shrine. It quickly grew solemn though, as if blunted on the edges. “I have tried to maintain some manner of peace, instead of speaking my mind. Or put everyone else’s needs before my own.” Because it’d been easier, than digging and delving, than pushing into age-old wounds, than winding his way back into Reaper overtures of rage, wrath, and contempt. Be indifferent. Be reticent. Reserved. Wishing the world left him alone. Drawn back into silence so naught altered, changed, or upset some course.
But no one else did the same – and while he waged on, taking blame, responsibilities, and striving to fix things he simply couldn’t – they maneuvered and motioned forward. While he tended to his bone-deep wounds, tried to keep his head above the surface, they cast into other movements. While he was worn down and exhausted, they ambled and scattered. “So I took your advice,” as best he could; dove into proportions of mess, and some angles of contentment and expression. “Set boundaries, and clarified some feelings.” Began to rebuild himself – piece by piece, line by line, sketch by sketch. And sunk into some worse scruples, hinges of Reaper tendencies, staring down at the floor, wondering if it all mattered. "And I was not above pettiness and vengeance." And a softer, quieter inquiry made its way from his jaws. “Would you like to hear?” He supposed it was fine either way; if she didn’t, he at least had them for himself.
"I usually am." Normally there would be smug amusement in her tone, but now there is only shadow and galactic gravity that stretches between her words. Appearing with her arms folded across her chest and her back toward the window, Safrin's dark gaze fixes the Sword in place as she takes a long and intentionally slow breath.
"What I would like, is for you to explain how getting out of your head and expressing yourself entailed burning down a building in the only land pledged to me. A building painstakingly created by Sunjata, the father of one of my children, at the behest of a woman whose fury in part stems from the fact that Sunjata willingly had a child with me despite her opinions about it."
Her voice is like ice drifting through space; cold, beautiful, deadly.
what tried to destroy you didn't have the strength
There it was; and everything he’d accomplished seemed to fall away to nothing. He didn’t even dare look at her – head bowed, the solemnness coming off in waves, in the footfalls of a mistake that was going to echo well beyond these means and measures. “I was not aware Torchline was pledged to you.” That gods and heralds could truly even render themselves inclined to one area or the other. Had never imagined the sea belonging to anything but the sea; but perhaps that was his ignorance and folly all over again. That this world had more similarities to Helovia. He swallowed down a trail of bile coating down the back of his throat, the veracity in his words still managing to somehow stoke through. “It had nothing to do with your part in the circumstances, and everything to do with his. I have not liked that man for some time.” Since the first instance he’d maimed Ru; emotionally. “I only knew it was either Sunjata’s or Nate’s building. I was just tired of seeing her hurt.”
He paused, the uncertainty still crawling and curling over his spine, taking in the depths of the chill. “I will own that my loyalties can be flaws, but I did not consider them clashing in the moment.” To the herald or to someone he considered his family. A need for vehemence taken over. “I admit it was not worth it.” Not with the loss of Atlas, not with the crowd, not with anything, really. No satisfaction to be had.
"No? Not when it is run by Sunjata? Not when my stars twinkle through her canals?" Safrin raises a brow. "But it does. Because my part in things always matters." She interrupts, not giving an inch. As for his plea of ignorance? Safrin shakes her head. "You are the general of Halo Deimos. How could you be so stupid as to attack the establishments of the Governor of Torchline and his husband?"
That in the end it wasn't worth it seemed to make a mockery of everything said and done. "Not worth it. The life of a companion lost. Now likely a war between Halo and Torchline. And all because a stupid girl had her feelings hurt."
what tried to destroy you didn't have the strength
Stiffening again, jaw clenching, head remained bowed. “I acted on impulse.” Never what he’d been known for: a calculating, machinating fiend, and one of the few times he’d bent straight into impetuous acts. He had no other explanation; striving to help Ru heal, and despising the individuals responsible had been enough justification in the moment. Perhaps it had been stupid.
He did raise his cranium at the notion of Halo and Torchline being at one another’s throats. “I will explain to Morgan, and resign from my position.” In the end, he’d always own up to his mistakes. “If that is not enough to stave off political issues, then I will come up with something else.” Pending imprisonment or banishment from the ocean sounded all the more likely, and he barely breathed, sucking in a harsh breath as everything he worked for resounded and seemed to come to a bitter, harsh end.
05-22-2021, 10:24 PM (This post was last modified: 05-26-2021, 02:10 AM by Safrin.)
every bait and switch was a work of art
'Well...' Safrin pushes herself away from the window, slinking like a beam of moonlight toward the Sword. "If you would burn down so much without a thought for her, what will you do for me?" He could spin this to his favour, if only he saw the way forward.
And if he didn't? Well. She would show him.
"Morgan and Neron are far too close," She whispers softly. "And with him being an ascended, Halo's allegiances will likely fall to the Voice when the time comes. That cannot be allowed to happen." Safrin's jaw tightens as she nears Deimos. "Get Halo to say they shall side with the old gods and this will all be forgotten and you shall be rewarded." Reaching up a hand, she presses her palm against his cheek. "Where else would you go? Stormbreak won't have you. Torchline will surely keep you from her shores when they find out..."
what tried to destroy you didn't have the strength
Deimos waited for the inevitable. Death. Damnation. A curse. Some other rendering of disappointment from a deity’s point of view. To be in its clutches now was harrowing; jaw feathering, the trepidation of the unknown crawling –
Which was why it took him a moment at her response, blinking dimly, for the cogs of his brain to start up again.
His eyes shot back up to hers, head no longer bowed, the machinations already beginning to turn. The first statement wasn’t answered for now, but the other, softer whisper, caused his gaze to narrow. His spine to straighten. His entire frame to become the unyielding, unbending force it’d always been. “What do you mean by too close?” The Sword had his suspicions…but the notions had been pinpointed to their strange alliance and friendship. After Neron’s failure and debacle with the Eirachi, surely she wouldn’t have –
He took another breath, and the calculations clicked over. Politics. Something he generally strived to avoid, even in his current position. That he hadn’t seemed inevitable; and his stare widened again as she approached. It wasn’t about the promised reward – but the semblances of warfare beginning to bank and brim and boil over. “I will do my best.” He had no intention of living in a world that would flicker and follow the Voice either.
Forgiveness, leniency, not something he’d ever thought he’d earn. “Thank you for your mercy, and giving me another chance.” He paused as her palm came to his cheek, contorting all the measures in the back of his Machiavellian mind. Her last question actually caused a brief rumble of laughter; though it might’ve been the sudden instance of relief flooding through his veins. “There is always the Greatwood.” With Oliver and company.
05-26-2021, 02:10 AM (This post was last modified: 05-26-2021, 02:10 AM by Safrin.)
every bait and switch was a work of art
"Morgan left you in charge of Halo during LongNight. Do you know where she was?" Safrin pauses only for a beat. " Off in the Grounds. Protecting the Ascended. Do you know also, that a spirit challenged Morgan to make a decision, old gods or new, and she declined? I hear them whisper about her. That they hate her now." Safrin pauses, with a wide smile. "Tell me. What reason could Morgan possibly have had to leave her people and stray into one of the most deadly places in all of Caido during LongNight? Couldn't have been the ascended, or she'd simply have pledged herself to the Voice and been done with it, when asked. So not that..."
The goddess raises a brow, her expression deliciously smug. Pressing her palms together, the goddess narrows her eyes playfully toward the Sword. "Tell me Deimos. Would you wear a ring, if I gave it to you? Or is a bracelet or pendant more your style?"
what tried to destroy you didn't have the strength
He knew portions of what Safrin told – but only the angles Morgan had provided. Not willing to make a choice, striving for true neutrality, until even spirits began to detest. That, ultimately, he had been used so that the Glacier could linger on with Neron, in the Grounds, protecting and shielding, rather than tend to her land. A pawn, moved across the board. He permitted that to sink into his bones, into his mind, for a moment, the harshness, the sudden rage, leaping into his veins. He struggled to temper it, to form it into brewing barbs in the depths of his ribcage, to utilize and surmise for another day.
But in the end, his voice still bore a growl, a rumble, deep and low in his chest. “So they are together.” The Sword’s eyes met the herald’s for confirmation. That Morgan would willingly throw portions and pieces away for a man who’d once nearly torn that icy world apart.
And in his silent fury, the calculations began to contort, rapidly churning over and over in his mind, pressing them together like a blade, serrated and knife-edged. “If I cannot sway her,” because now he had far more doubts and suspicions than before, “Would you object to another follower of the Old Gods taking her place?” An option, an alternative, he hadn’t considered before the anger began to fill him.
Which was why he blinked rapidly again, perplexed, brows furrowing for a moment, at Safrin’s next inquiry, at the smug demeanor. He hadn’t been expecting anything at all. No rings; the last one he’d received had been made on vows that didn’t last. “A pendant.”
'What else other than love could make a woman such as Morgan do such things?" Safrin's lips snarl. "Sex, perhaps, but..." She grins wickedly; Neron as an ascended, silver-tongued though he was, surely couldn't quite create such devotion, lacking as he was.
"Of course not." She replies with a shake of her head. "I would prefer you most of all, but...I wouldn't say no to another."
Spreading her hands apart, between them sits a relatively innocuous-looking pendant. Inlaid with a sword stabbed valiantly into a field of stars, it sits on a chain of marbled silver and meteorite. "Just a shiny bauble...until.." Nodding that he should lower his head, Safrin drapes the chain around his neck, fitting the pendant beneath his shirt. Pressing her hand against it that he might feel it keenly against his skin, she whispers, "Halo is cold." Nothing happens. "Torchline is cold." The pendant will grow arm against his skin.
Deimos has received
Truth Pendant | Will pulse with warmth when a lie is spoken within 5ft. If a character is speaking, it cannot reliably be used to pick out specifically what they are saying is a lie, if multiple claims are uttered.
what tried to destroy you didn't have the strength
The Sword took the implication for what it was; and that this upcoming onslaught might be harder to gauge than previously thought. But the information was vital, something he could snag, pull, and unfurl from, and so he nodded.
And shied away from the notions of leading again. Of what he’d become. Of all the furious barrages once established, and recently re-lacquered in fires and vengeance. “Understood.” If Morgan couldn’t be convinced, then someone else more suitable.
Thereafter though surprised him – eyes widening, watching, catching glimpses and pieces of portions put together. Far more impressive than his own creation incantations, there floated and meandered a pendant; gaze softening, the lightest of smiles offered at the details inlaid. Quietly, he lowered his head at her bidding, and felt the chain settle around his neck, against his chest – and then the factors contained within. A coil of heat at the semblance of lies. “I do not deserve this, but thank you all the same,” he breathed.
Because the plots were spinning again.
Glancing up at her again, he breathed, fixing another small bow of his head. “I will take my leave. There is much to be done.” To consider. To alter. To conspire. “Thank you again for your compassion and forbearance.” And hopefully he could make do with the forgiveness he’d been granted.
