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!
Stay out of sight, Wessex had said. Neron's really good at doing that, actually. And in fairness, there are very little clientele in the VlamVloed - a lot less than he's used to, compared to the Kraai. Indeed, the place looks like it could use some TLC, and so although his upgrade is engaged, he spends much of the day pottering around, cleaning up and restocking and even (gasp) keeping the fireplace stoked.
All in all, while it's empty and eerie come nightfall, it still seems a lot more welcoming than it might have done in previous seasons. Still invisible, Neron sits quiet and still at a stool behind the bar, gazing down at the unfamiliar grain in the wood and wondering what is happening at home right now. Wondering, also, when he'd stop thinking of it as home.
This is quite the conundrum that the Hailstorm’s put her in. There have been worse, she thinks, as she heads for the VlamVloed, then catches herself. Have there been? Is this is? Morgan’s dead, he’s “missing” and sending cryptic letters, and she knows exactly where her head goes with that information.
Motive lacking, of course. But that doesn’t erase the frown of worry the Wraith wears as she slips silently in through the bar door as the last patron departs. Offering a wave to the slightly tipsy, bumbling Grounder, she latches the door behind her and scans the empty room.
“Neron?” she calls out after a moment, half expecting him to not be there after all.
"Here." Neron drops his cloaking upgrade with the sound of his voice, standing up from the barstool and leaning heavily against the counter to gaze across at Wessex. "Part of me appreciates you latching the door. The rest of me was enjoying watching that fellow get trashed," he syas, and though the words contain all of his usual sass, his voice is somewhat wan.
"Thank you for coming." Shifting to hoist himself up and sit on the bar, he gazes across at the Wraith and decides to dispense with the preamble. "It was me," he says. "Accidentally. I accidentally killed Morgan, and I made it look like Remi Taliesin did it instead."
The Wraith is silent for a long time, considering Neron with a steel-tipped gaze and then the VlamVloed itself, as it might help her tease out all the implications of his confession. Leaning on the edge of the bar, her fingernails clack against the lacquered wood a couple of times before she looks at him again, resolution etched into the set lines around her mouth. Resolution and sadness.
“Okay. Then I think we need to make it look like Remi attacked you too. If we’re going to make this a convincing enough lie to be your word against his. I could do that, I could find you, and no one else will ever know. If you want.” She thinks only of what might prevent retribution from Halo, and the best case scenario she can imagine is one where there is suspicion on all sides and Halo stays neutral - even if that means against Remi and against the Ascended.
Okay, she says, and Neron doesn't expect to feel as relieved as he does. A weak smile tugs at his lips, the Hailstorm gazing down at the VlamVloed floor and nodding gently as Wessex continues. It makes sense, what she says, and it's not as though he feels pain. It won't be difficult to make it seem like he's been targeted too. "You think your claws look enough like a manticore's?" he asks.
"I came here through the portal at the Spire, and I kept my upgrade active. I could head back there and you could 'find me'. Just give me a little dignity about it, if it's all the same to you." Rubbing at the back of his head, he slumps his shoulders. "Shall we do this now?"
Without answering the question, Wessex flexes the muscles in one of her arms and a set of metal talons sprout from between her knuckles. Her look of concern deeps as she looks at them, and then tries to remember what the Manticore looks like. “It’s just a lion’s claws, right?”
Well, then maybe it wasn’t the best idea. She backpedals a bit. “What if, instead of Remi, you say it was an Order member or two who channeled a spirit to attack. It could be anything, then, and you won’t need to, I don’t know, sit for evidence?” There’s an ivory glint along her bottom lip as she continues to mull and right herself and turn to the door.
Now? Now is good.
“And what if I don’t find you? So I can’t be linked to it at all. Would that preserve some dignity?” It might be the most pointless question of all the ones she’s just thrown at him, because they both know nothing will change the fact that she’s going to have to beat and slice and abuse the hell out of him. If there's dignity in that - she'll have to really dig deep to find it.
"It was just a lion's claws when I... used them," Neron says, having been about to blurt the context within which he had used them (i.e. on Morgan's body), but that's not a yellow brick road he wants to go skipping down today. He can see the advantage in what she says about the spirits, but it's also adding complexity to an already murky situation. "In my experience as a seasoned liar, the more strands of a story there are, the more likely it is to unravel," he says slowly.
Nevertheless, he slips off the counter, so they can head to the Spire as soon as they've worked out the specific. "Would it make a difference, if it was you or someone else?" he remarks with a smirk. "I suppose Remi could have attacked me when he was still human. That way any damage you do could still be attributed to him. Honestly, I'm not sure anyone will look too closely, right?" Hopefully.
Everything hinges on people believing Neron and as he’s just confessed, he’s a seasoned liar and the past tells her that not all Halovians will line up to believe him. She pauses short of the door. “Yes, it is. I’ll do what I can to make it seem like a manticore attacked you, but it’ll be up to you to sell it on your own. You’re good with your tongue, right?” Absent a working dick, she has to imagine that sass and a silvery, flexible tongue had helped reel Morgan in.
So with that part settled, she finally reaches to unlatch the door. It doesn’t matter if she’s seen heading to the portal, she could be going anywhere. Neron, on the other hand… arching a brow, the Wraith waits for the Hailstorm to ready himself for the outside world. “So are you going to tell me how it happened, or…?” Quietly murmuring to him, she’s quite confident that no one will be close enough to hear her talking to “herself” let alone see her lips moving.
"You have no idea," Neron all but purrs, slanting a smirk across to Wessex before activating his upgrade to fade into nothingness. "I'll sell it as best I can, don't you worry. The best lies contain a grain of truth." And his feelings about Morgan's loss, at the very least, are as true as they come.
He follows her out into the night, thankful that it isn't yet Deepfrost and that his feet don't leave obvious prints on the ground. And it's a good thing he is invisible, because he doesn't really want to look at her - or for her to look at him - as he explains. "Greed. I always knew it would be," he mumbles, his voice soft and quiet.
"There's no special room in Halo. I went chasing a high with Morgan, and I chased too hard. By the time I realised what I'd done..." Neron shakes his head, even if Wessex wouldn't see it. "She never said a word."
Tone is telling, but she won’t presume to imagine Neron’s face or his gestures as he tells the story. Wessex just sighs needlessly and shakes her own head. “It takes two to tango.” Which is to say that Morgan was an adult, a big girl, and perfectly capable of speaking up for herself. If she hadn’t said anything, then… well, who knows what was going through her head. “I can see why the truth won’t sit well with Halo.”
The Hailstorm isn’t known for his selflessness. Anyone looking for an excuse to paint the Ascended as monsters would find an easy target on Neron’s back for this and after several strikes, real or imagined, there would likely be peasants with pitchforks.
She refrains from asking any more personal questions as they make it to the Spir, but before they go through the portal, she does have one more practical questions. “Where to? I'll teleport us, just take my hand once we’re through.”
"Mm, it doesn't really paint us in the best light," Neron agrees softly. "...Which is why I'll not be telling anyone else this story. You know, and only you. To everyone else, including the rest of the family, this was Remi's doing." And even if they find a way to categorically prove that it wasn't Remi, Neron will go with ah well, I tried, it was a polar bear.
As for where to, the Hailstorm thinks to himself for a moment or so. "The shrine in the Fangs," he decides. "It will look better if I head back into the Citadel on foot, appropriately weather-worn. I'll tell them that I was staying there to recover, and I'll send an official looking letter to you once I'm back there. Although, I can't guarantee that they won't kill me regardless..."
“My lips are sealed. Isla’d have my head if she knew and I’m not sure anyone else can actually keep a secret.” Intentionally wry or not, the Wraith firmly believes that the two of them are the most ruthless of their kin. This kind of thing isn’t for everyone and she’d rather not sully some perceptions with this very, very blurred line kind of activity.
“No, you get yourself out of there if it goes sideways.” She’ll not leave him totally empty handed and on his own in a land that’ll soon be enemy territory. “That’s an order. Take a teleport before we begin, just in case.”
Once the two of them are through the portal, she reaches for some part of the Hailstorm so they can quickly clear the distance to the Shrine. The sooner this is done, the better, and the Wraith won’t rest easy until Neron (and now that she thinks of it, Kiada) are back home in the Grounds. Sticking out her wrist in what is now a familiar gesture, she grins grimly. “Let’s do this.”
"Luckily for you, I am a former Spymaster, and we are renowned for keeping secrets. Though I suppose you could say that I just ruined my reputation by telling you," Neron mutters, sounding amused even if it's only at his own idiocy, and he steps through the portal without any further delay. Offering the Wraith his arm even if she won't be able to see it, it's only once they have reached the safety of the shrine that he deactivates his upgrade.
Her candidness (protectiveness, even) is refreshing, the Hailstorm's eyes widening a fraction as he considers the offer order. "Are you my General now?" he wonders with a smirk, reaching out to take her wrist. "Thank you, Wessex. For everything. This isn't easy for anyone, believe me."
Without further ado, Neron leans in to let his fangs slip into her veins. One would expect to be seasoned by the sensation at some point, but it always takes him by surprise, the whipcrack of pleasure, and he grasps her forearm a little tighter before finding the sense to draw back, pressing his coat sleeve to his lips. Nodding his gratitude again, a few moments later he lets his arm drop and huffs out a breath.
Now? She huffs quietly, arching a brow. “Been your General for awhile now.” Or at least that’s how she sees it, if she were to look back on their various misadventures and look at their respective roles. He’s usually there when she needs him - and vice versa. “Not much left for you and Kia here now, is there?” Kiada is a little more self-explanatory, but Neron? Wessex had never been in competition with Morgan, and certainly not in that way, but everyone has their hierarchy of loyalties. That’s okay.
She doesn’t linger on the thanks, just nodding in understanding. “It’s what I’m here for,” she manages to get out before he helps himself to the offered forearm, and she doubles over a bit as a jolt runs through her. Sometimes the Wraith, too, forgets the doubled pleasure that comes from Ascended-on-Ascended action. With her free hand bracing against her thighs, she huff-laughs again after he’s finished, and shakes her head to clear the lingering feelings.
“Keep track of how you feel,” she reminds him, before clenching the same arm he’d just drunk from and releasing her talons. Three blades shwing out into the frigid area and she nods again, pulling her arm back, swiping down the left side of his chest, as if a lion (hmm, she’ll probably need another something to make it four claws…) were attacking him head on.
