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!
It was a subdued courier who made his way to the skyport after receiving the last letter. Boreal, usually so irrepressible, paced along beside him with unusually good behavior until he reached the tower door. He paused to stroke her head and she leaned into the caress with a soft croon of encouragement before butting her head against his hip and nudging him towards the stairs. He smiled wanly down at the big, bluff dragon and gave her head a final scratch before pushing open the heavy wooden door and heading upstairs.
He paused before the open portal to the dock, looking out to the ships arrayed along it for transport and commerce. There was naked yearning in his face before he reluctantly pulled himself away and headed into the tower interior and the door of what currently served as an interview room and might one day become the dock master's office.
He swallowed hard and raised his knuckles to tap hesitantly at the door. "Deimos?" he called, then cleared his throat and raised his voice above a cracked whisper. "Deimos? It's... it's me, Tal. Can I come in?"
death, you bring death and destruction to all that you touch
There’d been several prospective pilots; some new, inexperienced, yearning and eager to strive for the skies, others already skilled from working Torchline or Greatwood portions. Interviews had been successful, the Sword had learned some nature of notions of his own accord (as his preference had simply always been to fly on his own), and he annotated a lengthy bout of notes for further consultation with Evie, when he heard the knock on the door.
And began to quickly align every wall he’d ever constructed.
Piece by piece, enamel by enamel, lacquer by lacquer, until he was a part of stone and reticence, a furtive balance of stoicism and quiet, arched detachment, over feral properties and possibilities. A marked set of indifferent brows, where perhaps only the piercing nature of his gaze might have betrayed anything at all – and even then, it was a hushed foreboding. “Yes,” he answered, raising his head from his desk in a singular clench of his jaw, settling his bones into incoming impassivity, waiting for the courier to appear, and giving him nothing more than the blank slate of his stare.
It was a single word, but it was a positive one and Tal pushed the door open and slipped inside, closing the wooden slab behind him to keep out the icy breeze from the dock. He turned to face the Warden and caught that impassive stare, straightening automatically at the chill distance there. Swallowing hard, he didn't try to come closer, just stood awkwardly between door and desk and reached up to rub the back of his neck roughly.
"I... H-hey, Deimos," he started, then winced at how stilted it sounded. "I... I've been thinkin' a lot about... what you said. About the Draig, before you left an'... I just. I wanted to say sorry... for insultin' you. I--" He cut himself off before he could dig the hole any deeper, looking down to the floor miserably. "I just..."don't want you to go was the truth of it, but there was no gainsaying the gods in something like this and the courier swallowed them back, knowing the words would do no good. "Just want you t'come back safe," he said at last, the only other option he could put all his hopes and prayers into that the gods might listen to.
death, you bring death and destruction to all that you touch
It was with a silent and scrutinizing observation that Deimos surveyed the courier; eyes narrowing to piercing junctures. At least Talyson took semblance of a hint, staying and keeping his distance. In some petty, spiteful way, the Sword wasn’t about to help or assist in alleviating the awkwardness; letting it settle in the widened gap between them.
He wondered if Talyson had thought about everything he said at all, and if this was just an excuse. A meandering around obvious elephants in the room, trying to bridge gaps where Deimos wouldn’t offer a single proportion of assistance; not after what had been said. Been compared. Been unpleasantly surmised.
The apology caused an arch of his brow, but only in suspicion. “Thank you,” for either the concern or the trepidation; though perhaps they were past that point now. The Warden accepted it for what it was worth – uncertain of its weight any longer – with a nod and not much else. Reticent, impassive, and thoroughly detached, he didn’t even tilt his head to break the mold, keeping everything tightly constrained. “That is the plan.” To ensure he, Noah, and everyone else made it back in one piece.
Like a self-contained blizzard, a white dragon snarls overhead with an ursur clutched between its claws. Flying towards the high cliffs that no doubt are its home, it’s probably a good thing that it already has its dinner for the evening, lest you have become its meal.
You’ve encountered a White Dragon. This counts as a rare creature encounter for the purposes of levelling, but does not count as a Random Event for levelling or MP. There will be no further admin/re intervention. If you choose to follow this creature, you do so at your own risk, however, just having it in this thread is enough to satisfy your levelling requirements. You may not kill your rare creature without admin permission.
White Dragons (Rare/mythical): Living in underground tunnels that are warded with ice and snow, white dragons hoard treasure and anything they deem beautiful. Often this means that one might find gold, gems, and frozen humans stored in their caves. They can speak the basic common tongue and can communicate telepathically with the attuned, though they are secretive, vain, and usually aloof and unhelpful.
Deepfrost was more forthcoming than the Sword, and the courier swallowed hard and gave a miserable nod at the reticence. He hadn't been expecting anything more, really, though he'd hoped--
A thunder of white wings and the familiar snarl over the skyport drew Tal's attention like the crack of ice beneath his feet, head jerking towards the window and scattering the rest of his thoughts as adrenaline surged. He tensed, body ready to flee the greater predator until he saw its trajectory and the ursur in its claws and realized that it was not, in fact, planning to attack the skyport and challenge the ships that now shared Halo's skies with it.
Breath finally escaped on a shaky exhale when he finally realized he'd been holding it, forgetting to breathe until the danger was passed. "Fuck." He swore with quiet sincerity. "We're gonna be in trouble if one o'those attacks the Citadel before you an' Noah get back." Especially if one had been modified by the Voice to combine technology and magic in one terrible, carnivorous package. He looked back to Deimos with wide eyes and a faintly guilty realization that his fear had been witnessed by the Warden before quickly dropping his gaze again, biting his lip as he tried to remember what he'd been about to ask.
"I... I hadn't heard anythin' yet on where y'wanted me. For the War. Is there a post I should report to or...?" He trailed off uncertainly.
death, you bring death and destruction to all that you touch
Hope wouldn’t have done much good, given the drawn-out silence, the furtive wakes and walls now sculpted over the Sword; some certain other words perhaps; not the transient designations of optimism.
Especially as he spotted the ivory dragon from the window – starting from the corner of his eye until he turned his head fully to watch – body tense and taut, rigid and unyielding, unbending, even as it cast off and away. His jaw feathered in a tight clench, memory and mind forced to revisit horrors of the past, and then potential omens for the impending future. He stared for much longer than necessary, until he was certain it was gone, and it was a miniscule speck against the outline of mountains and skies, not threatening the land he watched over.
He could hear Talyson’s response, but it felt adrift – circumventing his calculations and reticence back to the present, the phrase not helping the cause. The Warden had no choice in the matter, and rubbing the salt in the wounds didn’t cease any of the apprehension building over his spine again. “I am aware,” ground between his teeth. “That is what the weapons are for.” Everything they’d built and carved – from the cannon to the array and multitudes lined along the Citadel, or the watchtower.
As for posts, he could only direct things so far with no vantage point other than war. “We do not know how we will be attacked. I could tell where you to go, and it would not mean anything.” Especially when he wouldn’t be there to direct any other ventures. “So where you will be most comfortable.”
Everything he said just seemed to make the Warden angrier and Tal didn't understand why. He heard the words that came from between closed teeth, ground out like shards of ice, and he swallowed hard, afraid to even ask what he'd done wrong now.
A final attempt: a professional question, a soldier to his General; but even that fell flat in a way the courier hadn't expected. He looked at Deimos for a moment, bewildered, not wanting to believe that the man who had taught him to think ahead and prepare for multiple eventualities - especially the worst case ones - had neither plan nor advice to leave them on.
Or perhaps it was just him.
"Yessir," he said quietly. "I... okay." There seemed little else to be said so he swallowed down the hurt and took a deep breath. "Good luck, Deimos. An'... an' I'll see you again soon." Because not even the Draig could kill the Sword. Tal had faith in his friend, even if it was one-sided. With a last nod he turned and slipped out of the office, collecting Boreal and heading back into the city to finish the day's deliveries.
