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 took him instances to remember that the blood wasn’t real every time he saw it behind his eyes.
A haunting schism, burning in the fragments of residual guilt, as he put on his gloves and moved through the streets, companions trailing behind him. A purpose to his stride, beyond the assistance in moving bodies or quietly mourning or offering his condolences to the soldiers’ families; those were already done, committed, with his head bowed low. A maneuvering piece, a portion he felt he could commit to – small, but necessary, as he advanced upon the broken gates.
How many times had they repaired these? How many times had the walls seen war and bloodshed and carnage?
A passing glance to his guards at the entrance was given, a residual nod as his feet carried him towards the battered wood, hands already lifting splintered and fractured portions – turning them over and over again. When he didn’t see crimson, when he didn’t feel the bile pooling in the back of his throat, he persisted, bringing the brimming earthen incantations back to form – just as they always had, readily responding to his call.
we exhume our enemy's bones we are battling, hungry beasts
You will become what you ought to be
Only way through is to follow the fog
Noah's home had been uninhabitable, and so he slept in the office that was once his as a council member, and then warden, but truly was no longer his vocationally. Until he came back, it had mostly been empty. Collecting dust and spiderwebs, though the hearth never went out -- until war broke out. Once he built it back up, however, it was warm, and the cots pushed next to each other were just all that he and Cordelia needed.
He was restless, tossing and turning in his cot. Cordelia rubbed her hand along his spine, whispered soothing words to him, and ran her fingers through his hair -- but it wasn't enough. Everytime he closed his eyes, he was back in the Draig.
Unable to stay down for too long, Noah moved. The damage of this place, those missing, those gone -- he needed to help them. The rest of Halo needed his hands, his help, more than he needed his own house. He was up before the sun, clothed in what he needed to stay warm. He moved debris, he searched for anyone missing. He greeted and comforted and hugged those he cared about, those he knew, those he fed for as long as he could remember.
He stood in the Citadel, hands clasped around those of a woman much too bent and much too frail to have done much for the war, but she had survived. She had outlived everyone who loved her, and she had called out to Noah in the street. Explained where her last living son had been -- on the wall, near the gates, no no no -- and Noah agreed to hear her plea -- he would feed her. As he did the others. As he would continue to do. Deimos moving, though, caught the attention of Eira above and she alerted Noah. With final reassurance to the old woman, Noah moved towards where the griffin pointed him.
Rest was rarely in his repertoire; which was why he was here, mending and bending and trying to fix things that were broken. Because he couldn’t bring people back to life, and he’d never once been a healer.
So he tended to pieces of metal and proportions of wood, and only coiled his attention elsewhere when Noah appeared at his side, there in silence. For a moment, Deimos permitted the quiet to stretch, eyes flicking downward, watching as the timber curved and carved back to form, as the hinges were no longer busted.
The Sentinel had saved them; and that much was clear. Were it not for Evie’s call in the dark or the wake of Noah’s ability to seemingly shatter illusions, perhaps the Sword would have remained up on that peak, haunted and horrified, taunted and tortured, under the cover of blood and crimson, ichor and deceit.
Belial hooted overhead and Zuriel stayed close by, and the deep rumble of his voice carried through. “I did not get a chance to say thank you,” with a modest, but tired crook of a smile, finally turning his gaze back upon the other. “You all right?”
we exhume our enemy's bones we are battling, hungry beasts
You will become what you ought to be
Only way through is to follow the fog
Deimos' power did not need Noah's assistance. As the Sword worked his magic and incantations on the gate, Noah cleaned up around. He piled bits of metal and splintered wood. Blood stained the snow and whenever Noah saw it, the lump in his throat ached. Deimos broke the silence, and Noah stopped. He looked over to the Sword, and blinked back hot white tears.
Noah didn't know what to say. While he would normally give a polite thank you or brush off the words with it wasn't a big deal, he couldn't right now. Noah had saved them. Something within him and been the bright hammer of hope, coming down and crashing against the illusions that held them all in a stasis of darkness. He didn't know what the others saw, but if it was anything like what he did, he knew it would stay with them forever.
His father's face beneath the ice would be burned into the dark of his eyelids for the rest of his days.
The Sword wouldn’t ask the Sentinel what he saw. The trauma had likely been enough to warrant never repeating – even if the cycle persisted, even if dreams altered to nightmares, even if haunting dirges always caught up to them in the end. Instead, he worked his incantations over the broken bombardments, following lines of battered proportions until it felt like something feasible again.
But a glance towards Noah once more told him entirely too much, and he extended the happenstance by not mentioning the sorrow, the sadness, the aches and pains. “Luck. Power. Strength.” A repetition of all of them, cycling through their bones and lancing along their fortitude. Trying to pry away the notions of hell and the spinning misery, he opted for something else. “I hear congratulations are in order.”
we exhume our enemy's bones we are battling, hungry beasts
You will become what you ought to be
Only way through is to follow the fog
Noah merely nodded. He finished piling iron scraps and splintered wood, and was comfortable to work in silence along the Sword. It felt right, it felt normal. Together over the last years they had worked shoulder to shoulder to protect and fortify this land, and it only made sense that the two men now stood shoulder to shoulder to clean it up in the aftermath of war. Glacier eyes drifted back towards Deimos.
The shift in subject was welcome, and Noah smiled brightly. "A wedding will be a nice celebration for everyone." There hadn't been many weddings lately, but he remembered the grandiose celebrations of his youth. "I haven't ventured outside of the walls to see the status of the tundra, but in times past we would host weddings on the sea of glass." And in a time like this, Noah was ready to cling to tradition.
To the Sword, the Sentinel was the embodiment of Halo and its strength, its balance, its quiet fortitude. While Deimos could represent those aspects too, he still would never be born here, carved straight out of the mountainside. And once he might’ve believed Morgan to be the same, but after all their experiences, trials, tribulations, it was very clear how much more Noah conveyed the designations of the summits. So he’d always be willing to stand alongside the man, through cataclysms and tempests, through aftermaths and calm, temperate moments after the storms.
His gloved hands worked over more iron, adjusting bent and rattled hinges, arching his brow and permitting his mouth to twitch in a semblance of amusement for the upcoming subject. “I know the Fangs have collapsed,” then he shrugged his shoulders, uncertain of beyond – he hadn’t spread his limbs or wings over those particulars yet, not when the Citadel itself still needed repair and work. “Let me know if you want any assistance in preparation,” because for whatever bizarre notion, Deimos had his share of wedding planning under his belt. "What are some of the Halo traditions?"
we exhume our enemy's bones we are battling, hungry beasts
You will become what you ought to be
Only way through is to follow the fog
"The Sea of Glass has been the place of wedding ceremonies for as long as I can remember hearing, usually at night with wedding guests holding torches to light the way. My own parents were married at the shrine." Noah brushed snow off his gloves before moving to pick up more pieces of shattered stone and mortar. "The brides are often done up more beautifully than they have ever been before, anointed with their family's bridal crown. Even the bridegroom was done up in a way that he could never afford before. Hunters so clean you'd never recognize them, with oil in their hair and even decorations." Like the steel and the wood, Noah made piles of the stone. He grunted with effort, but between the grunts he tallied the traditions for the Sword.
"Every couple is different, and exchange something that has meaning to them. Rings, knives, bows, livestock...something that represents their lives apart and now their new life together." Noah paused, taking a break to catch his breath after moving a rather large -- nearly too large for him -- piece of rubble. "I don't know yet what I am going to give to Cordelia. I thought about trying to find her a griffin egg."
Any mention of the Sea of Glass drew a fond smile along his features, only this time he strived to picture such a scene: evenings on the ice, amidst the glassy baubles, torches lined amidst the gathered to form a path. Something even the Old Gods could admit to enjoying, probably, especially if it was designated in front of their shrine. He listened as his hands maneuvered the hinges back into place, a few well-timed, strong pushes, before angling his brow and following the Sentinel over to the large piece of rubble.
Placing himself on the other side, it’d be easy for both of them to move it out of the way, decide to relegate it to scraps or put it amongst and amidst the other refuse and debris from the war’s haze. “Sounds like a grand occasion,” he rumbled, contemplating exchanges, and then lifting his gaze back to Noah when he mentioned companions. “That would be special and unique. Do they typically leave them around here?” There’d been no notes in the guild journals about snagging at griffin nests, and Noah had one of his own – perhaps the notions only passed by word of mouth or happenstance.
we exhume our enemy's bones we are battling, hungry beasts
You will become what you ought to be
Only way through is to follow the fog
The hunter nodded in agreement. Weddings were big celebrations. A place such as Halo needed to be able to celebrate the good, beautiful, and longlasting because the people knew so much death. Halo was a dangerous place, but almost everyone believed you were stronger with someone at your shoulder. To marry was a lifelong commitment in the eyes of Halovians, and so that was worth celebrating.
The gift, though, might prove more difficult than easy. "Not in my general experience. I think Eira was a fluke. Some sort of egg thief maybe, seeing as how I found her egg in the middle of the Sea of Glass with no one else around." Noah shrugged. "I thought about asking Frey, because that is the herald she follows. Maybe they could help me." Noah had his own relationship with Frey, for that was the herald he sought before Vi claimed him as his own. "Although, maybe it will be an anniversary present. I'm not sure if any of the gods are ready to hear us in the aftermath of war."
11-22-2022, 11:13 PM (This post was last modified: 11-24-2022, 11:26 AM by Deimos.)
Deimos
Deimos wouldn’t make a comment about his own experiences in marriage, short-lived as they were, and instead turned his attentions to maneuvering the rubble with Noah off to the side. His muscles were content with the modest strain after healing and some amount of rest, unbothered in the heaviness of the object as they discussed companions and gifts.
Eira being a fluke gave him some consideration – pondering over the state of eggs and nests. Neither of his had been found in the same state; Zuriel had been running away from landsharks, and Belial had been hunting ningos.
He grimaced only slightly at the notion of asking the gods, inclined to agree with the Sentinel on that accord. “Probably not.” His thoughts mulled once more, head tilting vaguely. “I put magic in her bow right before the war. Maybe something to go with it?” His nose wrinkled thereafter, instantly juvenile and boyish. “Or anything she needs?”
Another notion lingered in his mind then - placing the rubble down upon the ground amidst its brethren, and snagging at a letter in his pocket. He'd meant to save it to show Evie, but Noah deserved to hear the news as well. "Darkeye sent me notice of the Hollowed Grounds. Seems Neron was killed by the Sparkbird," and he handed it over for the Sentinel to glance over.
we exhume our enemy's bones we are battling, hungry beasts
You will become what you ought to be
Only way through is to follow the fog
"Oh, that is a good idea." Noah nearly chirped. "I'll make her a new quiver." He decided, then, smiling at the idea of it. The Sentinel welcomed the help of moving the heavy debris, and with the Sword it was much less effort. He let out a deeply held breath when they added it to the pile nonetheless, and twisted his trunk to stretch his back muscles as he straightened back up.
Noah's eyebrows raised and he took the letter without hesitation. His eyes ran over the words and his lips silently spoke them. Noah's thoughts rumbled from his chest with a deep hmm sound before he spoke. Noah was surprised that the Sparkbird had come back to the grounds, but it made sense in the end. "I once asked Frey how I could help the bird and get it back to its home. They said it was gone, and that if it was still alive it would be wherever Caido was." With the Core stuck within Caido's chest, Noah wondered if the Sparkbird had gone to the grounds for revenge on more than just the people who didn't help it. Maybe it had gone to attack the Ascended specifically, or the tower where the Core once was.
But the news of Neron being gone did not bring Noah any sorrow. There was no grief in his heart for the man. "Well, he did burn, and it wasn't bright." Noah finished, a sour and cruel tone to his voice that was reserved only for the Hailstorm.
The Sparkbird had been a blessing once, and seemingly a curse thereafter. Deimos didn’t begrudge the creature at all – taken to casting its light over LongNight again and again, summoned from the dirges of wherever it reigned, to ultimately be forgotten in the legion of promises thereafter. He tilted his head, brows furrowing as Noah kindled the notions of striving to help it, how Frey said it’d been gone, to Caido, but with war seething and reigning at the same time…his shoulders shrugged. “Perhaps it has done the same again.” With the liberation and freedom of the God, who was to say unless it showed its presence in someone’s midst another time?
Nor did the Sword hold any grief for the fallen Hailstorm. Similar sentiments rumbled, and he even managed a chuckle at Noah’s words, as heavy and forbearing as they might’ve been in some other moments. “He had it coming, regardless.” A finalized segment of chapters for a man who'd orchestrated plagues of danger and treachery, including murder, in Halo's wake. Placing the letter back into his pockets, mostly to show Evie and the painful sentiments and results of the Grounds themselves, he gestured towards the rest of the rubble. “We can finish repairs here and then head back for lunch?”
we exhume our enemy's bones we are battling, hungry beasts
You will become what you ought to be
Only way through is to follow the fog
The notion of the Hailstorm's demise and the Sparkbird's presence did not hold Noah's attention for long. After all, neither of them were a matter of Halo -- not anymore, and (hopefully) not ever. "I'd like to meet with Evie. I don't know her that well, but Halo chose her alongside you. So I'd like to change that." And as a (perpetually) concerned resident of Halo, he wanted to bend the woman's ear to his worries. A council was needed among them, to aid the Sword and the Evergreen in the stress and multitudes that leadership brought. "That sounds like a good plan." The Sentinel agreed, heading towards the broken pieces of wood and scrap and stone. He labored alongside the warlord until it was done, and finally slapped him on the shoulder as they walked away. "Drinks one me, food on you."
