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!
Restlessness carved its wake into his bones in such easy parallels that it didn’t take long for him to linger amidst the Tundra. With companions tucked close behind, they were a trio of maneuvering forms against the ivory isolation, plumes of breath spiraling from unicorn nares and peryton wiles and a silent Sword’s contemplation. He thought about tracking deer, about following the lines of trails that led to the Fangs, about meandering closer to the ocean and pondering the volcanic ridges left behind.
Instead though, they turned towards the outskirts of the Citadel walls, along the morning’s sunshine traipse, checking over the recent repairs, inspecting the gates, before ultimately wandering out further and further, until there was naught but the abyss and temptation to run, to unleash, to unravel.
So then the Sword became the hellhound, and Zuriel’s hoofbeats rang crescendos along his ears, and Belial’s wild hoots were chasing clouds and pockets of snow.
there exists a tipping point between gods and monsters
A shadow passes overhead.
White dragons are probably more common in Halo's skies than ever, but this is different. It isn't a white underbelly that soars over Deimos and his entourage, but a spray of stars on inky midnight. Ronin hasn't even seen the hellhound yet - his eyes are on a lonely flock up ahead.
He doesn't know why the ningo gather like this; either they're stupid or Ronin is accidentally poaching from a ningo farm, in which case oops, sorry. Either way, as the dragon drops towards the round and fluffy birds, it shrinks in shape until it's a man dropping from the sky.
Caught by a nimbus seemingly at the last second, Ronin unleashes a swift starbolt, spearing it into the nearest ningo. It goes down in a pmphh of feathers.
The inherent instinct of simultaneous trepidation and belligerence at the sight of the dragon’s shadow was a quick, grasping pull – a flicker of an instant between long, enveloping strides – before reality struck and the emotions dissipated into further realms of control. He recognized this shift in particular, cosmic proportions set in backdrops of mythical prowess, well before the beast snagged at ningo or dropped from the sky as a man.
Ronin, he imparted by way of Attuned layers, eventually ceasing his restless gait as he glanced upward at the nimbus, the starbolt, the fluff and torrent of feathers falling to the ground. Not one to be bothered by the destruction of ningos, as he was a frequent contributor, the hound’s head tilted slightly, curiosity for the sake of inquiry alone pushing onward, imparting a silent warning to Belial as the peryton went to chase roque plumage. What brings you to Halo? Besides mauling birds – though, if that were all, the Sword wouldn’t begrudge the man for those semblances either.
I shouldn't laugh, but I know I'm a failure in your eyes
Ronin is already swooping down on his nimbus to collect the fallen ningo when a familiar voice rings through his mind, and it's almost enough to trip him up on the landing as he jumps down. Straightening and whipping around, it's only the realisation that Deimos is speaking to him via the Attuned bond that prevents him from tossing another starbolt towards the creature loping towards him.
Dismissing his nimbus and grabbing up the ningo carcass, he glances between the mass of feathers and the other man, before holding it up hopefully. "Uh... supplies," he says softly, before his smile gets the better of him. "I hope I'm not trespassing on someone's land...?" AKA the Warden's patch. Hopefully if he is, Deimos will forgive him.
In other years and lifetimes, the Reaper had been amongst the first to startle any intruder, with ominous, unwinding persecution, the promise of prowess and disaster, and a predilection for brutality. While Deimos still remained a foreboding creature, he’d begun to breathe easier over portions of land – no rushing out with blade in hand, no dastardly wake at each and every call. Had it been Sunjata wandering across the plain, it would’ve been an entirely different story – but he'd worked together with Ronin many times in the past.
So the hound rolled his shoulders, settling to sit along the tundra, piercing eyes flickering between his companions and the Huntsman. It is fine. A pause, a tilt of his head, a host and assemblage of considerations careening through his mind, before settling on one. You and Remi are well? He hadn’t seen them after the battle along the Draig – but given circumstances, how beaten and bludgeoned they’d been, and how swiftly all of them had departed, perhaps that was simply how everything was meant to be.
I shouldn't laugh, but I know I'm a failure in your eyes
Ronin visibly relaxes to hear that he hasn't been accidentally intruding where he shouldn't, and while the rest of the ningo have long scattered (in their clumsy, waddling sort of way, anyway), he can make do with just this one if it means being able to talk with Deimos. It has been a long time, after all.
"We are," he says warmly, lowering his eyes to the snow. "As well as we can be, anyway. I don't think I need to tell you how long it takes some wounds to heal." And others never heal at all; but in terms of their relationship, the life they've built, their happiness? Remi and Ronin are very well.
"What about you? Flying over, I've noticed a lot of changes in Halo. Things must be busy."
He granted a solitary nod in respect to the answers – that they were both well, and in nuances of wounds healing. The Sword knew enough about lacerations – both inward and overt – to last across several lifetimes; the ones that stoked and burned and scarred, never quite mending or assuaging, and the others where blemishes were memories of survival, interchangeable with the seasons. Good to hear, and he’d pry no further on the subject.
His eyes flickered briefly to Belial as the peryton began chasing one of the stray ningo, before they pinpointed on Ronin again. Perhaps a slim margin of pride slipped its way through the bond; for he was pleased with how Halo had been coming along as a whole. Things are going well. The skyport has become far more important than we ever predicted. So thank you, again. A kudos to the Huntsman, for his willingness to work with them on the matter.
Then his head tilted vaguely, pondering. Have you given any more thought to the Abandoned situation and Stormbreak? For it had been an interest to many in the mountains – but Deimos wasn’t certain where Ronin lingered in its stead any longer, given what he’d heard about leadership amidst the clouds.
I shouldn't laugh, but I know I'm a failure in your eyes
"Oh, it was my pleasure," Ronin says with a warm smile regarding the skyport, picking up on the thread of pride from Deimos but saying nothing on the subject. He's got a lot to be proud of, honestly, and now that Halo is marginally less frozen as well, things can only be getting easier for her people and the surrounding wildlife.
Stormbreak almost sounds like a foreign word to him these days, and it's with a wince that he shakes his head softly. "I haven't been back there in a year, truthfully," he says. "And I'm no longer the commander there, so that decision is out of my hands. Remi and I went to live in the Cordillera. We just needed to be... away."
Physically, mentally, and anything else they could get. Only scarce few knew where they resided in the Cordillera, and even then, getting there unscathed is another matter entirely. "I'm not even sure who controls the place nowadays. Didn't it get..." He nods upwards, as if to say yeeted into the sky.
The noticeable wince flickering through Ronin’s features was enough of a warning – they’d be back to square one on any of those fronts. Though there were some curious points made – the matter of the Draig was a home (but given half a moment, Deimos could surmise why – a retreat into those summits ensured no one but the predacious wildlife would bother them at all) – or that he hadn’t kept up with the notions of Stormbreak. Understandable, he admitted, even if there was a touch of disappointment in the tones.
They’d find a way. There were always other possibilities, other routes, to take.
And with a league of steadfast, determined people along Halo’s roots, he didn’t let the setback linger in his skull for very long. His eyes followed the poignant direction Ronin’s gaze had taken, towards the sky, where ningos didn’t dare fly for the moment, as if a glance would ensure the land would simply appear. That is what I heard. The Grounds changed significantly too, given the details in Darkeye’s map.
I shouldn't laugh, but I know I'm a failure in your eyes
"My son lives there still, though," Ronin adds, as if to make up for the fact that he can't do much for the other man when it came to Stormbreak and the Abandoned situation. "Mateo - he's all grown up now, so if you want to touch base with him, feel free to let him know I spoke with you about it. He might be able to give you some more information." If nothing else, he'd be able to know the current landscape of Stormbreak from Mateo.
The Grounds is news to Ronin, honestly, but he's not that surprised; the entire of Caido seems to have changed, if Halo is anything to go by. "What's it like now?" he asks with a raise of his eyebrows. "Did any Ascended go back there, do you know...?" Because of course, Ronin and Remi left almost immediately after the formal ending of the war, so he's not up to speed with that particular situation.
The notions that came thereafter rambled through his head; not as afterthoughts, but considerations and machinations, information to utilize at home amidst his peers. Thank you. I will see what we can do. Noah’s ability to reach Stormbreak was an asset as well – but without leadership at the other kingdom’s helm, they wouldn’t be able to reach much further.
If hounds could raise or arch their brows, Deimos would have done just that – instead his features resounded in a tilt of his head, curiosity and the sullen footfalls of the Ascended meandering through. From what I was told, the Sparkbird returned and ensured quite a bit of damage. Many of the Ascended, including Neron, Varus, and Nikolai, perished. Some opted to become Ancients in the aftermath. Uncertain how far the Huntsman went back within those parameters and people – the Sword couldn’t say. His own opinions were rendered mute on the situation, for he didn’t know the latter two, and his stance on Neron had been known. The Grounds seems to have been broken up into isles now, but I have not been there to see them for myself.
I shouldn't laugh, but I know I'm a failure in your eyes
Nodding gently, Ronin leaves it at that; hopefully Mateo won't mind receiving a letter or a visit from some old friends of his father's. (He doubts he will - the boy is a socialite and he always has been, as far as Ronin remembers, though whoever goes to see him might need to brace themselves for Mateo's quirks).
His eyebrows raise to hear about the Grounds; not just the changes in the terrain, but the death, the Sparkbird screaming overhead and ravaging the place... The Huntsman lets out a shivering sort of sigh, and he heaves the ningo carcass over his shoulder. "Ancients," he repeats quietly. "Those I have heard about."
Rubbing at the back of his head, he finally returns his gaze to Deimos and offers him a small smile. "I guess you miss a lot, though, when you step away from it all. Maybe I'll drop by the Citadel properly one day soon. We can catch up over a beer?"
Deimos kept his opinions about the Ancients to himself; grateful that Kiada had another chance to survive, cautious at the notions of what they could potentially represent. What he didn’t want was another rise and fall of races, of perpetrated notions and schemes, of war fronts after the last. Battle veteran he might’ve been, he much preferred the people finding their feet again.
So it was only a hellhound’s nod at the Huntsman’s sigh and addition of other factions. Sure, by way of acceptance; Ronin and him and had never been particularly close – mostly comrades in arms. Take care of yourself. Leaving the other man to his own means, Deimos uttered a silent scheme towards his companions, and they were off again, settling along the tundra.
