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!
Deepfrost had always been particularly brutal to the world below the mountains, expected, given the climate. The Sword remained undaunted and unbothered by it, simply layering in more furs and parkas, but that didn’t mean most of his citizens could do the same, nor have similar opportunities afforded. After their latest hunt though, right up to the depths of Leafchange, there was more preparation, storage, and inevitable sharing to be done.
For Halo always took care of its own.
Which meant today the Warden paused in training instructions to assist and oversee the meat dispersal, loading up his own sled amidst hordes of others to take to those who required it. An assembly line grew and utilized themselves quickly, efficiently, each parcel of venison wrapped precisely and tied off with a string, placed carefully into the row of waiting vessels.
09-06-2023, 11:33 PM (This post was last modified: 09-07-2023, 03:55 AM by Koa.)
A joy hard-learned in winter was the warming of the bed You'd shake for minutes there and move your legs
It was a bad time to visit Halo. The worst time, inarguably. And yet here Koa is, freezing his dick off in the Deepfrost chill, his flannel and peacoat and hat and scarf not enough to keep his teeth from chattering hard enough it makes his vision blur. He'd thought, as a Breaker, that he would be prepared for winter - that growing up with his own wicked winter would have hardened him against Halo's icy caress.
Boy, had he been wrong.
Still the young man trudges on, up the Citadel steps. He's come to this place to talk to the Warden, that legend, hero of the boy's youth. He'd heard about Sohalia's visit, the misgivings that the leadership of Halo voiced about the Dragoon's sordid past. Nothing that couldn't be fixed, he figured, one soldier to another. One step at a time.
At last he reaches his destination, pushing past a growing crowd and to a looming form. Deimos presides over an efficient assembly line like a captain at a ship, his figure almost more imposing than the tales led to believe. Koa finds himself swallowing nerves, fixing his coat and unwinding his scarf as he draws nearer. At least it's warmer inside, warm enough his teeth no longer chatter, though a flush still paints his ears.
"Warden Ignatius, sir!" The boy offers a smart salute, copper eyes gleaming with barely contained excitement at the prospect of meeting this man. Setting into an at-ease stance, he offers his hand to the other man. "Koa Carpenter, of the Dragoons. A few of my soldiers and I thought we might come offer our services, as Halo readies for LongNight. Not that you need help-- but if there's anything we can do..." He trails off with a self-conscious laugh, suddenly feeling very small and a little bit a fool.
Koa Carpenter
Wrap the blanket over you and keep your head within Let your breath heat the air until you'd feel it getting thin
With the initial process sufficient and complete, the only thing left to do was to deliver the hordes of food. One by one they all began to set off, and Deimos watched them disperse amongst themselves, notes and addresses tucked into their palms, intending to follow suit with his own. It was a sudden change of pace to heard his name and title extended in an unfamiliar haze, and he found his eyes narrowing. Ever alert, and eternally suspicious and skeptical, situations borne of far too many war-efforts, head swinging towards the stranger before him.
He didn’t recognize the individual at all and, not unlike many of the predators hoarded in his soul, tilted his cranium at the salute and excitement. Beginning to steel and forge himself for something inevitable (a requirement, another impending meeting, some note with information he wasn’t going to particularly like…), the expectations pierced into other modicums when greetings and introductions were upheld. He extended his hand in response, and then tucked the Dragoons nuance into the back of his mind.
Help? Assistance? He couldn’t recall asking for it, especially from Stormbreak, and he wondered if this was some piece of alliance persistence, goodwill, or something else altogether. Incapable of quelling such machinations, they lived and breathed behind his teeth, in the slow unfurling of his breath. It’d be tempting to refuse, and foolish to do so all the same. “You may call me Deimos. And if you want.” His jaw jutted towards another line of sleds, loaded and ready to depart. “You may follow me with that one.”
A joy hard-learned in winter was the warming of the bed You'd shake for minutes there and move your legs
The response that Koa receives is.... less than enthusiastic, and Koa cringes inwardly at Deimos' impassive reply. Still he musters up his boyish charm, keeping the smile bright on his face as his eyes follow the jut of the general's jaw. Going back outside wasn't high on his list of things to do today, but... "Sure!" the young man agrees easily enough, matching the strides of the Sword as they set off toward the sleds.
Never having handled a sled himself, Koa watches sidelong as Deimos sets his up, trying hard to emulate the general's actions. "So.. I have a confession," he says as he works the straps, the color on his cheeks not just from cold. "I'm not just here to help out. I actually really wanted to meet you - you're kind of a hero of mine." Another sidelong look, his expression bashful as he waits for a response.
Koa Carpenter
Wrap the blanket over you and keep your head within Let your breath heat the air until you'd feel it getting thin
Adjusting his own straps, tugging on a few to ensure they wouldn’t release the moment they set off, the considerations of the younger man’s words echoed, bounded off his ears, before truly coming to fruition in his mind. Ulterior motives always made the Sword’s eyes narrow, but to hear that they were from some other standpoint – one of heroic natures – nearly made him grimace. He ultimately did, inwardly, staring down at the sled, before utilizing those sudden angles of trepidation to grab hold of the string, and launch away from the storage facility, casting back out into the cold, eager for evasion.
Eventually though, he had to say something, trying to avoid clenching his jaw. “No need for pedestals here,” and he shook his head, always figuring he’d ensure disappointment before it came sauntering from something he hadn’t done for somebody…somewhere. “And I would be surprised to hear my name or actions discussed in Stormbreak.” Considering his Abandoned blood, and complete lack of shame about it. To that, he gave Koa an arched brow, hoping that had been enough to ward off anything else, before turning down the first corner.
A joy hard-learned in winter was the warming of the bed You'd shake for minutes there and move your legs
The downfall of being so stoic, Deimos, is that those who lack significant emotional intelligence cannot easily glean your discomfort. Case in point: our young Dragoon is blissfully unaware of the General's ire, too focused on figuring out the straps of the sleigh to notice when the silence stretches almost too long. Only when it's secure does he look up, and by then the Sword is on his way, Koa taking elongated strides to catch his pace.
A sharp mental whistle has Pipsqueak appearing from wherever she's been, her long body shooting out of a snow bank in a flurry of fat, wet flakes. Utterly pleased with herself, she clambers onto Koa's sled as the boy catches up, a warm laugh rumbling from beneath his scarf. "It's a pedestal well earned," the young man counters brightly, apple cheeks rosy from the winter's chill.
Though the brightness fades at the raised eyebrow, the pointed implication in the General's tone. Koa has the good sense to look properly chagrined, his voice serious when he speaks again. "You're a champion of Safrin," he begins in answer, gaze casting down to the snow in front of him as though the right thing to say might be written within. "And a great man. A hero. Nobody back home would dispute that. And even if you weren't everything you are... People should be judged on their actions, not their blood." A lesson Stormbreak has been late to learn, but is slowly coming around to.
Koa Carpenter
Wrap the blanket over you and keep your head within Let your breath heat the air until you'd feel it getting thin
His brows furrowed, not at the sudden appearance of the dragon, but the notions of the bright counter; nose wrinkling slightly as he steered them along another street, consulting his list to give himself a moment of consideration. He would never think himself so high and mighty, no matter what had been earned; sacrifices for people were just that, the strength used over and over again to ensure the safety of others. Whether that was the simple act of hunting, or throwing himself at ghostly demigods on top of a deadly summit, scarcely seemed to matter.
So the Warden had nothing for a moment, head raised against the wind as he strode down the cobblestones and snow, listening to the Stormbreaker and all the other pointed ventures. Unfurling another long sigh so the warm vapor puffed and swirled around, before dissipating, gave him enough time to bite back the self-deprecations, and tilt his cranium slightly. “On that, we can agree,” actions for actions, rather than the wakes of persecution because of one indignant New God. “You have heard the news on Safrin, then?”
Opting to throw the youth a bone, rather than plunge onward in silence (despite the temptation) or talking more about himself, his piercing eyes landed back upon Koa. “I heard the Dragoons are expanding.”
A joy hard-learned in winter was the warming of the bed You'd shake for minutes there and move your legs
The mention of Safrin has Koa faltering, worry creeping in amongst the youthful joie-de-vivre. "Only rumors," the boy confirms, eyes darting up to the Sword's bearded face, trying to read in the ice-carved lines just how concerned he ought to be. "That she's gone. And that nobody really knows where, or for how long, or why." The lift of his eyebrow shifts his hat, a hopeful inquiry of do you? written in that furrowed gaze. "I've never heard of a herald leaving," he adds softly, as much to himself as to the other man.
But Diemos offers familiar ground, and Koa clings to it without restraint. "That's right!" the young Dragoon concurs, only the forward momentum of their walk keeping him from rocking eagerly on his toes. "The goal - my goal - is that we'll be able to work with the soldiers of other realms, creating a more unified protection force. To learn from each other, and establish a network of safety for anyone who needs it, no matter their homeland. Or race," he adds with a sidelong glance at Deimos, the General's earlier concerns not easily forgotten.
"In fact," he goes on, a little bit cautious but still bubbling with hope, the youthful dream of unification bright in his eyes and voice, "I was hoping- that is, it would be incredible if we could get your guidance. I can't imagine how much I - we - could learn from you, Warden."
Koa Carpenter
Wrap the blanket over you and keep your head within Let your breath heat the air until you'd feel it getting thin
The stoicism remained, even if a long sigh chiseled its way through the forged and reticent armor. “Supposedly there is a threat outside of Caido that she is trying to deal with.” Whatever that happened to be could potentially only be the tip of the iceberg – Deimos, being an Outlander, knew ominous proportions weren’t limited to any land or world. “Neither have I,” but there they were; lingering on the precipice of the unknown and striving to figure out how to deal with it.
Turning another corner, he pulled the sled to a stop for their first delivery, pausing briefly to listen to the sudden unfurling of words the Dragoon prospered. Perhaps it was fortuitous that he had a moment to think, as he gathered the parcel, snagging at the strings and bringing it to the family’s doorstep.
Because something about the announcement made his spine contort into tauter measures – for he’d always been a product of war, of machinations, and aware of what underlying manipulations looked, sounded, and felt like. Maybe it was too much experience at play here, but upon his return to the vessel, he tilted his head, more predacious in its movement. “Is this Stormbreak extending its reach into other lands?” How many times had he seen it happen – opposing soldiers marching into neighboring regions? And not much longer after that, some semblance of an invasion? His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing upon the young Dragoon; because for all the well-meaning gestures behind it, the insinuations and layers underneath were too specious for Deimos to ignore. “Halo has its own soldiers.” He’d know. He presided beside them every day. To serve the mountains, the summit, and the people contained within. “Nor would I want them called away from the land they are dedicated to.”
He left the other remark and response to hang in the air, a decision coming to rest upon the other answers Koa had to offer.
A joy hard-learned in winter was the warming of the bed You'd shake for minutes there and move your legs
It's good work, work that Koa can get behind with his usual enthusiasm and aplomb, the sight of parcels stacked neatly on front porches and stoops filling the lad with purpose. Even the chill of the snow feels lesser, alleviated by the simple warmth of good work. Pipsqueak helps, hauling bundles by their strings - though her motivations may have more to do with the jerky in Koa's pockets than Samaritan good will.
But alas, the ease is not to last. Where Deimos has too much experience, Koa has too little, his ideas fueled by naïve ideals. There is none of the jagged, overlapping histories that jade the Resurrected Sword, and nothing to protect Koa from the weight of its suspicion. Any excitement fades and reforms, eagerness morphing into anxiety as protests are lobbed like stones against his glass house. Eyes widen, eyebrows raise and furrow; "What? No!" is the immediate, visceral protest, underlined by an incredulous laugh.
Koa raises his gloved hands, waving them as though to clear the air of misunderstanding and suspicion. "No, of course- the Shields are renowned." Clearly something has gone quite wrong in the explanation of the plan. "It's not- the idea isn't to make Stormbreak stronger, but to make everyone safer." He presses his fist into his open hand for emphasis, jaw jutting stubbornly as he soldiers on.
"To my knowledge, Stormbreak and Halo are the only areas with dedicated soldiers. But what if something happens in Torchline? Or the Grounds? Or even the Wilds? People should be able to find protection no matter where they live." Like Jude and Edmund, attacked in the Wilds. Perhaps if they'd had better training, seven men wouldn't have had to die.
Koa Carpenter
Wrap the blanket over you and keep your head within Let your breath heat the air until you'd feel it getting thin
While there may not have been a lie embedded in the words, the laughter was enough to set him on further furrowed brows and interlocking stoicism, until the Sword was nothing more than a chiseled, forged set of reticence and irritation. The explanations themselves were built into such a range of naivete and immaturity that Deimos had to unclench his jaw multiple times, piercing gaze pinpointed solely on the Dragoon. Perhaps the youth was so enamored with his own ideas that he couldn’t help but forgo political discourse. And with Sohalia being so young too – and likely just as inexperienced – the ungracious notions made far more sense.
Still, no less grating.
He eventually parted his jaws to permit some manner of rumbling to persist and continue. “Who gave you such authority?” He could presume the Heart; kind and benevolent enough to grant these permissions without a second thought; the rest of the world, on the other hand…“That should be the duty of the leaders. I cannot imagine you can hold jurisdiction over the entirety of Caido.” He certainly wasn't going to be hold any dominion in Halo. Besides, it shouldn't have been something else for Stormbreak munitions to snag upon – not when they had likely their own multitudes of issues to contend with. Torchline was an anomaly on its own; a certain lawlessness had been built into its sanction. The Hollowed Grounds were fledgling roots all over again, and with Danta at the helm…the Sword wasn’t certain what would become of it. “Have you asked them if this is something they are interested in?” Or had he simply taken it upon himself – because neither he nor Evie had received any missives, notices, or letters about such things taking place. The Wilds were one thing – cultivated civilizations another.
He eventually pulled on the sled, persistent on his duty, unfurling from the marble grumbles and figure he’d taken on second before, shaking his head all the while. And while Deimos had always been about protection and shielding, this set seemed to come with its own bristling agendas.
A joy hard-learned in winter was the warming of the bed You'd shake for minutes there and move your legs
And here we see the naïve pup facing down a seasoned wolf, and failing utterly to realize just how silly he has been. See how he manages to get yet another foot lodged inside his mouth? What skill! Maybe if we're lucky we'll see him manage to secure all four, then bounce away like the empty airhead he is, back to his castle in the sky.
"Uhhhh." Who did give him authority? The presence of a power vacuum, though poor Koa isn't nearly savvy enough to identify such a thing. Nor is he bright enough to lie, not to Deimos, not when it's about this passion project that's about to be squashed like a castle of sand. "My Captain thought it was a good idea," he offers, brow furrowed into grooves. "And I've spoken to King Hadama about it, and to Ronin the Supernova. And Sunjata. And I came here to talk to you. But I guess the truth is I never really thought about it as a political thing." Which, of course, is very silly. But what did we expect?
This is a wrench Koa didn't expect. Of course it makes sense - the Dragoons have long been inexorably tied to Stormbreak, and while Koa's loyalty to his homeland is fierce, he isn't totally blind. Stormbreak doesn't have the best history with global inclusion, after all. Padding along through the snow after Deimos, the young man chews his lip. "What if... it wasn't the Dragoons?" he suggests softly, the words leaden in his mouth. "If the headquarters were somewhere neutral, the refuge? Do you think it'd be less... I don't know, problematic, then?" An idea he hates almost as much as he loves the thing he's trying so hard to build.
Koa Carpenter
Wrap the blanket over you and keep your head within Let your breath heat the air until you'd feel it getting thin
10-20-2023, 10:53 PM (This post was last modified: 10-30-2023, 04:55 PM by Deimos.)
cover you when the sky comes crashing in
The stupefying pause was a bewildering motion, enough so that Deimos ceased the motions of the sled to simply stare straight ahead in utter disbelief. Only thereafter did he maintain the mask, pinpointing his gaze back upon the Dragoon. Never – even in his most immature, infantile, and juvenile days of fledgling armies and training – would the Sword had ever presumed to do what Koa had – unless it was an invasion. And while maybe it had been a good idea and arrived from stalwart hearts, it hadn’t hailed those particular results, due to some clear issues with basic maneuvers.
His eyes narrowed again, a dangerous ease in their piercing haze. “They all believed it would be wise to send militia from another land into other regions? Without permission, information, or letters?” Had the rest of the world gone soft in the aftermath of war? He was shocked by the mention of Ronin, but Sunjata’s involvement only vaguely surprised him – and since it fell right into idiotic motions and notions the Flood so readily adhered to, it made sense moments thereafter.
At the suggestion of moving headquarters, the Warden snorted – plumes of air rising into the forefront, making him look far more predacious in the icy landscape. “It will always be problematic if you are stepping over territorial boundaries, or getting into matters that have nothing to do with you. You should have sought approval first from each ruler.” Before all of this – because Halo didn’t need, nor want, the Dragoons. He couldn’t fathom Torchline with open hands towards the notions. As for the Hollowed Grounds, the Greatwood, or Sunjata’s projects, that was solely up to them. "Halo will continue to use its own soldiers," he offered on one last low warning, before continuing onward, machinations already stirring.
