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!
The youngling loved hearing stories about his parents, their friends, and all their adventures they had gone on. All of the valiant battles, everything that they stood for displayed in their actions and collections of their histories.
Marcus shifted again on his chair so that he crouched atop the oak seat, huffing slightly as he started on the word. Deimos’ massive hand covered it so that Marcus could focus on its parts. Having pronounced it “heel-hoe-und” the first time, Marcus knew it wasn’t correct, since Deimos had stopped him on it.
First, he sounded the “h”, kept in the long “e” and the “l”. He lifted a brow and tilted his head to look at the warden again, waiting for him to either correct him or to let him go forward.
Those adventures and establishments had been a different sort of sojourn – and Deimos was never quite sure how to segment it into his memories. Were they favored, because they hadn’t backed down from what they’d stood for? Had they been a segmented failure, due to how they hadn’t been able to hold Halo or snag it back until much later?
Or did it matter, in the end – because those friendships were still there, and Halo stood tall and strong under all the circumstances?
Heel hoe-und had not been the expectation for the day, and once more he had to refrain from laughing. Instead, the snort became a muffled sort of semblance, as if he was merely clearing his throat. “Short e on this one,” he noted, waiting for the rearrangement of words and formations, imitating the sound once more.
”Oh, Okay. Hell.” He said, wiggling with excitement and pride both, but ready to move on to the next part of the word. Had it been Noah or Cordelia helping him with this task, he might have moved their hand from the parchment to be able to see the rest of the word. But he didn’t have that same gall to perform such an action of audacity towards the warden.
His parents had taught him manners, surely, but Marcus knew the relationship with Deimos and his parents was a good standing one (ha), and beside from him holding a position of authority within Halo, he was important to their family and deserved a measure of respect above others.
So he waited patiently, but repeated the word to make sure that he had it down.
As soon as the word was uttered correctly, he nodded, moving on and removing his finger from the other portions. “This one,” pointing to the vowel pair, “says ‘ow’, like in cow and now.” The rest of the segment would be easy enough for the youth to figure, and so he backed away thereafter, giving Marcus the vague encouragement and teaching, before yielding and permitting him to strive forward.
Thereafter, he grabbed hold of another journal, this one outlined in Torchline additions, before beginning to pierce his way through this particular amount, intending to make a notation near ‘hels’ and all their void distinctions.
Deimos moved him along swiftly enough to quell the excited fire in Marcus’ chest. ”Hellhound, then.” He said, finally. ”Wait — but those words have a “w” in them, and hellhound has a “u”. That doesn’t make sense.” He tilted his head some, looking up at the warden with twisted eyebrows and a scrunched up nose.
Oh, youngling. How little did you know that the common language was incredibly confusing.
”Actually, I have another question. Why do letters make so many different sounds? Why can’t they just all be the same and all of our words have to make only those sounds. That would be easier. Or—OR—“ Excitement stirred in him again and he stood up on the oak chair without thinking, ”—we could just grunt and groan and point. That would be easiest.” At least he thought it was — in his limited knowledge and small amount of life, that had worked for him, anyway.
Deimos gave a soft sigh after a nod of confirmation on the Abandoned’s success, because Marcus was swiftly learning things the Sword had acquired in youth as well. “Sometimes language does not follow patterns,” or they did, in some bizarre and twisted fraction.
Thumbing through the parchment, his head glanced up at the inquiry. “It would be much easier, but often we mesh things together from different languages. I am sure our Outlander additions did not make that simpler either.” He gave a smile to indicate some attempt at a joke and self-deprecation all in one measure, though his eyes widened as the lad stood on the chair, and he ended up offering his arm for him to step down before he ended up falling or faltering. “A decent idea, but it has its limitations.”
Intuitive to play at this age, Marcus grabbed on to the warden’s jest and joke along his rant. He stomped a foot on the oak chair. Deimos lifted his hand — surely in an attempt to protect him — and Marcus nearly jumped off of the chair.
Marcus reached out and took hold of the warden’s forearm, but kept going on his verbal rampage, feet slamming with a thud against the solid ground. [say]”Well, I think we could do it. Like this.”[/say] Marcus then took on a more serious look, his brows knitting together and his lips puffing out like some primordial comic. He then grunted several times and shot his finger to point out at another journal,
His brow arched at the stomping and modest rampage, wondering if this was going to be some impending child tantrum – Deimos hadn’t been free of them either in childhood - when he noted the joke seemed to be taking on a flame of its own. Unbothered by the exchange, and maintaining his nonchalant demeanor, his eyes flickered towards the journal, pointed and segmented. “See. What am I to do with the journal?” Grab it? Put it away? Rearrange it on the shelf?
Releasing the youth, he shook his head, awaiting the series of grunts and finger pointing to continue or meander into further explanations.
A grunt of frustration — amped up by play — came from the youth’s throat. Then, he beat against his chest with one hand and made a grabbing motion with the other. He grunted and groaned and still the gleam that came with games and jest sparkled in his brilliant blue eyes. He stomped a foot when the warden didn’t comply immediately, and repeated his gestures and his sounds with much more pomp and circumstance. He jumped a little, copper hair bouncing comically as he did so.
This was easier, right? Better communication. What else could come across as clearly of “I want what you have” then such gestures and verbal grunts?
Well — his little mind could think of something else, but there was no way he could best the warden in a wrestling match
The meaning might have been becoming clearer, but since the Warden was well-equipped in teasing and games, the reticence didn’t betray the mischief beginning to meander through his own mind and measures. A place of non-compliance in the mannerisms of his own antics – a devilry unfortunately many in Halo had become accustomed to. “This?”
He held the journal up, as if mystified, purposefully misconstruing anything the gestures might have purposefully pinpointed. “I must add some things to it,” and began churning through the pages once more, still concentrating and honing in on the nefarious gulls. “There are void hels in Torchline now too.”
Deimos held the tome of knowlege out of the way and Marcus jumped at it playfully. Marcus bumped against the table as he hopped, sending some books and pages and journals toppling across the surface. Some even fell to the ground, though the youngling ignored it. He made grabbing motions with his hands, still, and grunted -- until the warden said something that caught his interest far more than the game itself.
"Wait, void hels?" Marcus asked, breaking his grunts and moans and groans with the surprised string of words. Full of youthful wonder, Marcus' eyes widened. "The void is touching everything." He breathed the last word with an equal amount of awe and terror. "My dad says you guys have been killing them, like Vi wants."
Sighing, and still keeping the book out of the youth’s reach, he crouched down to snag at the others that had toppled and fallen in Marcus’s haste. Some were ancient and he didn’t want them broken apart, and others were still fairly new and had yet to be subjected to many pitfalls of humans.
At least the grunting and pointing had ceased for actual words, at which Deimos arched his brow again, placing the journals back upon the table. Deciding the Abandoned wasn’t going to put the latest parchment into danger, he opened the book to the designated page, pointing towards the hels he’d drawn after the latest encounter. “Unfortunately. I have heard King’s End’s unicorns are being affected as well,” which he didn’t particularly care for, out of homage for his companion. “We have been. Belial and I took out most of this flock.” Unfurling another long breath, his head tilted once more, studying the material. “Have you seen any?” He was uncertain if Noah or Cordelia had taken the lad out into the wilderness lately, or left him in the safer boundaries of the Citadel.
”No.” Marcus informed with a shake of his head, eyes still wide in wonder and awe and the unmistakable tinge of fear. ”Even on the tundra with my parents we haven’t seen any.” Or at least, he hadn’t. He wasn’t able to say for sure whether or not his parents had seen any and had chosen to steer him and his sister the other way while out on their training hunts. He suspected the would, given their natures.
Marcus was about to ask Deimos more questions when he noticed the time by way of the long shadows and the mostly melted candles he had lit upon arrival. ”I better be getting home.” Marcus said. ”Thank you for helping me read.” He offered the warden a beaming smile, the fear snuffed out by the distraction of having to get home, lest he face Cordelia’s ire.
