This is the place they asked her to come to. This distant, alien arena has an almost sacred energy to it, an intensity that demands the fire of conflict and competition. It is, perhaps, a poetic contrast to their last meeting, however similar they are otherwise: land and sea, a clear night sky, a chill breeze.
Ash and salt fill the air, riding the steam that whispers from the shoreline. It obscures the ground somewhat, throes of thick mist tossing around their pacing boots. The platform moves ever so slightly beneath their weight. Some parts are warmer than others.
A machete in one hand and hunting knife in the other, Chaele swings their arms restlessly. Their head turns from side to side to see clearly, their vision compromised by the stag skull mask. But they are ready despite the handicap, and eager for the challenge.
It was an odd place to request a meeting, but this wasn't really a meeting. Not in the traditional sense. This was about training, getting stronger, and growth. Now, the Nightshade didn't think that the old woman was weak by any means, but she was curious of her capabilities. Where she potentially stood on things.
The Nightshade clears her throat as she approaches, easily spotting her figure even with the ash hanging in the air, Aidon flying above her to keep a watchful eye out. [say]"I don't think I ever properly introduced myself... I'm Maeve."[/say] She starts, drawing her whip from her hip and slowly uncoiling it.
They look up to the shadow of the dragon above, alert to its watchful protection. Whatever blade or whip or magic is drawn here, the Nightshade has the advantage-- as is her right. As she approaches, Chaele nods their head in a gesture that resembles a bow. [say]“Your reputation precedes you, Queen Maeve,”[/say] they greet, blades low. Unfortunately the same is not true of the shaman. [say]“I am called Chaele.”[/say]
Motivations are complex, fickle things; Maeve may have heard of the shaman’s consorting with Ascended of the Ground, and it is true that Chaele wonders how this supplicant to the Old Gods compares in skill and sympathy. But so too is this a chance to show that they are civil, neutral, harmless. The two blades clash together with a ringing noise, an invitation to move first.
[say]“I thank you for coming so far to meet me. May the stars shine favorably on our reunion.”[/say]
The comment makes her brow arch, head cocking to the side as she regards the shaman, [say]"Oh? Does it?"[/say] She asks, circling the old woman as she palms the handle of her whip, curiosity sparking in jade eyes. Now, the Nightshade wasn't known for being particularly ruthless. Truthfully, she had doubts that she'd made much of a name for herself at all, but apparently she was wrong in that regard if this woman was to be believed. [say]"Nice to officially meet you, Chaele."[/say]
Her head dips in a nod, the Phoenix feather tip flicking across ash, embers dancing along behind it. [say]"Of course... Though, you should know that there are people aware of where I'm at. Should anything happen."[/say] The Nightshade doubts that the implication would be missed. Her wrist snaps, igniting the length of the whip as it flicks out towards the shaman.
Chaele does not need a second look up to hear distant sound of flapping wings, the circling dragon an ever present reminder that Maeve’s defenses stretch farther than the length of her whip. Their gaze is instead on the weapon between the Nightshade’s deft hands. Its first lick at the air is moreso a warning, not unlike the words that tumble from full lips, but the shaman steps back in a dodge all the same.
[say]“I am not so lucky,”[/say] they reply, a faint grin present in the lilt of her voice even as her mouth remains masked. [say]“You could kill me now and no one would ever know. But I think you will not, stargazer. I think you are like me, who craves the challenge of a good, clean duel.”[/say]
They step closer then, circling around in the direction of Maeve’s nondominant side. The glint of their machete’s edge reveals that it has been dulled by mundane preparations for LongNight; while it may still cut, it will not slice deep. [say]“I will stop at the word yield, and I have healing herbs for after. Agreed?”[/say]
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