The last time she’d arrived amid the splendor of the waterways had been with Nate – and maybe the family-starved angles and torment in her ribcage brought her back there today. It’d lost some of its gilded array, perhaps due to the shift, the change, in the way the rest of the world was viewed from her eyes, but her gaze still went towards the stream, begging for an opportunity in gold.
Instead there were only leaves floating along the patterns of the stream, meandering down their own strayed paths. Snagging at her staff, and wandering upon the embankment, she aimed to hit a multitude of them – bringing the dark weapon down, watching as the spray volleyed, rallied, and the greenery dissipated beneath the blows.
Fangorn rumbled something, and she shrugged. [say]“Your turn to practice,”[/say] she offered to Sila, and the little dragon was coaxed off her shoulder, hovering nearby, before extending a streamline of fire upon one wayward leaf. It too had a montage of broken, beaten, battered remnants, before they were all taken apart.
Noah hadn't expected to stumble upon the woman and her companions, but the gods seemed to have another plan in mind than the hunter. He had been prepared for a hunt to bring something back for the guild, but instead the fire from the little dragon caught his eye. Noah watched from a distance for a while before finally stepping forth to make himself more known -- at least, to show his intention was to interact with them rather than to merely share the Oerwoud. [say]"Practicing for the war?"[/say] He asked, rather forthcoming. More bold than he would be by nature, but if she and her companions were practicing for the art of battle, perhaps he could use them to hone his own skills. [say]"Would you like a partner?"[/say] He asked, lifting a dark golden brow.
Fangorn spotted the stranger first, emerging amongst the thicket and stream – grumbling, hissing, waving his vines frantically. The unknown was a dangerous thing, at least to a creature of his stature, when survival had always been a pressing affair. It caused Melita and Sila to both whip around simultaneously, the former’s eyes narrowing, and the latter immediately flickering back to the Honeybee’s shoulder. [say]“We are,”[/say] was a note between pressed lips and a bite along her teeth.
If setting a leaf on fire could be considered that, at least.
She took a breath but made no other attempt to move; a taut and rigid little thing, ready to explode and ignite within any pressing moment. [say]“Depends on who you are.”[/say] Especially nowadays, when everything had been altered and changed.
In times like these, Noah didn't blame her. Though, he might not have blamed her at all. He grew up on the tundra where everyone was skeptical -- if you hadn't seen someone in a while, it was no telling whether or not how desperate they were to eat. Sometimes it meant theft, sometimes it meant beating, and sometimes it meant you became the meal.
Noah took a few steps forward, lowering his spear in a way that would make it hard for him to attack or defend, offering her the chance to decide if he was worthy of her time and energy. [say]"Noah Olson."[/say] The hunter introduced himself, extending a hand out for the skeptical woman. He let his eyes move briefly to each of her companions, intrigued by the gourd that moved wildly when he approached.
Majestic creatures, water horses. Even in death, this Ceffyl Dwr remains beautiful, if not near transculent from its place washed up at the side of the water. Something has cut its throat from ear to ear, and its blood has all since drained away.
The Honeybee’s eyes didn’t change – still narrowed suspiciously, watching, waiting. The lowering of a spear. The way she’d still be well armed even as he advanced. No threat peeking through movements or motions. She took his hand with the same skepticism, anticipating something, for she didn’t know anyone by Noah Olson, save for the title, circumvented and circulated from somewhere far north. [say]“The Sentinel?”[/say] Perhaps she should’ve known more – but their adventures scattered and skewed in myriads of directions. [say]“I’m Melita.”[/say]
Releasing his hand, and catching the vague outline of the dead water horse further upstream, her jaw clenched, swinging her eyes back to the much larger, broader man. [say]“What did you want to work on?”[/say]
Noah smiled slightly, the lifting of the corners of his mouth barely wrinkling his eyes. [say]"Yes, Honeybee."[/say] He said, knowing her name and title only as much as she knew his. Her name had been whispered and written across the history of Caido since the world opened to the outlanders. When the people of the Hollowed Grounds had been able to come to Halo, they worked together with the historians of the icy fortress to write down everything that they had witness and that had happened. Her name was a familiar mark among them.
[say]"Well, Safrin has charged me with using this spear in a spar before she will enchant it."[/say] He lifted the spear again, turning it in his hand a moment before taking a few steps back. He lifted it across his body defensively, his grip firm and ready for whatever Melita had to throw at him. He did not ignore the dragon on her shoulder, however, knowing the damaging depths his fire could bring.
The youth didn’t expect her own name to be recognized, mildly taken aback with widened eyes as he gave her title. At that, she gave a slight smile, deciding he was all right for the moment, before her eyes drifted towards the aforementioned weapon – neatly avoiding any notions Safrin’s name caused in the back of her mind. [say]“I have my staff,”[/say] which couldn’t be broken – and she hadn’t snagged at any serrated edges, save for her elemental arrows or daggers, in a while.
Removing the obsidian armament from her belt, the Honeybee inclined her head, backing away, giving them a modicum of space between the pair. [say]“When you’re ready then,”[/say] already beginning to warm up and stretch her own muscles, twisting and turning the weapon in between her palms.
Noah nodded as she agreed to their spar. Her smile was accompanied by his, and as she removed her staff Noah took a fighting stance. He pulled his spear up, business end aimed at the fiery woman. She indicated he had the first move, and the demigod did not hesitate to take it. Moving forward quickly, Noah altered his path slightly to the left, but still kept coming head on for Melita. He jabbed quickly with his spear, aimed up towards her shoulders.
He was careful to focus on where he put his feet, unwilling to be caught off guard by this new terrain. He had never sparred, let alone really traversed, a ground like this. The soil was loamy and still slippery with morning dew in some points. The waterhorse, dead and drained, was behind him and completely unnoticed at this point. Though, if Noah let his eyes move off the Honeybee for any instant, he might notice it if he moved around her.
He was a hell of a lot bigger than her.
But that didn’t always mean everything – signifying some of her own potential positives. She’d be faster. She’d be lighter. She’d be swifter. And she had years of survival, angles of perseverance, fortitude, might, and a certain penchant for menace on her side. Unaware of Noah’s story, legends, or services to the world, the Honeybee could only surmise what she heard and saw now.
She raised her staff as he jabbed towards her shoulders, not backing away, catching the serrated force and permitting it to slide off. Head-on, defiant, and seditious, she lowered her own armament in a brandished swing towards the left, launching and leaping, seeing if she could segment her prowess along his hip.
lkbnlbNoah had not expected the Honeybee to block his advance such as she did. He expected someone with the upper hand on speed and agility to use it to dodge and weave his onslaught. A reminder that an opponent would not always do as expected, a lesson Noah was in need of hanging on to. His jaw feathered as his spear slid off her staff.
She came at him quickly, and taking a mark from her own book, Noah stood his ground. He brought his spear down and blocked his hip. As her staff smacked against the shaft of his spear with enough force to send the vibrations up his arms, Noah turned. He kept his attention on his footwork as he moved his body around her in a half circle, his turning also carrying him back away from her. His spear came up as he did so, keeping the business end pointed at her as he built distance between them, before once more jabbing at the woman, this time aimed at her midsection.
The first few rounds could always be a test, a trial, of one another’s abilities. And Melita certainly never intended to be a predictable force of nature – too much wilderness, too much tempest, too much sedition and revolution and mercenary vows to ever settle amidst the grains. A curl of amusement snagged at the corners of her mouth as he blocked her own wayward launch – jabbing and striking, trying to create distance.
Sure. She could do that.
The staff was an excellent blockade when wielded correctly, catching at the spear in a winding motion before she was off towards the right, fast and fleet of foot. The water churned around her ankles and caused her to spring over the surface, seemingly light as a feather as her anklet did the work, an elemental display furnished only by the Fae. From there, she tried to rush towards his back, potentially open and exposed, to gain and gauge a hit along his spine. Or ass. Because it’d be funny.
His spear only caught her staff as she dodged his advancing blows. His jaw feathered and he ground his teeth together, determination lacing together every muscle within him. An observant man by nature, honed by the hours on the tundra, Noah noticed two things: her amused smile and the swiftness with which she moved. Though, the way the woman floated on the surface of the water was not lost on him either. She came around him quicly, and Noah pulled his spear into a defensive position, but kept the business end ready to use.
Even as impressed as he was, though, he followed her movements with precise tracking and quick defense. She came about to bop him and Noah quickly angled his spear in a half-spin to attempt to smack her staff away. His aim, though, and his speed, were a fault in the moment. As he swung and she did as well, her staff smacked against the back of Noah's hand and rasped his knuckles.
Unaware of what the man had done in his life – though, if one hazard to guess, he likely learned how to survive hardships too, just in differing ways – the youth’s eyes narrowed, taking in the scope of his motions. Smart and keen, as if experience told a story, a prowess coming from multitudes of muscle memory, likely saving the Sentinel from a meaner, more influential snap of her staff.
But still, she remained wary of the serrated edges of the spear, content to amuse herself in bounding and leaping along the water until she could circle and regain some modicum of distance and rapacity. Her speed would continue to be a factor, for as long as she had it, and she rounded back towards his right side, intending to reach and smack at his ribs.
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