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!
running off over next doors
garden before the hour is done
The first bit of instruction came before she attacked again, a simple phrase she'd heard many times. An important one none the less, and she nodded before she charged at her foe, strength or determination untempered by her fault. Unfortunately the feint was not to be, he saw it coming and steel met steel once more. She braced herself for his retaliation, and when none came she paused, glancing up at his in slight confusion.
Then came the lesson, the correction, and while she normally hated being told what to do she felt no such reluctance to follow his advice. He was the general, a vigilant hound and clearly a formidable warrior, she would quell her pacing urge to continue in favor of learning while she could. Chest rising and falling , she gave a slack nod at his counsel, allowing him to demonstrate. Eager eyes followed the tip and edge of his weapon, imagining the follow through into her chest.
Try again, and she would with pleasure, the woman placed her sword along his in the way he'd demonstrated, and with a more fluid and small movement thrust it forward, attempting the feint as he did.
it’s more a question of feeling
than it is a question of fun
At least she was willing to listen, not grate and whine, not seethe and embroil, in the midst of education. She’d come here to learn, to grasp hold of those techniques, to become better, stronger, and mightier. The ones who yearned to be grand and great, but not put the time or effort in, expecting themselves to be automatically volatile and well-practiced, were the ones who quit well before they could accomplish anything. Aisha already had a noteworthy set of skills; she merely needed to polish them, make them inherent, embroiled, infused into her motions and movements.
He watched while she went back and forth with her blade as he’d demonstrated; the modeling gone well, as she maneuvered alongside his munitions. “Better,” he insisted with a nod of his head, the motions smaller, precise, keen, instead of a raised alarm or warning given, granted, to her opponent.
When she’d ceased, he gave into more advanced techniques, portions she might not have been able to view, wield, or utilize before being transported here, amongst Outlander portals and the ridiculous unknown. “Try this one then.” He straightened up, maneuvering his blade closer to his face, while the other arm slid underneath (due to be an effective blocking aid, if the timing went well). Away from her, turning to the side so she could view it in its entirety, he flexed in his knees slightly, before utilizing that power and might to thrust forward. He coaxed the iterations from several other stances, sometimes lowering the sword, sometimes raising it. “It is difficult for your enemy to block,” since they’d be coming straight forward, and his or her blade would be able to slide by, an incoming devastation to one’s chest or shoulders again. Aimed higher, it could be a head wound. Lowered, it could be a strike upon the abdomen.
running off over next doors
garden before the hour is done
The girl had always loved praise, his words as she drilled the maneuver dragging a slight smirk to her lips. It wasn't that big of a change on her end, a simple tweak of method and focus to detail. But she could see the difference it would make in a fight, and felt satisfied having honed a skill. After such practice was ended he moved on to something else, a new stance and a new thrust.
Once again keen eyes scanned his model, his posture and form, the arm underneath and the arm above. The side view was helpful, and she turned her body in the direction he did but kept her eyes on him. Mimicking his position she held her blade staunchly, thumb rubbing absently against the leather as he exhibited the strike. At some point through his repetitious maneuvering Aisha joined in, pressing the blade forward with a strength but not as much as he had cajoled from his stance.
So she tried again, this time following the pattern of his legs as well, flexing those muscles to add some oomph to her strike.
it’s more a question of feeling
than it is a question of fun
The General was not one to frequent praise; conceding to it when appropriate or earned. Aisha had skills and talents, and those were to be recognized. His eyes watched as she mirrored his position, stepping aside to witness and scrutinize the technique as she attempted it for herself. “More weight in your feet,” a grounding measure, so she could power off from the earth, amplify her abilities, her striking range, the menace and might behind the thrust. She’d be able to incorporate such movements into whatever skirmishes, battles, and duels damned or doomed to follow. “Good,” as she followed through.
Deimos paused in his machinations though; considering going through more stances, more methods and approaches, or allowing her time to amplify the ones already given and granted. Too many procedures tended to be overwhelming; in their training days, they hadn’t adhered to more than one or two a day, until they’d mastered those and could move on. She already had quite a few in her repertoire – perhaps he would allow her to make the decision, whether to proceed in further assaults, her mind open and clear, or to cease and desist there. He wasn’t certain about her endurance or fortitude either; machinations requiring ample energy, concentration and focus when adhering to new motions. He lifted his blade and placed it along his shoulder, at rest and ease while they meandered around precision and possibilities. “Is that sufficient for today, or do you want to continue?”
running off over next doors
garden before the hour is done
This time she got it right, Deimos confirming that the extra power came from the legs. The follow through felt good, her imaginary opponent crumpling and surrendering before her, and she turned her head to look at her instructor with a satisfied glint in her eyes. He was in a moment of thought, sword swung over his shoulder in a resigned position, she wondered if there was more to learn or if it would be another day.
The choice was to be her's then, Aisha's knew her answer but didn't want to press him. She would anyway, "I'll keep going if you can," there was a hint of test in her voice, only the playful kind. A few more maneuvers would be enough, and she would tire soon no doubt, but she'd been itching for this kind of work since she'd arrived, and it felt good to practice her chosen vice.
it’s more a question of feeling
than it is a question of fun
He snorted at the insinuation of stamina and endurance; fortitude, tenacity, and perseverance had been something he’d carved and sculpted deep in the fathoms of his being. More than once it’d saved him amidst blood-soaked fields and warring blasts, digging deep into his lungs, into his marrow, into his flesh and bone. Her decision rested there, and he nodded her acceptance, mind rolling over other variables and possibilities. “Let me know when you have had enough.” Otherwise, he’d continue in the stead, proffering whatever wisdom or sagacity available.
“We will try this one,” and he resumed his stance, grounded in his feet once more, except his sword was lowered, right leg forward. The blade was pinpointed towards the earth, a foot or so above. On quick, effortless junctures, he raised the armament up with both hands, swinging it in an ascending arc deftly in the wind, towards some imaginary, intended target. “You can use this to block,” as it could easily cut along another’s raised blade, especially with some power and might behind it, “and then move forward to strike.” He pivoted swiftly, as if rotating around his opponent to wound, to mar, to tear. If someone were incapable of defending themselves, the weapon could essentially ripple its way through abdomen, sternum, or throat; a deadly fixture without armor or guard. Even hitting a hand within the lunge could disarm an adversary.
running off over next doors
garden before the hour is done
Deimos agreed to continue the lesson, Aisha nodded back, respectfully gracious to him. He really owed her nothing, no advice or assistance had she earned. The general helped simply to help, which was something she could admire and appreciate, and strive to someday be able to do for others.
We will try this one, Aisha followed suit, grounding herself as he did, eyes surveying every twitch and flex of his muscles. Right food forward, sword low but maintaining a pert and strong grip. He demonstrated the block, arcing his blade upwards to clash with the specter foe's. And then a counter, a fluid continuation of the block into a belligerent dance. She'd gone through many blocking and countering maneuvers in the past, but to refine the skill in new ways was always appreciated. She liked the way this specific move packaged both together, a series that promised a satisfying end.
Under his gaze she attempted the move, blocking a strike then going in for the retaliation, offering no mercy to her imaginary opponent.
it’s more a question of feeling
than it is a question of fun
Deimos had this role before – when there were wars, when there were hollowed reaches of hell bordering upon them at all times, when there was a different world pressing in around them. He’d trained and administered then too, offered tactics and strategies, specious bouts of duplicity in the midst of battle, striving for advantageous angles. Here it was altered and changed, setting up the barracks so others would have opportunity to better themselves, to enable strength, thoughts, and defensive maneuvers, in case of future upheavals, in case of foretold events, in case of disaster and mayhem stringing itself together all over again. He always felt better that these inhabitants and individuals at least had the chance to develop and utilize abilities, whether it be in magic or munitions.
He watched her from the corner of his eye as he continued the same paces – she was more fluid this time, remaining in the stance he’d instructed her to perform before. A nod came along with his approval, still remaining there in the vivid silence.
“Now this,” and the Sword maneuvered back into a familiar position, placing his left leg in front this time, raising the weapon in front of his chest, both palms wrapped around the pommel. “It is similar in efforts to the last one, but coming from a different point. You can still block, and it uses your momentum and force to head straight towards an enemy’s chest.” Or neck, depending on how much an opponent could defend themselves, if they could step out of the way in time. He launched forward, as if an imaginary foe prevailed before him (but not for long), the span of his armaments coasting through the air, rapt, swift demonstrations of power and precision.
running off over next doors
garden before the hour is done
A nod signaled that they were moving on, Aisha filed away the previous motion for later practice and prepared to learn a new one. The girl assumed the stance, mimicking the man once more then making her own tweaks to settle comfortable into it. After all, they may both be warriors, but they shared little in the matter of sculpture. The curvature of their muscles, length of their limbs, dominance of power balances were different, so she had to make his teaching work for her.
After adjusting, she gave a hearty nod and watched as he demonstrated. The movement was a thrust, one that would skewer any opponent unwise enough to be caught. Her eyes followed his sword and his grip as he show cased it, then finally joined in, launching herself at her own imaginary foe, then returning her blade to in front of her chest to start again.
Aisha could feel her body winding down after a while, her push to continue, determination to prove her worth having worn her joints to jelly. She ceased her drilling of the maneuver, turning to Deimos and wiping a bit of sweat from her brow, "I think that's enough for me." Letting her rush simmer, a wide grin spread across her face, "Thank you for this, let me know if there's anything you need in return." It was a simple offer, and she partly hoped he would have something to request. If not as a gift of gratitude, than as something to fill tomorrows empty calendar with.
it’s more a question of feeling
than it is a question of fun
An eventuality; a call to cease and desist after conflagrations and techniques were honed, shared for more beleaguering times. He adjusted his stance accordingly, nodding at her insinuations of enough, bringing the sword back to his belt. “You did well.” A noteworthy set of skills: somewhere along the lines she had gained knowledge and sagacity, capable of picking up on maneuvers seamlessly. “Practice those, and if you wish to come back, I can teach you more.” The Sword remained eternally willing to grant more knowledge to those invested in the arts of munitions. “We have a larger training session here once a season.” Implying she was invited to that sort of conflagration and inferno as well – meaning to plan and orchestrate it within the next week or so – Deepfrost nearly upon them.
He bowed his head at her acknowledgments – then returning to a prior position, the slightest etchings of a smile ghosting along his mouth. “You are welcome.” As far as anything in return, the General had never asked anyone else; he likely wouldn’t start now. Instead, he adjusted it accordingly, a request for her movements to stay sharp.[ “Keep honing your skills.” She’d be amongst and amidst the more-established warriors, if she continued in the same stead. They needed all the more with prowess and potential, with precision and harpooning capacities, in the days to come or merely for future endeavors. Strength, fortitude, and endurance would always ensure an advantage.
running off over next doors
garden before the hour is done
"I will take you up on it," Aisha replied with a smile, weary but satisfied. She would attend the group training session, to further improve as well as meet other's of her nature and tendency. If she stayed in the Hollowed Grounds for Deepfrost they could very well become her fellow militiamen, fighting by her side as she gave all she had for a world she barely knew.
Was coming to know, and to respect.
A rare hint of mirth tugged at Deimos' lips, Aisha's own smile widening at that. He gave her no direct task and asked for no payment, but rather requested her to continue practicing. She nodded, "Yes sir," then with a friendly dip of her head started to turn away. She caught herself, giving the sword a quick shake and a glance back at the general, "I'm borrowing this." A cheeky comment, but one he hopefully would have no quarrels with.
Fin for Aisha!
it’s more a question of feeling
than it is a question of fun
