Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
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A smile painted his face as the arrow pierced into his target successfully. This was a massive boost in his confidence and the shell Oliver had built seemed to be cracking, but it was still there. Today wasn't a time to talk, it was a day where he should learn and actually be helpful. The goal of today was to show Deimos and the others that he could be useful and that they could trust him in the future. What he did today mattered more than anything else. Otherwise, how could anyone view him as strong or someone to go to when in need?
Once the targets had been moved, Oliver waited his turn, watching each person go, before finally he could go up and take this chance. Like before, he tried his best to mimic what Deimos did, but trying to follow the additional guidance of Jigano this time. Seeing as it was farther, there must be a little something more, leading to him looking to the loreseeker for some guidance.
Lifting up the bow, he held in his breath as he readied himself, mimic the stance before finally, the arrow was released.
Oliver tries to mimic Jigano and Deimos (again)
i just want my existance to be
more than trembling
They took their stances again – Deimos following through on prior motions and corrections. A lifted elbow here and there, fingers readjusting, redirecting aim. They were fully capable, he had no doubts, each one determined in their own right, eager to prove themselves, fervent to try, which was the first step towards any prowess or potential.
Three of them continued to soar, segmenting directly into their targets. Evie’s slammed almost dead center, clearly an impeccable eye developing through her other trainings and manifestations. The Sword offered her a low whistle of commendation and support, nodding impressively in the notion that despite the increased distance and difficulty, she only seemed to improve.
Jigano and Oliver had similar results, their arrows continuing to land neatly along their goals, both almost entirely on the center. He muffled another chuckle, between crossbow bolts and Oliver’s sudden archery talents, they might have stood a chance against weathering whatever storms were damned and doomed to assault in the coming days, months, and seasons.
The only true tribulation was Weaver’s. Perhaps it’d been beginner’s luck from the other portion. Maybe there’d been a wane in concentration. Whatever the reason, the woman’s arrow flew, but segmented in a beeline towards her foot, almost harpooning and spearing herself. His brow arched again, a silent inquiry, wisely saying naught grating – only proffering some quieter advice, patience and composure surrounding, pervading his form. “Think of your goal. Line your eye up with your bow.” He adjusted the way she held it, eyes narrowed in speculation, and then segmented it so that it would be positioned correctly. “Try again.”
In the meantime, he maneuvered towards the other three; not adjusting Weaver’s tutelage and instruction until she’d mastered this one. “Ordinarily I would not move along to this level until you have had more practice.” Hours upon hours, but these were touches and fringes of what could be, an itching of talent, a moment to see where they strayed and strived. “But where we are ascertaining practicing with an assortment of weapons, it should suffice.” Too much time couldn’t be spent on one thing, or they’d be here for an eternity.
He grabbed several targets from the side: smaller, meant to be mobile, to fly through the air, rather than remaining statuesque before them. Some were shaped like birds, with outstretched, paper-thin accoutrements and feathers, some were hastened to resemble rodents, or any other obnoxious species of vermin. “Now we can test your timing and your eyes.” For an example, he grabbed hold of his bow again, standing before them while they lowered their weapons. On a long toss and throw, upwards, he drew back his string again, taut, rigid, and unyielding, narrowing his gaze until he found a perfected moment, releasing the strand, and witnessing as the arrow's head flew straight into the body of the target, falling to the ground, dead and done.
To each, one by one (each having a separate turn, out of the range of one another), he’d follow through on the same lines, tossing the object within the air, high enough for them to gauge appropriate timing, for notching, for drawing, and then for striking.
--
Weaver rolled a crit fail, while everyone else did very well!
Moving along – Weaver will try her current target again. The rest will try to hit a moving target!
He allowed the correction of his stance, the adjustment of his posture, and was rewarded with another strong hit in spite of the increased distance. He grinned, offering Evie a congratulatory whistle as her arrow struck true, and nodded, suitably impressed, with Oliver's strike as well. The three of them were becoming regular deadeye's, it would seem, but Weaver's earlier warning about her lack of skill with the bow finally showed itself to be true, and he winced sympathetically as the arrow slipped down instead of soaring across.
Deimos was best equipped to handle that instruction, however, and since no blood was shed the bard waited patiently for what would come next. When the General revealed his dastardly plan both silver brows arched and Jigano chuckled. "Making sure not to let the early successes go to our heads?" he teased, considering the difficulty of hitting a moving target. Still, he'd been practicing with the crossbow for a reason, and now was the time to see how well those hours would pay off.
While the others prepared themselves, he exhaled and shifted his weight, resetting the crossbow's string but not yet loading it until he gave Deimos the signal to toss. Then he reached for his quiver, pulling the bolt out in a fluid motion and settling it into the channel as he raised the stock to his shoulder and sighted down its length, pulling the trigger to try and hit the stuffed rat that was falling to its doom a little ways away.
”Told you,” she signsongs, as Deimos comes over to correct her form. If only it were so simple. She knows the proper form, but it just really doesn’t seem to matter when it comes to the bow. It’s a weapon for the patient, and she is not. Still, it is clear she listens to the advice all the same. Maybe someday it will stick. Everyone else passes with flying colors though, so at least there are not any other wayward arrows.
Once Deimos has corrected her form, she does as told. Try again, he says, and so she lines herself up with her eye on the bow and let’s it fly. As long as it doesn’t go careening toward her foot or someone else, she doesn’t much care where it ends up. Though it would be nice to hit the target.
Her turn done, she watches the others as Deimos throws objects into the air for them to hit. It is always interesting to watch others who are good with a bow. It’s a very cool weapon, and one that generally allows a safer distance from the battle. Her brother might be pleased if she learned to use it better, but Weaver will always be the sort to charge into danger with a blade.
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
03-30-2020, 07:39 AM (This post was last modified: 04-02-2020, 09:30 AM by Evie.)
EVIE
Deimos' impressed whistle only helps bolster her spirits higher after she realizes she has hit nearly dead center. It feels like vindication, pride swelling in her breast until it feels like bubbles will start pouring up her throat. They're difficult to swallow down, but she does so despite the loony grin on her face. Can't let it go too far to her head after all, no matter how tempting.
There is still more yet to do after all. Evie certainly isn't expecting Deimos to go easy on them, even if Weaver has nearly obliterated her foot with her own arrow. As they progress onto moving targets her pulse thuds hard, worried that she will fail here when it feels the most important. Her fingers tremble slightly as she gauges the height and speed as Deimos tosses it up, only releasing when she feels it's the right time. Still far different from her throwing daggers, but she hopes it's enough to translate across weapons.
There was a glow of pride as his arrow hit once again. Now, it wasn't dead on, but he still felt super great for what he had done. He even looked over at Deimos for a reaction and was surprisingly satisfied with what he saw. The man still remained pretty stoic, but he could still tell there was something... or maybe he was misreading. Either way: he did a great job.
Once more, he watched as everyone went, this time was actually because he felt super nervous. Hitting a sitting target was one thing, but going after a moving target? That was way different. Watching everyone else did help to build some confidence and soon he felt like he was capable enough to go forward with this.
After everyone else had gone, it was his turn. Moving on forward he readied himself and waited for Deimos to toss up the target. Once he did, he made his aim and fired the arrow, hoping only for the very best.
i just want my existance to be
more than trembling
Apparently he needed to employ everyone as archers.
Each time the tinier, maneuvering targets were thrown, meant to sail through the air, mimic a moving adversary. Each time, Jigano, Evie, and Oliver alike, found their goals, marking and maiming the stuffed assemblage. Jigano’s rat was neatly speared through the eye, Evie’s stuck into its gut, and Oliver’s rendered into its chest, all falling with their pieces warped and disassembled – signifying mortal wounds. Some would bleed and bleed until they succumbed, others would’ve melded a quick demise.
Weaver too, was successful on her second try, the arrow piercing into the target, no one, not even a foot, in danger.
With that finished, the General appeared satisfied with the results, a genuine smile making its way along his mouth. “I am impressed. Perhaps all of you should take on archery.” Because if they could maintain that semblance of accuracy, their enemies should have something to fear.
Thereafter, he pulled away the targets, imploring them to place their bows, quivers, arrows, and bracers back along the weapons rack. “I would like to move on to blades.” His eyes went from Weaver, to Jigano, understanding, knowing their capabilities, withstanding them firsthand. “You have a variety of choices.” And there were, displayed across the munitions: short swords, long swords, rapiers, cutlasses, all wooden and etched to be without sharpened contortions, training exercises and inexperience too often leading to impalements and other devastating blows. “Pick the one you think would best suit you.” His stare went to Weaver and Jigano. “You may use your own.”
Then the General went forward again, grabbing hold of the targets crafted for these occasions; figures and effigies stuffed with straw, a variety of faces painted on their countenances once more – one for each, capable of choosing whichever one they sought. Once they’d settled before their marks, he grabbed hold of his own favored sword from his belt, grasping the familiar pommel amongst calloused hands. “We are going to practice specific movements for assaulting and defending. For those that are experienced, I would like you to practice the move you think the weakest.” Backhand, forehand, dashing, feinting, a variety of complexities that would suffice. But there was no need to embrace and showcase something they could already harpoon and siege within their sleep, something so drawn into their muscle memory. Better to implement the weaker contortions, so he could help adjust and strategize.
His stare went to Evie and Oliver, presuming they had little fortitude in these measures. Perhaps he’d be wrong – suitably surprised as he’d been in the archery rounds. “Try this first.” They’d begin with something basic: striking from above. Crossing over to a target designated for modeling, he did exactly as he’d prompted them – positioning himself so his left foot led, right to the back, body weight evenly distributed, and hips aligned towards his unmoving opponent. He held his sword shoulder level, and simplistic steps followed: bringing his blade forward, stepping towards the fake adversary, weapon inclined to the right so as to dodge anything incoming. Then he brought the blade down, in a straight line, towards the target’s shoulder. The beast applied the same movements and motions several times, before maneuvering away, imploring them to give it a go, walking amongst their actions to supervise.
--
Very nice rolls for the last archery round!
Moving onto swords: pick and choose the one you like best, select a target, and try a move! For those experienced already in swordplay, attempt a move you wouldn’t ordinarily use.
Jigano grinned at the praise, hard-earned as it had been. They had all shot well, even Oliver and Weaver, and displayed a talent that would stand them all in good stead in the future, he suspected. Even if it was just for hunting rather than warfare, such skills were useful to have and hone in times of peace.
Though how 'peaceful' Caido truly was could be argued. The wars of humans were not the only conflicts they had to contend with in a land of mud monsters, LongNight demons, and Landsharks.
But the lesson moved on, and Jigano carefully eased the string of his crossbow and set it aside with his quiver of bolts as Deimos prepared the pells for the coming onslaught. A nod and a wry quirk of his lips acknowledged the General's glance, but he had his rapier today rather than the short sword they had trained with before, and he hoped to give a better accounting of himself with a weapon he could wield with far more finesse.
Of course, the Sword would never make it that easy on them, and Jigano's grin turned rueful as they were instructed to 'do their worst.' He shared a commiserating smile with Weaver, his fellow blade wielder, and stepped up to a practice target bearing an unfamiliar visage. The trickiest move for a rapier user was always a riposte, but the training dummy gave him nothing to parry so instead he turned his attention to the crossbody low guard from the quinte position at his left hip, parrying an invisible blade as he twisted and rose smoothly in a thrusting stab to the target's throat, his double-edged blade glittering in the sun.
At least she managed not to make a complete ass of herself this round. The arrow flies to its target, and she lets out the breath she was holding. It may be her worst weapon, but there was still some part of her that hated being bad at anything when it came to fighting. Not that she didn’t have plenty to learn, but still, she did like to be at least somewhat formidable. Maybe that’s why she hates the bow so much. It is harder to cover her mistakes.
Weaver returns her bow, quiver, and bracer to the place where she had gotten them from, thankful that they are moving on to something she is more comfortable with. Granted, she is not particularly formal in her skills, and as such, she expects this entire thing to be something of a challenge. To learn proper form and actually keep it was something she had never excelled at. Instead, Weaver simply fought like she had nothing to lose, and took risks when she should not.
Weaver pulls the scythe from her back, taking her position before one of the targets with yet another face. He tells them to pick their weakest move, and she returns Jiango’s rueful smile with a shrug. Her weapon did not lend itself as well to forehand attacks, given the design of the blade. Her mother had been clever, and the blade was double edged, allowing Weaver to use either side. Yet Weaver favored coming around a target and pulling, using the wicked curve of the blade to her advantage.
This time she watches as Deimos demonstrates for Evie and Oliver, curious how he approaches basic moves. She can adapt most sword techniques to her own weapon, though it is never exactly the same. She watches for a while until the motions feel like memory, and turns her attention to her own target. She holds the shaft with both hands, angled across her body, the blade above her right shoulder.
It is here she deviates, lunging forward with her right leg and dropping the blade down toward the ground and then back up, the blade sweeping up toward the target from below. The goal, in a real fight, is to get under the defenses of someone else, to feign a normal assault from above and change it at the last second. She’s not often fast enough to make it work, so now seems like a good time to practice.
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
The confidence within the man would drain away, but not because of the bow and arrow. No. He actually managed to land the target, which was a major confidence booster. The thing that killed him was that they had to move on. No longer would he be working with something that he was surprisingly proficient with. No. Instead he'd be working with something he's never even held in his life. His nervousness would show through, but he'd continue to remain quiet. His eyes were soft and a small frown had formed on his lips.
Reaching forward, he plucked up a long sword. Was there a method to pick out the proper weapon? Probably. If there was, the blonde didn't know it. Deimos had demonstrated a set of movements, ones that he could understand in his head, but they still seemed complex. Hard to exactly replicate perfectly. Maybe it was the nervousness or maybe his luck had dried out, but this task did seem a lot harder than the bow now. Seeing as it was his turn, Oliver moved forward and would attempt to replicate what Deimos had showed them, trying to the best of his abilities.
Oliver chooses the wooden long-sword and tries his best to replicate what Deimos demonstrated!
i just want my existance to be
more than trembling
04-02-2020, 09:27 AM (This post was last modified: 04-02-2020, 09:30 AM by Evie.)
EVIE
Evie's fingers tremble with residual excitement and pride as her arrow finds its mark yet again. Perhaps this is a more fitting weapon for her to take up after her daggers? She will have to meet with Deimos again to get his input on it, but already she finds herself fond of the weapon. Long distance, and still powerful without the extra worry of getting the perfect angle or flip of the blade when throwing daggers.
As such she's mildly disappointed as they move on to a different weapon. Or rather a selection of weapons that she hesitates over, having zero experience with any of the ones on display. Going with a blade of moderate length, she hands over her bow and picks it up, trying to adjust her grip and get used to the weight that bears down on her wrist. Sure that she is going to be worse at it this time around, it's almost easier to try her first move, because she's far more comfortable with failure with an unknown weapon. Her arms are still relatively muscled from working in the barrier as a Natural and tilling and molding stubborn earth, and she hoists the sword and swings it down in a horizontal arc, forcing more use of her shoulders than she is accustomed to.
The General didn’t have any expectations, despite the team’s initial rally around archery. Each weapon held a different skillset, technique, and tactic, though it’d be intriguing and insightful to see how they approached newfound, foreign expertise, or strived through something embedded in familiarity.
As he roamed, Deimos wasn’t surprised to see Jigano’s long rapier smoothly impart its wounds upon the dummy. The beast studied his form, tilting his head a fraction in quiet perusal. “Faster?” An inclination of a challenge, and with nothing to parry upon, alternating speeds might be well-worth the practice, never certain of which enemy or adversary they were bound to meet up with next.
Steps and procession took him towards Weaver, eager to see her implementation of the scythe again (an intriguing form of munition, ever-appreciative of its double-edged contortions). Somewhere within the lunge though was an error, and his eyes narrowed in speculation at her feinting. Perhaps there’d simply been too much force, or the angle was all wrong, for as she came upwards, the scythe ended up caught in the dummy. “Ordinarily, this might not be a problem,” he chuckled, moving forward to assist in getting it out of the wayward straw. The adversary would have been cut apart and perished before she would need to remove it from their form. “Try again?” And he stepped back to watch for a moment, to see how she applied herself to the same maneuvers, or twisted it into another formation.
Thereafter, he motioned next to Oliver, the examination of the youth’s moves back in refrain. The replication of the General’s moves weren’t perfect, but Deimos didn’t expect that either. The beast had had multiple lifetimes of war, invasions, battles, and skirmishes to render his muscles into oeuvres of scorching, blistering canvases. Sure enough, the angle of Oliver’s blade ensured that only the side of the dummy, along the curve of its shoulder, would take a hit, then bounce away. Tones, not gruff but plain, simple, unfurled from the mountain. “Step forward more,” he instructed. “Straighten your hips.”
Passing through, last but certainly not least, was Evie. With some semblance of pride for the woman who’d once hadn’t even been keen to hold a set of throwing knives, he watched as her blade came slashing into the target’s shoulders and across their makeshift chest. He raised his brows again, the depths of a smile for her. “Full of surprises today. Well done.” A nod of acknowledgment, before he proceeded back in front of them.
“Now for a simple defensive move.” There he took up his blade, waiting for their attention. “We will just do the movements for now, and then we can practice with one another.” After the last set, Deimos wanted to ensure they knew the fluidity of the motions before bounding off each other, even if two of them were just wooden, training munitions. Coming towards his model target, he pretended as if the unmoving opponent was coming for him – leaning back, a gradual shift and off to the right, before swinging his blade down. “You want to aim your sword for theirs, and maintain pressure.” So the other couldn’t rise up, couldn’t volley back, couldn’t come and conquer. “Then you reorient yours,” and here he made an adequate adjustment through his arm, repeating the motion several times so it was visible, tangible, to each individual. “Then you aim for the head or throat,” and he motioned forward on a potent thrust – going cleanly through the target’s neck.
Once he’d completed the set of maneuvers over and over again, he ceased, nodding his head for them to attempt.
--
Jigano and Evie are successful in their attempts! Weaver and Oliver need to do some adjusting!
Jigano grinned wryly at the hint of challenge in Deimos's tilted head, the General conveying a wealth in such a small gesture. For once he bit back any witty reparte, however, choosing instead of focus on continuing to impress the stoic Sword with his martial competence. He was no front line fighter, and melee was never his preferred position, but he prided himself on being able to manage a tight defense and a dexterous accuracy with the slim but sturdy blade he held.
Of course, from his weakest guard into his worst attack was a challenge that might result in failure at a faster tempo, but it was also the only way to improve. Nodding agreement, the bard reset his distance from the dummy and measured his beat and lunge. His feet knew the line of attack, but convincing his elbow and shoulder to connect in a seamless line with his wrist and blade was a trickier proposition from the awkward guard, and speeding the process up required more concentration and focus upon both his own body and his target.
Faster and faster he went, though, testing himself against his limits as he found an image of a blond demigod to practice puncturing, wary of her speed and fighting to match it.
There is a sigh of defeat as he seemingly fails. His random luck with weapons had dried up and he is left in a new state of being. The confidence has seemingly gone away with it. No longer is his face stoic and proud, it is now filled with worry and nervousness. A nagging part of him asks for him to speak, and so he does. "Sorry. I'll try to fix it." And fix it he tries. There is an adjustment to his stance especially his hips and stepping forward, like Deimos requested of him.
Turning to look towards the man, he awaited further orders before continuing on. This was something he had vaguely been trained with before, but only with his small knife. Would it be the same? Absolutely not, but he could certainly try his very best. So he would try his best, attempting to listen to orders as closely as possible. Try to show that he could be good once more, that his bow and arrow attempts were not just a fluke. There was a chance that he could be something great and he would try his very, very best.
Oliver tries to fix himself! He also tries his best to listen to instructions and follow through with what Deimos said!
i just want my existance to be
more than trembling
