Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
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Weaver chuckles at Deimos’ comment. ”There are worse things,” she says, embarrassed only that she got her weapon stuck in straw and not actually in a person. In a real battle, she would have at least achieved her goal, even if it wasn’t exactly the way she’d intended. With Deimos’ help, she frees the scythe and adjusts slightly, trying again. This time, she keeps her lunge a little shallower, allowing her to use just one side of the blade to cut up and across the dummy, if all goes as planned. She continues to practice the move, trying it once again, repeating the motions until they feel a little more natural. It’s a move that never quite feels comfortable to her, but with enough time and repetition, perhaps she would get it.
Demios turns their attention to a defensive move, demonstrating with his sword. It’s easy enough to adapt to her own weapon, its’ shaft metal and therefore capable of taking a hit. She mimics the movement, the point of the blade kept at an angle toward the body of the dummy. She has to watch the blade, not intending to get it stuck in the grass this time. She’s already done poorly enough in this training, at least maybe she can save some face.
***
Weaver adjusts her first move and tries it a few times, and then switches to attempting the defensive move Deimos shows them.
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
Deimos' verbal praise is better than any God could ever give her (considering they've never cared for her it's a low bar, but still). Her cheeks flush with pride and a thrill of excitement at her own success. Deimos is not the kind to hand out such praise lightly after all, and that makes it all the more profound. Of course she can't fully bask in it, not when there is still so much else to be done. Though they aren't necessarily moving quickly, she can already feel the work of her muscles from each round of training imposed upon them.
Nevertheless she persists, copying the blocking move that Deimos demonstrates, running over it a few times in slower motions before she feels somewhat confident in its execution. Making the feigned disruption of another's attack and following through with the debilitating blow as Deimos instructed.
The General took upon a similar platitude as before, surveying the scene, watching how others adhered to the task before them. He hadn’t heard any complaints as they labored onward, formidable, enduring, ready, if they weren’t eager, to continue striving and trying. Moving onward, not allowing their mistakes to outline their potential and prowess, while utilizing them for learning, was better than those who stumbled, fumbled, and gave in.
Jigano’s attempts were once again floundering instead of stalwart outlines. Deimos considered, as distances were reset, as movements were embodied, the rapier skimming along lines of straw instead of a etched-line into its innards, as he knew the Sage was capable of. “A lack of connection here,” and he pointed towards the Lorekeeper’s shoulder. “Holding back too much, perhaps.” Maybe a simple adjustment would take care of it.
He maneuvered on towards Oliver, flinching as the wooden sword the younger man held bounded straight off the immobile dummy, and right back onto his head. “All right?” His eyes went to Zuriel for a moment, pondering if they were going to need some healing for minor concussions. “Too much force,” he noted, which was why the blade had ricocheted, lacking the formidable finesse. “Slow down, and concentrate.”
Weaver, however, applied herself to a more vicious endeavor. He granted her another smirk, but then watched as her defensive maneuvers mimicked his own, the scythe’s edge cutting a nice slice into the target’s shoulder. A dignified nod followed, pleased with her efforts, especially when he’d already known her reputation. “Much better.”
Evie once again shown – whether or not it was his instruction, her concentration, or her ability to catch on quickly, but her training blade grasped onto the defensive concept, and slid directly where the straw met the dummy’s throat. It would’ve been quite a nice, quick, swift kill. “Have you been training with swords too?” He laughed, impressed again by the nod of his head, before they were allotted to move onward.
“For our last round with blades, I would like you to properly duel one another.” He’d pair them off based on experience (though Evie kept surprising him, as if she’d kept quite a few things furtive, specious in her repertoire), moving the dummies and targets out of the way for now. It’d give them enough room to adjust accordingly. “Weaver and Jigano, Oliver and Evie.” If anyone required healing, the unicorn, though haughty and condescending, would readily apply her skills. “Try either an offensive or defensive maneuver.”
The moment the sword bounces off and flies right at the man he's SUPPOSED to be impressing, the blonde's hands reached for his own face and cupped around his mouth, hiding a very open mouthed expression. His eyes reflected how mortified he was, including the faint sound of him... crying? Something or other. Oliver was broken. His hands were removed from his face and he tried to gain composure. "I am so- so so sorry Deimos. I don't know what happened." Was this the end of his and Deimos' acquaintanceship? Probably.
Then Deimos made the bright idea OF HAVING HIM PAIR UP WITH ANOTHER PERSON! Great. Looks like Oliver was about to make someone lose an eye! Or two! Fantastic! It didn't help that it was the one person he didn't even really know. Looking over to Evie, he couldn't even offer her a smile. Great. Time to make an even worse first impression.
Once the girl was ready, he'd make an attempt to try and hit, assuming maybe she'd just go for a defensive maneuver... seeing as he was probably not the best person to do that.
Oliver tries an offensive maneuver on Evie!
i just want my existance to be
more than trembling
Too fast and he lost his form, which the bard had somewhat expected. He nodded at Deimos's instruction with a rueful smile, glad the General provided an outside eye to help him pinpoint what had gone wrong when the list of what might have caused the slip was so long in the more complicated twist and thrust.
Rolling his neck to loosen up he tried one more time and then pulled back to listen to the new instructions. Jigano gave Weaver a respectful nod, having seen the sort of damage her scythe could do and not wanting to feel the bite of that particular blade. For that matter, he didn't want to inflict a cut of his own if he managed to break through her defense. After a moment's thought he sheathed the rapier and drew on his earth and creation magic to meld a similar object into his hand, one made of a dense, hard wood that held the same weight and balance but lacked the sharp edges of his more usual weapon. "Age before beauty?" he suggested lightly, falling into his stance as he faced her and waited for her to take her own.
When she was ready he lunged on an angle, attempting to slice the tip of the dull wood not at her body but instead at her right wrist, hoping to force her to lose her grip in the scythe so that she would only have one hand to wield it. Whether or not he was successful he kept moving, attempting to dance past her and away from any vengeful arc of her reaper's blade.
Jigano attempts a cut with a wooden sword on Weaver's right wrist, and continues to move to get out of the scythe's range.
Weaver is more successful this time, managing to perform the defensive maneuver without some ridiculous incident. Thank goodness, because she was beginning to feel rather inept at one of her few skills. Supposed skills, as the case may be today.
They are paired off, and Weaver gives Jigano a nod. She recalls his offer to train after the labyrinth, and this seems like a good start, though she still wanted a full on spar with The Sage. She’d seen at least some of what he could do, and he seemed like the sort of person she wanted to learn from. A feeling which is only increased as he makes himself a wooden sword, despite the fact there are plenty available.
She grins at his comment, a wicked and amused grin, and gives him a nod. ”Age it is,” she says, shifting the scythe so she’d be aiming the flat part of the blade toward him and not either of the curved edges. It limited what she could do, but she’d rather not slice him open by mistake.
Jigano lunges, aiming for her right wrist. Given the way she holds the scythe, her wrist is somewhat protected by the weapon’s shaft. Weaver steps back with one leg, trying to move out of his way slightly. She drops her right wrist down, hoping to avoid the tip of the sword that he’d aimed toward it. With the movement, the blade of the scythe comes down as well, and she sweeps it back up toward his torso. This would be vastly more effective with the edge of the scythe, but she keeps the flat part of the blade angled toward him as best she can, hoping merely to make contact and not to wound.
***
Weaver tries to evade Jigano’s attack by dropping her right wrist down, and then brings the scythe up toward his torso.
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
Admittedly she's a little leery of joining forces with the man who has just failed so spectacularly, but considering he'd been doing fine before...well, Evie knows what it's like to have shitty luck take the wind out of your sails, and she's not going to hold it against him. Though she will definitely grumble about it if she needs to heal herself after this exchange of blows.
As they pair up and stand across from one another, Evie rotates her wrist gently to loosen it up, blue eyes hawklike on the man opposite. When the blow comes before she has placed her own attack, it's almost a relief. They're of equal height, so she uses both hand on the hilt of her blade to try and catch his in a perpendicular brace, hoping to slide the blade down to his own handguard and then force it down and away with a downward shove of her own. Twisting her blade underneath to try and yank it out of his hands and down to the dirt.
Evie moves her sword to try and block Oliver's attack, then tries to slide their blades together down to the hilt guard and force it down and away/out of his hands in a swift swivel.
This session wasn’t about trying to impress him. These moments were like little scattered patterns, an introduction to potential and prowess, and nothing else. He didn’t want them striving to be praised or complimented – they were here to try, to find munitions that worked for them, to build up talents, skills, and capabilities. The moment their maneuvers were meant to be show-off tendencies, would be the instant they lost their focus and the reason they should’ve been here.
So when Oliver apologized, the Sword arched a brow. This was an opportunity to learn, and he wasn’t about to scold – Oliver’s actions had already served as consequences and repercussions. Instead, he watched the pair, curious to what Evie would try, inquiring as to what Oliver would attempt – both inexperienced, both unfamiliar. While Oliver launched forward, Evie was quicker, her defensive procedure carefully orchestrated, knocking the wooden blade out of the younger man’s hands. Deimos, eternally drawn to watching, to witnessing, to adhering along mistakes and how to correct them, lingered nearby, tilting his head a fraction, as a predator might hone in on prey. “You rushed in without a way to protect yourself,” to Oliver, demonstrating the attack he’d modeled for them earlier, repeating it in slower methods and measures. “Nicely done,” he extended to Evie. “When you practice again, see if you can do it one-handed.” Freeing her other palm for more difficult maneuvers, or defensive modes.
He moved on to the more experienced pair, expecting semblances of confidences and convictions. Jigano had traded in his rapier, but with it came some more semblances of difficulty. Weaver, excelling with her formidable blade, brought her scythe up just as Jigano went to cut at her wrist, and split the Sage’s sword entirely in half. The General managed not to laugh, not looking at the Loreseeker at all. “That is an effective strategy.” Only then did his eyes roam to Jigano, a sympathetic furrowing of his brows following.
Thereafter, he maneuvered the targets back in place, no one severely hurt, maimed, or injured by the display, leaving Zuriel to the comfort of her grass over by the shade. “One last weapon,” he announced, allowing them the opportunity to put away the blades, and pick up a staff.
It wasn’t his most formidable or favorite munition, but it still held its place – just as ruthless as a sword, as a blade, as a knife, as an arrow. “Much like last time, we will try an attack first.” He raised his staff across both hands, another demonstration and modeling, walking up to his own designated dummy. “First you push,” a visual portion of strength and precision, “jump to the side,” a swift movement to the left, “then slam down.” The weapon was raised, calculated, and blistered forth upon the target. He repeated the motions, slower, steady, so they could watch, witness, and then strive on their own. “Your turn.”
--
In the Oliver/Evie pairing, Oliver rolled a miss, Evie rolled a hit.
In the Jigano/Weaver pairing, Jigano rolled a miss, Weaver rolled a hit.
Next up, grab a staff, and try the move on your dummies!
The crack of steel slicing through wood startled the bard almost as much as the sudden lightening of the weapon in his hand as half its length no longer weighed it down. He looked from it to Weaver with a rueful grin, then slanted a glance towards their stoic instructor as his humor turned wry. "Next time I'm facing such a big blade I'll borrow the ballista instead of my little toothpick," he teased. Sometimes size mattered, after all, as Weaver had so elegantly demonstrated.
Having shown off quite enough for one day, when the next weapon was announced Jigano was more than happy to choose one of the staves provided, finding one that fit his hands and height both before returning to the field. He watched Deimos with eyes that narrowed in concentration as he studied the General's motions and memorized them as best he could. He wasn't a stranger to the staff, but it was more of a nodding acquaintance than a weapon he could claim true skill with. Taking a breath he centered himself, found his balance, and then attempted to mimic the pattern presented. A push, sharp and without hesitation followed by a fluid repositioning to the side while the weapon slid smoothly in calloused hands, and ending with a strike driven by his rear hand and guided by the front as he lashed out at his chosen target.
In any real battle, that would have gone differently. She would have faced proper steel, and she doubted she could have overpowered someone like Jigano. At best she could have repelled and gone in for a different attack. So perhaps it was a victory here, but she does not take it as such. ”Next time, use your blade. I’m not afraid of a little blood.” She gives him a slight nod and a mischievous smile. Besides, they could just heal anyway.
Deimos sends them off to one more weapon, and though she has rarely used a staff without a blade attached to it, there’s at least something comfortable about the weapon in her hands. It is not unlike the scythe in the way it is held and the way she moved, except that she would be smashing and pushing instead of slicing and dicing.
Weaver watches Deimos as he demonstrates, beginning to mimic him slowly as he continues to show them. As he finishes his demonstration, she works to replicate the move on her own without his constant aid. Push, jump, slam. It was an easy enough rhythm in theory, but she would have to see if her body would perform with such ease.
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
Evie honestly hadn't expected such a move - more advanced than she truly felt comfortable performing - to work. For a moment she blinks stupefied at the disarmed weapon, taking a moment before relieved elation sweeps over her. Even if she fails now, here at the end, she can take heart in the fact that she has succeeded so brilliantly in each previous exercise. Proof that with enough practice even Evie - the girl from the garden, the sheltered and secretive Abandoned child - can take up a blade and arm herself against a world intent on cutting them all down. She is not so fragile anymore, so useless. It is enough to make her emotional, and she welcomes the distraction of Deimos instructing Oliver so that she can get her head on straight to receive her own constructive criticism.
The staff they are last tasked with is more familiar in her hands, at least similar enough to a walking stick that she utilizes sometimes on her herb-gathering voyages. The motions are easy enough deconstructed, but she's not fooled by that. Knows that she is just as likely to mess it up when trying to string it together on her first try. But she does not let that daunt her, adjusting her grip on the staff before focusing on her target, jumping into the series of moves to try and mimic them.
There is a terribly dark blush on Oliver's face the moment the sword left his hands. Part of him was wishing, hoping that Deimos was just watching the other pair- so that he could be spared of the humiliation that would follow. Unfortunately, the opposite happened. The man spoke directly to him and Oliver tried as hard as he could to maintain eyecontact, slowly growing steadily more embarrassed as time progressed. "Yes sir," A new side of Oliver was slowly showing, one that was ashamed and nervous. One still learning and horrifically embarrassed by it. These feelings- they were familiar, but had been abandoned for so long. One's he once experienced in his old world, only resurfacing now that all eyes were on him- watching him fail.
He was happy to progress onto a new weapon- but also nervous. What if he just failed again? Already, he knew that Deimos didn't see him as, well, as good as the others. It was a bad feeling and at this point, Oliver couldn't blame him.
Walking over, Oliver grabbed himself a staff and chose out a dummy. He didn't even dare watch the others, too scared to see their eyes and watch their faces for their opinions. Listening to Deimos' instructions, Oliver nodded and committed them to memory. Then it was their turn.
Beginning with the push, Oliver tried to concentrate all the nervous energy on being forceful and powerful. Once that was done, he'd attempt to jump off to the side before swinging down. Hopefully this time, he wouldn't fail horribly.
i just want my existance to be
more than trembling
For all their prior prowess, the situation turned ultimately in the wrong direction. Staffs could be difficult, especially with their length, the occasional requirement of using both hands, and lack of a serrated edge. While he’d presumed some would be familiar with its techniques, not entirely different from a longsword, the cataclysm coming thereafter was a bit of surprise.
Because all of them missed – some by wide margins, the staff swinging entirely by the immobile dummies’ heads, only making a curt sound in the breeze. Weaver’s somehow managed to stick itself into the ground, a mistake hinged on too much strength, and by the time he’d made it around to all four of them, the situation seemed a bit dire.
“Time for a break.” He placed his own staff down, encouraging some amount of stretching, and gesturing towards the table nearby with water. The notion that some didn’t have the endurance or fortitude for so many painstakingly onslaughts surmised in his mind, and part of him wondered if he should’ve been taking it easier. How much easier plied him with uncertainty, while he waited for them – mind already whirling towards other possibilities. There’d been no sense in critiquing each one in turn – the errors had flown all over the place.
He wasn’t disappointed; but insightful, pondering how best to strategize going forward.
Once they’d finished, he wandered back up to the front, beside his own target. “We will warm up properly.” Then he demonstrated, modeling, the faction of loosening up the hand muscles for such occasions – the staff going back and forth in a circle, slow at first, modeling the shifting of the wooden armament from hand to hand, until he’d developed a certain rhythm. Once it was established, he maneuvered faster and faster, swift, keen, but primordial muscles in palms awakened, determined to continue on, then ceased, waiting for them to do the same.
Thereafter, he nodded them back towards their dummies. “Try again.” Practice, diligence, and patience – none of them would own these details and particulars in a day.
--
Woof. All of you rolled a miss, and Weaver rolled a crit miss.
Take a break, warm up with your staff once more, and try again (we’re on our second to last round!). No post order!
Overconfidence undid his usual dexterity with a sturdy walking stick and Jigano overbalanced on his swing, striking wide of the target and swearing softly in Sylvan as he recovered himself and planted the staff on the ground to glare at the target as if it had deliberately jumped out of the way. It was a better story than his clumsy swing-and-a-miss, and he couldn't stop himself from grinning in rueful acknowledgment that the tale might yet be embellished up to something suitable for a night with drinks in hand and friends across the table.
At least he wasn't alone in his graceless stumble, a sly look at the other students leaving him relieved to note that they had all struggled with this lesson. Perhaps it was the staves themselves that were to blame. Faulty equipment?
Or just faulty footwork.
The break was unexpectedly welcome. Jigano might not have been tired physically, but the mental burden of focusing on such different weapons and tasks made the water break and careful stretching all the more necessary. He moved slowly, more concerned with control and smoothness than speed, but once he felt the flow settle into his muscles he returned to the dummy and let the staff settle into his hands. Arching a challening brow at his opponent he once again attempted to push the foe back, then slip to the side to lay a hefty strike down towards the nefarious strawman.
