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!
It was getting on in the season. Most of the crops had been harvested or were about to be, and Quanil looked out over the fields. It felt like forever since they'd been back here.
They slung their pack off and began stretching. "I really appreciate your doing this, Miss Melita. Thank you so much!" They'd been practicing the way the provost had taught them but it had been a little bit since they'd been able to actually use the staff.
"Provost Silversmith taught me... well, the very basics. How to hold it, some basic footwork," they went through the pattern they'd been taught. "But they said you'd be able to teach me much better." So humble, so modest!
The fields gave back haunting memories and vestiges of things that should’ve been grand, should’ve been great, only to be reduced to sheer terror and trauma. She didn’t let any of these emotions or notions show as they strode through the grounds, her staff along her hands, her grip tightening along its familiar contortions. She merely turned to Quanil, watching as they stretched, beginning to move her arms around as well, though they were never into any relaxed repose; constant, unwinding movement, a girl in motion.
She nodded at their words, considering, and then brought herself in front of them. The youth assumed her own stance, grounded into the loam, set for whatever impact was coming her way. “Why don’t you show me a move? Either offensive or defensive.” Just to see where they were at knowledge and experience wise. Fangorn bounded off to the side, eager to watch.
Quanil considered, and decided the easiest was the simple strike they'd been taught. They held their staff with both hands - one up, one down - then slid the staff through their hands so one end was longer. Almost like holding a very long sword, but their hands weren't right up next to each other like in the illustrations they'd seen.
As taught by their provost, they used their rear hand to drive the power of their strike while guiding it with their front hand. It was a simple sort of strike, but it'd sting if it hit; Quanil was, of course, aiming at and "striking" air.
"The provost told me that I should be trying to keep people away with my staff, to hit them before they could reach me. It's harder to show the defensive work; he made the earth shift under my feet and I had to hold the staff out in front of me just a little and try not to fall." They paused only a moment before adding, quieter, "I fell a lot anyway. But I got back up every time!"
She watched, her head tilted to the side, taking in Quanil’s movements. The rudimentary foundations were there, and she nodded with approval, before grabbing hold of her own staff, tighter, inhaling, exhaling. “Okay.” Melita wasn’t entirely certain how she’d come across as an instructor; too often the one receiving the information, the critiques, the analysis, attempting to better herself, stronger, mightier, potent, and powerful. The notion that she’d be assisting another in the same stead almost seemed overwhelming.
Another breath then, to calm her restless soul.
“Try this then,” and she held her staff with two hands, pushing toward Quanil’s weapon, strength and precision behind her movements. “Then you move to the side,” and she skipped over to the left, swift, fast, slowing down a couple times thereafter when she realized the movement might be too much. “And slam down.” Her weapon as raised, elevated, then varnished down, down, down, towards theirs, a vicious, wild strike.
Thereafter, she backed away, holding out her staff so that they might give an echoing attempt.
Quanil mirrored her - which took a couple seconds of adjustment, to make sure they were using the proper hands, holding it the way she was and not literally mirroring her. "Okay, so... Like this."
Push, dodge left, swinging staff up as they went and bringing it down hard on her offered target. As hard as they could manage, anyway. The attempt left them a little breathless. "How was that?" they asked, eager for feedback.
A fairly good strike against her staff billowed and brimmed – her hands clenched over the wood, a grin on her features. “Very nice!” She backed away for a moment, pondering what else to savor, to conduct, to concoct. “Now, we’re going to do that again, but this time, you’re going to follow through and try to disarm me.”
So she plucked away at those similar motions, crossing along as she skipped to the right this time, swiftly bringing the staff down with both hands, her palms enclosed, holding taut. Thereafter, she swept towards Quanil’s, like she was holding a broom, as if to scoop their weapon away and out of their grasp. “Try that!”
The staff got knocked out of their hands, barely. Enough to fumble with it first and watch it clatter to the ground. They let forth an understanding (and impressed) "Ooooh," as they bent to pick it up. A very good demonstration indeed.
They stood back up, went through the motions of getting their staff in the proper position. "Okay, so..." Double-check their footing, then push, right, swing up, strike down towards her staff and follow through. They weren't very strong, but they weren't thinking about that at the moment. Their focus was on doing the movements properly.
Far stronger than Quanil, their staff brushed up against hers – and she pushed the weight down, down, down, so they could feel what it meant to collide with power. “Very good!” Ordinarily she’d have them try again and again, but the youth also wanted to move onto other maneuvers. Perhaps they could both combine them at the end, see what Quanil made of everything when put together.
“Okay, try this one now!” Another basic set of movements. She held her staff upwards, as if she was doing a push-up, waiting for Quanil to follow through on her modeling. Then she placed her left foot in front, and maneuvered the staff forward, as if she were punching, thrusting towards their temple, but never quite reaching the skull. “Make sure you only bring the movement to your elbow.” She tried the motion several more times, on both sides of their head, control and precision ensuring. Then she backed away, waiting for them to try.
Quanil was a very good parrot. They did better with words, sounds, and the like, but they could mimic movements reasonably, if you went slow. Miss Melita was doing a good job of doing it step by step for them, so aside from an occasional adjustment (Left foot, not right), they could follow along pretty well.
"Only to the elbow," they said out loud. Saying it and hearing it helped them to remember. And after a couple of tries at it, they grinned. "I like this one. It's... I don't know, is it weird to say it's fun?" They switched sides and did it a couple more times - well, three total if you counted the first one where they had their feet wrong again and had to correct mid-swing, but the two after that were spot-on.
She laughed as Quanil echoed portions of her own thoughts – this particular move was fun, listening to the staff whistle through the air, tucked near her head, then ghosting away to come up again. Those techniques and movements might’ve been enough for now – she didn’t want to overwhelm them. “It is.” The youth tilted her head, considering the weight of the moment. “How about we try to put them together? I’ll come at you, and you decide what to do.” A test of some kind, to see how they’d utilized, improved, and orchestrated everything together.
So the girl launched, bringing her staff upwards with both hands, palms facing forward as she’d done at the beginning of their lesson. She made a pushing motion, then turned, thrusting downwards on a hellish strike, intending to launch Quanil’s staff out of their hands.
They'd barely gotten out a nod and an "Oka-..." before Miss Melita came at them. "WHOA!"
They took a single step back, then with one hand gripping palm up and the other palm down, they pulled their staff up to meet hers, pushing most of their scrawny power into the palm-up hand to try to counter her downward motion and keeping a good grip on the staff with their other hand.
Miss Melita's strength, combined with Quanil's surprise, meant the staff was knocked out of the palm-down hand. Since most of their strength was focused on the other hand, the staff swung down and their palm-up hand swung up - they were basically holding the staff vertically instead of horizontally now.
An impish set of her chin, jaw, and mouth implored on their outcry; and though she wanted the world to fear her a little, she had no intentions of making it worse off for those innocent. Her eyes watched, scrutinizing briefly, as her strike unfurled, knocking one portion of the staff out of their hands, but not the other. She nodded, pausing, considering – she hadn’t completely made them lose their munition, which meant a portion of their training had been successful. “Very good.” She held her own weapon out once more, inviting another strike. “How would you move to counter me though?” Wanting Quanil to think on their own, to try something from their current stance.
Their current stance was not a terribly powerful one. In a real fight, this would be a problem, in fact.
The only thing they could think of to do was to start to swing the fallen end of the staff up so they could grab hold of it with their free hand. That enabled them to adjust their grip of the other hand so the staff was now back in sort of longsword formation and they brought it down as hard as they could.
Even done quickly, it was inelegant, but at least at the end of it, they were back in the fight, more or less.
In real fights, one might not have time to think about proper stances. It would have to become fluid, inherent, ingrained within one’s body, honed by muscles and time. Inexperience didn’t lend itself too keenly to those striving and trying, but it would come with practice, practice, practice. The girl nearly mentioned their misshapen stature, but then Quanil came in to strike, and the moment was gone.
More of a slam again, “Good!” she echoed through the refrain, the reverberations of their attack shuddering through her staff and arms. Whether or not it was a difference of strength, skill, and precision, her weapon didn’t leave her hands, only violently ricocheting between calloused palms. “Hm. Let’s adjust your stance.” And here she modeled and demonstrated, placing one foot ahead of the other, grounding her weight into the earth. “Try once more.”
