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!
Perseverance had been in her blood long before Caido; sent into the Rift to either die or survive, veins pulsing, pervading, with the unfurling essence of persistence. Some, either through circumstance, hardships, tragedies, or triumphs found it along the way. And then some didn’t, succumbing, perishing, under the fold of the world as it consumed, devoured, and swallowed them whole. While this particular moment wasn’t a trial for Samuel, she could see the difficulties, the interims of misery; and hoped this instance could lead him elsewhere – blistering, binding, bestial, or otherwise.
She smirked at his laughter, at the brushing aside of her staff, so she upped the ante. A fast dash, made to go around, behind, attempting to unfurl her one-handed measure against or upon his spine. It was a challenge for her too, not as much power or precision in the movements, but enough of a restriction to make it worthwhile, to see another succeed while she practiced, while they both found, channeled ways, to proceed.
Confidence having shown itself just a little bit, Sam found himself almost having fun with the staff. Melita was still giving herself a handicap and he was sure that with an actual fight it would be much quicker and fiercer, but for just a moment he felt strong and able, like he might actually be able to defend himself: it was a new feeling and one he found he liked.
Her next attack was quicker and while he did manage to fend it off again, he was still shaky: still, the grin on his face remained as he gingerly tried to do something a little fancy, knocking her backwards with a push of the staff and aiming to smack it down at her legs, stopping short of actually hitting.
Well, there, something else besides fear managed to cross Sam’s features. Based on her latest information from Nate, she wasn’t certain how she felt about the Ascended overall (there was something like vitriol, rancor, and pity scrambled, rumbled, curled around), and she certainly didn’t consider him a threat – but there were subtle moments where she would’ve liked her staff to hit, bolster a little wound, a little harm, a little rebuttal for all the ministrations echoing around them.
But he blocked again instead – and her eyes narrowed as he attempted to whip back towards her. Despite the one arm behind her back, the youth moved efficiently, dodging the trial of armaments off to the left, swift, tactical maneuvers reminiscent of muscle memory. Melita could feel the stick maneuver near her legs, but they were whiffs of air, curled plumes and empty fragments. Maybe there’d come a day when some of these efforts would be real.
Her grin, borne entirely of mischief and the previous rampage, remained ignited and alight as she shifted her arm back to her side, shaking off some of the stiffened feeling. “There, I think we’ve done enough for today.” It would certainly give ample amounts for Samuel to work on, if he wanted to continue improving his efforts. The youth hoisted her staff over her shoulder, considering him for a second. “Let me know if you want to learn anything else sometime.” And if he became a target for her bow, daggers, or other weaponry, no one would be the wiser – still pondering how best to gauge, react. “See you around.” And with a wave, she and Fangorn were off, down the shore.
