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!
the fire can't touch me for I have burned too many times
It was to be expected, this push and pull of abilities and might. They were both experienced and honed from battlefield lives, made to understand, to comprehend, that precision was key, and without it the consequences could simply be death and damnation. The back and forth display was all the more amusing, instigating a challenge for him, rather than the rudimentary basics extended to newcomers, or overarching techniques with the more veteran guards. So he didn’t mind, despite any grimaces or snarls, instigating tactics or derisive comments; knowing full well they rankled efforts to ensure practice met prestige, to get better.
And that’s all he’d ever been trying to do.
The beast tucked away the laughter coiling in his chest as she tripped over his maneuver, though she’d likely see it in the juvenile wake of his gaze – watching as she simmered and seethed, charging forwards in her rampage. Despite permitting his other arm to take a break, wars, injuries, and a multitude of other life lessons had taught him to be adept in both hands, an ambidextrous calculation, and as she swung up, he caught her blade.
Strength and attentiveness held it back, and then he made to lower it slightly, to skim beneath her weapon, intending to scorch and touch along her shoulder, to make blocking difficult and binding.
the sea can't harm me for I have been drowning all my life
Her stroke was once again cut short by the blade of her opponent, as trained as they were it was to be expected. She did not plan to falter, to give in at her next mistake, and so as his blade skimmed below hers in the wake of the block, his retaliation met it's mark. She ducked away but it still stung against bare skin, having absolved herself from other layers when the fight warmed her blood. She sucked in air at the pain, but did not give into the urge that begged her to glance at the cut.
She swung now for his side, both hands gripping in a calculated maneuver against his hip.
the fire can't touch me for I have burned too many times
Another mark, another chisel, another cut in their haze and lack of ceasefire. There was no sicker in this accord, just one more measure of their pride, perseverance, and fortitude, though he kept her cut in the back of his mind (likely a call for Zuriel would be necessary by the time they’d finally had enough). He didn’t know when that would be – and based on the number of eyes watching, gazing over shoulders, and ignoring their own tasks, no one else was going to achieve much of anything until they were through.
Which was just as well; Deimos didn’t mind the test, the mettle, the derision, the scale of persistence.
Instead of mounting a dastardly block as she made for his hips, it’d require an awkward maneuver on his part and likely impossible to bend arms or limbs in such an array, the beast evaded, stepping aside as her sword made a clatter against the stone floor. Thereafter, the General pressed for an ensuing advantage, rushing towards her side, swinging wide and parallel to her ribs, intending for the flattened portion of his blade to segment and singe there.
the sea can't harm me for I have been drowning all my life
And another dent in her armor to be made, the steel and mettle that was her composure chipping away with every false hit. Oh, she just had to get him now. One good hit wasn't enough, not when he kept avoiding her attacks so well! The general evaded her swing, then made to hit the blunt part of his blade against her side. She swung her blade back up to block, though it was a little too late, the flat of his sword already thunking against her.
In the cold of Halo her hot breath came out as steam, a fitting sight for how riled she got. She followed through with the rest of her swing, not minding that he'd hit her and instead using it to her advantage, swinging up in hopes of pushing his sword out of grasp, out of it's low position and into the air.
the fire can't touch me for I have burned too many times
Deimos had always been the tenacious, stubborn, obstinate type, with mettle to ensure his survival, and a train of thought that ran rampant on calculated sedition. This was seemingly proving to be one of those similar ventures – with neither backing down, without some cataclysmic intervals in their way, it was one fervency after another, amusing, technical, and striving on resembling a challenge. No enmity, no rancor, mere provocations and accord, fighters testing, testing, testing.
The flattened portion of his blade rankled along her side, but he didn’t laugh again. Not when the flames were nearly shooting from her eyes – the beast knew better – and he tried to maneuver off to the side, out of her incoming range again. Instead, her propulsion ensured she gathered underneath his sword, binding him once more – scalding along the outset of his wrist. A feral hiss concocted and seethed, unlocked from his jaw; perhaps the only hint she’d receive about the sudden pain. He switched hands once more, with the bruised edges of his other arm residing in a numbing ache, and shifted the momentum towards the pommel, intending to barrel it straight into her shoulder.
the sea can't harm me for I have been drowning all my life
The surrounding soldiers laughed along, some cheering this way and that as the general and the new Shield went on. Mettle was tested, steel against steel backed by brains and brawn. Neither willing to secede, both full of fire. The coal that fueled the furnace of battle only burned brighter the more she was hit, the more pressure was placed upon her to be bright.
Aisha's maneuver made some headway, rather than disarming him hooking under his blade and briefly passing skin. He seethed, a quick intake of breath that confirmed her hit. Once again, she felt somewhat even, a predator's pleasure in seeing her tactics succeed. He swiftly switched hands, aiming to punch the pommel of his sword into her shoulder. Luckily Aisha remained focused, this time trying something different, perhaps a little dirty.
She sidestepped, quickly moving around him and aiming a small kick at the back of his knee, hoping to make them buckle. Wasn't using her sword, but eh, do what you gotta.
the fire can't touch me for I have burned too many times
Oh, so the tried and true movements were suddenly off the table, and the tactics were becoming dirty – something they would’ve seen on the battlefield, fighting for their lives.
He snorted, laughed, twisting around as her kick did indeed curl up against his leg, though not towards the back of the knee, higher, above the pinpoint where he might’ve buckled and careened. “Getting desperate?” A taunt, a tease, an arch of his brow, a portion of him not quite willing to rise to the same level of game.
And then another contortion to his edges shut that notion out completely.
The muscle and brawn would likely gain a wayward bruise from her endeavors, not nearly as painful as the slashes upon skin, another ache to antagonize until Zuriel healed him for the umpteenth time. In retaliation, with a snicker, he continued to loom large, intending to use his bulk to scatter her completely away, attempting to use momentum, strength, and might to bombard his side into hers. Much like a battering ram, the sword still in his grasp, but not in use for this round either.
the sea can't harm me for I have been drowning all my life
12-26-2020, 01:31 PM (This post was last modified: 01-02-2021, 01:25 AM by Aisha.)
AISHA
first you're my predator then you're my prey
Deimos twisted as the tip of her boot met his leg, not quite where it would buckle but enough to cause a stagger, maybe a bruise. She snickered devilishly at his response, "Playing different," she replied, bringing her sword back up into a stable position before her. She expected him to keep to the rules, tactics and measures of their steel and not their other facets. But she saw just before he lunged, the makings of the latter.
Like a battering ram or a bull seen red, he charged. His side aimed at hers, a plan certainly backed by the brawn. Had he hit she would've probably flown, sent sprawling by the weight and power he held. But Aisha was nimble, once again she evaded just slightly, then arched a wide swing of her blade to his back, aiming to wack him with the flat of it across his spine.
the fire can't touch me for I have burned too many times
Betrayed by his brawn and bulk again, because no matter how powerful, potent, or pernicious his towering figure was, if he couldn’t gain a hit, all of his potential barbarity had no prowess, no meaning. Nimble and quick, she skittered around him, and he laughed, wild and juvenile, an exuberant, untamed measure in the surrounding halls; pure amusement in the beck and call of their natures. How much longer could she continue to dance and flicker around, like a little flame? He’d been carved to endure, to survive, to outlast, to take hit after hit after hit and still not fall; it was how he’d managed to continue his existence throughout several lives and lands. What had Aisha been sculpted for?
He caught her vicious swing coming out of the corner of his eye, and had just enough time to sweep back, to evade, to gain platitude and some measure of speed amongst the bumps, bruises, and bleeding. Slithering out of its reach, the beast used the moment to ground himself again, into the floor, into the weight of the earth, swinging the blade from a lower angle, attempting to catch hers again, and hopefully usurp it from her grasp once more.
the sea can't harm me for I have been drowning all my life
Aisha was sculpted for many things. This of course was one of them, the martial mechanics that she practiced day in and day out that cut her muscles and welded her mind. But where he'd been trained to survive, Aisha had been trained to conquer. Each delicate piece of her construct, her opinion on war was painted by the crux of victory, the eyes of those who hadn't lost. She hadn't known what it was like to fight for her life until she found herself here.
And it was here in Caido that she'd be carved into a creature like Deimos.
He evaded her swing, stepping back and bringing his blade up to meet hers. And it did, and his might over hers was too much. Aisha willed every inch of her body to press back against him, to foolishly retaliate because losing was not an option. It clicked just as she felt the muscles in her arms groan that this was not necessarily the mindset of a winner, but that of a future corpse, slain upon the battlefield because they couldn't accept a loss.
She slackened her blade arm, keeping the weapon in her grasp but letting it swing down and away. Tired, beaten, but somehow content. This would be enough. "Alright, fine. You made your point," she growled, glancing up at him past the blonde curls that had strayed into her face. Her words may have been somewhat sore, but there was a warmth to her gaze. This was good.
the fire can't touch me for I have burned too many times
Once, he’d been the same – molded to maul, to conquer, to ensure enemies were no longer in existence. Except even then those notions had some failure slashing into their ramparts, and they’d lost kingdoms, friends, allies, brethren, for the sake of so many other insignificant things. That was why he’d teach them to endure, to fortify, to defend, and if the time came for it, destroy. But they weren’t in the latter regions yet, they weren’t here to paint one another in crimson, to strip life away from bone, flesh, and marrow. Protect. Shield. All the other nuances could wait.
Despite the aches, pains, and bruises, the open lacerations still bleeding, they didn’t relinquish. They didn’t cease. Until something gave way, and he hadn’t expected it to be Aisha. He wouldn’t have thought it to be him either, if they were being brutally honest – so eventually something had to fizzle and seethe, breathe and brim over for another day. And even in her growls, in her warm gazes, in the sheathing of blades and hurt limbs, the semblance of a day well spent, of an hour’s time well labored, coiled within his smile. “You should be proud.” Of what, he wouldn’t say – she could pick and choose, arching his brow, making way for Zuriel as she snorted, very loudly, as her horn dipped and began to heal what had been slashed and torn.
And when she finished with both of them, his hand went to pat her neck, and then swung outwards, to catch Aisha on the shoulder. “Come. I can share the stories of my losses too.” Because that was how they became better, even in the bitterness, learning to walk away from battles forged, from lines drawn.
{FIN}
the sea can't harm me for I have been drowning all my life
