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
With the barracks refurbished, he also intended to revitalize it. Guards instilled, returned to training, targets realigned, and his favored catapult tucked in the outer reaches. A day’s work had ensured the massive pile of snow had been rendered into a suitable mound for both climbing, rampaging over, and angled just enough to provide a certain level of fortitude, might, endurance, and strength to assail its columns. He oversaw a few newcomers and their training, committing strangers faces’ to memory, bombarding several others with honing of techniques, and placing his determination, his tenacity, into reaching in these brambles, and restoking the ashes. May they all be merciless, ruthless, and strong, amongst the cold, the sturdy, the brave; intending for his distinction to carry through the rest. For it to be a pattern, a cycle, a rendition of perseverance.
Rekindling any fires that were dying, making his rounds, the beast had already rolled up the sleeves and furs along his arms, and wound his way back through where soldiers were launching attacks upon mobile dummies, where warriors were instigating duels, proffering advice and sagacity where he could. But all the while his own weapon tapped against his limbs, drumming up that certain semblance of restlessness, of vehemence, that most fighters coiled and tethered along their souls. To unleash. To unfurl. To commit those actions, those movements, those motions, into reality.
the sea can't harm me for I have been drowning all my life
Despite all the doubts that tried to creep in, regarding leaving her friends in the Grounds, the Order closing in, even her distaste for the cold, Aisha had made the move. She'd arrived in the citadel last night with a couple packs of things she needed, subsequently dropping them all on the floor in her temporary room in the barracks and then staring at the ceiling trying to go to sleep. She was tired, in a fit of worry that she'd missed something, made a mistake, just harried in general.
But when she woke up things were different. A warm light peeled in through the glass windows of her room, and wrapped in her favorite blankets and the sheepskin coat Henry had made her, she felt good. Happy, excited all over again and sure of herself. She got ready quickly, motivation in every step and a smile stuck to her face.
Of course the first place she'd be this morning as an Official Deepfrost Shield was the training grounds, the yard that she'd so kindly helped refurbish. The gold of her sword's hilt peered out from under her furs, and after a minute of warming up she removed the outermost fur. The sun, her momentum and surrounding braziers would keep her warm enough, plus the layers she still bore. She felt strong, present, and ready.
Hazel eyes settled on none other than Deimos across the yard, making his rounds or something of that nature. Aisha grinned, waving and jogging his way. She'd already drawn her sword halfway to him, a child-like playfulness in the glint in her eyes. She didn't need to say anything really, he could likely feel her elation, even without the attuned bond she radiated it like light. She drew her sword in a defensive position, clearly seeking a spar.
the fire can't touch me for I have burned too many times
Surrounded by the hum of movement and motion, by the reel of steel upon steel, of crashing metal and riotous shouts, brought him some amount of peace. Perhaps the sentiments were bizarre, but for a man who’d grown up upon battlefields, in the midst of skirmishes, in the volley and wisecracks of training, who’d lived and breathed and died as a weapon, it was familiar, like another home. Where vehemence didn’t stick so readily, but came alive in competitive thralls, in the perfected orchestrations of blades and daggers, of knives and bows, of fortified strength, enamel, grit, fire, and determination. The Shields might not have been as prevalent as they once were, but these were beginnings. These were steps, for all of them, for every individual in those hallowed halls, for each and every one of them willing, and able, to give it their all.
He walked, he instructed, he paced, a restless, coiled behemoth, not striking at any of them – just watching, waiting, biding hours and minutes and seconds; until he caught a wave from the corner of his eye. Turning in her direction, he shook his head, laughed – some exuberant thing that resounded and reverberated across the expanse. “You are late,” a tease; he didn’t expect her to be up before the sun, not like himself, who’d worn that pattern for what felt like centuries.
Her maneuver into a defensive crouch, sword drawn and ready, was all he needed after that.
The blade in his hands arced into the air, swift and quick, angling towards her shoulder, eager to see how she’d turn, twist, or get around it – to see what she’d learned and mastered while he’d merely struggled to survive.
the sea can't harm me for I have been drowning all my life
Aisha smirked at the general's remark, "I can't be late to my own party," she chided, twirling her blade as though she wasn't already over familiar with it's weight. It came to rest in a defensive position, eyeing her friend as he assumed his own stance, accepting her challenge. It didn't take long after his steel was brandished for it to be swung, arcing and aiming down for her shoulder.
Instead of dodging, twisting and turning like a dancer, Aisha engaged, taking charge of her position and bringing her blade up to meet his, foot sliding back to dig into her hit. Rather than press his sword back, her swing slid off, deflecting but not clashing like she'd hoped. No matter, she had plenty of maneuvers to try against the goliath, now opting to thrust towards his side.
the fire can't touch me for I have burned too many times
Aisha merely received a snort for her response, and the skirmish was on. He didn’t need to test the weight of his weapon, didn’t need to spin, didn’t need to alter any modicums about his prowess; he hadn’t been born with a blade in his hand, but it came quickly thereafter. It was an extension of his being, a tumultuous wake capable of destruction, of combat, of demolition, or simply protection – however the situation howled, presided, and marked.
This one was practice; and could rein in any overbearing tendencies. There was no need for onslaught and terror, no need for the outcry of bedlam, no need for a menacing, malicious arc and press to his movements. This was muscle memory and defiance, this was rooted calculations in the grounding of his motions, in the shifting of their frames, in the testing of their techniques and figures.
She’d be swift, which meant he had to be faster. A deflection first, sliding away from steel, and then she turned its armaments back towards his side. His timing was off as he maneuvered the blade back, either from afflictions, or the simple range of her rapid motions, and so it skimmed over the metal instead of fully blocking. He snorted again, shaking his head, but then taking the opportunity in its lowered prowess to try and cut upwards, towards her torso.
the sea can't harm me for I have been drowning all my life
12-09-2020, 10:41 PM (This post was last modified: 12-09-2020, 10:41 PM by Aisha.)
AISHA
first you're my predator then you're my prey
The hellhound moved his blade to block her own, the leopardess snarling into the attack and pressing forwards. He too didn't meet the expected outcome with his block, it came dangerously close to a hit as his blade skimmed over hers. She grinned as he snorted, taking pride in her ability to make him falter if even for a second. A second was really all they'd get, his blade swinging up towards her.
She tried to pull her sword back in to block, but he was swift in his motions and instead she was forced to dodge, jumping back and resetting her stance. This time she'd begin, charging forwards and cutting down and across, pressing into it with the strength she'd hewn from years of training.
the fire can't touch me for I have burned too many times
Sometimes, this had been the way of the battlefield. To push back, to deter, to force the enemy away, and then to carry on bludgeoning, extorting, until their steps faltered, fell, fumbled, stumbled, or raced off, tripping over a fallen figure on their way out. These were the opportunities taken, snared, emboldened, extorting a weakness, a line in the foundation that suddenly wasn’t so sturdy, wasn’t so strong. How many times had he sought out an incapacitated side upon an opponent? How many times had he analyzed, scrutinized, for a sign to obliterate?
He didn’t do it now – but the habit was there, mustering in his Machiavellian mind, contorting, curling, coiling, a rapid form in watching her dodge, jump back, and reset.
Aisha’s charge was substantial, rapid, and not to be denied, but her strength wouldn’t be able to outweigh his. Not with his mass, not with his brawn, not with his physical upheaval. So he ground into the floor again, an immovable fortress as his blade caught; gesturing before her cutting, slashing techniques. And then the General attempted to utilize that formation, that power, that might, to shove, to propel, to drive, from his blade, from his bones, from his existence. To knock her askew, to slam her aside, to make her slimmer form flicker away.
Then raise his weapon, striving to slash at legs, at limbs.
the sea can't harm me for I have been drowning all my life
Of course she would falter to his mass, but it was fun and worth a try. Her slash down, bearing all of her strength did little more than nudge his out of the way, and with ease he shrugged her off, pushing back and causing her to stumble few steps before stabling herself. A bark of laughter escaped her, amused by the sheer power he bore, and the thrill of their spar.
He drove in, aiming for her legs, but she would not have him reach his target here. She sidestepped, moving to the right and in a brief circle around herself, successfully dodging his blow and using the momentum of her spin to slice at his outstretched weapon, hoping to disarm or at least throw off his balance with the sideways blow.
the fire can't touch me for I have burned too many times
Laughter volleyed, not from him, but from Aisha, exuding its presence around the crowd and people gathered, harking through the re-established halls. Perhaps that’s what they had missed – the rallying cheer, the ridiculous, sometimes mischievous qualities of training. It could fill the stony marks and the armored denizens, so they were more than just solemn, guarded faces. So he chuckled in return, side-stepping, maneuvering like a cat, like a feral, fowl beast, waiting for her next strike.
She could slice and parse her way towards him, but the undulation of his weapon, the firm grip, remained without piercing, shattering interplay. Muscles bore and strength forged, no denial in its tracings, meeting her upheaval and sedition with his own. But they’d played these games before – and the challenge bemused, coiled into machinations, made him think instead of just hone in on memory and inherency alone. His steel matched the metal in his grasp, and he smirked; taking the opportunity to slash upwards, intending to counteract her attack with a similar disposition, attempting to launch her blade, hoping it would scatter across the floor.
the sea can't harm me for I have been drowning all my life
Aisha's sidestep had saved her a blow, each clash between them matched and met. But one of them had to win, eventually one of them would falter. This would not be her match it seemed. Perhaps it was the gathering spectators that drew her gaze for a second, maybe the promise of attention made her overzealous. The clash of his sword against hers, her grip was too firm, too confident, too eager. She realized almost too late that if she didn't slacken her wrists it would cause more damage than not, and in an instant she let go, her sword falling free of her grasp.
"Fuck," she snarled, shaking out her wrist from the reverb that rattled her bones. Her eyes darted from Deimos to her blade as it hit the ground, metal skittering against stone. For a moment there was a wild edge to her gaze, that animal instinct and anger, her innate desire to win pulling the leopard to it's feet. But it was snuffed with a smile moments later, laughter that stroked it's spine and sent it back to slumber.
"I don't remember you being that strong," she said, scooping her sword back up and shifting it around in her grip. She wasn't done of course, just needed a reset, clear her mind of instinct and return to calculations. She moved into a defensive stance, and shot him a playful jump of her eyebrows, "Again."
the fire can't touch me for I have burned too many times
Power and precision, might and forbearance, an inclination towards upheaval and sedition the moment he could intercept and siege. The clang of her blade against the floor rendered the slightest, lightest of smirks. Were this war, were this a battle, were this any semblance of a crusade, he wouldn’t have permitted time for her to fetch and snag and carry on. It would’ve been an opportunity for obliteration, destruction, and ruthlessness, a weakness seized upon and taken for what it was worth – annihilation.
But these were not the Reaper’s halls, nor the Basin’s adversaries – and the piercing, chilling slate of his eyes didn’t last for long, quelling and dimming the habitual predilections. This was Aisha, and this was practice.
He snorted in the reel of her laughter, in the snarls, in the avid frustration, backing away while she took the opportunity to recover, perfecting an eye roll at her following statement. “Nor you this slow.” A cheeky grin matched thereafter, before retracing steps, waiting for her to grab hold of the blade, to decide if they were done or not.
But given her defensive maneuver, her demand, they weren’t.
Acceptance rallied in silence, and then an alteration in tactical points. He rushed her this time, a swift, rapid churn of his figure, and drew his blade low, pointing at nowhere in particular, until he maneuvered to the side, attempting to drive towards her ribs.
the sea can't harm me for I have been drowning all my life
"Oh haha," she huffed at his response, lips curling in a sneer as she reached for her weapon, running her finger along the bevel and letting the cold snow from it's surface settle to the ground. Round two began quick, she took position and beckoned for him to begin, coaxing, goading him on. He obliged her, making the first move and driving his blade towards her.
She sidestepped, attempting to deflect as she did though her sword didn't make the ground she'd hoped in pushing his away. A momentary falter, nothing more, she was more determined now that she'd failed once. She moved around to slightly behind his shoulder as quick as she could in an attempt to catch him off guard as he'd turn to block her strike, aiming down at his biceps. Surprise him with her aim, try new things. Spars were all about learning things there wouldn't be a chance to learn on the battlefield.
the fire can't touch me for I have burned too many times
A waiting expanse and then the matter of deflections all over again; and he was moving, moving, moving, striving to rotate as she did. But for all his dexterity, he was still more to maneuver than she, and as he reached, as he sought and extended the blade to block her incoming strike – he’d become bound by his own fortifications, monolithic height, and the angle of her weapon came down right upon his bicep, just as she’d intended.
A growl tore through him as the numbing ache bound against the bunched brawn there, and a sneer contorted along his features too – a feral wake beginning to unfurl over his eyes. A challenge. A provocation. The tirades were on - no more easygoing tenacity. “Clever,” he announced, giving credit where credit was due, utilizing his form against him.
So he plunged onwards, shifting sword hands, giving the arm a chance to return to some residual, unhampered state, giving chase, angling downwards towards her legs, where the blocking might be awkward, striving to trip her up.
the sea can't harm me for I have been drowning all my life
Sparring away at the spiffy new grounds, letting steel varnish steel in an electric dance. Laughter, excitement, frustration and victory, all some of Aisha's favorite parts of the fight. In this move, it was victory, her side step and strike had the flat part of her blade thunk against his arm, the position having been too awkward and her having been too quick. There, even, she thought, grinning into his praise.
But there's always time for more points, the race isn't over until it is. Aisha perhaps let her guard down too early, assumed he might not be as adept with his other hand - whatever it was his lunge met purchase, his blade aimed towards her legs. It made for an awkward block, and too little too late Aisha changed tactics, choosing to dodge again. But he'd tripped her, she stumbled back out of reach, ungracefully.
Her tongue pressed against her teeth as she fought back a quip, something borne of adrenaline along the lines of that was cheap or i got you first. She simmered it down into another smirk, he knew her too well anyway. Instinct, attack; she charged forwards, getting in close and swinging up.
