If It Kills Me

Elide

Black boots skid to an icy halt in the stone archway. They set bold, new feet upon the Barracks of the Deepfrost Shields. Excitement and anxiety shivers up the height of their beholder, settling in her shoulders. Dark, almost black, eyes take in what there is to take. The wind sweeps in through the doorway as she enters, bringing with it the scent of smoke from fires lit to illuminate the Citadel. The night is still young, though, and the sound of activity can be heard within the Barracks' walls.

The door creaks shut and a tall, dark-haired figure makes her way into the building. Fine fabrics veil her slender frame, not made for keeping out the cold. This is a luxury she can get away with. She searches the building (and, if needed, its outer grounds) with no sense of urgency, admiring the architecture. She continues like this until she finds who she is looking for.

And if he is accompanied by another, with wild hair and bright eyes, that is all and well, even if that person's status escapes her in the moment. She takes them both in with a keen curiosity, her lips smoothing over each other as she regards the activity they are currently wrapped up in. Conversation, sparring, planning, mapping; things of such nature would not surprise her a bit. She may have none of her own experience with the life of soldiers but, she does not come ignorantly into their keep. Her brother, once, was one. It is his footsteps she means to follow, only to a much greater success.

A pause is taken. She's not intending to be intrusive but, she stands before them with austere dignity anyway because she also doesn't intend to come across as meek.

"Good evening to you both. I hope I'm not interrupting anything of grave importance," her voice rings clear through the air, "I need to speak with Deimos Ignatius." She looks right at him; she knows who the General of Halo is. She'd have to be some sort of blind burrowing animal not to. This thought makes a small smile curve across her lips.

She takes a step forward, a hand sweeping forth from billowy sleeves to shake one or both of theirs. "My name is Elide," her freckled head tips down towards the woman, then, to better meet her gaze, "Elide Pendragon."

The smile dips away from her expression in favor of taking herself serious. Once the formalities are taken care of, she pulls her slender hand away. Her gaze swivels back and forth between the two of them. "I've come to join the Deepfrost Shields." They may take this declaration as they will. Elide is resolved, which is the only thing that her rigid expression gives away.

never before had the song of war
been the song of hope ascending

DEIMOS

the ocean does not apologize for its depth
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness

They’d opted for the beginning of Deepfrost, and with pending isolation, for an inspection of the current guards. How they managed. How they sparred. How they practiced. How they committed to routine, to their posts. His scrutinizing eyes rarely wavered, watching, waiting, as the devotees to protection upheld their rites and regards, clashing with preferred weapons, notes angled on the paper produced in front of him, on the short, curt speeches he offered and extended. The beast expected Aisha to do the same, proffering her advice when it was needed, guiding principles and details to their brethren, and his dutiful march along the grounds repeated, rounded, volleyed.

Until another approached, completely foreign and unknown, calling his name over the horde of gathered. He glanced up, the tall breadth of his stature regaining its full height, a tower, a Colossus, a monolith, staring upon the willowy, limber figure. The first reaction was one of composition and curiosity – pondering if there was a message being delivered to him, if there was some other segment or threat already looming, days into the new season. But when there seemed to be no haste, no alarm, the rigidity in his spine, the inherent, formidable sway of danger, dissipated. Then he was just the Sword, patting the soldier nearby on the shoulder, encouraging further efforts on rendering the target demolished, and advanced.

His strides were sweeping and savage, a predator’s walk; always had been, capable of swallowing up the earth and those who resided within it. But instead of an ominous, slinking pace, it spoke of confidence and assurance, a strength, a might, honed and poised, ready and aloft. A quick study, eternally prone to his perusals, to a sizing up of anyone and everyone (predilections born from the battlefield) of the newcomer revealed a tall, slender, pale woman, and the shaking of hands further established his initial thought of Ascended. And he had no need of asking her what was required of him – the confidence, the declaration, was enough.

So he took his hand back, arching a singular brow, no further requirement of introductions on his part when she already knew who he was. “Elide,” he began, the deep rumble of his tones exuding from his chest. “What inspires you to join?”

for the space they take
and so, neither shall I

AISHA

The morning had been spent in a meeting, the general and some others gathered to discuss their future endeavors. Aisha had always found it fascinating how much they could get done, fortify, protect, as a unit. The force of friendship, of responsibility, of respect, not born of selfish desires (though who wasn't prone to those every now and then). Papers were sprawled about the table, covered in plans, lists, the ideas of so many buzzing minds.

She stood at Deimos's side as they discussed manners and mechanisms, not too thoroughly engaged with the particular conversation to miss the entrance of an unfamiliar face. Her hazel eyes followed the pale woman as she strode forwards, looking her up and down as a predator would. The two feline soldiers turned fully at the introduction, a smirk spread across Aisha's face. The general walked closer to the woman, Elide, and Aisha hopped up onto the table top to watch from around his broad shoulder.

Do not mistake this as as her resigning to the background, just waiting for the moment to join in. She leaned back, comfortable, "Welcome to the barracks," she chimed in after the introduction, playful, amused, curious.

and there's a hole in my chest
like there's a hole in the sun

so tell me what's coming next?

Find

Elide

Before interrupting their discussions, Elide listened to the last bit of it with intrigue, catching them in the midst of their conversation. She took note of the papers that scattered across the table as she neared, eyeing some of the scrawlings before she finally strode forth to introduce herself.

Elide lacks in the predatory prowess the general and his swordswoman navigate with. She finds it to be simultaneously unsettling and thrilling. She thinks herself to be more akin to a stone figure. Steady, unreadable. The aptitude of her strengths would likely be missed in this first impression. Though it did not quite show yet, she yearns to prove herself to them, dares them to test her should they have doubts.

She settles her excitement, however, as Deimos queries her declaration and the woman beside him welcomes her to the barracks with a charming smirk. Elide's brow quirks at this but, she dips her head in thanks. She steps back to address the both of them, her hands clasping behind her back, her eyes hovering back and forth - slowly, not nervously.

Lifting her chin, she squares her jaw as a plethora of answers sweep across her tongue. If she must pick one, perhaps it should be honest. "I seek to kill the dragon that took my brother's life - and I will not stop at that." The words leave her with clarity and she resolves against any skepticism she may receive with a flex of her jawline, "I understand what you must think. Do not mistake me for naïve. I realize that, among many other things, I will need training to do so. A great deal of it. That is what inspires me to join."

She pauses to allow them a moment to let this information sink in. No, perhaps it is not exactly the words they want to hear from a potential recruit. Words that she thought might appease to their sense of duty, she could've quite easily said. However, that would do none of them any favors in the long run.

"However, I will give all that I am to your cause - regardless of my own desires. You will have my undying loyalty."

never before had the song of war
been the song of hope ascending

DEIMOS

the ocean does not apologize for its depth
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness

He waited; still, sometimes stone, sometimes rubble, sometimes a ruin. For now, the beast was his namesake, Sword through and through, living, breathing weaponry, capable of unfurling, of unleashing at any and all predilections. It was unnecessary for the moment however, and merely the way he held himself, from days of scouting perimeters, of stalking shadows, of ensuring nothing and no one sought his own: kin, brethren, kingdom. The same mannerisms of scrutiny applied here as well, and though she was of an unreadable facet (something else to be appreciated; he often rendered the same tactics, mannerisms, the impassive gaze, the reticent blade), her words held enough merit, enough weight, to be considered.

The monolith was surprised at her first statement – but didn’t show it. Instead it was an unsettling fathom in the midst of his machinations, in the back of his mind – an experience with dragons, a group of them wandering into caves, searching for a heart to ignite a shrine. And even if their mission had been successful in terms of acquiring the organ, it had come with a terrible price. Four souls lost; two newly reborn.

So he granted her no skepticism there – couldn’t without being a hypocrite himself. He’d only recently thought of wandering back into the same damned midst to retrieve the bodies, to ensure a proper burial. But then he’d seen them rise again at the Voice’s behest, and everything was shrouded in enigmas, trials, and tribulations again for different reasons. Perhaps his reaction to her would be incredibly bizarre, but there were no misgivings, no doubts, no certainties laden into the semblances of such dangers and treacheries. She’d know already. “What color was the dragon?” The tone, much like his features, save for the slightest tilt of his head (a raptor, a feline, a canine inclination; borne from his savage intricacies), were neutral, but his eyes were narrowed, piercing, pondering.

If her inspiration was vengeance, he couldn’t fault her. It’d been in his Machiavellian threads, a fire in his lungs, a bitterness in his soul, for so damned long it was a part of his limbs, his bones, his entity. He permitted a nod to unravel in his movements, a single arch of his brow towards Aisha, pondering over what she thought, but giving no hidden voice or Attuned measures. Not yet.

Then back to Elidhe, because he’d known of loyalty and devotion too, and how sometimes it didn’t matter. How it broke and fell apart, how it snapped and fragmented. How it was tested in the midst of battle and open flames. How sometimes it rose to the occasion, a shelter, a sanctuary, a shield, and how sometimes it was forgotten. Was it to doubt her? Probably not. He rarely underestimated anyone. Experience had just left thorns and nettles in his sides, in his ribs, in the scars slashed across his skin. Deimos remained still and stoic again, no other movements concocted, a composition of control. “Do you have any experience?” And if so – perhaps she was willing to be tested on her abilities.

for the space they take
and so, neither shall I

AISHA

Aisha's calculating gaze scores the woman before her as someone with ambition, or at least determination. There was a semblance there that wasn't naive, it was deliberate, present. She admired that off the bat, and was thoroughly intrigued. She knew there was a reason, a motivation with this one, and it did not disappoint. A dragon, to kill one, something akin to excitement pinched her lips in a smirk.

She listened, leaning closer forwards, betraying more interest than initially shown. She kept from chiming in just yet, letting the general do his job. His inclination to her did make her lift her chin just a bit, a smile, for she did have some influence on him didn't she? And wasn't that just peachy, she returned his look with a brow of her own before turning her attention to Elide.

As Elide continued Aisha began to form her image, her opinion on what was being offered. Or rather what was being asked for; surely plenty in return for loyalty alone. Deimos's next question was in similar vein to what she might've voiced next, pondering what skills Elide brought to the table.

and there's a hole in my chest
like there's a hole in the sun

so tell me what's coming next?

Find

Elide

Elide finds Deimos' demeanor fascinating rather than frightening, her eyes scooping him in as if they've hungered to for a while now. She's come already with the understanding that he is known as the 'Resurrected Sword'. Reputation is different from demonstration, but Deimos does not disappoint in this regard. Even when he is not in the midst of battle or danger, he carries a resolute guard along his countenance. Understandable. He has seen much. In the back of her mind, a burning curiosity desires to witness him and his {for now} silent companion in the fray.

She has met many soldiers in her day, Halo being a region frought with cold and unforgiving lands. Living here is a dangerous feat in and of itself, requiring a stronghold to keep the mightiest of beasts and banes at bay. Her brother was a soldier who shared similarities with the two before her; controlled, steeled. She knew him and his comrades well before his passing. She is no stranger to the mechanisms of a fighter, to the tension that seems to always ride along their shoulders, to the flick of a wrist and sudden spilt blood.

It is not that thought which turns her gears into motion. Justice is what she vies for, and not just for her brother; for all of the men and women whose lives were lost to such abominations; for lives that will be lost in the years to come should no one make that necessary confrontation. Dragons were only one enemy, one thread to unravel; that is true. However, now it is deeply personal. She will mold herself into a living weapon if she has to, if only in order to wipe them out of existence.

"They say it took him in the night. That was two years ago, and that is all I know," she admits this with finality, dark eyes growing darker still, wondering if they understood the implication that came with these words. Still, she clarified, "I will not stop at a single dragon. That will not solve the much larger issue at hand. I am sure that you have lost people to these creatures, too... They pose a very real threat, and I will not pretend otherwise." She is unafraid to take that initiative, even if it takes years to prepare, to fortify, to rise.

Elide doesn't miss the tiny glance they exchange, but she is steeled and she does not falter because of it. She is expecting the next question, has been awaiting this moment. The moment where they will truly be able to assess her potential - or lack thereof. So she launches into her answers.

"I am as familiar with a crossbow and traps as you are the sword. I am a hunter and I have been ever since I was young," she inclines her head, a meager yet proud smile gliding over her features. It soon becomes apologetic, "but otherwise, I'm afraid I am as untrained as they come. I..." she pauses, wondering, "...I have been studying strategy and tactics in more recent years. Alongside that, I've researched the endemic life in Halo and the rest of Caido for as long as I've been a hunter."

Elide has always been a researcher, a pursuer of greater knowledge, an investigator, a philosopher. The time that she doesn't spend researching is time she spends putting new knowledge to the test, applying what she knows of both behavior and environment to aid her in her hunts. It has led a fruitful existence, albeit not a very complex one.

Since deciding upon committing herself to a military operative of some sort, she's dove into relative studies. Books on battle strategy, journals written by long-dead military, accounts of failed or successful missions and battles. She is as prepared as she can be, has prepared herself in one of the only ways she knows how, and she wouldn't present herself any other way.

She straightens her chin, not too proud to say, "If you do not consider any of these things to be relevant experience, then I have none. Be that as it may, I am confident that my knowledge will be of use. I can offer you that, at least, until I am more skilled."

never before had the song of war
been the song of hope ascending

DEIMOS

the ocean does not apologize for its depth
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness

Deimos wouldn’t have survived without being a rampart, a piece of destruction, an adornment of searing fervor beneath the layers of guarded viciousness. And though he’d grown in the ways of compassion, of tolerance, of forbearance, the same inklings existed below his layered iron, hardened, primitive enmity, the draw of diabolical insurrection, the Machiavellian contemplations. Tactical designs and rancorous fervor had brought them out of deaths’ clutches more than once, and the incantations tethered, tied, to his soul, with its power, with its allure, with its finessed, inveigling iniquities, had permitted lives saved in the brushstrokes of other heathen ambitions. How many times had he stood before monsters, before enemies, before adversaries, with little regard for himself? How many times had his unholy dominion been marred, for others? Much like other soldiers, preservation for land, for people, had been eternally placed before his own – recollections and memories of those hours of revolutions, of war drums, to resolutely exist in the back of his mind. There was no shame to them; to either the scars he’d already borne, to the treachery he’d unleashed, to the ruthless fixation sometimes howling in its feral acrimony.

Such was the way of warriors. Ready within a single moment – to unfurl, to unleash, to become a stronghold.

And wasn’t that what she was here for? To become those figments? To better suit those expectations?

The Sword listened; a keeper of secrets, blades, and schemes, regarding her with the same dignity and repose everyone else gained from his stance. Absorbing, calculating, processing, churning over the words like revolving balances: no hues to adorn the creature who’d taken her brother, her enduring, unceasing regard for all of them either admirable or foolish. He made no mention of the ivory beast who’d taken his own friends – because despite the threat of their fortitude and might, he’d had other trials and tribulations to focus on. He nodded, indicating his understanding, continuing his silent stature, for the waves of experience were due to be heralded.

A hunter – likely much in the way of Noah’s prowess. Crossbows. Traps. Means and ways of survival across the tundra. They’d always have requirements of suitable archers, and an arrow could do justifiable damage in range of her adversarial, vengeful pursuits. There was an appreciation, a note, within his emerging, soft smile, for the role she’d taken in studies. At the very least, she’d been striving, and that was far more than some of their recruits or others he’d come across – eager to learn, but uncertain where to begin. “All experience is relevant. How it is utilized is the true test.” He’d been granted and given books too – and they’d served their purposes. But so had the inclination of training, of day after day, night after night, of endurance, of fortitude, of swinging the blade until it was a part of him, natural, intrinsic.

Silently, he conjured his notions towards Aisha – the Attuned bond applying its depths. Prepare one of the targets. Whichever dummy she favored to be bludgeoned in these parallels; before his attention snapped back to Elidhe. “Come show us what you can do.” A challenge in the arch of his brow, before following after Aisha, presuming the Ascended would do the same, further and further into the training grounds itself, where the rest of the guards labored, toiled, and learned.

for the space they take
and so, neither shall I

AISHA

Dangerous light flickered behind the ascended woman's eyes, she spoke of destruction and endeavors to avenge. Even as her brows narrowed and her gaze darkened, Aisha felt the intensity and brightness of the fire that burned there at her core, a core surrounded by synthetic sinews. Elide was an interesting vessel, with goals that excited and thrilled, a story that Aisha would follow with intrigue.

Whether or not that anger and longing for vengeance would really make the woman a good warrior was ultimately up to her, and the general. She had that spark, she just needed outlet to unleash it. And next she is given opportunity to share her resources, explain her foundations that the Shields may build on, meld into that weapon she wanted to be. Traps, bows, strategy; all useful things that would mean little in the heat of the moment. Aisha too, wanted to see this Elide in action.

And so when a request broke through their attuned bond she grinned, hopping down from her perch and tossing Elide a smirk as she replied, "My pleasure." Then the leopardess disappeared from the great hall of the barracks, past various rooms and stairways and finally out through the large wooden doors that opened up to the yard. A large stone laden area where the soldiers could train, strewn with straw and sticks and the debris of many battles between comrades.

Aisha pulled one of the targets that lie waiting against the stone wall to an open area, unoccupied by bodies and clashing armament. Then she waited for the rest to arrive.

and there's a hole in my chest
like there's a hole in the sun

so tell me what's coming next?

Find

Elide

Elide dips her head in acknowledgement, agreeing entirely with Deimos' sentiment. A new surge of ambition rises in her, taking on the form of a small yet wickedly knowing smile. Her gaze glints back up at Deimos and Aisha. She understands completely where this is sure to lead, though she also misses the silent communication. So, when Aisha speaks, Elide tilts her head. Her expression is at first, confused, but it doesn't take her long to figure it out. It makes sense now, that predatory darkness that shadows their eyes.

At Deimos' invitation, it's all Elide can do to keep herself from bursting at the seams like an excited child. Now the fun truly begins! Her normally stoic features are now grinning, and that is the only tell. Otherwise, she is moves after Deimos with control and respect. As they filter in not a moment too soon, Elide takes in the sight of the training area. The Shields are clearly a busy bunch, keeping their soldiers sharp, not using their title to sit on their laurels. Good. This is exactly what Elide is looking for.

Her grin fades into a satisfied smile but, she doesn't quite go for a weapon yet. She's considering which one to take, and in the mean time, she sheds her long, draping overshirt. Beneath is tighter, sleeveless shirt that hugs against her slender torso. It'll be easier to swing a sword if she is not weighed down by billowy fabrics and, for her, there is no need for keeping warm. With a glance around, she moves to select one of the longswords that's propped up along a nearby weapon's rack.

"I could show you my skills with the crossbow but, that would not be much of a challenge," she states simply, a bit of humor lightening her tone.

The hilt is gripped in both hands as she tests the weight and balance of it. It is a bit off-kilter, being that it has been used and abused.. quite a lot. It certainly has character, scuffs and scratches along the sharpened blade to tell its story of teaching new soldiers how to properly respect and use such a weapon. Elide needs no lectures, and she does not look to either Deimos or Aisha for direction. She merely needs to put her knowledge to practice, and this is her chance to do so.

As far as training dummies are concerned, she understands that skill is not so important here but form and confidence. So, she concentrates on that, letting her focus freeze over everything else, stilling emotions that might've once made a heart pound, blocking out the two that stood there to judge her performance. She has potential for this, and she knows it. She needn't prove it, she need only do it.

In a mighty heave, she suspends the sword over her head. It angles through the air with heavy speed, the machinations in her body responding to the strength she was pulling from it and pushing into the swing. The blade angles, twists, plummets - and the training dummy soon loses a chunk off of its head.

And yet, she finds that she is not satisfied with this single move alone. So, from the ground where the tip of the sword found its place, she reverses the swing to bring it back up, that same tip slashing through where a chest would be. The cut left is deep, but not deep enough. She strikes the exact same spot again with icy precision. Pieces of wood go flying with each sweep of the blade as she continues like this until the dummy is in a sorry state.

It is not a fancy-footed presentation, it is a cut to kill presentation, but she doesn't waver a single time. There is no heat or fire or storm in her, only dark intent. Letting everything fall back in around her, Elide lowers her weapon and looks over at her judges. If she were not an Ascended, there might be nervous sweat on her brow and a winded expression on her countenance. But she is, so there are no such remnants of fatigue or anxiety. Only the wide-eyed look she gives them, her uncertainty seeping through once and for all.

"Well, be honest." She offers a brief smile.

never before had the song of war
been the song of hope ascending

DEIMOS

the ocean does not apologize for its depth
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness

Ambition had its purpose; the stoking of aspirations, the kindling of drive, determination, and resolve. It led them down paths – sometimes rubbled, sometimes ruined, sometimes marred, and sometimes glorified. What Elidhe would do on the twists and turns of her journey could start here and now, and based on her initial zeal and motivation, the beast was curious. What had pages taught her? What illusions of grandeur triggered, maintained, or tore? Where were the gaps? Where were the successful bouts, the place in which instruction could heighten the hunger? At her grin, he managed a brief snort, the smirk behind his sentiments rendered hidden, furtive; saving it for other moments beyond speculation.

They went deeper into the grounds, where the training upheavals unfurled in rapid ease. His scrutinizing eye immediately pinpointed over various other recruits, watching them from a distance, habitual to watch and witness others devising their own miniscule acts of war. Thereafter, his savage strides swept over the stone, commanding, monolithic figure, presiding upon the sacred, familiar earth of his choosing – a home in the elemental barrage, in the potential onslaught.

Thereafter, he waited.

Stepping aside, marching diligently next to Aisha, the General folded his arms across his chest, head tilting slightly, and rendering himself into complete silence. If it was meant to be intimidating, daunting, or formidable, he gave no indication. Instead he was the keen observer, the examining witness, the diligent, scrupulous, meticulous heathen; studying as he might fellow opponents, adversaries, and enemies. Looking for weaknesses. For openings. For precision. For might. For talent.

Throughout her entire performance, he said nothing. Focus maintained over the maneuvering of limbs and the shape of swordplay; the dummy’s ultimate demise not meaning much to him. It was a burden that couldn’t fight back. It was how she moved, how she embarked, how she intended to prevail. When the display ended, quickly enough, the effigy’s continued repair-work in the back of his mind for some other poor recruit, Deimos made his prowess, his predilections, his observations known.

Pulling out his own blade, he opted for demonstration first. “Raising your sword above your head offers more power, but also leaves you wide open for detrimental counters." He lifted the weapon over his head, presiding, ensuring, the amount of his form left to be mauled, battered, and ruined (again and again and again; the scars littered underneath pelts, furs, and clothes a sign that he’d made these mistakes before) was visible. “Do not sacrifice yourself for that one moment. Not when you can defend or parry. Sometimes a triumph comes from endurance.” Thereafter, he lowered the armament, considering, allowing a moment for Aisha's thoughts to flicker through. “You have precision on an immobile target. What about one that moves?” Then he glanced at Aisha, the half-grin beginning to form along his mouth again, the Cheshire indicators with a dimple in his cheek. “If you are willing,” to both women – a challenge sequestered there, already certain Aisha would accept.

for the space they take
and so, neither shall I

AISHA

Aisha waited at the target, absently messing with her nails and observing other spars until her entourage appeared. Deimos had led Elide out into the grounds, Aisha took note of the satisfied expression on the ascended's face. She knew that feeling all too well, the sudden comfort of knowing the place you're in, of understanding it. Elide clearly had the drive, she seemed suited to this life, but it was the test of skill that would decide.

Deimos came to stand by the swordswoman, Aisha with a hand on her hip, him with his arms crossed. Elide chose her weapon, and Aisha smiled at the choice. It was held with confidence, weighed and analyzed, then brought back with the woman to the dummy. The onslaught began, Elide heaving a first mighty blow, and then another, and another. Each was powerful, backed with instinct and strategy, each showed promise.

Once the recruit was done, satisfied with the carnage, she turned and waited for the appraisal. Deimos gave his first, demonstrating his meaning with his own blade and body, presenting the weak spot that Elide had exemplified. Certainly true, though Aisha had her own input, and the moment that the general left an opening she swooped in with her advice. "You have power, and you have an objective, but consider that in a battle you won't have that many opportunities to get it right. You have to be more precise with a single blow, and not count on having the time to try again."

And now Elide would get the chance to follow through on that counsel, Deimos proposed a spar between the two. Aisha grinned, more than happy to test the recruit herself. She glanced his way, then back to Elide, hazel eyes tracing the pale form of the other. Furs discarded to reveal a tighter fitting vestige beneath, the leopardess drew her sword, donning a defensive position with her blade; hilt pulled back at her hip, knees bent, sword aimed forwards. "Ready when you are, Elide."

and there's a hole in my chest
like there's a hole in the sun

so tell me what's coming next?

Find

Elide

Elide's brows raise, smile gone, as Deimos takes up a demonstration. Her fingers flex and she looks at his raised sword thoughtfully, his words reflecting as recognition in her gaze. She is a willowy, lithesome thing. Easily carved into pieces of inorganic flesh should she find herself unfairly disadvantaged in such an encounter. A dummy could not retaliate, and she had cut it down with this knowledge, but... perhaps she should have been treating it less like an inanimate object and more like a real opponent. Words came to mind, something she'd read before; 'the worst mistake you can make is to underestimate the enemy'.

Her jaws tense. She determines to try again, lifting her sword to do so, averting her gaze back to the dummy, when Aisha's voice cuts through.

Surprise alights her features when the woman tells her that she has power, an objective. It's not often that Elide receives recognition, especially not so openly. It stuns her, falters the words on her lips, because she knows that alone won't save her. She dips her head in acknowledgement. The lifted sword stoops back to her side.

It doesn't matter though, what she might say, because Deimos invites her to spar against Aisha - and Aisha is more than ready. She almost makes a show of it, discarding her furs, drawing the sword carried on her hip, and striking a battle-ready pose.

And suddenly, Elide smiles again. That familiar hunger recoils at her center, drawing her sword back up. It's of a different make than Aisha's, and so is Elide's posture, but this doesn't bother her. She stands with more rigidity on the surface but, underneath, she is ready to move.

So she takes the advice, she bears the sword by her midsection, blade down, no intention of lifting it over her head for a mighty blow. Her smile is gone, the stony focus and composure taking its place. There isn't much more contemplation before she moves forth, presenting her left foot first even though the swing comes from the right with a quick, successive step. This is aimed to disarm Aisha, to make the move {initially} unpredictable - whether that works or not is up to the other woman's interpretations.

Her sword clashes against Aisha's with intent, both hands on its hilt, steps rushed forward to push and pressure, to rise and bend and break, to give no room for escape. She doesn't underestimate Aisha's ability to counter her with ease, but she does wonder how she'll do it, dark gaze lifting to try to read the Attuned's face as she engages.

(Elide rolled a 14 on hit)

never before had the song of war
been the song of hope ascending

DEIMOS

the ocean does not apologize for its depth
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness

And now, he was the surveyor. The examiner. The observer. His eyes caught subtle nuances, the clench of a jaw, the movement to start again, the curtailing; what they meant would’ve entailed more deciphering of an individual he didn’t know. But what the Sword could do was bear witness, scrutinize, meticulously detail the way a foot fell, the way a blade motioned across arms, the way the maneuvers orchestrated a dance – macabre and bloody by the end, and rarely any applause. Because these were no recitals – not at the end of it, when they faced down threats, when they looked their enemies in the eye, when they spotted their adversaries from a distance and waited for their opportunity to strike. These minute, finite moments built into layers of protection, brutality, justice, and shielding; their own fortresses, their own might, their own convictions. If she had as many as she presided upon, then she’d find no flaw in the routine, and practice.

His expectations for Aisha’s instant agreement ensued the slightest of smiles, the residual snicker in the corner of his mouth, presiding for half a second, before he backed out of their way. Deimos’ role here wasn’t to be the obliterator – but merely to see if she could be taught. If she could listen. If she could take those bits of sagacity and utilize them.

So they struck against one another, and he tilted his head, a polished, narrowing of his gaze flickering, following. Elidhe had already heeded the notion of keeping her armaments closer; to be utilized for either offensive or defensive, so his words only marched in direction, in thought, in where she might yearn to meander next (and for Aisha too – echoes and bounds of things she’d already known to capitalize on). “Keep your opponent’s build in mind while you move. Will they be faster? Will they be stronger? Where can you pinpoint a weakness?” And then varnish it to her advantage.

for the space they take
and so, neither shall I