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
Solace came in the form of slashing steel and blades, in the consolation of warrior refrains and habitual stances. Convictions, promises, vows he’d made months and seasons before gave prowess in his rituals of watching, of witnessing, of marking and chiseling his path through the guards’, prospering instruction, unfolding and unfurling his own machinations, the sting of warrior predilections soothing whatever ailed the breadth of his shoulders or the walls in his chest.
For today’s nuances, they were assailing the climbing wall. He’d already fitted new ropes, the notions of Kiada’s fall coming to mind, and several others had clambered onward and upward. The earth had been re-assessed, evaluated, and strengthened, so the ice and snow wouldn’t give way – appreciating these figments for another piece, for another method of training. It couldn’t be the same each and every time – the guards would grow restless, slung into doldrums, a mind slowed down and labored. So he brought his hand upwards, shielding his eyes from the rays of sunlight (content to see it, truly), in order to survey them closer from below.
Some scurried, fast and swift and sure. Others notched their feet further into the footholds and gripped as if their lives depended on it. Some were triumphant, booming and bellowing from the top, and others breathed sighs of relief when they finally climbed and clambered to the top. And all of it brought him contentment – from the surge of success, from the rally of one another. Peace, in between the onslaughts.
the sea can't harm me for I have been drowning all my life
And I'm not expecting you to care, but I have finally seen the light
Deimos and Morgan had a lot in common; both warriors, both used to the fight and almost oddly comforted by practicing for it. She respected his strength and ability, though she had learnt over Deepfrost that while he surpassed her on a battlefield she had more of a suitability for leadership. Honestly, Morgan was glad for that; if Deimos attempted a coup she'd be worried about her chances, and he made a very fine General.
Heading onto the training grounds with her hammer over her shoulder and her armour pendant activated, she was ready to get out some of the remaining Longnight stress. Deimos could take whatever she could give, so she was prepared to really try her best in this training session.
When she approached he was training the guards; she stopped to watch for a while, smiling at their work. Morgan had started here herself, once upon a time, a teenager with nothing but determination. After a while she cleared her throat, stepping forward to address her General in a moment of quiet. "Deimos. If you're not too busy, our training session..?" They had agreed on these days, though not a specific time, both of their schedules fluid yet busy.
the fire can't touch me for I have burned too many times
One last soul made it to the top, and their volleying rounds of applause surged while the rest began their trek back downwards. With that particular session over, they could take breaks and breathers by the braziers, or cool down in the vestiges of the cool air, before beginning their next rounds. Deimos tugged the ropes and tethers back into place, and had only begun walking towards one of the newest guards, when another stepped forward, a clearing of a throat indicating his presence was required.
A shift in his stance and the incline of his head over shoulders hastened the softest of snorts – for he had his own training to attend to. Promises and convictions from days before, when they’d altered and changed their leadership roles (a relief). “Of course,” and he nodded, noting in the back of his mind to discuss things with the other guard later.
They’d agreed on weapons, and his gaze went to the Warhammer, ensuring he’d require some form of armor. Presuming she’d follow him towards the cleared out area for designated skirmishes, the monolith strode over to the sidelines, grabbing hold, applying, and rendering protective pieces upon his own form. “Was there anything in particular you wanted to work on?” Thereafter, he snagged at his preferred weapon – aptly the sword – from his belt.
the sea can't harm me for I have been drowning all my life
And I'm not expecting you to care, but I have finally seen the light
It was always good to see people thriving in the roles they had chosen, and Morgan smiled as Deimos looked over to her, seemingly pulled away from the immersion of the training grounds. He was an easy part of this place; she couldn't have asked for a better replacement captain.
He was right in assuming he'd need some armour; Morgan wasn't quite as cruel as to make him practice against her hammer with his bare skin. She walked with him to the racks, just briefly looking him over before he covered himself; he was an attractive, well kept man - where was that wife he'd once had? She knew something had happened, but not what...but as with her own romantic matters, the conversation didn't fit into their professional and practical setting, so she didn't ask.
"Hm. Truthfully I worry all my skills will degrade as I spend more time on the administration of leadership." She admitted, leaning her hammer one way than the other as she considered if there was a particular element she wanted to focus on. "Close combat would probably be useful. It's been a while since I've had to fight with one person intensely, but it will surely come up again."
the fire can't touch me for I have burned too many times
The Sword did manage to muffle a laugh as he caught her looking him over from the corner of his eye. Perhaps it was an innocent, innocuous glance, one to survey weaknesses, scrutinize potential layers where a hammer could do the worst damage. But he was rarely permitted a moment to tease or taunt the Warden, and did so with a juvenile, boyish ease, an arch of his brow. “Do not get distracted,” and then he sidled away, with an air of indifference and reticence once more.
Battle-forged, he twisted the pommel and hilt of his sword in his hand, fitting it into the callouses, the weight, the pulse and bridges of impending maneuvers. He motioned towards the ring upon stone floors, a place where armaments could be tested, actions could be weighed. “All right,” consisted with an acceptance of the inevitable (making no mention of the months where he’d been Warden – how he’d come here at alternating hours and continued his training, how he would never let those portions of his soul go – the vehemence, the violence, the preparation).
Then he waited, taking his preferred stance, eyes glinting at the hammer, until she came into the marked sanction as well. Only thereafter, when they were both ready, did he swiftly launch forward, attempting to swing the blade towards her hip, intending to see how quickly, how steadfast, she could be with defenses and maneuvers. A test, an examination, a gesture of parameters and prowess.
the sea can't harm me for I have been drowning all my life
And I'm not expecting you to care, but I have finally seen the light
"You're right, I must be sure not to become wrapped up in my foes impressive physiques." Morgan teased right back, laughing and rolling her eyes; she was sure that if she was actually in any danger, the muscles of her competitors would be targets rather than points of interest.
Anyway, there was a mock battle to be had. Morgan approached the ring carefully, balancing her hammer in her hands and feeling it's weight; maybe Deimos had indeed come here regularly in his time as Warden, but Morgan often found ways to become obsessed with making sure anything she did was completed thoroughly, maybe overly so; she found many ways to stretch out her hours of work keeping the Citadel running.
There was a still second of suspense before the action began, Deimos moving forward to start his assault; Morgan, having expected this, did manage to move to the side and avoid the hit; however, from the angle she had stepped to, there was little chance she could successfully swing the hammer at any decent velocity (at least not unless she wanted to bring it down on his head, but that was a bit intense for a friendly match). Instead of launching a counter attack she jumped back and around, standing behind Deimos, waiting to see what he would do next.
the fire can't touch me for I have burned too many times
This time the Sword did manage a laugh, rough and wild, an echoing volley that resounded over the stonework and eaves. “A terrible burden.” Then he wrinkled his nose, very juvenile and boyish, before they could maneuver back into the intricacies of the skirmish.
He arched a brow at her mere moving away (understandable; evasion was a common tactic, and he’d utilized it many times before), but the beast had also been tempted to test. To instigate that level of prowess. To see how far they could push and pummel. To examine and assess the Warden’s true capabilities.
The close quarters meant her hammer wouldn’t have the ferocity, swiftness, or space required – and he intended to rankle those boundaries again. The Sword watched her from the corner of his eye, movements and motions meant to elude from behind, but no strike. Perhaps she was waiting to see what he’d concoct too.
So he swept outwards, turning, twisting, and maneuvering in her direction, to the left in another quick launch, his massive form managing to maintain speed and precision despite its monolithic demeanor. His sword extended and reached, striving to angle its way towards her shoulders, attempting to rankle defenses or assaults once more.
the sea can't harm me for I have been drowning all my life
And I'm not expecting you to care, but I have finally seen the light
This time she was truly prepared. Deimos was, indeed, a large man; he was a formidable opponent, but Morgan had faced a lot of foes by this point. The best thing to do with such a fight was to let him use his own strength and momentum against himself. She watched carefully to see where he would strike; the flick of his eyes to a certain spot, the first movements of his limbs.
This time she jumped to the side again but instead of continuing her movement further away, she tried to skip behind him, to the side; hoping the swing of his arms would through him forward long enough, Morgan would try to bring her hammer around and onto his back. She used the side so that it would not hurt too badly (after all, she wasn't trying to maim the general), but hit with enough might he would likely bruise.
Whether the strike was successful or not, she'd swivel to face him again after, ready for the next approach.
the fire can't touch me for I have burned too many times
Deimos had fought many too.
Some larger than him. Some smaller than him. Some swifter than him. Each and every opponent had some advantage – speed, range, power, precision, might – and he’d been made for endurance and fortitude. The monolith had taken many hits, and had the scars to prove it; but survived. Kept up with the onslaughts. Dug into the ground. Maintained ferocity and machinations until it seemed as if he would shatter.
The barest hints of a smirk wove around as she maneuvered and evaded once more; and he followed. Her hammer didn’t quite make it to blows along his back – the armor took care of most of it, but he saw the opportunity pinpointed there – taking the hit so he could snag at the instant. Had it been the serrated edges and not the blunted side, it would’ve likely been another story of detrimental injuries.
So he swung his sword towards her open side, intending to see something else besides constant shifting.
the sea can't harm me for I have been drowning all my life
And I'm not expecting you to care, but I have finally seen the light
Her hammer did land, but the way Deimos didn't stumble from the blow told Morgan that he wasn't as surprised or winded from the attack as she might have hoped. He swung almost immediately afterwards, a well-executed and timed blow towards her side that Morgan only just managed to counter; twisting to drive the handle of her hammer under his sword and hook it between the head and shaft.
Unfortunately, when it came to brute strength, Deimos absolutely had her beat; Morgan gritted her teeth, trying her best to push up and away from herself to diffuse his hit, but it wasn't long before her arms were beginning to shake. Knowing she'd be unable to beat him in a direct contest, she instead did something a little underhanded - hey, war was war - and kicked out a leg into his ankle, hoping to stumble the General and use the moment to pull away.
the fire can't touch me for I have burned too many times
Force and might, strength and brutality, edged and streamlined into the segments of brawn and muscles. They’d served him well in the past, and did so now, content with the application of his blade downward, ensuring her hammer couldn’t raise his armament away. A sufficient block, and he could apply pressure for as long as necessary; formidable, mountainous, and certain – the smallest smirk embedding its way through his mouth.
And a snort ensued when she tried another tactic – kicking out, striving to stumble and hasten him away, curtail the ferocity. He sidestepped, but didn’t break his hold; narrowly avoiding the angle of her reach; the assailment sailing by his limb.
But if they were going to play that way – fine.
Without altering the pressure of his sword upon the hammer, he angled and thrust his elbow towards her arm, intending to goad her into dropping the weapon, or shifting her course. Target the weakness. Alter off of strengths and advantages.
the sea can't harm me for I have been drowning all my life
And I'm not expecting you to care, but I have finally seen the light
Damn Deimos and his big sexy hard muscles. Morgan's kick didn't have the effect she'd hoped for, the pressure between their weapons still maintained and pushed further; Morgan knew she wouldn't be able to hold her position much longer and now that her sneaky tactic hadn't worked, she was running out of options. If this were a real scuffle, this would be where she'd turn to her magic, but they'd set the rules.
His elbow in her arm was a deciding factor in a choice she'd been trying to make about whether she ought to just abandon the hammer for the moment; Morgan let go and dodged as best she could swiftly to the side to avoid the swing down of his sword. Now she was unarmed, and without a weapon she didn't fancy her chances against him with a sword much.
Holding up a hand for a time out, she stood and brushed off her clothes, out of breath. "As always, you are unmatched when it comes to close combat. Were this a real battle I believe I would now be dead." Morgan laughed quietly, the humble admission not coming entirely easily to her. "Perhaps we could begin again, but I would love to have your instruction. There is always more to learn."
the fire can't touch me for I have burned too many times
For his part, the Sword wasn’t smug when she rescinded her hammer, and it dropped away under the pressure of brawn and other tactics. Morgan took to evading, an understandable notion, and considering the other potential outcomes, perhaps that had been the most suitable for the moment.
He stepped away the instant she signaled for a break, taking the time to stretch out his own muscles, bending down to grab her weapon and offer it back. Thereafter, he tilted his head, watching, waiting, for whatever next employ would manifest, very much like the predators stoked and refined in his soul. The statement caused a brief snort, but no wild bout of laughter like before; more of a wrinkle to his nose, some juvenile expansion of mischief. “Incapacitated, perhaps.” Benefit of the doubt for her efforts; presuming Morgan would be the type to not so hastily beat into a retreat – gathering her machinations and abilities, picking up something else nearby, striving for another tactic.
That she craved instruction surprised him – the lightest lift of his brows signaled the brief wonder – before he took an opportunity to wrap his long locks off his shoulders, listening all the while. “You are already well versed.” And he wasn’t as familiar with the war hammer as other munitions and abilities; understanding most of its weight was upfront, borne along the iron pieces, rather than the balance near the hilt of his blade. Which meant different speeds, different ranges of control. His eyes narrowed, studying the weapon, pondering where to best follow suit. “But I always strive for moves that parry maneuvers. Can I block or repel, and use my position to hit all in the same motion?” Much like he’d done with his elbow in the latest round. “Or finding a weakness to exploit.” Hitting, pummeling, a certain area until it had been diminished, punished, and annihilated; an adversary dwindled within scarce instants.
Pondering over the prospects, Deimos eventually set his stare back upon the Warden, extending the offer. “I can lend instruction as we go, if you would like?”
the sea can't harm me for I have been drowning all my life
And I'm not expecting you to care, but I have finally seen the light
Morgan always tried her best not to be proud, and where it was clear Deimos had more experience and expertise she would gladly take what he had to teach. She'd had guards before that decided they knew everything before they'd had any training, and they always ultimately became laughing stocks when they fell on their asses.
She could see his surprise and smiled though, glad that he didn't think her a poor fighter. "Thank you. There is always more to learn, though. I worry I may have become too dependant on my magic in these last years as it has become stronger." Her magic improving was exciting, its use in battle endless...but she didn't want to abandon her physical dexterity and strength that she'd relied on when her skills had been lesser.
What he said made sense; preserving energy and time by packing as much as was possible into one move. It was a different philosophy from the one she'd been trained with and would be interesting to try. "I would like that. Let's begin again."
