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 sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
Deimos watched the selection process with his habitual perusal. He knew which he would’ve chosen – much like any Attuned, or warrior, seeking out an adversary weak at first, easy to cull from the field. One down without much effort, and then onto the next. A framework tidy and neat for the battlefield, and though it wasn’t always easy to achieve, it stood out in the forefront of his mind.
Tal seemed inclined into a suitable mindset, picking and choosing a larger and slower mass. If it were a lumbering ursur, it could’ve been a problem – for some of such stature held power and dominion – but since it was merely bits and pieces of debris from a fake Sunjata’s features, the Sword would give him the benefit of the doubt. It was the strike he was examining anyway. “Better,” he announced, after the wood cracked and fumbled under the assault. It flickered into smaller pieces, and instead of joining its brethren, fell to the stone of the barracks. "You knew your capabilities, and what would suit you best."
Therein, a notion began to stir, about defenses, and if the courier would remember earlier sentiments. “Now, what if you are under assault, while attacking another?” How many times had soldiers used such a technique? It wasn’t fair, but it was opportunity, and many took full advantage of such moments. Conforming some of the smaller pieces into a larger frame, so they worked in unison, the monolith encouraged one to barrage Tal’s left side, while another came at his front.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
Tal's grin widened, turning a little smug under the praise, and he reached up to rub the back of his neck with his free hand as he nodded confirmation. It was still nice to have his strengths recognized, when he was painfully aware of how few of them there were compared to his brawnier siblings.
Deimos wasn't about to let him rest on his laurels, however, and while the easiest target for him to hit was down, it just meant the next lesson would be that much more difficult. The question had Tal frowning in thought--
Until he realized that Deimos was expecting an answer that was more 'show' than 'tell.' Tal bit back a yelp of surprise as two new foes flew at him. He stumbled back a step, then a well of stubborn pride steadied him and he launched himself at the one to the left, trying to get it between him and its partner. He was only partially successful; not fast enough on his feet to put his body where his mind wanted it to be, and while he managed a solid hacking blow into his chosen target the other one clipped his shoulder, drawing a scowl from the young man as he fell back to regroup. "Never had to fight alone before," he admitted gruffly, pride wounded at his lack of training in that area. "Always have Bor an' Bell to watch my back, and usually the rest of the team, too." A reliance he'd always taken for granted before today.
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
The Sword gave nothing away, save for an arch of a brow once more, as Tal tended to the next siege. “Hopefully you will not have to,” but they knew how far optimism got them – and there was never anything wrong in preparation. “But you should still know how.” Or at least the bare minimum of the possibility; understanding how he’d react, even if they were just pieces of wood and fabric careening around. Better to comprehend and rely on the nuances of harmless training, rather than in the full brunt of chaos, bedlam, and death.
Memories pierced and pulsed vaguely in the back of his mind, and he breathed them away, stuffed them back into lungs, ribs, and bones. “Remember your backhand strike.” He lifted his axe, demonstrating the motion in another sense of renewal. “That can defend you from one side, while you are attacking from the other.”
Deimos chose smaller barbs in the shards of broken, flying remains. “Try again,” and he nodded, instigating the air to whirl towards Tal – sending the portions back to the courier the same way he’d done before.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
Optimists didn't tend to survive long in Halo, and Tal had lived long enough not to count himself among them. Deimos's words were wise, but the courier still didn't like having to admit such a glaring weakness in his patchwork training. He gave a sharp nod of acknowledgment and turned his scowl on the dancing targets, ready to take out his internal frustration on himself on them instead.
He paused long enough to be reminded of the earlier lesson - wincing a little at needing the reminder - and sighed. "Yeah... guess these guys don't know how weak my backhand is." Tal shifted his grip on his axe and rolled his shoulders, setting himself for round two.
As the new targets came whizzing in he tried to do as Deimos had suggested, charging and twisting to get a solid strike on one and then rebounding into a backhand at the second as it careened towards him. The first target splintered in a satisfying spray of splinters and cloth, but he only barely clipped the second.
Still, it was enough to knock it off course and keep it from hitting him, and he perked up a little at the unexpected success. "Hey! It worked!"
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
The Sword had little to no expectations along this wake. Had Talyson been a recruit, a soldier, already trained (and his eyes reeled back to the others whooping and hollering at the top of the climbing wall), there might’ve been a lecture amidst the reminder. But where the courier lacked significant experience, there were no hard edges drawn, no rancor in the foolishness. The mistake had been a part of the learning curve, a moment of growth and renewal, starting points in the fledgling lines.
He said nothing more, permitting it all to unfurl and unveil – in better, far more inclined circumstances. The move was sufficient, blocking one, while marking the other. The second flickered and faltered in a dramatic death spiral, because it amused him, until it hit the ground.
At the affirmation, he snorted, piercing gaze inclined back to the target that had only been clipped. “Might as well finish it off.” And it spiraled towards the Natural again, clearly wounded and marred by its earlier strike, but itching to continue the fight.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
Tal snickered at the dramatic 'death' of the first target he'd hit, flashing Deimos a grateful grin for the confidence-boosting display. The success had helped to shake off some of the frustration from his earlier mistake, and as the second target came back for another go at him the courier squared up. This time he waited for it to get close instead of leaping into the fray to score the first strike, but it was only so that he could take a two-handed grip on the axe and strike out with it a full uncoiling of his body, as if swinging a bat.
Only this bat had a very sharp blade on its end that smashed into the wounded target with a satisfying explosion of material. Sunjata's nose went sailing off, spinning end over end, and Tal's grin held an edge of mischievous satisfaction at both the impact and the mess it had left behind.
Sometimes it just felt good to destroy something.
"So... what should I do if there's more than two of them?"
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
He quirked a brow at the ‘bat’ display, but where it was effective, and he watch Sunjata’s massive nose go flinging off into the rest of the sanction, he could let it go. With a shake of his head, he diminished the rest of the target into pieces of flame – until they were embers, then ash, then nothing at all. The question made him swing his head back to the youth though, and he remained pragmatic to a fault. “Depends on your situation and what you are fighting.” Going on a hunt and coming across ursur? Dragons? Better off evading, a majority of the time. Ascended who came into attack innocent people? “Can you take them all out?” And then another pause, to signify some value behind battles, skirmishes, and the likelihood of upcoming storms. “Is it worth it?”
Glancing down to ensure he’d snagged all the bits and pieces of the once-effigy were diminished and gone, he nodded his head, ensuring the courier could put away his axe. He’d earned his rest. “That should be enough for today.” And perhaps a hint that he could let the companions in.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
Tal's eyes widened as mystic fire joined the wind already at play within the training ground. He flinched, instincts as deep as great roots in his soul crying out in silent dismay as the target burned brightly and then--
--went out.
He turned shocked eyes on the warrior, swallowing hard at the casual blasphemy and too dazed to really focus on what the other man suggested. He nodded numbly, stealing glances at the ash on the wind.
He moved to set the axe back in the weapon rack he'd snagged it from and he lingered for a few moments, breathing deeply as he made sure the weapon was perfectly balanced before he moved back to rejoin the once-and-future general, eyes cast down as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I uh. Thank you, sir. For takin' the time with me today. I really--"
A sharp bark came from the doorway as a rusty red malamute shouldered past the muscular dragon ambling through the Barracks halls and trotted over to join the two men. She sat promptly beside Tal and looked up at Deimos with congenial curiosity, tongue lolling. The dragon, all pale blues and greens of sea ice - shades of the courier's eyes - joined them a few moments later, unhurried and unheeding of the recruits that cleared out of her way. She was the size of a great dane and built like a bull mastiff, her shoulders even with Tal's hips as she pushed her broad head under his hand imperiously and dropped her scaled hind end down on his other side.
"I told you to wait outside!" Tal's exasperation was tempered with affection as he tickled the dog's ears with his free hand, noticeably relaxing with the pair of them beside him.
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
Fires weren’t supposed to go out in Halo, but that element had been his and his alone – wielded and commanded and powered by him. Had he permitted the little sparks to land on wood, it could’ve been far worse than just a shocked face from a Natural. He’d know. He’d done it purposefully on more than one occasion.
Ignoring the glance with a roll of his shoulders, he nodded at the downcast courier, arching a brow instinctually. “You are welcome.” Then, of course, all attention was diverted to the incoming animals – following after the malamute and dragon’s appearances, piercing eyes sliding over them each in succession, momentarily stoic and mute.
Before dropping to a crouch and going through his pockets, finding treats there, likely meant for Belial but he was prone to giving and granting them to many creature acquaintances. Offering them on an open palm to either and both, he snorted, turning into inward, Attuned notions. Hello. You look very strong. by way of praise and smile for the companion and canine. “That is all right,” he reassured Tal, indifferent to whatever looks were glancing their way. “They were quite patient.”
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
Some of the shock faded from Tal's eyes as Deimos found treats for his friends. It said something about the warrior that he was prepared to hand out largesse to the critters, without any warning or chance to prepare. He was the kind of man who kept such things at the ready...
A shy grin lit up the young man's face as Deimos praised the patience of his companions. Bell tilted her head curiously at Deimos's mental voice, ears perking forward, but she didn't move towards the proffered treat. Instead she looked up at Tal for permission first.
Boreal was not so picky. The dragon snuffled at the open palm and then licked the treat up with a rough, scratchy tongue, rumbling her approval. Tal quickly stroked Bell's head and gave her a quick nod, and she darted her head forward to snap up the tidbit with dainty teeth that didn't even graze Deimos's hand.
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
He grinned, then rose back up from his crouch, head tilting in the habitual way – either studying, contemplating, or any other predacious custom and pattern. With the treats accepted, he dusted his hands off and ensured there were several more in his pockets for Belial, otherwise he’d have to explain the absence. At the question though, he shook his head. “No. A peryton and a unicorn.”
Then, because he was either simultaneously on the move or very still, and it came in reels and fleeting moments, the Sword maneuvered outward, away from the stretched awning of the roof, and out into the elemental proportions of the grounds. From there, he glanced upward, looking along the edges and fringes for something in particular.
The notions revealed themselves quickly and efficiently – then with an outright hoot. What was once silent and motionless came into tangible fruition within a second. Obsidian deer form and matching wings against the ivory veneer always showed up, but not when his powers were used in conjunction with silence. “Well done, Belial,” he praised, and the peryton launched, flying down to land down by the soldier’s boots. With offered treats, obviously. Deimos inclined his speech towards the courier by way of narrow explanations. “He has been working on being quiet while he blends in.”
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
"A... peryton?" Tal blinked. "Don't think I've ever seen one before."
And then he did see one, eyes widening in shock as it seemed to step out of the air. Boreal yawned, as if to say that of course she'd known it was there (she hadn't), while the dog barked sharply, bouncing to her feet with tail wagging in interest and ears perked forward. Bell practically quivered with the desire to run over and sniff the new creature, but she was too well-trained to move without Tal's permission.
Permission Tal wasn't going to give just yet. "Sit," he commanded quietly, and Bell's rump went down into the snow instantly, though her gaze never wavered from the little winged deer.
"Belial, you were perfect," Tal soothed admiringly, voice soft as he slowly knelt and offered a hand for sniffing.
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
“That praise will go straight to his head,” and sure enough, because Deimos apparently only bonded to arrogant, conceited creatures, Belial straightened up as if he’d just conquered an entire kingdom.
Which altered and changed the moment the peryton’s eyes landed on the dragon. Pinpointed, narrowed, and immediately thinking about launching (to attack, to play?), his form took on a pouncing notion, and the Sword snagged around his middle before he could even begin his siege. Tucking the deer under his arm like a toy, unfortunately a habitual practice, he sighed, while Belial opted to display a very nice set of fangs towards the dog and flying lizard, though striving to stretch out, sniffing the courier’s hand for anything. “Jerky, mostly.”
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
Tal flashed Deimos an understanding grin. "Boreal's the same way," he confided. The dragon slanted a suspicious eye at him and Tal scrubbed his hand over her scaled head, completely unapologetic. Her eyes went back to the peryton a moment later, scaled tail lashing excitedly as Belial prepared to pounce.
Tal pressed down on her head as he stood, holding her in place more by force of will than power given how much stronger she was than him. "Hey, you guys got treats, it's only fair that he does, too," he chided his friends, trying not to laugh at how Bell quivered as the peryton was scooped. It was Tal's turn to dig into a pocket and pull out a small chunk of dried caribou, offering it carefully to Belial on a flat palm in an attempt to keep all has fingers.
