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!
05-31-2022, 12:02 AM (This post was last modified: 05-31-2022, 12:05 AM by Talyson.)
Mostly, Tal had a fear that the persistent dummy - however wounded at this point - was going to start clawing its way up the spear towards him, but he could already hear the admonitions if he dropped the weapon and left himself unarmed. Caught between a rock and a hard place he did his best to shake the collection of wood and padding free before it could continue its advance--
It was a joyful thunder that eeled its way past his frantic efforts to regain his weapon and a moment later Tal realized the target had ceased its attacks and hung lifeless from the spear. He turned a wounded scowl on his instructor upon realizing the source of the laughter, but following Deimos's gaze back to the target where it hung limp but thoroughly entangled around the point was, unfortunately, maybe a little funny.
Not to the extent that Deimos was laughing about it, though, Tal thought with wounded pride.
The courier heaved a sigh, letting the tip and target fall to the ground while he waited out the last of the eruptions. Now that the target was well and truly 'dead' he finally felt confident enough to step forward and plant a boot in it for leverage so he could pull the spear out with a couple of sharp, twisting tugs. "Guess that's why the ursur spears have big crosspieces on 'em," he mused, trying to pretend he hadn't just been laughed at. "So they can't keep sliding up at you, right?"
Resuming his normal composure (maybe with one more additional, residual laugh, like it couldn’t help but boil over), he advanced upon the target as Talyson retrieved his armament from its guts. He inspected it idly, a brief investigation as his boot rolled it over, before deciding it was still salvageable. Lowering himself to a crouch, while the rest of the gathered military forces returned to their own practices and skirmishes, he set about creating stitching, intending to give it one last round of patchwork before it ended up in some heap of a blaze. For fun.
He could almost hear the wounded pride in the courier’s voice; not bothering to address or dignify it with an eye roll. They all made mistakes – frequently, often. The Sword had been sent reeling many a time when training in his childhood, and even more so in his idle confidence and brazen swagger as a teen, until that too was demolished out of him. Learning and experiences honed many influential turns – the youth would have to resolve that sometimes humor and amusements thundered from even the most modest of motions.
The question seemed rhetorical, but he answered it anyway, permitting the man a moment to save face. “Right.” Eyes roamed back to the mending properties, and when the effigy was properly re-stuffed and re-stitched, Deimos unfurled back to his standard stature. “Do you want to try again?”
There wasn't space for Tal to join the General in repairing the dummy, so he stepped a little ways away and hefted the spear again. While his friend worked, the courier took practice thrusts at falling snow flurries, trying to recapture that moment when hips and shoulders had come together to generate enough force to punch through the target's stuffing. Practicing slowly and then speeding up at least made the movements look smoother and more intentional, and less like enthusiastic (or panicked) flailing.
He paused when Deimos stood up, and managed to hold back his first response to the question. He looked up at the grey Deepfrost sky and rolled his shoulders, checking the looseness of his muscles before he exhaled a puff of breath into the chilly air. Meeting his friend's eyes he gave a lopsided grin. "Yeah. The movement drill again?" Setting his stance wider and putting the spear on guard he watched the dummy with pale, keen eyes, waiting for its charge.
There was only a nod through silence and acceptance. Thereafter, the quick bindings of magic twisted and turned again, Air’s elementals fixated on the effigy, lifting, holding, and permitting it to preside in all its patched, purposefully-enlarged-nose glory. He stepped back a few paces, eyes going over the rest of the faction and their diligence, and then sweeping over to Talyson’s reformed stance. “Ready?” He offered, before summoning the dominion of mastered gales once more.
Much in its same provisional style, Sunjata’s false affects aimed to bombard in impulsive, unpredictable notions. First to the left, then to the right, volleying in a rallying edge upwards, and descending all in the same fluid measures; the General certain to ensure nothing was anticipated or probable, save for the difficulty of the situation. At last, it flew down, hastening towards the courier’s shoulders, seeing what he made of the actions, and how he’d rally against the motions.
Hail yeah, he was born ready! ...Except the recent flailing panic of getting his weapon stuck was still too fresh for him to summon his swagger. Swallowing his pride, Tal merely gave a sharp nod of confirmation - and then immediately squeezed the spear shaft tightly as the target lurched into swooping motion, feinting and advancing with a kind of keen chaos that the courier struggled to anticipate.
But he'd stabbed it more than once, now, and the spear was feeling a little less foreign in his hands. He struggled, yes, but he didn't panic this time, and his feet moved with more confidence. Away, but not straight back; he retreated at an angle, moving to the side as he did so. It harried him, and he had trouble finding an opening to press his own attack into, but he lashed out with his own feints to discourage too hasty a closure.
The target's sudden charge was a surprise, but the courier's reaction came easier with the recent practice. He stepped back - a bait, to encourage the dummy to fling itself a little faster, a little harder at him - and then lashed straight forward with the spear at the last moment, intending his opponent to impale itself on the length of wood and dull iron.
Considering the effigy didn’t have a mind of its own (and one could wager the owner of its familiar features didn’t either; the Sword always aimed for accurate depictions), it didn’t have the wherewithal to dodge at the feints. But it was good practice for the courier anyway, to try and hasten those quick, efficient movements against any and all opponents, so the General made no comment there. “Think about your grasp,” was uttered though, as he saw the residual, habitual tightening of fingers over the hilt; a difficult habit to break.
Talyson attempted to step out of range, and the target followed, immersed and honed on. “Not always back either,” came as another reminder from his deep rumbles, brow arching, watching as the spear managed to hit the side of the dummy. It sent it reeling haphazardly, before it launched back, regaining momentum, and coming towards the courier’s legs this time. Maybe to upend him entirely – leave him sprawled on the stone floor.
06-04-2022, 05:49 AM (This post was last modified: 06-04-2022, 04:19 PM by Talyson.)
His grasp? Tal risked a glance down, realizing only then that he'd tightened up on the shaft. He made a conscious effort to ease his fingers and let the weapon sit more loosely in his hands, ready to move at the first opening he could find.
When he couldn't find the opening, he made his own - and in spite of the General's rumbled admonition the trap worked, well enough to send the target spinning. Tal had just started to grin, a cocky tilt of his head towards his friend hoping for praise for his cleverness--
The dummy wasn't done yet, it seemed, its unnatural skittering motions launching from where he'd knocked it askew and coming in low. Tal scrambled sideways from its path and stabbed down several times in quick succession, attempting to impale the persistent fellow and keep it pinned in place with a fierce scowl on his face.
Quick strikes could make a difference. Deimos, due to his own size and nature, had always gone for measured, strong, potent, powerful summations simply because that was pivotal for him. Why play around when absolute might could pummel one’s adversary efficiently – render them destroyed and dissolute within a moment? But Talyson was adapting and altering to his own style, what worked and benefitted him the most. And perhaps that would be the biggest takeaway from this lesson.
Two of the assaults landed; one wherein the spear launched through and through the fabric with a ripping, tearing noise. The other snagged at the tail end of the effigy, piercing it sideways. Had the target not been controlled by the Sword, perhaps it would have been decimated and obsolete then – but the General was never one to permit easy wins, victories, and conquering motions. “Again,” he rumbled, with the hint of a Cheshire grin –
Before the dummy, still clearly wounded, rose up and up, like a feral shadow…
And then was sent crashing downward towards the courier.
Twice was pretty good, Tal thought, and he twisted the spear with relish before jerking it back, looking pleased as a cat with cream on its whiskers. He started to flash Deimos an excited grin, basking in his success--
And caught the General's grin in return, just in time to skip back (but angled to the side, some good coming from the repetition of the lesson) from the ghoulish dummy as it rose from the dead again, dancing in its macabre air-currents like a revenant untethered by gravity and out for revenge.
This wasn't an angle Tal was prepared to counter in the usual way, and instinct took over as his brain froze in uncertainty; not a stab nor a thrust this time, but using the spear like an axe or a staff he swung the shaft of his weapon from the side to impact the incoming target in an attempt to smash it sideways and down, panting with exertion and no little adrenaline at the unrelenting assault of wood and stuffing.
The angle might have been awkward, but the spear’s movements did the trick – catching the target at just the right proportions to send it spiraling. Deimos released his air currents, watching as it spun in some hellish drift until colliding face-first into the stone floor – smashing it into all matter of pieces and proportions. “That will do,” he mentioned with another Cheshire grin, not bothering to snag at the slivers, letting them sit there a moment. Talyson would likely crave time to preen over the achievement anyway.
The other soldiers had turned their heads for a matter of moments, but then with one glance in the General’s direction, returned to their own training. He wandered forward, intending to utilize the remaining shards as fuel for the braziers, but on another notion, ceased the movement to check in with the courier. “Will that be enough for today?” Figuring the youth would know himself best – whether or not he’d endured, persevered, and triumphed in all his capacity for the instant, or if there was anything left in the reserves. Perhaps another life lesson instilled there - when to push onward, or when to cease and desist.
His breath came fast and hard as he glared at the resilient target, staying on guard as his opponent lay vanquished - again, at long last! - on the stone of the trainings grounds. He stood over it, ready to stab it again, but as the General's approval made it past the mist of suspicion and adrenaline clouding his thoughts he began to relax a little, stance shifting as he puffed up his chest and shot his friend a proud grin.
The question gave him pause as this time he stopped long enough to feel the soreness in arms not used to holding a spear and the sweat dripping off his brow. As much as he wanted to impress the other man, Tal had to admit that he was fast reaching the point where he'd only make a fool of himself. He had pushed himself to his limits and beyond when out on the trail and racing against blizzards or deadly weather, or for deliveries that meant the saving or loss of lives... but he gained nothing by doing it here. So the young man finally shook his head, leaning tiredly but proudly on the spear. "Yeah, I'm beat," he confessed. "Thanks, man. Learned a lot today. Same time tomorrow?"
Deimos snorted as he wandered forward, content for the moment that Talyson knew when to stop. Machinations, calculations, and the movement of muscles, especially those not used to such fortitude and might, would be enough to tire a majority of them out. Training was useful for body, mind, and soul, but in doses of achievement, capable of advancing when the time was efficient, when stamina had been molded into foundations. “That is fine,” he rumbled, tossing the shards into the braziers, watching as they ignited and ate away the remains of the Sunjata effigy. He hid the amused satisfaction, tucking it away for a nod of his head towards the courier. “Make sure to rest,” he noted by way of an arched brow, ensuring the glance made it towards Talyson, even over his broad shoulder.
Then they could all adjourn – the General back to the rest of his warriors, and the youth to whatever adventure awaited him next.
