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!
05-22-2022, 05:16 AM (This post was last modified: 05-22-2022, 05:18 AM by Talyson.)
After their conversation in the Wilds, Tal had made a point of at least picking a spear up and seeing what it felt like to hold one. And sure enough, it had felt like holding a stick; one that was heavier on one end, but nothing like the axes Tal was most used to.
The courier was in the training yard now with one of the practice spears, jabbing it at the practice dummy with the oversized nose and the jagged-toothed scowl. His stance was all wrong and his balance suffered for it, but at least he was mostly hitting at where he was aiming. His scowl was out in full force as he wrestled with trying to learn the heft and leverage on the new weapon, and from the way the snow was trampled down around the dummy he'd been at it for a little while already.
And if the pointy end wasn't sinking into the target's torso very far, well, at least it was the point end going in.
Today, the General made rounds. Instruction was paramount, and ensuring his warriors knew the fundamentals of their weapons and shields, led to further preparation. Long strides kept him from becoming restless as he made his turns and advice, arriving to each recruit amongst the landscape, from underneath the extended awning, around the climbing wall, and out towards the outer portions, where soldiers lingered amongst the snow. Belial clambered along his heels, or hooted encouragements with unfurled wings, and Zuriel kept to herself in the corner, content to munch on her hay, waiting on an inevitable injury to mend.
On his first turn into the proportions beyond the wall, did the Sword spot Talyson. He must’ve blended in amongst the others struggling, and for a moment, he arched a brow, watching, waiting, for the courier to begin his practice. At least the youth took the notions seriously – but practicing correctly would lead to a better advancement of skills.
“Your stance,” he rumbled – the words echoed, reverberated, purposefully in the man’s direction, from a few years away, as he tended to another soldier whose spear kept sinking into the powder. “And your hold.” Picking up the other’s, he demonstrated to both of them simultaneously (since Deimos had been learning the techniques too), the correct positioning of both legs and hands, before flicking the armament directly into the gut of the effigy (another one remarkably resembling Neron).
Tal nodded morosely at the rumbled mention of his stance, knowing something was off about it but not knowing exactly what or how to correct it. He paused in his practice to lean on his weapon while he watched Deimos demonstrate, and his scowl grew more pronounced as he tried to figure out just what the other man was doing that he wasn't.
Or rather, trying to figure out everything that Deimos was doing that the courier hadn't been - which was a lot.
Though there was a certain satisfaction in seeing 'Neron' gutted so efficiently, and Tal tried to take up his stance once more. It was... more or less correct? His feet were in the right place and so was his heart, but his grip on the spear was still a little to narrow as he stabbed towards 'Sunjata' and the tip of the spear only sunk an inch or two into the target's shoulder.
At least he gave it a petty twist as he pulled the tip back out, glaring at it. "Maybe I need a shorter one," he admitted reluctantly, eyeing the haft and the dull iron practice head on his weapon.
“We do not blame the weapon,” at the notion and action, though there was a wry grin associated with it, for the inanimate objects could only do as they were bid, commanded, by the person wielding them. With the courier’s height and stance, the current spear was still applicable. He simply needed to learn how to use it properly.
Yielding the armament back to the other recruit, watching as they too altered their stance, he could turn his full attention back upon Talyson. Snagging at another one of the training implements close by, he stepped towards the makeshift Sunjata, studious and scrutinizing air on the youth’s actions. “Your grip could be the cause,” pointing directly at the way fingers wrapped, too tight, too restricted. “I did the same at first, but you have to be willing to allow the weapon to move in your grasp.” Not entirely iron-clad and taut; otherwise one could lose the potential devastation such an instrument provided.
By way of another demonstration, he flexed his grasp several times, slowly, showing how it lay amongst his calloused palm, before maneuvering directly into the false Sunjata’s space, shoving the blunted, but still malicious, tip into the shoulder area – watching the target fall backwards with a satisfying clunk to the floor.
05-25-2022, 04:04 AM (This post was last modified: 05-25-2022, 04:05 AM by Talyson.)
Maybe Deimos didn't blame the weapon, but the look Tal gave his spear was less than forgiving. It was too damn tall, and never mind that he'd chosen it with higher hopes than, perhaps, his stature quite called for.
The General's suggestion - that it was a matter of grip rather than height - was far more palatable to a young male ego, and Tal perked up and took note. He tried shifting his hands further apart and loosening his grip, eyes darting from his own hands to Deimos's as he strove to mimic the warrior's grasp on the weapon. "Feels... I dunno. Weird, holding it too loosely," he said, dubious at first. But watching the target 'die' from a far more satisfying puncture earned a willingness to give his friend's advice a try.
After he'd gotten a hold of the target and shoved it back upright with a grunt of effort. Then, spear back in hand, he braced himself and stabbed, trying not to squeeze the life out of the spear shaft in the process this time. The spear wasn't quite as well-aimed - it landed on the left side of 'Sunjata's' stomach rather than the heart that Tal had been aiming for - but it sank in with much more force and the courier grinned broadly as he jerked it free again. "Hey, that felt pretty good! But what do I do with my feet if the guy isn't willing to just stand there and let me poke at him?"
“Agreed.” He’d fought the instinct initially too, given how he’d been trained to never lose his weapon, or to face the potential of disarming. But the spear was one of those armaments that eventually could be done so – with devastating effects – though he didn’t make mention of that. It could be for another time, when there was more experience to be shared and had.
He watched, taking note as the accuracy wore away, but the strength rendered far more valid. Precision could also be anointed with more skill and occurrences, though the question thereafter caused a snort to ensue. The grin followed, as if the inquiry had been foolish. “You move them.”
In response, as he’d done many times over, he lifted the effigy and target from its standing position, utilizing the Mastered Air conjectures until the target floated before the courier. Slowly, at first, but the motions and movements were not predictable – dashes and flashes here and there, as if the fake Sunjata form was prey itself – capable of noting where actions would coincide with its potential death. “Try now.”
The General grinned at the courier's earnest question and his reply was so unexpectedly cheeky that Tal forgot his admiration of the man for a moment and leveled a huffed glare at the teasing. Was that a dad joke?? Ugh.
Not that there was much chance to try and come up with a witty reply not one of Tal's strongest points at the best of times before Deimos was distracting the courier with the tried and true method of animating a target dummy right in front of him. He perked up and clenched his hands around the spear shaft instinctively in reaction for a fight with an actual opponent - well, more or less of one - and didn't remember to loosen his grip until he'd made one testing feint that went exactly where he aimed it.
With a scowl for himself as much as the dancing target he made a conscious effort to loosen his grip and then took two abrupt strides forward, attempting to stab for the dummy's middle in the hopes that a larger target would be easier to hit, even if it was moving. It was barely within the bounds and it lacked the force of his earlier, stationary attempts, but it still scored into 'Sunjata' with a ripping tear across the stomach.
Ever the observer, and partially by way of amusement (because it was wholly entertaining to lift a target when someone was so very close to snagging it), but also because it was his occupation to coincide with directions in combat – the Sword inspected the courier’s movements. Fast and swift, animated and enervated for crossing snow in any outlandish decrees to ensure fast delivery, but lacking the fundamentals of power behind them.
“When you move,” he began, setting out a demonstration as he whipped around the dummy, ensuring the task was difficult for himself as well, “think about how much strength is in your motion. How much weight you put in your feet. There is much to be said about speed,” which Talyson had in spades, “but if you want a powerful hit, it has to come from somewhere.” Strength and might, brutality and menace – the General had it in abundance, over lifetimes and experiences, lurking beneath the surface.
From there, Deimos followed the motions of the false Sunjata, tracing its movements for a second, before unleashing his, extending the spear straight into its left leg. The damage was severe and instantaneous, a vicious, biting wound, stuffing unfurling and flowing from the marred heathen. Like any lacerated prey, it faltered and flickered off to the right, but severely damaged, flagging and lagging in its haste.
Tal had a lifetime of relying on speed over strength behind him. It had usually served him pretty well in the past, but it had also left him with some bad habits he was now struggling to overcome. With the axe he could use momentum to turn speed into strength, but the spear was an entirely different beast and the courier scowled as Deimos stepped smoothly into a thrust.
The dummy failed its attempt to dodge and limped - so to speak, while floating - 'wounded' and in flight towards the courier.
The lesser threat, to be sure.
But there was a memory buried amidst a jumble of other recollections. His father, Shield of the citadel, practicing while a young Tal watched in wide-eyed fascination. A step, a twist, a push from hip to shoulder and down the arm...
It was awkward and a little disjointed, but this time when Tal lunged at the moving target he drove the spear from his hips rather this biceps, generating a twist as he stepped solidly into an attack that cracked solidly into 'Sunjata's' right hip with satisfying force. Jerking the weapon back, the courier flashed a surprised grin at the General. "Hey, I think he felt that! But, um... what happens if they get too close to stab?"
Awkward, haggard gestures aside, there were obvious improvements. Where the courier lacked in strength, again, given his occupation and time spent in hastening over lands, he at least acquired some necessary wisdom and sagacity – listening, heeding, the advice given. The target, already flagging from earlier efforts, seemed to rear back from the blow, faltering off to the side once more. It remained there like a wounded, dying animal, uncertain of where to go or what to do next – but unfortunately for its existence, controlled by the Sword. They all knew its demise was imminent.
“Good,” he commented, enough of a compliment to usher a nod before he grasped hold of his spear, maneuvered to follow the lacerated Sunjata. The question gave him pause, and then he managed a light laugh. “If they are too close, then you are also in jeopardy,” and he poked at the effigy with the sharper end of his armament, ushering it to move forward, so it encroached on Talyson’s space. “You create distance. You control the movements. Do not let your opponent do so.” And like a vicious, maddening, one last surge and plunge, the manifested motions garnered at the Air incantations and the General’s behest, the target maneuvered swiftly towards the youth.
For all his struggle with the new weapon, and all the frustration at using something that didn't come easily or naturally, Tal still found a proud grin interrupting his scowl at the praise he won from his teacher. It felt good after what had felt like hours on his own making no progress, and it energized the courier to straighten up and keep going.
Except the air-powered effigy was also disinclined to succumb to its wounds quite yet, and Tal stifled a yelp as it was prodded towards him in a rushing charge; thankfully unarmed, but no less intimidating for its lack of blades.
The General's words, calm and certain, spurred the courier to action as he backpedaled to make that distance happen. He thrust out in front of him as he did so, but it was clear he had no idea how to generate power while in retreat. Unless the dummy was kind enough to impale itself on the spear blade, Tal was in trouble. He struggled to stay out of its range until a misstep sent him sideways, and in his correction he found a moment's instinctive balance and momentum to pierce forward and into the dummy's onrushing momentum.
The age-old, habitual arch to his brow conspired to his features as he watched Talyson, stifling and withholding a sigh. Expectations had been held to a higher regard, perhaps, given things the courier had likely seen on his many ventures skirting and thwarting dangers amidst delivery. Instead, these motions seemed almost entirely pinpointed on luck, rather than any rational thought. “You do not have to move backwards to create the distance,” because that would also wage a disadvantage in not seeing where one was going – inspiring a motion of adversaries nearby to crowd around. Rush. Take advantage.
While the dummy clearly had caught the spear in its gut, the Sword hadn’t been content with the courier’s actions – peeling the effigy away from the armament, limping off, while he conducted and fragmented more advice. “You could move off to the side, or around your opponent.” Making them re-maneuver as well. “Try again.” And then he sent the farce Sunjata reeling, seemingly vicious in its wounded animal state, towards the youth once more.
The look Tal shot at Deimos held wounded pride and a huff of annoyance; wisely unvoiced. He'd started to figure out at the end that sideways was better than back, but with his axe it had been mostly forward; the weapon lacking the reach of blades or claw-tipped ursur arms and by necessity requiring closing the distance to make the most of short-range fighting. The spear required the opposite sensibilities; required more footwork, more distance, a thrust with a point rather than a chop with a blade. None of his years of ingrained instincts availed him now. It all had to be learned from scratch, and often against his former habits - much to his chagrin.
Not that he was given much chance to process all of that before the General, relentless in ensuring his charges would be able to defend themselves, sent his proxy once more into the fray.
There was no yelp this time; no surprised flinch or stumble away. Tal was learning Deimos's teaching style and had stayed on guard. He remembered the feel of that last thrust and he stepped accordingly, circling deliberately left this time instead of stumbling into it. Light and quick, it was easier this time to find the moment of balance and lunge; not content to simply pierce the target's chest, but instead to plunge through it and out the other side with gritted determination.
And then began shaking the spear in a sudden panic as he realized the dummy was stuck on it and wasn't coming loose.
Just at the moment the General would’ve extended some praise for the forthcoming, newfound efforts –
The spear was stuck.
He couldn’t help it, despite his years of suppressing emotion and diminishing inclinations, the laughter brewing within his lungs couldn’t be restrained. For half a moment, it came out as a muffled snort, but then he saw the armament still dangling from the target, and it started everything up again – until the chuckle was a reverberating echo, and he was nearly doubled over in the amusements.
“Sorry,” he admitted, except he probably wasn’t – wiping away a stray tear in the corner of his eye, clutching momentarily at his ribs, ignoring the way the rest of the soldiers glanced over to see what had wildly entertained the Sword. Taking a few more instances to bring the bemusements to a close, permitting another muted, indistinct chuckle, he ceased movements to the target. “You have a choice here. Lose your weapon, and hope your enemy falls nearby so you can retrieve it.” With the additional machinations and calculations – did he have another blade on him? Could he stand to forgo this one? “Or, figure out how to remove it.”
