Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
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Just as Deimos worked while he listened, Tal worked while he spoke. It made for a slow and halting rendition of a plan - or at least the bare bones of one - but there was something to be said for continued productivity on so large a task as rendering down an ursur. He wasn't sure if it was faint praise or something more neutral in the General's usual stoicism, but the courier chewed his lip thoughtfully, wondering what he'd missed in his machinations.
The question made him hesitate, brow furrowing before he gave a sharp nod. "Um. Yeah. At least, I did it once. Was scared desperate an' didn't know what else to do. It felt like some nice spirits showed up and helped out, though." Enough for the rest of the people in the room to get their murder on while he booked it for safety.
Tal slanted a cautious look at the man he looked up to, both literally and figuratively. "So, what was your plan for huntin' the lial?" Maybe he could take notes and shore up where his own was weak.
life shivers, melts, moves on the pain says I have come for you
“But beneficial nonetheless,” he murmured, hastening another piece to Belial, and the carnivorous deer was all the more content to gobble down more of the ursur odds and ends. Finishing up on another series of clean, efficient slices, he nearly laughed when the inquiry came towards his wake again – for Talyson likely knew it was to be a bludgeoning of power, might for might, strength for strength.
Relying firmly on his own capabilities, the General tilted his head. “Find a vantage point.” Out of sight, mind, or reach of a crocodile capable of setting one ablaze, or rendering one inscrutable with its molten touch. “From there, I could either use magic – like water, to combat it elementally,” presuming it’d be weaker against cold, enveloping liquid, something to shock and maul. “Or life drain.” Where it could impact regardless, sinking into scales and peeling, snagging, snaring away brawn and demolition, feeding into his own. “Nothing short-ranged.”
The courier gave a surprised nod, having not thought of things that way before. "Yeah, guess I haven't really thought of relying on it before but... maybe practice'll make perfect?" It wouldn't hurt to try, at least, especially in a situation where he had other plans already in place if it didn't work.
The pile of bear was looking a lot smaller after their steady work, and Tal sat back on his heels to catch his breath. The fight had been short but the reaction had been exhausting on its own, and they'd been working non-stop since. Boreal crooned and pulled her muzzle out of the moose's belly, ambling over to bump her broad head against his side encouragingly while Deimos revealed his own tactics for such a hunt.
Tal listened ruefully to the General's magical accomplishments and rubbed the dragon's head distractedly.
"Hmmm... well, I don't have any magic, but maybe-- Hey! I do!" The grin briefly lit up his face behind his scarf and he reached down to pat the pale Bag attached to his belt. "Maybe... I could fill the Bag with snow and Boreal could dump it on the lial when it comes up on land to get the bait? To stun it?" Sure, it would melt fast, but even a few seconds of confusion from the beast could be the difference between success and failure for the young hunter.
life shivers, melts, moves on the pain says I have come for you
Deimos, frequent practitioner of any weapon, magic, or shift he could get his hands on, simply arched a brow again. He craved knowledge of their inner workings, of compelling motions, of turns and motions, of power and prestige. And while the opportunities may not have been the same, given limitations with summoning spirits or gods, the semblance of Talyson not exploring this option before stunned him.
But they couldn’t all be the same, so he nodded, continuing on his carving ventures. “Most abilities are worth exploring,” he rumbled, slicing off several more pieces, working upon the proportions lined to the bear’s ribcage. Aware the courier had no magic, and that the former had asked the General what he would do, he muffled the temptation to roll his eyes, listening all the while. “Perhaps,” he mentioned, but he’d never be one to place bets upon a few snowballs. “Would they last in the Climb?” The Bag of Holding might’ve been a magical object, crafted from his own hands, but he couldn’t fathom it contorting an entire climate suitable for ice to remain solid in a world of fire and brimstone.
Tal was far more used to running than fighting, having actively avoided physical confrontation most of his life - particularly when it came to Halo's impressive fauna. It was only recently that he'd begun to change that and old habits still lingered, however enthusiastically he'd thrown himself into the risks and rewards of training with the General.
One of those rewards was their current kill as it was sectioned into its component parts beneath their knives and with the 'help' of their companions.
He nodded to his friend's wisdom, but the question that followed his addendum to his plan caused Tal to sit back on his heels, brow furrowed in consternation. "Oh, uh... I don't... know? I thought maybe stuff I stuck in there would stay the way it was when I put it in," he admitted. "Until I took it out again." But most of the things he'd used it for had been tools, weapons, or traveling rations that would have lasted as well in a backpack. "D'you know if it'll hold snow in the Climb? ...Or at least, water?" The question came a little sheepishly as the extent of his assumptions was brought to light.
life shivers, melts, moves on the pain says I have come for you
Deimos was far more used to fighting than running; analyzing tactics, machinating means to an end, and assisting comrades in skirmishes, battlefields, and crusades. Ingrained since childhood, and woven into multiple lives, it was not without much surprise that he’d dedicated his life to ensuring others wouldn’t be caught or snagged in dire, defenseless predicaments – but it meant the learning curves were often fierce. The Sword figured if they weren’t interested in what he had to teach, they wouldn’t keep returning.
“I have not tried it before,” he surmised – not believing the Bag of Holding to be a catch all. He’d had no need of it either, when he could simply control the elements at will. Considering, as he tossed another piece to the peryton, who never seemed to be full, measures in safety and exposure prompted notions and semblances in a corresponding rumble. “You could experiment with it in the greenhouse.” Going from extreme temperatures – noting the results without having to amble into the Climb first.
If Tal was disappointed that Deimos didn't have all the answers, he didn't show it beyond a philosophical shrug before handing the General another hunk of ursur to load onto the sled. "Yeah, sounds good," he agreed to the suggestion with a firm nod.
Anything, really, to avoid going back to the Climb before he absolutely had to.
After a period of awkward silence, while the Pile O' Bear shrank considerably, Tal gave an awkward cough to clear his throat and slid another glance towards the General. "Uh. So. Been meanin' t'ask what your favorite food is," he asked, totally nonchalantly and absolutely not planning anything, as evidenced by the extremely innocent way his eyes slid immediately back to his work and refused to meet Deimos's gaze.
life shivers, melts, moves on the pain says I have come for you
If Deimos had all the answers, he probably still wouldn’t give them out willingly or easily. But luckily, perhaps, for all involved, the beast learned just as much as the rest, striding through life obtaining sagacity and wisdom where he could.
Unaware of Talyson’s predilections towards the Climb, persistence carried on in maneuvering the bulk of the bear’s entity, either by placing Talyson’s slashed proportions or carrying his own over. So much so that there was no anticipation of the inquiry, and he had to replay it in his skull for a moment before the clarity roamed through. Head raised, and he paused mid-crouch, baffled and perplexed, that familiar arch to his brow settling over features as Talyson’s seemed to settle entirely elsewhere. “Chocolate,” filtered from behind his teeth on airs of suspicion – eyes narrowing in speculation. “Why…?”
Tal tried to give the General a wounded look at the suspicion in the other man's eyes, but it was somewhat (completely) ruined by the grin that crinkled his face behind his scarf. "I mean, we always talk about weapons an' fighting an' stuff. Figured there's more to you than that, though. An'... well... just kinda..." He shrugged and his grin turned into a scowl as he turned his very focused attention to cutting through a tricky joint.
"You know. It's the sort of thing friends are supposed to know about each other, right?" And Tal wasn't always very good at doing all the social things that made friendships work. His determined sawing at the sinews that held it all together paid off as a limb fell limply into his lap and he snuck a glance back up at Deimos to see what the General thought of Tal calling him his friend.
life shivers, melts, moves on the pain says I have come for you
Now it was the Sword’s turn to look a bit abashed. Truth be told, not many ever asked him such inquiries down to simplistic levels, especially what made up the bare bricks of his existence. Likewise, he didn’t in return. Maybe others perceived he wasn’t capable, or didn’t care for small talk – but in reality he simply wasn’t very good at it. War and battlefields, skirmishes and weaponry, sagacity and wisdom in hunting, mauling, and obliterating were usually the main topics, considering his occupation. No one in the Basin would’ve ever dared to ask him about favored colors or foods, and apparently it had followed him here.
The statement thereafter made his eyes downcast back upon bones and sinew, a slight frown marring his features, uncertain how to navigate these parameters. “Oh,” followed first, uncomfortably settling somewhere along his shoulders. Then, snorting, trying to bring back the semblances into something lighter and not discomforting or awkward, the rumble persisted. “That is not something I have thought to ask many,” he’d known his family’s – his loved ones. But friends were considered somewhere in those brackets too, he supposed. “What is yours then?”
The awkward silence certainly wasn't helped by Tal holding his breath as he waited for Deimos's reply. Eventually he had to exhale and draw a new one, but all he could tell was that he'd made the General uncomfortable as he worked on freeing the shoulder joints.
Until he realized that maybe - just maybe - the General could be as socially awkward as himself sometimes with the rumbling admission.
The second breath escaped with a relieved grin and he ducked his head to hide it. Which might have been more effective if Boreal hadn't rumbled a happy croon at her companion's sudden improvement in mood, lifting her muzzle from the moose and ambling over to check on how the bear was coming along.
"Mint ice cream," he shared a little shyly, freeing another limb to go on the sled. The big bones would make for good soup stock eventually. "Or snow hare stew, dependin' on how cold it is." Looking decidedly perkier, he thought for a moment before asking: "What d'you do for fun when you aren't at the Barracks?"
life shivers, melts, moves on the pain says I have come for you
He snorted at the implications of ice cream, but only because of their location in the world. Taking apart a few rib bones, figuring they’d work well for other people within the Citadel, the beast loaded those as well. Talyson’s second question was much easier to answer than the first, and only because it wasn’t mired or rooted in suspicion. Deimos considered roaming the Barracks fun anyway, with the freedom of movement, the ability to learn, to sprawl tactics and schemes across training grounds, or to adhere towards fortitude, might, and endurance. But there were other outlets too – a drastic change from who he used to be.
“Terrorize my friends,” he answered with a Cheshire grin, leaving the courier to wonder how and why with no further explanation (it usually involved throwing things or splattering them with mud or general mischief). “Go for a run,” as a hellhound, springing across the Tundra, “or fly.” Liberation, some providential bliss, to soar amongst the heights and poise of grandeur, meander through the currents, or dive, descend, in defiant speeds.
Grabbing hold of another set, he tilted his head, pondering all the while, constantly scheming. “What about you – when you are not delivering?”
The courier was working on another limb when Deimos replied, and pale eyes widened in surprise before narrowing in suspicion. But the other man was grinning and Tal swallowed hard at what the thought of 'terrorizing' could be. "You're uh... jokin', right?" He chuckled uncomfortably, a sound that was echoed in basso profundo - and with a great deal more sincerity - by Boreal a moment later as the dragon sank her fangs around bone and what muscle remained and jerked with her head, tearing the prize free by brute force now that Tal had loosened its connections.
"Me? Oh, uh... runnin' with the dogs on the edge of the Sea." Looking for the ruins of the old port town of his family's legends. "An' a bit of carvin' an' scrimshaw," he added, a bit more self-consciously as he went to work on the final limb. The bear was almost all packed away now, and the sled was very nearly full with what it could carry. His awkwardness faded a little as he flashed Deimos another grin a moment later. "Doin' stuff with the Guild is pretty fun, too." When he wasn't getting bitten by snow dinosaurs, at least!
life shivers, melts, moves on the pain says I have come for you
Deimos did joke, and often purposefully, leaving that one to intentionally slide down into the reaches of Talyson’s mind with no clear, crisp answer, save for the Sword’s mischievous grin. His attention meandered back to the task at hand almost immediately, though he listened to the notions of dogs racing at the edge of the sea, of carving, of whittling away and designing with bones. An intriguing craft – and perhaps Talyson would be able to work some of his efforts upon trophies amongst the guild.
With most of the carcass loaded on, the remnants likely wouldn’t go to waste – not out in the tundra. Something else would eventually come to scavenge and savor the remains, and the cycle of the harsh, unrelenting world around them would persist.
Tying off a few strands along the sled’s straps, and patting the peryton on the head, he tilted his skull at the comment. “When you are not putting one another’s lives at danger, certainly,” and he arched a brow, leaving that statement to settle into the ether. “Ready to go?”
