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!
Paperwork and messages sent for the morning, the Sword removed himself from desks and tight quarters, and drew instant relief in the form of the barracks. From there, it was easy to shed his coat, and collectively drawn upon the troops, soldiers, and defenders at his beck and call, establishing order and foundation lines as they practiced their duels, skirmishes, and leaned into the familiarity of strength and power. Occasionally on the sidelines barking orders and commands, similarly drifting in and out of practice and trainings, the ease and comfort amidst his established brethren was enough to warrant any apprehension flickering through his veins.
Before long, he’d grabbed his own training weapon, a staff for this venture, and began running drills with the others. Pride, especially for those who willingly defended Halo, shown immensely on his features as he broke out into a widened grin, laughter a deep rumble as the group of them sidestepped one another, bypassing hits to the knee or deflecting strikes against ribcages. The practice became a barrage of skills for anyone willing to step up in their multitudes and boldness, ensuring they were ready for whatever else came their way.
here I am again, bad news from a bad friend they call me an omen - only here to torment
Anju has given herself ample time in Halo not only to complete her tasks, but to explore the region Talyson calls home. One important endeavor she had planned from the start was to visit the Barracks in pursuit of the General that the courier had so lauded. Of course now she knows that man now holds the position of Warden, but it doesn't mean she isn't curious to compare the Barracks to the Nest.
Riya trots in on all fours for once, exploring the training grounds at ground level and staring around with bright, expressive eyes. Behind her, Anju moves with purpose and confidence despite never having stepped foot in these mighty halls before. And when she sees someone already training with a large collection of men and women, she stops to observe. He is clearly deeply skilled, and so when there is a short pause she raises her voice. "Do you have room for another?"
Despite the cacophony of sound, an intermingling of clashing weapons and soldier reverberations, another’s voice came out of the familiar clarity, and into something unknown. As the rest of them failed to falter, leering in and poking at ribcages, laughing as they landed blows, his tall frame stood over them, gazing over at the stranger. His eyes narrowed, not in dangerous treading, but careful perusal, speculation, and study - though he found no collective memory of this individual, nor the dragon nearby.
Stepping out of the fissure and fault lines of the collective sparring circle, perhaps giving a wayward pat on the back to a nearby warrior, he advanced towards the newcomer. Though not one to shirk or shun a potential skirmish, the inquiring, machinating part of his mind wouldn’t shy away from queries either. “Depends on who is seeking to practice,” he answered in his residual low rumbles, head tilting, stare going towards the companion, before the piercing depths returned to the woman. Sticking out his hand, he proceeded to start mild introductions. “I am Deimos.” Pausing momentarily, gaze rounding over to the wall of armaments, he returned to the notions at large. “And your weapon of choice.”
here I am again, bad news from a bad friend they call me an omen - only here to torment
He is as yet unrecognizable, but it's clear he is a leader of some sort among these soldiers, which is more than enough for Anju. Seeing his gaze flick to Riya, the Dragoon calls her back with a mental request that her sister thankfully heeds, returning to stand with rare decorum beside her knee.
Reaching out her hand in kind, Anju shakes it firmly, belying her natural strength. Though there is a brightening in her expression at hearing his name. "I am Anju, this is Riya. I was recommended to find you by Talyson Seawright before the war; I am a Stormbreak Dragoon, I trained beneath Ronin during his rule." It still feels wrong and pretentious to deem herself the last of the original Dragoons so she always refrains from saying it. The new recruits are a far cry from the well-oiled machine of the pre-war years, but Anju is intent on preserving their numbers. "I fight with sword and shield. Yourself?"
There were multiple reactions to her statements, though he kept them inward, behind a reticent mask. Fractured friendships and recommendations that surely wouldn’t have been coming in the present, mentions of Stormbreak and everything else contained in those walls – like hatred and animosity towards a race long since instilled in his, and so many others, blood. Dragoons and training under Ronin meant something of a significance, but before they went any further, he intended to push depictions and standards. “And what is your opinion on Abandoned?” He could feel a few of his fellow constituents still around him, before measuring out their methods paces away; likely hovering, waiting for the answer.
For while the Sword could stand to be detested and abhorred, he wouldn’t permit the vehemence upon those he’d sworn to protect.
Perhaps she wouldn’t have traversed here at all, if she was a part of the multitudes who spurned their kind – but he had every intention of being sure, certain. He took a few more steps towards the weapon wall, placing the staff back, and snagging at a wooden sword and its shield counterpart. “I can as well.” With that, he motioned towards an open section, near the back, towards the climbing wall, where they’d have room to maneuver.
here I am again, bad news from a bad friend they call me an omen - only here to torment
They regard each other with matching impassivity, but she is not blind to the reactions of those around him who do not have either the training or decency to mask their own disdain. Anju doesn't rightly mind, and though she's not so uncouth as to shrug, she lifts her chin at the man's direct question. "We all fought against the Ascended, Abandoned and Accepted equally. Archaic animosity is not appealing to me." If she were more verbose or trusted any of these individuals at all, maybe she'd say that if they had any form of leadership currently that Anju would be lobbying for dismantling the anti-Abandoned enchantments; given she has no idea what the future of Stormbreak holds, it could all too well become an empty promise anyway.
The Sword seems to allow her at least a chance to show herself, and the Dragoon follows in his wake to claim her own training implements. As they find more privacy and solitude near the climbing wall, Anju spins the sword absently in her hand, getting used to its weight and length subconsciously. "Do your compatriots have rules for first strike?" Or was it anyone's game, lunging and claiming the element of surprise for themselves?
The answer was acceptable, to him at least, and he gave a confirmation, a nod, to his comrades as they lingered, and faded off into their own expanse and necessities. A number of notions hovered in the back of his mind, like how one individual didn’t speak for the collective many, how there were rules and legions continuing to display that animosity within that world, how far they’d all come and how far they still had to go.
But he kept it tucked away, fodder for later, as their stances took hold in the cleared area. Standing tall before adjusting his weight to an even stance, muscle memory reached in and designated his motions in an infernal ease, before his brow arched, a snort rallying through his lungs. “You may go first.” To analyze, to examine, to see what she’d do – how Dragoons had been trained amidst their stony fixtures.
here I am again, bad news from a bad friend they call me an omen - only here to torment
Nobody else speaks up, so Anju dismisses them all out of hand and out of mind. Following Deimos with precise steps as they arm themselves with blunted tools, the Dragoon takes her time examining his build and ensuring she does not form any preconceived notions about his abilities, no matter the deeply human desire to do so. If his name so preceded him, she would do well to assume he was of a far different caliber to herself. Even if she loses, it will be a learning experience. Luckily Anju is not a prideful woman, so the thought of it is far from daunting.
Instead, she takes his indication to heart, and circles slowly towards Deimos' left shoulder. Striking only when she feels steady and more certain of her surprise element, a cutting diagonal strike towards his hip instead of the nimbler joints that may have been otherwise tempting for a swift and victorious end.
He watched – eternally a scrutinizer. One didn’t survive the multitudes of battlefields without the ability to surmise basic information or expertise of an opponent. It could mean life or death. The Sword presumed it was much the same for the Dragoons, though uncertain what they’d seen of skirmishes, or the notions of war branching and brambling upon Stormbreak’s munitions. So when her measures were machinating, movements turning towards his shoulder, he pondered if this was simply a feint, a gesture of ruses.
And as she moved to strike towards his hip, he permitted a slight smile.
Dodging, evading, with a quick step, he maneuvered to the right, and utilized the same movement and motion to try and strike at the left portion of her ribcage. A test, to see where abilities laid.
here I am again, bad news from a bad friend they call me an omen - only here to torment
His eyes are heavy and watchful, not unlike Ronin's when they'd trained together. A weight she has learned to let slip off her shoulders lest it cause her to stumble. Commonplace mistakes here and now would be shameful not just to herself, but to the Dragoons, and perhaps even all of Stormbreak. The slight smile alleviates her of that stone-like dread in her stomach, and that is all she needs to continue on free of that burden.
He is fast - faster than she is used to or had anticipated. But (and not to compare him too heavily to the man) Ronin had been much the same, and Anju is accustomed to fighting swifter women. Instead of opting for flashier movements, Anju's training perseveres as she pulls her hands high to her shoulder, reversing her blade but not her grip to angle the tip down to the ground to catch Deimos' blow - the length of her blade protecting the majority of the side of her body. It is a heavy impact all the same, and Anju lifts an admiring brow at the strength she can feel even through the wooden armaments.
Since she didn't reverse her hands on the hilt, Anju shoves upward with her blade to try and have Deimos' slide off in a similar fashion unless he pulls back. Pressing her advantage instead of retreating, the Dragoon uses her momentum at the height of the arc to cut down towards the Sword's left clavicle.
Despite the nuances of racism within Stormbreak, they certainly trained their soldiers well – or at least, Anju had snagged the ability. She didn’t fight like many who first began or asked for advice here; she’d been well versed and experienced. His testing measures were caught again, and he permitted another range of his smile; a bit rebellious, a bit tenacious. “Good,” he mentioned, pondering if just that range of notions would rile her, or if it would be ignored.
But as she shoved upward towards his blade, he knew he could win a battle of strength and power. A tried and true method circumvented through his muscles, and he pressed down to meet her armament, intending to cast it completely out of range of his own form, and keep her dissuaded, unless she pressed back.
here I am again, bad news from a bad friend they call me an omen - only here to torment
His pride is terser than Ronin's upbeat advice and theatrics, but Anju finds she almost prefers it. It is familiar to her, similar to how she is with her own subordinates, and though she had thought herself to have outgrown the flutter in her chest at impressing someone it is unmistakably present.
Instincts can only partially account for the burgeoning awareness that her opponent is stronger however, so while her reactions are good she has to rely on mental flexibility to contend with realizing she cannot win this battle of arms. Instead she buckles her arms quickly down towards her shoulder blades, hoping to take Deimips off guard with how his strength is suddenly met with release, and - unwilling to break her form too much or resort to dirty tactics of knees and elbows - spins on her heels swiftly to release her blade and bring it back towards his neck from the other side.
He waited for the reaction – expectations and calculations contorting through his head. Lesser experienced would buckle and yield instantly, too green to see their ways to maneuver around, overcome and overwhelmed. Some with prior platitudes could angle and devise, scheme and plot just as readily as he had, so he wasn’t the least bit surprised when she flickered into the latter. “Clever,” his brows raised, the hint of a smile resting along his mouth, before volleying into other movements and motions.
The moment she dropped away, he knew evasion to be the next course, for she’d have enough speed and time to swing his way. Stepping off to the right, listening to the swing of the blade close to where he’d been standing, caused a chuckle; and he matched movements accordingly. Adjusting his stance and weight, he made additional lunges and quick, swift, reactions, intending to slash his armament directly into her side or ribcage.
here I am again, bad news from a bad friend they call me an omen - only here to torment
Praise once more, and Anju must contend again with such blatant approval. Most Dragoon trainers and higher ups were like Anju herself, curt and to the point. She had never felt she was missing anything in her training, but now...
Deimos dances away like a blade of grass in the wind, and this time Anju is the one to raise her brow. "Fast," she grunts in praise of her own as her hands readjust, following through with the momentum of her blade to reposition her feet. He is clever himself - unsurprising given his long tenure and well-known name - and Anju's sword is at a difficult angle to parry the blow he chooses. She blocks, but can feel the edge of her own blunt instrument press into her thigh, wrists straining beneath the odd positioning and force required to keep Deimos' strength at bay. Frowning slightly for a moment, Anju hops backward herself to get distance to reposition her blade, and bends her knees to sweep it towards Deimos' shins. In Stormbreak, they do not pause for counseling and adjustments when one blow is successful considering their training levels, so she assumes the same and does not stop now either.
