From Attuned to Ascended to Ancient, Kiada Njovu-Reyes has been reborn several times throughout her short life, but her fighting spirit has never once been diminished. With beauty, grace and a quick wit, Kiada is the whole package wrapped in an infectious smile. Recent endeavours have found her in the heart of the Hollowed Grounds, aiding the region and bettering it for her new Ancient kin, and whatever she does next, we know it's sure to pack a punch.
Congratulations, Kiada!
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!
It was a cool day for Flowerbirth, with grey skies and a chilly breeze. Alys hurried through the Citadel with her cloak pulled tight to her chest. While she knew where she was going, she wasn't entirely sure why she was going there. Sure, she wanted to strengthen her magic, but what did it even mean to train at the barracks? Barracks made her think of military, and military made her think of hard physical labor, and let's be honest - Alys hadn't worked hard a day in her life.
Still, Deimos had offered to help her, and she would be foolish to pass up such an opportunity. Where was she likely to find another person willing to help her at the drop of a hat? And without asking for anything in return, either. Her steps stuttered for a moment; she hadn't asked if she'd need to trade anything for this training she was to receive. At the moment, she had very little to offer.
But she wouldn't know unless she tried.
"Excuse me," she said to a passing guardsman. "I'm looking for Deimos. Do you know where he is?"
Afternoons meant the Sword had already spent a majority of his morning going over paperwork, messages, and growing all the more restless – so by the time the sun settled high in the sky, he was well within the Barracks. From there, instruction, tutoring, and drilling unfurled, unleashed across the vast scene. Soldiers rotated through their efforts and armaments, war games were upheld, targets were repaired, or strength adhered along the ascending fixtures.
So the guard Alys approached had a very good sense of where his Warden was – and with a cheeky grin, pointed towards the climbing wall. ”Up there, ma’am.”
Towards the back, where the snowy knoll lifted beyond the training grounds’ roof, was the fortification. An extension of proximities and limitations, created, shaped, and rounded so that once someone made it to the top, they could either repel their way down, or utilize the sides to meander and try once more. He’d already long since made it to the summit, and was now standing upon the peak, using it as a higher fixture to echo commands, or assist others as they struggled to the pinnacle.
The soldier grinned at her, causing Alys's brows to knit together slightly in confusion. What had she said to elicit such a reaction? But when she looked where the soldier pointed, she understood. To reach Deimos, it appeared she would have to be prepared to climb.
The young woman bit back a groan. This wasn't exactly what she'd had in mind for her day.
For a moment, Alys considered turning back. After all, Deimos hadn't seen her yet, and the only person to witness her retreat would be the one soldier. But if she did that, she'd never improve, and Deimos was the only person who'd offered to help her.
Alys sighed. He'd never said it would be easy.
She crossed to the climbing wall quickly, the helpful soldier forgotten, and stood at the base, scowling up at the man atop the wall. After a moment - during which she stood, arms folded, lips pursed, glaring at the wall - Alys sighed again. She was glad she'd thought ahead this morning and worn breeches rather than her preferred skirts; that, at least, would make this easier. With one last sigh, Alys began to climb.
Deimos had always been an astute, observant beast – and in warfare, melees, skirmishes, and battles, one needed to be. To stay one step ahead of enemies and adversaries. To plot multitudes of schemes and ambushes. To make predictions and future plans. And while he certainly couldn’t calculate or notice every endeavor, the rippling undercurrent of confusion holstered along the wall, from those below and nearby, caused him to peer over the edge.
And chuckle quietly, nearly stifled, to himself.
He might not have expected much to come of his offer of training – he’s extended the parameters multitudes of times to many individuals. Some adhered with enthusiasm and determination. Some handwaved and brushed it aside. He still wasn’t quite sure what to make of this mage in the making.
“Alys,” he rumbled, an arch to his brow as he crouched, watching, careful, eyes flickering over which holds she’d be snagging. “You could have asked me to come down.”
Had Alys been near enough to hear Deimos's quiet chuckle, she might have glared at him severely, wounded by the dismissal of her efforts. As it was, she was too far away to notice, and her attention was focused on finding her next hand- and footholds. It was hard work, climbing, and for a body unused to physical labor, it was particularly demanding. Still, she had started now, and she was determined that she would make it to the top.
She ignored those around her, singularly focused on the task at hand. If they stared at her, bemused and befuddled, she didn't notice - and, if she had, she would have at least pretended not to care. As it was, she scowled at the climbing wall before her, muttering grumpily under her breath about difficult men and pointless exercises, and continued her weary upward trek. It was not particularly graceful, nor was it particularly fast, but her careful hand and foot placements made for a steady pace.
She'd made it about a third of the way up when she heard Deimos's rumbling voice, and she looked up to glower at him. The thought hadn't crossed her mind, and the insinuation that she'd done something incorrect left her awash with shame. A blush bloomed on her cheeks as she paused, chest heaving. "I'm almost there," she insisted stubbornly, though she was most certainly not. And then she stubbornly continued her climb.
The rest of the soldiers and warriors along the climbing wall worked in the same way; ignoring, concentrating, ensuring not to bump into one another as they grasped and maneuvered. Alternating routes had become a thing of patterns and necessity; the Sword changing them every so often to ensure the training wasn’t coming from muscle memory or lacking a foundation of thought.
So he, like many others already along the summit, watched.
He could muttering and grumbling, which incited another stifled chuckle, and she earned a rather impish smile once her glower pinpointed on him. Not dismissing her efforts, but rather the lack of necessity of it all, he shrugged his shoulders, extending his hand to a fellow comrade as they assailed to the top. “Whenever you are ready,” he uttered in response.
With Deimos apparently content to wait for her to reach the summit of the climbing wall, Alys refocused on the task at hand. Now that her pride had been challenged, she was determined to see her course of action through, even if, in retrospect, it had been somewhat silly. Her movements were slow, but methodical, and she made her way up the wall without haste. If he's going to be like that, I'll take my time, the young woman thought rebelliously. Like what, exactly, she couldn't say.
Eventually - after taking thrice the time of any of the soldiers - Alys's hand reached the summit and she allowed herself a huff of pride. Unfortunately, having reached the top, the Seer appeared to be stuck. Her arms were on fire, her chest was heaving, and she struggled in vain to lift herself from the last hand- and footholds to crest the wall itself. "Why - do you even - have this here?" she gasped as she tried and failed to pull herself the rest of the way onto the wall. "What's - wrong with - the ground?"
Truth be told, Deimos hadn’t challenged her at all (yet), and all of this was at the behest of her own notions and methods. He surveyed, ensuring she wasn’t in any real danger, save for perhaps the sake of her pride, and witnessed the rest draw their way up, until she arrived right at the pinnacle. Arching his brow again, he shrugged his shoulders at the inquiry. It was probably rhetorical, but he wasn’t bothered by the necessity of explanation. “Strength training. As well as encouraging strategy. Needing to think through how one will achieve a goal.” In accord with more than mere persistence and determination – because how would one achieve adversity, or an opponent, bearing down upon them within a moment’s notice?
Withholding the threat of another boom of laughter, he instead extended his hand, intending to drag her up if she required it. He half-expected her to refuse the assistance, but it was present nonetheless. “We practice on the ground too.” But it wouldn’t, and couldn’t, be the end-all, be-all. Not in Caido.
"Oh," Alys huffed in response to the explanation offered by Deimos. If her arms hadn't been shaking so badly, or if she hadn't been concentrating so hard on simply staying on the damn wall, she might have offered more of a retort. As it was, she merely pressed her lips in a thin line and tried once more to heave herself on top of the wall.
A hand appeared in her peripheral vision, and for a moment, her stubborn pride refused to take it. Then common sense took hold, and with a growl of frustration, Alys reached out to take the offered help. Once firmly on solid ground - sort of - she yanked her hand back and crossed her arms over her chest. "Thanks," she said gruffly, not quite meeting Deimos's gaze. It was easier to be grateful if she didn't have to make eye contact while she did it.
Taking a moment to catch her breath, Alys surveyed the view from the top of the wall. It must be nice, she supposed, to lord over the masses from on high. Was that what Deimos spent all day doing? She realized she knew next to nothing about him, save that he had offered her help with her magic. She glanced up at him suspiciously. "What did you say you did here again?"
With no argument broached, he waited until a majority of the soldiers had cleared out. Most repelled themselves downwards again, laughing, hooting, hollering, content with the way their mission had played out. Others meandered off the side, taking the slanted pathway rather than making their descent with more holds. Eventually, only one or two lingered, talking amongst themselves as Deimos carved his own area for the impending training, unbothered by witnesses.
Shrugging off any of the prickly nuances, because they were similar in those personality traits, he merely arched a brow at her inquiry, then realized his introductions had never included it. Partly because he didn’t want his entire existence to be framed in titles, partially because it was a shared position, and his counterpart wasn’t here to take the credit for Halo’s efforts too. “I am one of the Wardens,” he rumbled instead, moving a set of ropes off to one side. “I also assist in General duties.” Because he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Altering the subject, he catered more to her necessities. “What did you want to focus on?” He had ideas already, but since it was her magic, it should be up to the mage.
Of course Deimos would be someone important. Alys stared at him, wondering why someone like him would be interested in helping someone like her. He was a leader. She was no one - a traveler just on her way through the realm of Halo. They were ships passing in the night. And yet he'd offered her a safe place to train, and despite how busy he must have been, he was even offering to help her personally!
"Why are you helping me?" she asked bluntly, still suspicious. Her brows were knit in confusion, a slight frown on her lips. People didn't do nice things for free. What was he expecting in return? "I'm not joining your soldiers," she said suddenly, crossing her arms over her chest. Was that it? Was he hoping to lure her in to bolster his ranks? Looking around, though, it seemed that he already had plenty of soldiers.
The Sword, sometimes in large part of a self-sacrificing trait, usually offered to assist. Whether it be in the realm of strength, tenacity, determination, and other feats, scaling heights, snagging at relics, tangling with monsters, most of the time it was to ensure the safety of others. While he’d been working on setting boundaries about how much he extended his efforts, the monolith persisted and continued in some realm of aid, support, and reinforcements. A network of patterns, never quite capable of shaking them away.
Though he hadn’t expected the question, regardless. After moving the roping, he glanced at her over his shoulder, the residual arch to his brow still intact. “Many helped me when I first arrived. So I do the same.” Arriving in Halo after multitudes of loss, sick and nearly gone himself, he wouldn’t have made it without close friends, allies, and comrades. Though, he aimed to make a point very clear. “You do not have to stay.” If she was bothered by the notions, she was free to go. There were other warriors requiring his instruction.
Deimos couldn’t stifle the next bout of laughter though at her statement – a loud burst of rumbling contortions that echoed across the stony structure. “I did not offer.” And certainly not after that display on the climbing wall.
At Deimos's booming laugh, Alys flushed red and her ears grew hot, and she glanced around to see who might be in sight of her embarrassment. She scowled at the man. I could do it if I wanted, she thought petulantly, and very nearly said as much to the man before her, until she remembered that she was not trying to persuade him. In fact, his reaction should be a welcome one. He did not want her as a soldier, and she did not want to be invited to be one, so there should be satisfaction all around.
She couldn't help her wounded pride, though.
In any case, she pursed her lips and huffed a breath. "Fine," she said, turning her nose up at him. "Just so we're clear." It occurred to her, briefly, that she could be more grateful to her companion, who did, in fact, seem to be offering help out of the kindness of his heart - or, she supposed, out of a desire for a good laugh. That was another option.
But he had asked another question - what did she want to focus on - before she'd managed to injure her pride, and so she turned her attention back to the matter at hand. "I want to make my magic stronger," she said. "But I'm not sure how."
With no intentions of offering salves for her pride or presumptions, he ignored her scowls and huffed breaths, tending to other matters along the wall. Smoothing out a few roughened patches from boots, he listened, shrugging his shoulders indifferently at the grating response. She’d be free to leave at any juncture; no one was forcing her into the ramparts.
Straightening out to his full height again, he regarded her notions with a long, slow breath, gearing up for some inevitable, prickly accompaniments. Deimos had known enough, including himself, who grew frustrated when their range of control wasn’t apparent, or strength diminished haphazardly, quickly, especially in dire situations. Having faced death multiple times during initial, trying adventures, he’d learned the hard way that fortitude and endurance were the key players in their incantations – along with a healthy dose of fortune.
But they could always sway that in their favor, when there was power, potential, and practice behind it.
“Implementing it seems to be the best option. Frequently. And increasing the length of time gradually. So it becomes natural. Fluid.” Even if she craved to only use the illusions for cards or displays for others, she wouldn’t be able to render it efficiently without substantial effort. “Show me how long you can use it.”
