Don't let Sohalia's age fool you; this clever and kind Attuned has been stamping her mark on the world in her own way (which is to say without bloodshed, a rather novel idea in Caido). Having recently left the Hollowed Ground in search of adventure after the death of her parents, Sohalia has been accumulating friends of all sorts while relocating in Stormbreak. Watch this space - we can't wait to see where her curiosity takes her next! Congratulations Sohalia!
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!
The morning’s experiments, after completing a round of paperwork, were a reward for all their recent labors. A trial by fire and trebuchets lent themselves handily towards the outskirts of the Citadel, where the endless snow beyond the walls were a perfected and flattened expanse of training exercises. By sunrise, the Sword had placed targets amidst the ivory; all of different sizes, shapes, enemies, and adversaries, either long since dead or exaggerated and fables. Tempting to destroy, regardless of their embellished features.
He stood amidst his warriors then, as they pulled levers and the arms flailed upwards, casting embers, flames, rocks, stones, and any manner of newfound armaments to cast aloft across the plain. Exuberant shouts were heard if they managed to hit – whoops for accuracy and precision, practice made gilded. Dismays amplified if they missed, amongst a hardy ribbing from their constituents. All the while, the Sword made quick notations of each implemented device, compelled into better maneuvers and motions for Halo’s protection.
We've been shown how not to live by gracious kings of old
When Deimos slipped out of his office, Noah noticed. While he had his own work to finish up before he could stumble out after the Sword, it didn't take him long to follow. He stood shoulder to shoulder with warriors and soldiers, friends he had grown up alongside and was thankful to still have, as the Warden set out their targets.
The Sentinel hung back for a little while and let those around him take their shots and their aims, filling their hearts with joy and their banks with skill. Though, Noah couldn't wait forever. Taking an arrow from his intricately designed and sinisterly crafted quiver, the hunter nocked and aimed. Noah couldn't resist but to unleash an arrow to set a target ablaze that strangely resembled the Hailstorm.
Adjustments were made, trebuchets were launched, arrows were flung. Mistakes were made, and successes triumphed with whoops and cheers as fire ricocheted across targets, and the Sword smirked, content with the present. Though his brow arched as Noah’s familiar form remained amidst their crowd of warriors, still and watching, before casting his lot amongst them.
He watched as the armament flung into Neron’s features – a popular choice of effigy – blistering and smoldering until it was entirely doused in fire. Eventually another one of their hoard replaced it, permitting others to continue pummeling and decimating in fine order.
Only then did his long strides carry him over to the Sentinel. “Noah,” careful to survey his compatriots and warriors as another round trickled through, eyes following the movements and motions of the trebuchets to ensure they were still in standard, working order. “How are you?”
05-20-2023, 01:22 PM (This post was last modified: 05-20-2023, 01:26 PM by Noah.)
We've been shown how not to live by gracious kings of old
Noah grabbed another arrow from the quiver as his first one found its target, but the Sentinel of the North did not release the second. He watched instead as the flames engulfed the Neron target, remembering how he had wished that he would have been able to do such a thing to the Hailstorm in his life. The Sparkbird got the last word, though. Noah was okay with that.
As the Sword approached, Noah turned his shoulders towards him and offered a bright smile. ”Good.” Noah said, holding his bow and nocked arrow low at his hip. ”Followed you out to see what kind of fun—I mean training— you might be cooking up. Office was getting a little stuffy.” Which, he knew, Deimos would agree with. Still without the birth of his children, Noah and Cordelia were settled into a rhythm now. With the twins in her womb they assumed now, since they hadn’t come, that their guess on her due date were just too early.
It was unfortunate, but very Neron-esque, to not permit either Noah or himself to massacre the Hailstorm. His fortune had prevailed for far longer than necessary, and eventually, dimmed, ran out, and plunged during his fight with the Sparkbird. Deimos preferred to imagine alternating scenarios of the former Ascended burning to a crisp, and often utilized his effigy as a target to do just that – with scores of others who seemed to yearn for the same thing.
The Sentinel’s response caused a broad smirk and an arch of his brow. “I can imagine,” based on how little time Deimos spent in his; preferring paperwork with Evie elsewhere, and then immediately rampaging towards the barracks the moment it was finished. Beings like themselves could only handle so many missives, notes, letters, and pamphlets in a day, and he had never been an individual meant to be tied to a desk. “Let me know if there is something in particular you want to work on.” He jutted his jawline towards the assembly of trebuchets. “They are getting along well by themselves,” which meant some amount of free time to implement their own skirmishes.
We've been shown how not to live by gracious kings of old
Soldiers moved around Noah and set to keep their target practice going. The smoldering of Neron held his attention only long enough for Deimos to close the distance and to start conversing. "You're the best leader they've had." He said, confident. There was no clause of in a long time or since *insert person here* -- because it was true in and of itself. It needed no ammendment. Deimos was the best leader the soldiers of Halo had ever had.
Noah turned towards the Warden, sucking his lips in slightly in thought. Deimos was a formidable warrior with many different skills mastered, and Noah took any opportunity he could to learn from his prowess as well as stretch his own muscles. Deciding, Noah "I wouldn't mind some close range weapons training, if you're up for that." Noah said, slipping his quiver of arrows off his back and setting them down with his bow before taking his spear in his other hand. He had practiced last with Talyson, and while it had been a good spar, it wasn't the same challenge that Deimos could offer him.
The compliment earned a look of surprise upon the Sword’s features – head raised, eyes widening and then blinking rapidly, as if he’d potentially misheard – and then a sheepish glance to the ground. “Thank you,” he measured, instead of the habitual self-deprecating notions or placing a quick quip about how anyone must’ve been better, in the leagues and history of this world. “For the good of Halo,” he afforded a grin in return, eventually, and a swift nod to assert the semblances.
Noah’s choice of close-range weaponry didn’t earn the same bewilderment, but Deimos would be glad for the venture regardless. He wasn’t as well versed with the spear as he was with a multitude of other weapons, having taken up the spear in only the past year or so, but he’d be content with practicing it. “Sounds good,” and he snagged at the multitudes of weapons near his bag of holding, allowing his calloused palms to embrace the weight of it across his hand.
Backing away from the rush of soldiers implementing their own duties, aims, and catapults, he ensured they had an adequate amount of space for what was bound to occur, while still being able to keep an eye on them if things went awry. Jutting his jawline towards the Sentinel, he took on a battle stance, waiting for the first move. “When you are ready.”
We've been shown how not to live by gracious kings of old
The practicing soldiers near them gave Noah some confidence. He was always willing to train and learn from Deimos, and for some reason letting the rest of Halo's protectors see that humility in him gave him a boost. Following to the spot where they would not bump into anyone else (hopefully), Noah readied himself.
With a lowered center of gravity and loose muscles, Noah struck. He stepped forward with his left leg, twisted his torso slightly, and aimed to whip the end of his spear up and smack it against Deimos' thigh.
Noah certainly was not going to activate the arc of fire that could come from the spear. No, not with the way Deimos could simply put it out or manipulate it to maul Noah with the raising of an eyebrow.
