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!
you can turn off the sun, but I'm still gonna shine
This was not a good idea.
This was not a good idea.
That's what runs through Koa's head on repeat, though you wouldn't know it from the smile on his face. Well, not unless you knew him well: then you might see the strain in his eyes, or catch the way he can't stop fidgeting, or mark the tense lines in his neck. But overall? The boy's keeping his composure surprisingly well, given that there's a non-zero chance he's going to wind up dead today. And maybe 90% chance of hospitalization.
Thiswasnotagoodidea--
"And finally, the training grounds!" The tour ends with this, their crowning jewel (in Koa's opinion) and the place he spends much of his downtime. The Dragon's Nest training grounds are certainly cutting edge, with targets, dummies, practice weapons, a gym... really most of the things one could ask for, in Koa's humble opinion. Stopping at the edge of the arena, the young man looks up at Deimos for any sign of approval. "So what do you think?" he queries hopefully, an unflappable puppy in the face of an inscrutable mountain. "Still up for a spar?"
This may not have been a good idea, but fuck if he isn't committed now.
It had been a long while since the Sword truly wanted to render someone torn apart, limb by limb. While in Helovia or Isilme it would’ve been borne out of hatred, animosity, hostility, or war emblems, this carried through on frustration and vexation. He hadn’t met anyone quite like the Dragoon, full of boldness and ignorance coinciding to an obstinate degree. And perhaps it would be satisfying to send him to the local infirmary.
But Deimos wasn’t without his own hesitations – though they were mired in the complexities of Stormbreak itself, and while on the tour, he conducted himself into a feral wariness and silence, snagging and studying the surroundings, memorizing them for later, and ensuring his presence was something distinct and forbearing; a beacon of might and strength, no matter how long his kind had been kept away.
So his eyes studied the Dragon’s Nest, at the fluttering wings of the lizards overhead, at the gym, targets, dummies, arenas – not wholly unlike his own barracks within Halo – though he preferred the ice and snow to anything grandiose. “It is suitable,” he declared with a stoic reticence once more, all slate and stone, having only briefly stepped within it. Examining and scrutinizing any onlookers too, he finally placed his piercing stare back upon Koa. “Yes. What did you want to practice?”
12-18-2023, 03:30 PM (This post was last modified: 12-18-2023, 03:30 PM by Koa.)
you can turn off the sun, but I'm still gonna shine
Well. Feels about as close to a compliment as Koa's gonna get, so of course he beams with pride at the comment, arms splaying to gesture more thoroughly about the training grounds. "We're still working on things, of course- but it's a start." Of course, no small bit of the fanfare is for their alarmingly growing audience, who seem much easier to impress than the general. Or who seem convinced of his imminent demise, and could probably use a mood booster.
Gods know the kid needs it.
He tries not to shiver at the ice in Deimos' gaze, to avoid flinching beneath the weight of judgment in the General's stare. "I mean- anything you're willing to teach me, I'm game to learn." He's trying so hard to stay buoyant and valiant, to impress the Warden with his willingness and (he thinks) humility. Misguided as it may be. "I've never actually sparred with an Abandoned before, and they say you're the strongest one in Caido. Wouldn't be opposed to seeing some of that power in action." What he hopes is a winning smirk (and is actually a strained, goofy half-smile under slightly too-open eyes) flashes across his face, a valiant attempt to mask the terror rising in his chest.
Koa hasn't faced magic before, and honestly? He really can't think of anything more scary than an invisible, unblockable force wielded by someone he's still half convinced would be very happy to see him dead.
Deimos was used to a crowd of his own soldiers; familiar crowing, beckoning, teasing, and encouragement – the multitudes nearby simply put him further on edge. As if something was damned and due to be a spectacle, and the Sword had never been one for such demonstrations; could feel his spine rankling, chest taut, jaw tensed and locked, and only a few breaths allowed to pass through his lungs as he continued to study and examine.
Willing to teach was another notion altogether; he’d already strived to do so and clearly nothing had happened or changed in those parameters, so he half-wondered if there was a point in the venture. Mulishly contorting through planned words, the rest of the Dragoon’s statement didn’t make him feel much better – because if they’d never even permitted magic, surely there wasn’t going to be much of a counter for it.
Another long held sigh slipped through his ribs, and were he not someone so apt at control, there might’ve been hackled raised. Instead, it was steel, lined and forged, in the breadth of his existence and the course of his voice. “Do you have a way to shield yourself?” Because as tempting as it was, the Warden wasn’t about to shoot multitudes of fireballs at Koa without some inclination he could dodge them – or had some semblance of a plan. Though the mental image alone was satisfying.
you can turn off the sun, but I'm still gonna shine
The options laid before Koa are simple: accept that this is a terrible plan and bow out, or (literally) brute force his way through this bad decision until it results in triumph or death. And since the first path is reprehensible to his sense of pride, we're committing full-tilt to option two. "We've got shields?" he offers in response to the issue of, well, shielding, striding over to an armor rack to fetch one for himself. He's been putting his boxing wraps on as they've walked, which, while they offer little protection, make him feel better about his (abysmal) odds. "Are there specific types of material that are good for avoiding magic? Or like, techniques you'd recommend?" Is it a willpower thing, or more of a stop-drop-and-roll situation?
Now outfitted with a leather buckler, the boy turns back to his mountainous opponent. "So.... obviously I know I'm about to get my ass kicked, but could I make a tiny request?" He chuckles nervously, weight shifting in anxious anticipation. "Just, like... don't mess my face up too badly? Or my hair?"
Deimos glanced at the shields, narrowing his eyes again, knowing full well some incantations could simply go around such a device in its most simplistic form. The following inquiry caused his piercing gaze to segment back to the Dragoon, all knives and brimstone. “Most tend to have something blessed by the gods,” or created, in his case. Even he had armor for such notions, only worn when facets and factions truly disagreed with him. “And other Abandoned use their own magic to combat another’s.” Easier, truly, to wield his enchantments as blockades or ramparts, and twist, turn, them into demolition and destruction within the next breath. “You learn your own techniques.” Like running, hiding behind larger objects, and the like.
Wondering how much good the buckler was going to do, the Sword sighed and didn’t bother asking, beginning to pace himself away, granting and giving distance so Koa might actually have time to dodge what was coming to him. The request thereafter didn’t even make him pause, because some manner of pettiness made him actually want to aim specifically for those areas now, so he shook his head vaguely, before turning back.
Yards in between instead of just feet, he gave the Dragoon the benefit of instances. “Prepare yourself,” by whatever means he had available – for moments later, without moving a muscle, coiled proportions of fire hastened in three spiraling, spinning orbs, before being flung in the youth’s direction.
you can turn off the sun, but I'm still gonna shine
"Oh! I'm actually working on that." The blessed armor, not magic. Koa won't be picking that up anytime soon. "Ludo has me questing to get a moth shirt that'll help with dark magic. So it's a start," Koa shrugs, painfully aware that this hypothetical armor will do exactly nothing to keep him safe today. And despite his determination to be good-natured the Dragoon can feel his anger rise, tightening the muscles of his smile as Deimos continues to give him absolutely nothing, only icy glares and open disdain. He's trying, damnit, really trying.
What's it gonna take?
The fire is reflected in Koa's copper eyes, which widen as orbs of fire magically appear. He scarcely has time to think or process what he's seeing before they're sent hurtling his direction, like snowballs out of hell. It's only through instinct and the strength of his training that Koa ducks away in time, dodging the first one, twisting away from the second, and wincing as the third one strikes his shield, the heat enormous even with the brunt of it absorbed. It's impressive as fuck, and terrifying, too, and now more than ever Koa suspects this was not a very good plan.
Buckler still raised in readiness, Koa unhooks the chakram from his side and hurls it Deimos' way. Hoping to at least distract the Sword, the Dragoon ducks behind a nearby dummy, absolutely not trusting that Deimos won't be able to magically lift him like a ragdoll and drop him down somewhere well past Stormbreak's edge.
“Moth shirt…,” he rumbled in response, brows furrowing and head angling as if trying to understand the connotations, and then ceasing altogether. There were actions to take place and scores to settle regardless, and his concentration contorted into responses, analyzing and scrutinizing the Dragoon’s performance out of habit.
He wasn’t surprised to see an instinctual lunge – he’d been hoping for some panicked screaming – but he’d take the slight amount of terror.
What he didn’t expect, however, was the youth's weapon of choice.
He’d been intrigued by whatever Koa had capable of hurtling or throwing in his direction, yet, there’d been little suspicion in recognizing the object. Within half a moment he’d built a shield of ice, contorting it into a thicker haze to simply catch and embed the armament into its solidified stature. Narrowing his gaze though, he realized the last time he’d seen this particular armament wielded had been amidst an escape; a journey into exile, the Wraith striving to annihilate at the slightest opportunity. “Where did you get this?” rumbled thereafter, with no hint of the malice, memories, or interest stored.
Then, just to reel the haunting legions away, he sent another round of fireballs towards Koa and his dummy.
you can turn off the sun, but I'm still gonna shine
Of course he can build a wall of ice. Why wouldn't he be able to? Koa is beginning to suspect that magic isn't so much a curse as he was raised to believe; after all, what kind of 'curse' would make someone so damn powerful? Frowning, he mentally tugs at the chakram, trying to get it to de-embed itself from the glacier it's become encased within, to very little avail. "From Sunjata," he responds to the question half-absently-- and then, realizing that Deimos and the Flood may well be friends, adds: "It was a loan. I'll give it back as soon as he asks."
Never mind that the young Dragoon has no real intention of doing so.
The fireballs fly again, Koa rolling and ducking away, leaving the dummy singed and smoking in his stead. He's not unscathed - there's burns on his right arm, burns he'll have to contend with later - but he is invigorated, focus in his copper eyes as he tries to assess for a weakness. He's not going to accomplish shit from back here, so maybe....
With a big ol' mental YOLO, Koa rushes the General. He's got his gloves and he's got his ring, and with a final tug he's got the chakram free and flying back into his hand. He hurtles it back to Deimos' left, imbuing it with lightning while simultaneously lunging in the opposite direction, hoping that a double assault will catch the general off-guard enough that he can land a blow.
The answer made him snort – not out of amusement, but the predictability of it all. Given who the Flood was, and all his alliances amidst the war, there was no surprise that he’d ended up with the weapon. “It once belonged to Wessex,” Deimos announced, certain that such a name would be remembered within the confines of Stormbreak, considering who the Wraith had been and the actions she’d taken against these very people. Whether or not the young Dragoon would want to wield such an armament would be up him then – the Sword would sooner see it destroyed or flung out into the sea.
He watched Koa roll and duck and become singed, and then start to rush. A foolish wake, in the Warden’s presumptions, because sometimes that meant the opponent had nothing more than audacity. Deimos had much more than that; and unfurled it again in equal measure.
As the chakram came hurtling, he unleashed a torrent of Mastered Air, intending to make it fly completely off course, while maintaining a slew of fireballs fired directly at the Dragoon once more.
12-26-2023, 11:55 PM (This post was last modified: 12-26-2023, 11:56 PM by Koa.)
you can turn off the sun, but I'm still gonna shine
What we're going to say is that Koa has already geared up to throw the chakram when Deimos answers, because otherwise he would've been dropping that shit like a hot potato. Instead he yeets it in the direction of the General, hard and urgent as though it somehow still held the essence of the Wraith, waiting to infect him with evilness via osmosis. "Wessex?!" the Dragoon all but bleats, eyes going hilariously wide in shock and surprise. Wessex- the Wraith, a nightmare told to children of Stormbreak to keep them good and in line. To think he'd held something of hers...
He doesn't know what to think of that, really. So he resorts to his default: no thoughts, only vibes.
This time he doesn't recall the chakram as it's slashed away by a gust of air. Nor does he try to dodge the fireballs (where's he gonna go?). Instead Koa continues charging forward with only his fists and his furious determination to prove himself, trying to ignore the pain of superficial burns and the singe of blistered hair as he desperately, futilely attempts to land even one blow on the Sword, to prove he isn't entirely useless against a world far bigger, stronger, and scarier than he.
He figured that’d be the sort of garnered response; the Wraith probably would’ve been proud of it, regardless, but Deimos also didn’t bother striving to snag at the chakram again. Instead, he concentrated on the bizarre demonstration Koa put forth – simply barraging his way through fire.
Seemed on point, given everything the Sword had learned about the Dragoon, but still worth arching a brow over nonetheless.
The fist wouldn’t reach his side anyway, not with the quick, sharp movements the Warden employed. For someone of his stature, he still managed to employ a level of evasion and agility, through multitudes of training in exactly that; veering directly to the left and out of the barrage of emboldened determination.
For a final act, because he was fairly certain the lad had been through plenty, no matter how irritating he was, the Sword placed enough distance between the two of them to unfurl another large shield – this time entirely of infernos, purposefully intending to dissuade the youth from advancing any further. “I think this has been enough for now.” An act of mercy, in some form, before Koa truly needed the infirmary.
you can turn off the sun, but I'm still gonna shine
Maybe it's Deimos being fast, maybe it's the literal wall of fire blurring his vision - no matter the reason Koa settles on later, the important thing is he doesn't hit. The blow goes wide, leaving Koa to stagger singed through smoky air, gulping in breaths as he swivels around to face Deimos once more.
Deimos, who now stands shielded by a blaze hot enough to make the Dragoon's skin crawl. Cringing away from the blasted inferno, Koa raises up his wrapped hands in defeat. "That was amazing," the boy declares. "You really are incredible, sir." but there's something new lurking under the curve of his smile, lending a quivering sharpness to his voice. Beyond pain (and fuck is he in pain), beyond awe, fear stains the soldier's thoughts - fear of this General and his prowess, of the fire and ice he wields without thinking.
Fear that next time he faces such an opponent, he won't be able to walk away.
Later he'll process this fear (or not), as well as the revelation about the chakram. For now Koa is content to take the offered respite, trying to maintain an air of bravado as the crowds begin to fade. With another thank you to Deimos the young man excuses himself, claiming he has work to do but actually waiting for an opportunity to slink off to his office and hide away, licking his wounds and trying to come to terms with just how small and weak he really is.
