[Training] How to be whole again

Down and out, and out of luck, we're spinning but the needle's stuck

"Thank you, for agreeing to this. I know you're busy, and it's a bit out of the blue..."

Adjusting her grip on the ember-edged chakram, Maea stifled an urge to fidget. Standing on the beach of the dread island with the stiff breeze tossing her hair about, her mind kept throwing back to the last time she faced Deimos like this. She had been impulsive back then, too. Stormed into the Hollowed Grounds barracks like a yearling foal, full of energy and thoughts on what she wanted to learn, and little patience for what she needed. Flushed with second hand embarrassment for the insolent child she had been, it begged the question how much she had really changed.

Gods, how long had it been? Five, six years since? And in that time she had died and been remade, and bullied herself into ruin, been saved and saved and saved until she found herself here. Alive again, and confused as any newborn as to why, and what to make of it.

"I thought, that if anyone could judge if I've improved at all, it would be you." Someone who knew the beginning. Someone who hadn't seen the chaos in between from up close.
It was only a training session she had asked for, yet Maea rather wished that the Warden would pass some kind of judgement on her, and let her know if she was suited to anything at all. Asking herself yielded no answers; only another run on the hamster wheel.

Maea

DEIMOS

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates

If they were going to be airing truths, Deimos wanted nothing more than to return home. The air of responsibility clung to him like a mantle, and their latest efforts proved there were far more threats, perils, and hazards than they could’ve fathomed. But Torchline needed assistance, and there was the possibility of reaching out to the Greatwood, and then Maea was asking – it was as though there was no escape from the monumental weights – for he wouldn’t leave another without means of defense, nor newfound knowledge of the craft.

So his gaze was a stoic, reticent one as it glanced upon her once more, along the weapon in her hands, and the scattered beach that was to be an arena again. Half of his mind wondered if she’d advanced at all in their time from broken barbs amidst the Grounds, from dying and yielding to Mort, to scraping by with the Voice, and chiseling away as an Ancient. She might not have had moments amidst the parallels and perils of survival. Or maybe she’d had too many.

He wouldn’t fathom her reasons for choosing him either, save for experiences and wakes upon haunted precipices. He’d started many on their journeys in their defensive and offensive arts. Some stayed the course. Others didn’t bother. “If you want,” came on his solid and grumbled reply, restless hands already tying back his long hair, out of the way for the coming brush of angles and sieges. “Will you be using the chakram?”

The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead

Down and out, and out of luck, we're spinning but the needle's stuck

"Yes. If you don't mind." A simple answer, encompassing confirmation of two things at once. If they were trying to save time, she would not delay further by talking about her reasoning for choosing Deimos as a teacher - as if she wasn't simply stealing opportunity when presented with it - or explain that the unusual weapon was all she owned. Even if she had been inclined to chat, this would hardly be the time or place, anyway.

Sinking into a ready stance, knees lightly bent and weight shifted onto the balls of her feet, Maea split the circle of the daggers to hold one in each hand. Laughably disadvantaged against the mountain of a man, she would have to rely on speed to get anywhere. The horns on her head and the tail were annoying her; still relatively unfamiliar, they often disrupted balance at the worst time.

Nodding that she was ready, she moved the second Deimos indicated a go-ahead. Attempting a quick dash in on his off-hand side, Maea slashed towards the Warden's face with the left daggers, while her right sought to slice into his side. Then she would try to retreat, to recover the stance - or block incoming retaliations. She did not go easy; that would be suicidal against such a superior opponent, who was more than equipped to deal with anything she could throw at him.

At least the tension was easing in her now that they were in motion. With no time for thoughts or second guessing, Maea's expression turned almost peaceful in it's singular focus.

Maea

DEIMOS

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates

Deimos would argue it was suicidal to come rushing in on someone with little more than gumption, hope, and a prayer – but he’d also recently fought Koa with the same regard, and an inward eye roll. Despite his mass, he’d long since learned how to fend off swift assaults, training specifically in those areas, and utilizing enchantments.

His methods were simple for the time being – unleashing the rush of his water incantations until they blended and bent into icy formations, a tangible shield at the forefront of his might. Her daggers would find themselves embedded for an instant or more, unless she sought to peel them away and leave herself wide open to pending assaults.

As she retreated though, he’d find an opening and opportunity. His incantations had grown, encompassed, and magnified since the last time they’d met – and he portioned parts of his elemental prowess to unfurl rapid ice shards, much like daggers, towards her form.

The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead

Down and out, and out of luck, we're spinning but the needle's stuck

Choosing to keep the daggers, Maea struggled to pull them free from the ice. The burning edge helped a bit, thawed the frozen shield a fraction quicker than it would have otherwise. With a final tug she staggered backwards, and hurriedly rolled aside with an arm upheld to shield her face from icicle shards that came hurtling towards her. They hurt like a bitch, but fortunately didn't penetrate the rough cloth of her coat; worse was the cold that came along with them, flowing like hazy vapors from the shield.

More cautious this time, Maea licked her lips as she circled to the left. How did you take on an opponent like this? He was taller than her, had greater reach, magic and experience enough to seem impossible to beat. No way would he let her get behind him to strike at his blind side, and full frontal attacks might just result in her being picked up with one hand and thrown into the sea. Which meant... what?

Acting on a notion the moment it struck her, Maea suddenly kicked up sand at the Warden's eyes. Stealing in with her daggers raised, she aimed low this time, slashing at a knee. Her limbs felt sluggish, but still moved alright; she would have to keep away from more of that ice, or she would be in serious trouble.

Maea

DEIMOS

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates

It would be tempting to utilize ice the entire time, keeping her away and at a distance, but Maea had other plans. He nearly snorted as the sand soared towards him. It would’ve been a clever play and ploy, had he not conquered such natural inclinations long ago. Utilizing another portion of elements he knew well, he coerced and contorted the earthen wares to snag at their flying granules, turning, and then aiming them directly at her in exchange.

If she sought to distract him, it was only a momentary thing; he had enough time to pivot and shift to the left, out of her slashing wakes. A simple maneuver, but sometimes that was all that was required – and he’d been on the battlefields enough to decipher what would be effective.

With calculations and machinations luring, he opted to use the environment to his own advantage. The Sword snagged at the unending supply of water with his Mastered proportions again, but instead of altering them into icy fixtures, curled and contorted the factions into a massive wave, sending it in her direction.

The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead

Down and out, and out of luck, we're spinning but the needle's stuck

It didn't work. Nothing worked. Frustration lay near at hand, but no inclination to quit. Perhaps the bravery stemmed from the knowledge that her life was not in danger, but it was there all the same and for once her stubborn nature refused to accept defeat before she had tried every option.

The sand returned straight into her face and blinded Maea to the wave that rose to knock her over. The force of it barreled into her slender frame without mercy and she found herself thrust to the ground, unable to see or breathe. In a blind attempt to distract Deimos, her tail whipped out in his direction, agile as a third hand, though perhaps less dexterous for lack of practice. Attempting to wind around an ankle and tug the man off balance, all she really wanted was a moment to get back on her feet.

Maea

DEIMOS

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates

While Deimos held an enduring amount of patience, he also couldn’t be expected to take every blow or hit when it came to training others. He gave defensive maneuvers so the Ancient wasn’t outrightly deceased, evading and pushing back with little assaults or sieges; nudges in inclinations or prowess, with all the predilections countering for education and training. From here, she’d be able to understand just what she might be up against in a world full of minimal forgiveness.

Watching as the wave crashed and knocked her asunder, he merely shook his head at her outreach – barely arching a brow as the tail hooked around his boot. With his mass, weight, and sheer strength, she was desperately striving to topple a stone wall, and he didn’t even bother to move an inch to humor her. “Are you done?” To perhaps insinuate she should be, he gathered the Water incantations again, beginning to slowly freeze them over, closer and closer to her in an encroaching circle – giving her ample opportunity to move out of the way.

The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead

Down and out, and out of luck, we're spinning but the needle's stuck

It was like trying to pull down a mountain. The man didn't even budge, and his rumbled question made the hairs on the back of Maea's neck rise with premonition. And rightly so; the water around her grew cold, biting into her skin (it was only tepid, yet made her shudder all the same) until she had no choice but to slosh away from the water, and from the mage who wielded it.

Rolling up on her feet, she gave her daggers a final glance, then looked at Deimos and dropped them into the sand. Backing up a few more steps with her hands raised in defeat, she swallowed over and over to erase any trace of anger or frustration. It had no place here; such sentiment only showed that she was just as weak as she had expected.

"I'm done. I give. No more cold, please." Shivering where she stood, sopping wet from head to toe with the white hair plastered to cheeks and neck, she felt every bit like the half drenched kitten she must look like. A peeved wrinkle tugged on her brow, and the useless chakram and her own empty hands received equal looks of disgust.

"... so basically, improve everything." Because this, remaining helpless and ineffectual, it was not acceptable.

Maea

DEIMOS

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates

Forbearing, persistent, tenacious, and resolute, he simply waited. He could picture Maea remaining in her boldness, as she had all those years ago, ready and willing to embark into some newfound trial or circumstance, lunging, leaping, but this Ancient appeared more altered and changed than he’d given her credit for. His piercing gaze didn’t break away from her movements, nor the daggers, before she dropped them into the dunes, and she yielded. Strangling and muffling a snort in his throat, he did the same, flickering the waves back to where they’d come from, permitting them to recede as much as they were able in the ensuing, distant void.

“No more cold,” he promised with a nod. Anticipating some other semblance of a reaction, the wrinkled brow and the disgust wasn’t a far cry from the loreseeker he’d barely known all those years ago. Not intending to leave her without some portion of credit to the sharp movements and ideas, his head tilted vaguely. “We are often striving for that. But you had some good ideas and strategies.” They just hadn’t worked on him – not with his elemental prowess. “I presume becoming an Ancient has given you other abilities.”

The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead

Down and out, and out of luck, we're spinning but the needle's stuck

Wholly unaccustomed to praise, even the sparse compliment had her stunned. Slowly stepping up to retrieve her daggers, Maea carefully wiped the sand from blade and handle before rejoining the chakram and tying it to her belt.

"... thank you." Unsure what to do with herself, she shoved her hands into the pockets of the coat. "Uh, yes. A shift... Molten Tiger. But that's all. I hear it's possible to develop more." But she had not. Not yet, at any rate. "Technically, I suppose I'm very young, compared to the others..." Newly born, or at least newly made, and then entombed in stone for the duration. It helped the impatience to remind herself of that.

"Do you have any advice, on how I might train myself?" Aside from throwing herself at mountains whenever possible, of course. That had worked so well.

Maea

DEIMOS

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates

He'd seen the molten tiger shift amidst their hunting party efforts, but considering he didn’t know how long she’d been an Ancient, if she’d grown leaps and bounds within that timeframe, or what she’d been doing since the war, the inquiry had been within just the same. To hear naught else made his eyes narrow; not out of suspicion or malice, but levels of intrigue, striving for understanding. The answer to the hordes of inquiries taking shape in his mind arrived soon thereafter, and so they trailed off back into the forefront of his machinations. Perhaps she’d been much like others – forged and formed well after the Voice had succumbed, only exposed when the timing was right.

His head tilted again, snagging at the information, before her own question meandered through. An expected one, and his experience always wielded some bout of advice. “Practice with whomever and whenever possible. You should hone all the skills you have.” Including the shift, the weapons, and anything else that might grow and unfurl from an Ancient’s prowess. “We repaired the barracks in the Grounds a season or so ago,” thinking perhaps that was where she existed once more. “Utilize anything in there.”

The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead

Down and out, and out of luck, we're spinning but the needle's stuck

While the Sword didn't ask any questions, Maea could sense them in his silence and the considering look in his eyes. She knew she was being reticent. It was hard to explain her messy past and even messier present, harder still to trust that she wouldn't be persecuted and condemned for the choices she had made. Danta and Noah had both indicated that it wasn't the case, but how could she know, when she didn't know them?

As for being Ancient, she was still figuring out how that worked herself. Barely recalled the transition, only the feral bloodlust as it washed over her, and the horrific realization that she was turning into stone. To wake and find years had passed and the world as she knew it altered - how did you explain that in a casual sentence?

She couldn't. So she settled for the immediate, the easy, and accepted the advice with a ghosted smile and quick nod. Acknowledged that she was doing the right things already - at least that was a comfort to know.

"Got it. I've been staying there for a while already... Unless Danta has some other job for me, I might just remain as a soldier." Whether suited to it or not, it was a way to earn a living.

"What will you do now? Going back to Halo?" She would be headed for the boat back to the mainland, at least. Even if tigers were excellent swimmers, the Arclight ocean was a bit much to take on.

Maea

DEIMOS

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates

The Sword understood reticence – the need to simply turn inward, and barely reveal any distinguishing notions. He’d once done it simply for survival across multiple lands, snagging at information necessary and never giving his own out freely. Caido was different in those circumstances, in lately the threats came from outside corridors, rather than the primordial facets of Ascended versus the rest of them. But he didn’t press on Maea either, no prying notions, no tugging at strings, letting the curiosities remain just as still and stoic as himself; a well of quiet pondering that would likely go nowhere.

He'd never pictured her as a soldier – not when she’d been someone tugging at wisdom in the days where they’d all been sequestered in the Grounds. Alongside Jigano, attempting to understand the complexities and fundamentals of why events were happening, and answering the questions the hordes of Outlanders had in their travels to this world. Nor did he think Danta cared one iota for any warriors established within his terrain, but the Sword had been surprised before.

When the question turned back upon him, he nodded. “Fly home. There is still much to be done after everything.” Pondering further, because there were other necessities to be met, he tilted his head again, the piercing slate of his gaze already calculating. “And you? I may have need for information within the Greatwood – we have heard nothing from them, save for a few new creatures there.” If Maea was at all interested – uncertain where she landed on exploring and lore seeking nowadays.

The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead