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!
The youngling breathed, eyes focused ahead of him. The target was so far away -- at least, to Marcus, it felt like it was. In truth, it was at half the distance as the normal range for the target set up. His father had done it that way, but rather than only moving Marcus' target, he had moved all of them, to give the impression he was working just as hard at his target practice as the Shields.
Letting another breath out, the Olson son let his arrow fly. It whizzed and went straight over the target -- too high and to the left. "Dad, I keep missing." Marcus groaned, letting his head fall back as he gaped his mouth open in despair. His arms fell limp at his side, but he kept his grip tight on the bow in his left.
It's too much to bear my darlin', the weight of the world
And I would carry it for you
Parting ways early in the morning, each with one child prepared to spend the day in various lessons, Noah had kissed his wife deeply and promised to return hungry to devour what Margot and her gathered and hunted off the tundra. Then, he headed to the barracks with his son. Yesterday Margot had undergone the same practice, and tomorrow she would again. This day, however, was all for his son.
Noah set the boy up with a ground quiver with six arrows, and placed him at the middle-most target. They spend the morning going over some positioning drills, some drawing drills, and now as the afternoon sun peaked over the walls of the barracks, they were finally shooting arrows.
Three arrows down, and his son melted. "Just breathe, Marcus." Noah said, closing the distance between him and his son. He ruffled the youngling's bronze locks and crouched some. He turned his son by the shoulders and grabbed another arrow. "Aim lower. You've consistently shot over the top, so bring it down almost until you think you might shoot it right into the dirt."
Exasperated and losing patience, Marcus nearly stomped a foot in protest, but stopped when he could feel his father's warmth nearest to him. Opening similar glacier eyes, Marcus looked at his father. "I am breathing." He muttered indignantly as his father turned him by the shoulders. Huffing, he took the arrow from the Forsaken, but it took all of his will.
"I will hit the dirt." Marcus refuted, challenging his dad. His voice was low, but filled with all of his frustrations and woes. But he nocked, and drew. He breathed, narrowed his focus in. He sucked in a breath, then let it out, and released. His arrow went whirling out and his heart lurched, hope stinging, only to be singed by his arrow sticking tip-deep in the dirt beneath the target.
"See!" He exclaimed, throwing his arms up and turning to face his father head-on.
It's too much to bear my darlin', the weight of the world
And I would carry it for you
The hunter's face darkened as his son argued and complained, but he didn't say anything. Noah rocked back on his heels and waited patiently, mirroring Marcus' breathing. He focused his own eyes on the youngling's arrow, trying to determine where it would hit, only to be disappointed just as his son when it sunk into the frost-kissed dirt.
"It's okay. Go grab your arrows." Noah said, brows knitting together in thought but his voice staying soft and even. When Marcus handed it to him, Noah took his bow. He laid it in his palm and felt its weight. It was balanced. As his son walked out onto the range to collect the arrows, Noah stood and inspected the bow further. Nothing was wrong with it. It was straight where it needed to be, curved where else, and perfectly smooth without structure cracking.
"Okay, so I know we practiced holding the bow in this position," Noah demonstrated as Marcus plopped the arrows tip down in the ground quiver, "but I think we will try the opposite." He said, switching to show his son what he meant.
Color pooled in Marcus' cheeks as his eyes set ablaze on his father. His nose wrinkled, and he raised his arms to protest again, but Noah sent him out onto the range. Groaning and grumbling, the youngling handed his father his bow before he stomped out onto the field. He kicked at clumps of snow and hardened dirt, but he collected every arrow.
On his way back, he watched with quizzical brows as his father inspected the bow. Some relief came to him, though, as he came to the conclusion immediately that his father's first instinct was the blame the equipment rather than him. That was comforting. When he arrived, he placed the arrows into the ground quiver and folded his arms over his chest, watching his dad.
"Why is that going to make a difference?" Marcus asked, the frustration still laced through every cadence and tone. "I couldn't make the shots, and nothing is wrong with the bow, so obviously something is wrong with me." He huffed.
It's too much to bear my darlin', the weight of the world
And I would carry it for you
Noah's heart panged and sank as Marcus' blazened eyes fell on him and declared defects within him. The demigod's face sank, and he shook his head. Reassuringly, he stepped forward and embraced the youngling, pulling him in for a hug.
"No, son, no. That is not true." Noah said, voice firm but face softened with parental concern. "There is nothing wrong with you, but I think I set you up for failure." Noah said, placing the blame back on him with a gesture to his chest. "You see, we didn't do any tests. I made an assumption about you based off your sister." Noah said.
Sighing, the demigod set the bow down, crouching down. Resting his forearms on his knees, Noah explained. "Margot is right handed, like most people. With her being your twin, I assumed you would also be right handed. I don't think you are, though, which is why you're having a hard time aiming and shooting where you're trying to aim. The way you hold the bow, and the way you use your eyes to focus matters based on which eye and hand dominance you have."
Marcus crossed his arms across his chest, jacket puffing on his chest as the leather and furs scrunched. He looked at his dad with eyes still ablaze until he heard the demigod's whole train of thought. "Oh." Marcus uttered, surprised. "But we are twins so we should be the same." The youngling tilted his head, copper hair falling in a cascade of messy waves. His brows furrowed together as he looked to his father for further instruction and explanation.
Something within him got excited about the idea of being different than Margot, though. While they were similar and matched in so many ways, Cordelia had encouraged both of her children to pursue differences from each other. She warned them that often twins were lumped into one person in the eyes of society, and that she didn't want them to be stuck the same way. Huffing, the color dimming in his cheeks, he asked, "How to we test?"
It's too much to bear my darlin', the weight of the world
And I would carry it for you
Noah could understand the child's frustration. Especially with the parents he had, and the sister he had. Noah and Cordelia had both been holding and using a bow since they were half of Marcus' age, and Margot had taken to it like a fish to water. It wasn't easy to be one that struggled with something when everyone around you seemed to have it easy. Confident, however, Noah was in the fact that he he been the cause of these frustrations, he went on.
"Well, the first test is rather easy, but it is with your eye rather than your hand." Noah encouraged, setting the bow down. He turned to face the targets and gestured for Marcus to do the same. "First, take your hands and make this triangle shape." He displayed what he meant with his own hands held before him. "Now stretch your arms out in front of you, and focus on a target through the opening in your hands." Again, Noah demonstrated. "Start bringing your hands back like this, and keep your eye on the target. Now, close one eye at a time. Which one sees the target, and which one sees the back of your hand?"
The demigod turned to his son to watch him, ready to add any adjustments and corrections as necessary.
Even with the color draining from his face and ears, Marcus still looked at his father skeptically. He turned to face the targets with the Forsaken, turning his attention from them to his father when prompted. It looked rather silly, in his opinion, what his father was doing and asking him to do. He wanted to debate it, to protest, but knew better. Silly as it was, Marcus was confident in his father's knowledge -- even if his father's excitement had led him down a harder path than Margot.
Sighing again, but refraining from rolling his eyes (as his sister would have done), Marcus lifted his hands. He made the triangle shape his father demonstrated, lifted his arms, focused on the target and slowly brought them back. He did it three times before he answered his father, making sure his results were the same. In the third he messed up, and started again, repeating the process again thrice more. Finally, his eyebrows lifted and he dropped his hands at his side. "It's my left eye that sees the target."
It's too much to bear my darlin', the weight of the world
And I would carry it for you
"Alright then." Noah said with a firm nod and a grin sweeping over his features. "Then we can start again. You're gonna hold the bow exactly how you were before but mirrored. Switch your hands in position and your feet on the ground." Noah explained quickly, turning back to grab the bow once more and hand it to his son. When Marcus took it, Noah stepped aside to his back to him with his positioning. "Remember the exercise we started with? We are going back to it." Noah said again, and tapped his son on the shoulder to signal he could begin.
Noah watched as he worked through the positioning drills. Lowering and lifting the bow, aiming, twisting, and moving back and drawing up at the same time. Marcus was moving slower, tired, and Noah noticed how their shadows were growing longer in the flickering firelights placed all around the barracks.
Marcus wasn't exactly excited about having to start the training all over again, but knowing that he wasn't broken and there was a solution to the problem behind him gave him the push forward that he needed. So, he did as his father instructed. He picked up the bow and acted as if he were aiming it, then took steps to the side and to the back, practicing the swift and clean motion of drawing the weapon.
Slightly winded, but ready to transition, Marcus reached down for an arrow. He hesitated slightly and looked sidelong at his father through copper bangs, but the Forsaken merely nodded him along. Grabbing the arrow, Marcus brought it up to the bow and nocked it. Then he worked on more drills of drawing and aiming, but kept the arrow on the string. It wasn't time to shoot yet.
It's too much to bear my darlin', the weight of the world
And I would carry it for you
There was nothing but pride in the Forsaken's eyes as he watched his son. When the youngling looked to him for permission, Noah granted it with encouraging nods. He could barely contain his smile -- twice the work of his sister, and twice the tenacity. While Margot was quicker to temper than her twin, Marcus was displaying an impressive amount of grit in front of Noah. He did not want to stifle that; rather, he wanted to fuel those flames.
"Good form, son." He said, unable to shake the grin from his face even as the shadows continued to grow longer. He wasn't about the stop the boy as he moved on to the next set of drills, for each moment they spent together doing this task was adding more and more to Noah's own hope for the world's future. If Marcus could harness the grit, the persistence, the courage to press on when things got hard (and for a boy of ten who was an infant just weeks ago, this was hard) he couldn't even imagine how many incredible things he could do.
Thank you, Vi, Noah silently prayed, glacier eyes glowing as his own body began to pulse with celestial energy.
Marcus knew that glowing. He knew that light. His father was feeling, and feeling strongly. That light was one of his first memories -- a stone he stood firm on, just as firm as the innate, cellular memory of his mother's warmth and strength. Heat began to rise in the boy's cheeks again, and a gnawing feeling tugged at the bottom of his belly. He did not want to disappoint his father. He wanted his father to look on him with this same pride -- this glowing (literally), overflowing pride -- for the rest of his days.
So Marcus narrowed his focus on the target. He steadied himself. He took a breath. He breathed again. And again. He centered himself for what felt like ages, until finally he held himself by the core and drew. With another breath, he released. The arrow whizzed through the air toward the target and--
Thunk.
Sunk into the outer most ring.
Marcus sucked in another breath and jumped straight into the air, turning mid-jump to face Noah, and threw himself into his father's arms.
02-29-2024, 01:57 AM (This post was last modified: 02-29-2024, 06:40 PM by Noah.)
It's too much to bear my darlin', the weight of the world
And I would carry it for you
The celestial energy around Noah continued to pulse in waves of immense pride. His glacier eyes were taken over by a heavenly gold, glittering with all of the same brilliance that his other, more offensive, abilities held. When Marcus lifted his bow, the Forsaken held his breath. He counted in his head all of the seconds the boy took to muster the readiness to shoot.
Time felt as if it had slowed down. Like his son, Noah was feeling it. His chest pounded with the hammering of his heart as the arrow released from the weapon. Golden-covered eyes followed it for the mere second it was in the air before he erupted.
Noah's arms unfurled and shot into the air, fists shooting up with the triumph. "Yes!" Came his great, bellowing cry of victory. He stumbled back slightly as his son threw himself against his torso, and curled his arms around him. "Well done, Marcus!" He laughed, the glowing around them only intensifying.
