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 sword came down in a sweeping arc, slicing the thin fog as it retreated from the climbing sun. It swirled around in hypnotizing patterns made by each movement. With a spinning maneuver, Zavien attempted to lunge and thrust his blade behind him only to fall flat on his back. He gasped, closing his eyes. The cool moisture of the morning further saturated the sweat-soaked tunic, chilling his aching muscles. A satisfying feeling of exhaustion settled over him. Still catching his breath, Zavien opened his eyes to the sky, making out the golden patches of sunlight filtering through. It was nearly midday. He should really find some food.
Placing his hand behind him to sit up, he reached for the sword next to him. A smile lit up his face as he narrowed his eyes in determination. "Just one more."
The Sword’s explorations were muddled and sparse at best; departing from Sah after glancing through the Celestine, examining the plaza, and figuring he could make one more stop before flying home. He’d checked the maps Sohalia had made more than once, glancing along the routes and trails, at the notched details upon the sides – of a world that had once designated hand mines, of a land where he, and so many of his kin, would’ve been trapped and caught. It had been altered, changed, since those times, but some manner of defiance rankled at his spine.
Head held high, he placed the parchment back into his pockets, and wound his way to this Righteous Climb, eyes narrowed and speculative. Each step felt like sedition and he welcomed it, because there was once a time where they wouldn’t have been permitted at all, and to stand across the prejudiced soil was something of a feat – a challenge, a brand of rebellion he’d no longer name.
His boots touched the ground and naught snagged. The only alteration he could see across the high, floating plain, the wide touches of flickering stone, was another man, seemingly training – until he fell flat on his back. On principle, he grimaced inwardly, but as this was not his jurisdiction, he could only nod in the stranger’s direction, rather than immediately start giving unwanted advice. Were he in Halo…it’d be a different story.
there will be scrapes and sutures; viciousness and victory
Ronin arrives on the wing, unintentionally forming the third point of a triangle whereupon the three men might run into each other. It's a cool morning, but he has to shake the moisture from his dark hair, put there by the journey through the clouds. Shrugging away his partial shift, he strolls through the Righteous Climb like it's an old friend, despite the fact that he's never truly seen it like this - not since Stormbreak made her ascent into the sky.
His gaze is on the trees emerging through the mist when movement draws it forward. He spots Deimos first, perhaps unsurprisingly given the other man's stature and familiarity, and Ronin raises a hand in a wave. "I never thought I'd see you here," he calls companionably. Unintentionally, the Nova proceeds forward and right into the path of any further swordsmanship that Zavien might be attempting.
Zavien stood swiftly with a burst of remaining energy, planning to end on a strong mark. His sword whistled through the air as he twisted his body in a complicated rising maneuver. At the last second, he noticed a man passing him - directly in the path of his blade. With a grunt and extreme effort, Zavien pulled his trajectory sharply up, stumbling back to avoid decapitating the man. He nearly fell again, but was able to catch his balance, although ungracefully.
Unsure if the stranger had noticed him, his automatic reflex was to apologize. "Woah! Sorry!" Still catching his breath, he wiped the sweat from his brow and placed his hands on his knees to stabilize himself. Zavien looked up at the man, noticing that his hand was half-raised in greeting. When he followed the direction, he spotted the other person standing a short distance away. Apparently his training and the fog had clouded his senses. It was embarrassing to think that two large men had come so close without his noticing.
He straightened and ran his hand through his hair. Smiling sheepishly, Zavien addressed both the men. "Sorry about that. I hope I'm not interrupting a planned meeting. I come out here to train on occasion since it's not usually occupied." He sheathed his sword and attempted to tame his disheveled clothing before giving a friendly wave to accompany his introduction. "The name's Zavien Alexander. Pleasure to meet you both."
The circumstances were strange and awkward, made all the more by Ronin’s sudden appearance. “Just exploring,” called out over the range, because pettiness and spite didn’t sound like objective reasons anyone else would yearn to deal with, but then the Supernova was meandering straight into a sword and any sidelining the Sword might have opted for ceased.
Advancing forward, he watched as the soldier (?) angled and twisted himself so Ronin remained out of harm’s way. “Sorry,” Deimos apologized out of reflex, before tilting his head at the demigod. “You all right?”
Shaking his head towards…Zaviene intoned some manner of peace between the juxtaposition, hitching the bag of holding further up his shoulder. “Nothing planned – I have never been to this part of Stormbreak before.” He could see why the training might be optimal here; less and less people, save for them, currently. Extending his hand, he offered his own set of introductions. “I am Deimos.”
there will be scrapes and sutures; viciousness and victory
As a man unfortunately seasoned in chaos, when all hell breaks loose around him - from the sword to the stranger to the conversation with Deimos - Ronin doesn't overcompensate by flinching or yelling or trying to dodge out of the way. He merely falls still, eyes tracking the blade that might have very well skewered him given an inch or two in one direction or another, until it looks as though the danger is passed.
Then, of course, he lets out a long whoosh of a sigh, and it's with a self-deprecating laugh and an apologetic smile that he faces the newcomer. "Ronin Taliesin," he introduces, surreptitiously checking his shirt for holes or blood. "Nice to meet you, even if it's under unusual circumstances. I was just here visiting family. Next time I'll use a skyboat, perhaps."
Grinning between them, he holds out a hand for Zavien to shake. "You're pretty decent with that thing."
Relieved to see that the man was unharmed, Zavien quietly observed the greeting between the two men. Obviously, they knew each other fairly well. He half expected they would embrace if he wasn't present, but he smiled happily for the two of them regardless.
When Deimos spoke to him, Zavien chuckled lightly. "Yeah. Not many people have. I got lost here as a kid and no one even figured to come looking out here!" Dark memories flooded him as he recalled that day. In pure rejection of the experience, he had used the discovery of the abandoned area to strengthen himself through training and determination. Now he always found himself smiling out here. Including as he shook Deimos's hand, admiring the man's height and physique in the process.
Zavien decided he liked these two. Despite his brush with near death, Ronin was joking and having fun. That was definitely in alignment with Zavien's own personality. He felt easily connected as he switched from Deimos's hand shake to take Ronin's. Although he was slightly less intimidating in stature than Deimos, Zavien could tell that he had a less obvious power to him.
Waving his hands flippantly, the laughter flowed freely. "You flatter me. Just based on those handshakes, I have no doubt that you can both swing a sword much better. After all, I'm self-taught and you saw how well that's working out for me!" He could still feel the ache of his back from the immovable ground and placed his hands there for emphasis. The situation overall felt like an incredible opportunity to meet such amazing people. "If you have any suggestions, I'm more than happy to listen!" His excitement was palpable as he grinned like a puppy. If he had a tail, it would be blowing the fog into oblivion.
Reassured Ronin hadn’t been skewered and that everything was well, just a strange set of circumstances, he could settle a little more. At Zavien’s comment however, he glanced around again at the expanse. Perhaps it wasn’t unusual in the way Halo was similar – an unwinding tundra, a seemingly endless spectacle of white. Here, though, the archways were stone and the people were nearby, but simply away, like ghosts in their own world, along the edges of civilization before everything dropped off. How many others could, or would, become lost.
But notions of swords and fights and practice held his attention a little broader, and his head swiftly turned back to the Stormbreak citizen. “Do you train with the Dragoons?” Though, if he was self-taught, perhaps not – or simply hadn’t taken the opportunity. Not mentioning how soundly he’d roasted Koa recently, he grew a tad indulgent, giving the hint of a juvenile grin towards Ronin. “We could probably help. What do you want to work on?”
there will be scrapes and sutures; viciousness and victory
"Well I'll admit that I don't much use a sword," Ronin says with a similarly cheeky smile to Deimos. "And my friend here, despite being built like a brick wall, is actually the most powerful magic user I know." Not that he thinks Deimos couldn't swing a sword, just as he's trained in the weapon despite all else. "I did used to work with the Dragoons, though, so I'm more than happy to try a few swings if you've a spare sword?"
Either that or he could spar playfully against Deimos's magic - not that he expects to get very far, especially with the fog all around. "To be honest, the main advice I gave to all the Dragoons to begin with was never to swing with your eyes closed. But self-taught or not, I feel like you're probably a little more advanced than that." He grins to Zavien.
A laugh echoed through the expanse as Zavien shook his hands emphatically. "Oh, definitely not! I don't want to embarrass myself in front of such a large skilled crowd." He smiled, not ashamed of his confession, just stating a fact. The Dragoons were a goal of his, but he didn't want to rush things. That's why he trained every day to improve his skills.
He jumped at Deimos's offer with unbridled enthusiasm. "Honestly, I could use some work on sparring! The rocks out here don't pose much of a challenge and the only other people willing to help me out only stand about three feet tall." The kids were always happy to "help" him with his trainings, sometimes following him out here when they were done with their chores. As he searched for the wooden practice sword he usually brought with him, Zavien vaguely heard Ronin mention magic. Jokingly, he said over his shoulder, "Maybe you can make another practice sword! I only have the one that I bring, unless someone wants to use steel." When he stood again, he held the unimpressive wood stick in his hands. It was the one he switched to when the children decided to ambush him.
More mention of the Dragoons had his excitement increasing. "Wow! So you helped train the Dragoons? Sounds like you gave out some solid advice!" He laughed lightly. "Although I found that practicing without sight is actually really helpful when it's not your first time handling a sword." It brought to mind the few times he'd been out at night, letting his other senses guide his movements. The first time he'd fallen on his face, quite literally.
Zavien held out the sword as an offering to whomever was interested while continuing the conversation. "Are you still with the Dragoons?"
In truth, there was more to Deimos than mere magic; he’d handled weapons since he was very young, and even more so when it came to training, brutality, and wars. Though Ronin wouldn’t have seen any of it, due to spears, axes, and blades having very little nuance and use when battling a multitude of monsters at a distant range. In those arenas, the Warden had been blunt force and ferocity in different aspects, calling to elements rather than metal. So he snorted, obliging the Supernova with a rough bob of his head, granting Ronin and himself with wooden swords created and crafted immediately – incantations pooling around his palms.
He'd forgo the use of real steel for this exchange, considering the relative inexperience of one. Arching his brow throughout the exchange and notes of the Dragoons, Deimos had rarely imparted a lack of eyesight in his recruits, but then again, when facing ursurs, dragons, and the like, losing a key sense didn’t bode well.
Settling the lightweight blade into his calloused palm, he gave no other indication or nuance save for a brief acceptance and shift of his frame, nodding at Zavien. “When you are ready then.”
there will be scrapes and sutures; viciousness and victory
Finding himself with a practice sword in hand - and one for each of them, handily, thanks to Deimos - Ronin grins and steps back a few paces, happy to indulge. "Well," he says to Zavien, "the fog is like being blindfolded, so maybe we'll end up honing our senses accidentally." Weighing the wooden sword in his palm and giving a few practice swings at the air, the Nova rolls his shoulder, ready to dust off the old skills.
"I am, yes," he says, of still being with the Dragoons. "Only as a member of the guild nowadays, though. I trained them back when they only operated within Stormbreak. Lots of memories in this place." And more being made by the second, if this gentle sparring is anything to go by.
So saying, it's with a grin that Ronin darts forward, trying to smack the back of Deimos's leg with the flat of the wooden blade to distract him.
Zavien's eyes widened to their limits as he saw the swords appear in Deimos's hands. He had been expecting a laugh but was delighted to see magic at work, impressed by the speed and practicality. The work of the sparring swords was nothing fancy. Their functionality was obviously prioritized; however, their simplicity didn't minimize the skill in his eyes. He gave Deimos a respectful nod of appreciation and pulled his offered sword back to his side.
His eyes scanned the thinning fog as he shrugged lightly. "I suppose so, but it won't be a hindrance for long." It had already started to recede from their warmth and movements. Zavien was excited to hear that he would be getting a "private lesson" from a Dragoon. Even more excited that he would get a chance to observe more magic and its battle application.
He settled into his stance which had always felt like sinking into a familiar embrace. As he watched Ronin swing his sword comfortably and Deimos seem unbothered by the impending spar, Zavien wondered how much of a fool he was about to make of himself. Smiling at the thought of hundreds of bruises keeping him up tonight, he noticed Ronin darting for Deimos. Zavien took the opportunity to lunge forward in hopes that the movement distracted Deimos. The rocks blurred by as his speed brought him within striking distance, but instead of attacking Deimos first, he shifted his foot to try and trip Ronin before pivoting his body for a secondary swing at Deimos with a side assault.
Conversations immediately gave way to potential scuffles, and though Deimos would readily admit to not anticipating any of this when he explored the ancient, stony void, he’d have to say in the long run, he appreciated it.
Experience was a tried-and-true machination – and having been in multitudes of wars and battles, simple distractions weren’t going to deter the Warden for long. A snort rumbled through his chest as Ronin advanced; a quick dodge to the left ensured the demigod’s attempts would land on air rather than flesh or pants.
Movements orchestrated by Zavien, though, foiled any yearning rush to grapple back with Ronin, as his focus had to hone in on catching the widened swing. With silent promises of predilection later, his blade snagged at the Stormbreaker’s motions, striving to utilize momentum and force to swing back, and potentially knock the blade out of the man’s hand.
