From Attuned to Ascended to Ancient, Kiada Njovu-Reyes has been reborn several times throughout her short life, but her fighting spirit has never once been diminished. With beauty, grace and a quick wit, Kiada is the whole package wrapped in an infectious smile. Recent endeavours have found her in the heart of the Hollowed Grounds, aiding the region and bettering it for her new Ancient kin, and whatever she does next, we know it's sure to pack a punch.
Congratulations, Kiada!
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!
War does not stop for rain, or snow, or raging wildfire. Therefore training could not be considerate towards the soldiers either, and their regimen pressed on even in the worst blizzards. To the ancient, that was a perilous thing indeed and Maea made a point of joining them as often as she was able. It was good to know ones limits. Good to understand the signs of the body and what it meant when joints stiffened and limbs grew heavy; how hard she could push herself, and for how long, before she reached a point of no return. In the midst of a patrol of others there was little risk involved; they would know to burn the statue or douse it in blood, and the only suffering to be had was that of wounded pride.
Fortunately she had not gone that far yet. But that didn't mean it was pleasant to spend her morning outdoors on the training field, with snow flurrying in erratic swirls, carried by mercurial winds as if the Inner Quarter had been turned into a snow globe shaken by some higher power. Her hands were painfully cold despite the fleece-lined gloves, and though she had been running laps around the field to warm herself up, every breath pricked the throat with icy air until she thought her lungs might be the first part to freeze. Even her tail felt warmer, hidden away beneath the bulky layers of pants and skirts as it was.
Once she felt limber enough, Maea paused to catch her breath. Gazing across the yard in search for a partner to train with, she absently dusted snow off her shoulders and pushed the long hair back from the face. It hung loose about the thin shoulders, annoying her endlessly by flying into her eyes.
Wanna punch you in the face
But I won't, but I might, but I won't
♦ Violence, magic, thievery is permitted with Maea at all times. DM me if you have any ideas ♦
Astaroth, in his attempts to regain his own strength back (because gods, how far he has fallen), has always frequented the Barracks ever since he’d learned of it. More prone to sticking indoors, going during off times, a drifting shadow amongst the rest as he clings to the fire that often warmed the interior. It isn’t that much different this time, despite it being a busier time he’s chosen.
He figures now is best given the snow. Night would only make it colder. And he is dressed down for the practice. A sweater sits on his tall frame, clinging to him from the sweat, taking breaks here and there to stand amongst the fire made beside the dummy he practices with. The cane maneuvers in practiced, well versed motions, slamming into the side of the dummy with a loud crack. His other gloved hand, harbors a dagger. Because if he were to get close enough it would be between the dagger and his teeth.
He’s bundled yet open enough to move, a bruised bite scabbed over can be visible on his neck, hair a mess as it falls into his face as he moves to swing at the dummy again, completely unaware of the pale ancient.
She saw him first. He was difficult to miss, truth be told, towering over the rabble and illuminated by the blazing fire. It put Maea in a difficult position. On one hand, she was inclined to simply steer clear of the man and forget everything he'd told her about himself and his old Ancient ways. On the other, they were both inhabiting the same region and the same city, and if rumors were true it might not be long before he worked his way into Danta's council alongside her and Kiada. Or attained some other position of note. She was bound to run into him more often than not, and it would be a poor Ambassador who couldn't overcome her own prejudice and find compromise in any given situation.
So she sucked in a breath, steeled herself and approached the dark-haired gentleman, intentionally scuffing her feet against the snow-covered ground to announce her presence. The way he was whacking that dummy with his cane made her want to avoid any misunderstandings; at least until she had armed herself.
"Good morning," she greeted, once she caught his attention. "I hope I'm not interrupting... you seemed rather far away." Her gaze took in the layers of clothing and the shaggy hair, bounced off the bite mark on his neck and trailed off, disinterested in everything but the weapons in his hands and the potential for a good workout.
Wanna punch you in the face
But I won't, but I might, but I won't
♦ Violence, magic, thievery is permitted with Maea at all times. DM me if you have any ideas ♦
Feet scuffling closer on the crunching snow distracts Asta as he withdraws from the follow up crack on the dummy, allowing him to straighten up and to pass the dagger to the hand with the cane, freeing up a hand to run through the shaggy, unkept hair, pushing it back and looping around his black, pronged antler like horns. “Good morning, Maea.” He greets, flashing her a bright smile of greeting (harboring no inclination of how their last conversation had gone).
“You are not interrupting.” He offers in case it alleviates anything. “I grew somewhat weak while I dreamt in stone, so I am trying to strengthen myself back up.” And maybe one day he’ll get his magic back. For now, though, the cane plants in the snow and he pants a little as he regards Maea, inclining his head as he tries to warm up a little from the fire, snow melting against his skin and hair, collecting along his dark beard.
“Are you in search of a sparring partner?” He asks, curiously.
It surprised her to receive such a bright smile. Given her reactions during their last conversation she had expected the man to at least be a bit reserved. But apparently Asta was unconcerned about her opinions of him, or did a splendid job of hiding his true thoughts, because he almost seemed happy to see her. Taken aback, Maea's expression eased into a careful smile, unfortunately all too easy to read.
"Mh, I know the feeling," she admitted. "I've gone through it twice, more or less... It took me some time to get used to the tail in particular." Not to mention the havoc her horns had wrought on her sense of balance.
"I am, yes. Would you perhaps be inclined to join me? I would be interested to see how much more I have to learn about this new body." And how capable she would be of shutting him up if she didn't like any other tales from his past - she didn't say it, but the slight hint of teeth in her grin suggested as much.
Wanna punch you in the face
But I won't, but I might, but I won't
♦ Violence, magic, thievery is permitted with Maea at all times. DM me if you have any ideas ♦
Her first assumption is correct, that he cares far little about what the Ambassador thinks of him. As for his reservations, well, out and about things are different than they would be here on the training field. As it stands – he’s flushed, sweaty, fucking cold, and taking breaks in between to warm up his frigid hands to ensure he doesn’t turn to stone. To see a familiar face seeking him out in particular, is enough to push away any stone cold exterior.
It was cold enough outside anyway, he didn’t need to add to it. Tis the season and all that, right?
“Ack.” Astaroth says, wrinkling his nose a little as he nods. “It is an adjustment, but you can also utilize it quite well in a fight, given enough practice.” The amount of times he’d gotten his cane pulled out from his hands only to retrieve it with his tail, was a lot, actually. That, and being able to trip an opponent (provided you didn’t mind if it got stepped on).
Dipping into a little bow of acceptance, Astaroth straightens up to loosen out his arms a little, embracing the heat for a few moments longer before they begin. “It would be my pleasure.” He flashes her an equally toothy grin, stepping away from the dummy into their own little fight beside the fire without any worry. If either of them fell into it, neither would be harmed in the endeavor at least, and it meant they could be a bit more limber about it.
Shifting the dagger back into his free hand and the cane in the other, Asta picks his starting stance, awaiting her to start with dark glimmering eyes of intrigue.
Nodding her agreement, Maea had found several uses for the tail lately, not the least as a third hand or a useful distraction. While not as strong as her arms it could absolutely hold a dagger and was otherwise useful to balance her while performing difficult acrobatics. She had no complaints - except perhaps how uncomfortable it had become to sit down for extended times.
Unfastening her chakram from the belt, she split the weapon in two and sank into a ready stance. Eying Asta up and down, she had to laugh; the size difference between them was absolutely ridiculous. She barely reached his chest standing upright - between his arms and the came, just getting close should earn her a medal.
"Oh well, here goes nothing." Lurching forward, the petite woman spun abruptly to the side and slashed with one dagger after the other towards his main hand, hoping to make it difficult for him to wield the cane.
Wanna punch you in the face
But I won't, but I might, but I won't
♦ Violence, magic, thievery is permitted with Maea at all times. DM me if you have any ideas ♦
Dark eyes take in the chakram with quiet approval, watching as it splits into two and his hands tighten on the handle of the cane, preparing his stance as well as he keeps the dagger in his other hand, poised and ready in case she comes in close. His tail whips around behind him like an excited cat, tension lingering in his muscles despite the cold for when she springs.
And springs, she does, one dagger after another slicing at the hand holding the cane only to hit cold air, and with equally quick movement does Astaroth twist away from her, lifting that cane to immediately swipe it toward her feet, aiming to knock her either off balance or to land a crack of a hit against her calves.
Her daggers sliced through thin air, skirts whirling about her legs as though this was a dance, not a battle. It felt more like a dance to Maea, for all the lack of music. It was peaceful in the midst of the violence, quiet as her thoughts fell away and all that remained was an awareness of her own body and the person moving in sync with her, swirling with a skill she had expected, even blunted and weakened by centuries encased in stone as it was. The cane came whistling towards her legs, faster than she could move out of the way; it stung against her calves even through the layers of fabric, and she was grateful to be on her feet still.
Already spinning, it was an easy thing to breathe through the pain and focus all her attention upon the next attack, the next defense. With the cane down by her legs she thought she saw an opening, and lashed out again with fire-edged blades; towards his side this time, and ribs that looked all too inviting. Maybe it was a trap. Maybe he saw it coming.
It didn't really matter. The longer this went on the more she would learn about the man, and his experience, and about herself. Far more intimate than any exchange of words, this was a far better way to figure out whether she would be able to stand him or not. She looked forward to whatever came next.
Wanna punch you in the face
But I won't, but I might, but I won't
♦ Violence, magic, thievery is permitted with Maea at all times. DM me if you have any ideas ♦
Prepared enough that he can’t help the twist of his grin as Asta’s cane thwacks into Maea’s leg, hes neatly well composed when she uses it to her advantage to try and swipe at his sides, spinning as she does so, and it’s with a near miss that Asta comes away with only a sear through the silken shirt, chuckling lightly in the playful dance they partake in.
Of course, she’s still focused on his side and his cane is lower, but it gives time for him to twist and turn in his own version of a violent tango to swipe down at her hands with the blunt side of the dagger. He doesn’t intend to maim her, of course, but to perhaps knock one of those searing chakrams out of her hands as he gets his cane back into a better position.
It was a pleasant surprise to find her blade snag cloth. Gratifying, because it confirmed that she actually knew what she was doing. Sort of. At least marginally. Unfortunately her success was short lived, because she barely regained her balance from the spin before metal slapped down on one of her hands, and despite the gloves she felt her fingers go numb from the blow. One of the daggers tumbled out of her grip and landed in the snow with an evil hiss, digging a crater through the snow as it slowly sank towards the ground.
Clicking her tongue with her own little hiss of annoyance, her expression was never the less serene and focused as Maea retreated out of reach. Sparing a moment to catch her breath, she decided to change tactics. Shifting into the Molten Tiger, she leaped towards the tall Ancient with a growl that almost sounded playful; trying to knock him over with the suddenly multiplied bulk, she was curious to see what he would do in response. It struck her, even as she jumped, that he just might shift too.
Oops?
Wanna punch you in the face
But I won't, but I might, but I won't
♦ Violence, magic, thievery is permitted with Maea at all times. DM me if you have any ideas ♦
The weapon clatters into the snow, melting away the pocket of snow as he starts to withdraw, utilizing the moment to step over the weapon to prevent her from grabbing it again. And that’s when he missteps, misjudges her, because suddenly she’s shifting and he’s quite literally on the back foot.
Dropping the cane and dagger immediately to shift, Asta’s slow to start, which gives the tiger ample time to tackle him into the snow, a harrumph of a deep laugh leaving him despite the loss of air to his lungs, grinning up at her with too sharp teeth as the cannibal finally shifts, body turning into the fyrhund, keeping his grin and laughter as it turns distinctively more canine.
Paws do little to the tiger above him, but his sharp teeth flash as he aims to nip at the tiger’s flesh.
And I only needed one more touch Another taste of devouring rush
Oh, that was satisfying! Down he goes, the overgrown tree of a man, and the tigress was perhaps a bit taken aback by the sheer enjoyment he took in being pressed into the snow. She might have been able to do a lot of damage - would, most likely, if he had been susceptible to the scalding metal drooping from her prone form - but while liquid steel did a number on his shirt, that was the extent of it.
And then he shifted too. Suddenly she had the distinct displeasure of feeling teeth close around the scruff of her neck. The ferocious yowl she let out was a little bit exaggerated; toppling to the side she yielded the superior position to ease the tension around the throat, and drove her hind legs towards the Fyrhund's belly. More to push him or maybe drive some air from his lungs than to maim, of course; it would be far more satisfying to see him yield than to spill blood.
But the room was so quiet Whose side am I on?
Base by Skylark, Art by Midjourney
♦ Violence, magic, thievery is permitted with Maea at all times. DM me if you have any ideas ♦
It’s a good thing he’s wearing one of his least favorite shirts today, given how before he shifts the molten metal burns holes through the fabric. At least it’s warm, though, and he has that to thank as he finally shifts into his fyrhund shift, an almost hyena like canine laugh sparking from him as he spits out the pale fur from where he’d landed a nip.
And gods, with the yowl that leaves her, one would think he might actively be trying to kill her. So much so, in fact that it sparks a group of other trainees at the barracks to come and watch the show.
Astaroth worries little for them, however, because he’s focused too intensely on ensuring her claws don’t remove his intestines when she kicks at him. It’s with a blunt pressure against his chest that the fyrhund uses that to scramble up to his feet, utilizing his tense muscles despite the snow to launch at her with a puff of flame from his mouth and jaws parted to try and nip at the scruff of her neck — once again not aiming to harm, but to render her pinned.
