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Character of the Season
Once known as the Butcher of Whitebrim, he's now The Butcher of Dygra, stepping forward as the first created demigod of the Ancients. There is no question that Astaroth casts an intimidating silhouette. Tall, domineering and dangerous, if looks could kill you'd be dead already, but to get up close and personal with the Grounds' resident cannibal tells a much different story. Dripping with charm and clad in only the finest attire, Asta is a gentleman monster, as polite as they come and committed to his role as security for the Dusklight and those who have earned his loyalty. Be careful of that smile, though - those teeth are sharp.
Congratulations, Asta!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
OG Skinning provided by Kaons, with functionality and many custom plugins made by Neowulf!
This forest is denser than the ones in the Grounds, the trees towering higher above them. Knell presses closer to Asta as they walk so she doesn't lose him between the vibrant plants, but her eyes hold no such reluctance, scanning the undergrowth freely, touching each surface without fear or caution. She hadn't been able to properly appreciate the forest when they were here for the Feast, not when her focus had been on desserts and decorations. Now though, she traces the vegetation like she might sketch each leaf in detail when she has the time, like she can imprint each shade of green on her thoughts.
Knell pushes red hair from her face, wishing she were shifted so she could smell more than just the rich brown of soil. The rustle of leaves and small tracks through the undergrowth hint at more than just plants lurking in their proximity, and she wonders at the other world she can't currently perceive, just out of reach. There might even be people nearby, although she sees no signs to suggest that.
Unable to peel her eyes from their surroundings, she tilts her head up as she asks the Butcher, "Do you really think people can wake up a god?"
// as long as there's bread and as long as there's an appetite //
Flowerbirth comes with not as much warmth as Asta had been hoping for – but the jacket he wears certainly helps stave away the cold as he takes this trek with Knell. He’d offered to be a chaperone for the Oerwoud, almost as if it were some kind of duty now that Asta is also a demigod. And so the two delve deeper in vibrant forests, dimmed somewhat by the buds that are slow to sprout.
The Butcher utilizes the threaded cane to help poke and prod at the roots that stick up, using it to also push away branches that might droop in the way. He stands stall, shoulders high, jacket wrapped around him tight to keep him warm. His tail flicks behind him idly, tilting his head down when he hears Knell’s voice.
A smile lingers on his face, sharp and easy. “Oh yes.” The Butcher hums without a question of doubt. “I do not think Ghilio has been asleep for too long, so perhaps his slumber can be easier to interrupt.” Raising a dark brow toward Knell, the Butcher lets a soft laugh escape him. “Now, let us say you are a very tired god, sleeping the days away. How might we go about waking you up?”
Astaroth
// as long as everyone you need is stepping in line, you are camouflaged //
Her eyes flit to a bundle of unopened buds, curious as to what color the flowers will be when they finally blossom. The leaves around them are colorful enough without needing petals, but it's still a mystery to be solved, and Knell decides she'd like to come back one day to see what the place looks like in full bloom.
Asta's certainty gives her no reason to doubt. He's proven himself very knowledgeable in many areas, so she's inclined to believe him when he says that gods can be woken up. She rubs a finger against the ivory of her horn, willing it to stimulate her thoughts when he turns the question on her. A low hum forms in her throat when she considers the first thoughts she has when rising from her daily slumber. "Mm. Food," she decides.
Knell tilts her head to look up at Asta when she explains simply, "I'm always really hungry when I wake up." More often than not, her own sleep is disturbed by a low grumbling in her stomach or the mouth-watering scent of a meal drifting into her room. The longer she sleeps, the hungrier she is when she wakes up.
// as long as there's bread and as long as there's an appetite //
He doesn’t mention the fact that Dygra herself had gone into a deep slumber, that it had taken the Voice and a deal or two to wake her – and in turn, wake him and Danta back up from where they’d gone into stasis, awaiting someone to come along to greet them. Instead, he points the question back onto her to see what she might be willing to wake up for.
Her answer sparks an amused twitch of his lips, a smile blooming shortly after. “So, perhaps we shall try to get something for him to eat?” He suggests, glancing at her sidelong as the cane continues to push branches out of the way. “I have been told he takes the form of a large spriggan and has a deep voice.” In case it gets her mind working, spinning the gears there to try and figure out what a large spriggan might like to eat that they could try and grab for the Flowerbirth deity.
Astaroth
// as long as everyone you need is stepping in line, you are camouflaged //
Although her mom has told her the history of Dygra and the ancients, Knell likes to think that their goddess is different than the others - special. She's the mother of ancients, the goddess of chaos and entropy, her mom. Of course she can be woken up, even if it's by gods and deals.
Knell, on the other hand, can be woken simply by the scent of searing blood or pancakes. Perhaps Ghilio is more similar to her in that way, and she tilts her head, wondering what foods a spriggan might like. She admittedly doesn't know much about them, but if they live in the forest, she makes the educated guess, "Maybe nuts and berries?" Her tail dances thoughtfully behind her, eyes alternating between Asta and what information she can gather from the world around them. "We could leave a trail to a big pile of it?" A 'trap' might not be the right word, but something to entice the god, nonetheless.
// as long as there's bread and as long as there's an appetite //
Asta is a touch harder to wake most days – at least, depending on the season. Some seasons, just the briefest movement on the bed is enough to rouse him. Other seasons, it takes quite a bit of nudging and talking and practically dragging the Butcher from the comfortable confines of his bed to get his eyes to open – and even that, that doesn’t necessarily mean he’ll fully wake up.
Regardless, though, she makes a good point as she suggests nuts and berries, the trail left behind feels childish in its ease and wonder and he blocks another branch from swinging down to reach them. “Ooh, luckily for us I believe we may be able to find those around here.” He hums, shooting her a shark-tooth smile. “Shall we search for some of those, then?” It’s clear he agrees with the idea, and already he’s searching the pockets of his jacket for something that might be able to hold the spoils of what they’d collect.
Up ahead, there’s another low hanging branch, but just past it sits a woody-limbed shrub that has plump red berries hanging from a few of its branches. They seem hard on the exterior, but if given a little bit of pressure seem to squish. And if they open it, they’d find the inside to be liquid. Perhaps a good offering for Ghilio with the difference in textures. And by the time they reach the shrub, Asta’s managed to snag a handkerchief he uses to create a small sack out of to hold whatever they find.
Astaroth
// as long as everyone you need is stepping in line, you are camouflaged //
The branch that he sweeps aside might have reached him but Knell can barely see it from where she stands, much more aware of the bushes by his feet than what towers ahead. It's helpful for someone searching for berries - which is apparently what they'll be doing.
Proud to have her idea meet his approval, Knell feels taller than her short stature suggests. "Okay!" she agrees, sharing in his smile before turning her eyes to the surrounding foliage once more. There are plenty of plants with berries, but she doesn't rush too far from Asta's side, only leading a few steps to grab from the first bush she sees.
The berries are plump and red, popping easily from the branch when she pulls at them. They fit easily in the pockets of her too-big jacket (what else are they for?), her collection growing as she works her way around the shrub. When one of them bursts between her fingers, Knell pauses to lick them clean, the red juices spreading over her tongue and fangs like a childish imitation of blood.
Her eyes widen at the sweet flavor, a low hum buzzing through her when she smiles up at Asta, presenting him with her stained hand and a few whole berries. "Wow! These are good!"
// as long as there's bread and as long as there's an appetite //
With her agreement and the fanged smile sent his way, the two of them get to work to search for the berries. There’s a variety of choices, but something draws him specifically to those tropical berries Knell finds – the ruby hue of them sparkles against the background of green of the surrounding leaves.
He watches as she collects a variety of the berries from the lower section, shoving them messily into her pockets. Snorting softly, Asta carefully plucks the ones from the higher branches, collecting them all in the dark handkerchief. As she speaks next, Asta’s gaze flits down toward her to see the berry spread over her fingers and she licks them clean.
Always one to appreciate sweetness, Asta’s never exactly tried these berries but has heard of them enough to know they aren’t dangerous. And so he plucks one out of pure curiosity, plopping it into his mouth where his sharp teeth make very short work of the harder exterior. It melts and spreads across his tongue and Asta hums a note of agreement, glancing down at Knell once he swallows the bite. “I think our Flowerbirth deity will be quite pleased with these, wouldn’t you agree?” He asks, shooting her a sharp smile, collecting a few more as he balances the cane against his hip.
Only once he’s satisfied with them does the Butcher start to fold the handkerchief up and tuck it into his pocket. It’s about this time that something starts buzzing closer – an ominous sound at first that grows louder and louder with a glittering flash of jewel-toned wings and feathered wings. It’s large, about as long as Asta’s arm when it comes into view, and with its beady eyes the treeflit tries to zip down to circle the two demigods.
Astaroth
// as long as everyone you need is stepping in line, you are camouflaged //
Not knowing the Flowerbirth deity or their preferences, Knell simply tilts her head, shrugging her shoulders beneath her large jacket. "I hope so. It's cold." She appears unbothered by not knowing, although she's undeniably curious to find out - and reap the benefits of the warmer temperature. Time would ultimately tell whether their offering was enticing enough for the seasonal deity, but Knell likes the berries regardless, licking her finger clean before grabbing more to put in her pockets.
A strange vibrating sound interrupts her gathering, curiosity proving a strong motivator to draw her attention. Sky blue eyes search the forest to land on a winged creature, their diameters widening when they take in the colorful scales and wings. She spins as it circles them, keeping it in her field of view as it flits. "Oh! What's that?"
// as long as there's bread and as long as there's an appetite //
They manage to get enough to hopefully make a viable offering for the spriggan-shaped deity, and Asta carefully puts the little sack of berries into his pocket just about the time he hears the buzzing. Head tilting up and surveying for the threat immediately, the Butcher’s dark gaze narrows as he pinpoints it as it curves into the path they’d been wandering through, jewel toned and vibrant as it goes to circle them.
The cane is immediately snagged despite how Knell spins with the creature as it nears them and debates its best mode of attack. “That, my dear, is a treeflit.” He pauses, watching as it focuses on them with its vibrant eyes, feathery wings smoothing out to make it hover. “They are harmless for the most part.” But as the maw of the creature opens and the dual-toned harmony of the treeflit rouses into the air around them, Asta’s nose wrinkles with distaste.
“Shall we get rid of it?” He asks Knell, glancing down at the other demigod with a sharper grin, bolstered by the click of the button on the cane that makes it suddenly not as sturdy, the glittering pieces of metal breaking apart and spooling on the ground to become a whip at the ready.
Treeflit 34/34
Astaroth
// as long as everyone you need is stepping in line, you are camouflaged //
A few berries spill from her overflowing pockets when she turns, unintentionally starting the trail from where the stand, but Knell's attention has turned to the vibrantly colored creature stirring the air around them. She watches how it hovers weightless in the air, how its eyes scan them, how its wings look like stained glass in the patches of sunlight.
"Treeflit," she repeats, attaching the name to the visual. Her head tilts, red hair flowing down her back. "It's pretty." She doesn't say it with wonder or delight, not as a captivated admirer or obsessive artist. Knell says the words like an objective fact, a clinical observation that most would agree with, and that brings forth the smile on her face.
When he suggests getting 'rid of it,' she looks between him and the treeflit. He'd just said it was harmless, and it doesn't appear to be attacking them (yet), so she puzzles through why else they might attack the creature. Only one reason makes sense to her, and Knell looks into his eyes with open curiosity when she asks, "Why? Are you hungry?" Or maybe he thinks Ghilio likes blood as much as they do?
// as long as there's bread and as long as there's an appetite //
She says it’s pretty, more like someone reading from a textbook, an observation that Asta snorts softly to and nods his horned head despite her not seeing it with her eyes fixated on the treeflit. As he clicks the cane and it breaks down into its whip form, the Butcher pauses to let Knell decide what they should do with it – and in the end, it isn’t exactly an answer but a question.
When she looks back at him to try and read him, she’ll spy his too sharp smile as it curves into a feline grin, the subtle shake of his head as he readies the whip and it clinks in anticipation. “No, my dear. For the mere fun of it.” Asta didn’t tend to show the chaos in his blood as much as Danta did or the other Ancients he knew often did. But this is precisely the kind of chaos he thrives on, the destruction and blood of it all, to take something pretty and relatively annoying and show it just what it was up against.
“And perhaps our Flowerbirth deity may appreciate the wings.” He doesn’t know, but it’s worth a shot. And if neither of them eat it, he supposes it’s as good an offering as the rest.
He steps to the side to ensure Knell is out of the way, lifts the threaded cane in a practiced motion right as the treeflit starts to move as if sensing the threat, and launches the bladed whip out at the creature and severs one of its wings – slicing straight through it.
Treeflit: 5/34
Astaroth
// as long as everyone you need is stepping in line, you are camouflaged //
The soft clink of metal doesn't fit with the hum of flapping wings and Knell flashes an intrigued look to Asta's cane, which has fallen apart into smaller pieces of sharpened metal strung together. "Fun," she repeats, angling her head to get a better view of the weapon, curious as to what it might do, or better yet, what Asta might do.
Having thought the wings pretty herself, it makes sense that they would make a good offering for the deity, and she doesn't stop him as Asta steps out to attack the creature. In one fell swoop, a single wing drifts to the forest floor. The treeflit and time remain suspended for a moment, weightless before gravity overwhelms the leftover limb, pulling it down with an unusual warbling sound that echoes in her ears. There's a strange, macabre beauty to it, an approaching death despite glittering wings and gem studded scales that glint in the dappling light.
It feels different than when the blink hare had bled in the clutches of her fangs, different than reading about the slow fade of life when a soul dies. It's not for the purpose of feeding or the observation of science, but a display of dominance and power, a demonstration for the 'mere fun of it.' There's a thrill in it that she can understand, an uptick in her heartrate as the treeflit falls, an admiration for the skill required - but Knell doesn't rejoice in the impending death just for the excitement of crushing a weaker lifeform. She tilts her head to look around Asta, studying the soft thud of the body against the forest floor as if it were a beautifully dropped flower rather than a creature fighting a losing battle.
The treeflit struggles with its wing, buzzing against the damp soil and dropped berries, red mixing with red. It tries desperately to find air again, flipping back and forth without a care for when Knell steps forward. She crouches next to it, tail suspended behind her in quiet attentiveness, red hair falling into her face as she leans down to poke an experimental finger into its writhing body. The movements become a frenzied twitching, looking for an escape that it won't find.
"Interesting," Knell reports, lifting her head back to Asta for guidance. "Now what?"
// as long as there's bread and as long as there's an appetite //
“Exactly.” Asta hums to Knell’s repetition. And in the moment that she digests the answer he’s given, the Butcher’s cane becomes malleable, the whip spooling in glittering shards of metal. And before she has a moment to really digest everything, Asta is prepping the whip and lashing out at the treeflit, slicing straight through one wing and watches as it falls to the ground in a jagged motion now that it’s lost one of the things keeping it afloat.
He’s prepping to draw the whip back and lash out again when Knell steps forward, stilling his hand as he inhales a slow breath to steady himself. She crouches next to it and Asta’s dark gaze dances between her and the treeflit, struggling and trying to get back up. But as she sticks her finger into the nub left behind and it writhes, twitching and trying to get away. It manages to roll a little bit away from her when she looks back at him and he realizes it’s his time to strike again.
The whip comes up and he slams it down again, slicing through the other wing until it flaps to the ground and takes the remaining life from the creature. Satisfied, Asta clicks the cane and forces it back into its usual hardened shape, drawing close to crouch beside her, his knee popping in the process. “Now, we take the wings for a boon of our offering.” And with neither of them being hungry to devour the remains, Asta’s content to leave it for the foragers of the Oerwoud.
Astaroth
// as long as everyone you need is stepping in line, you are camouflaged //
