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!
There was some brief satisfaction in his bombarding efforts; because while his weight compounded, bulk he’d used to take down Roana, it didn’t seem to matter with Oliver. A trace amount of confusion rolled along his skull, and he intentionally pushed back, intending to dislodge paws and claws, to mimic the sensation of crushing, of mauling, of demolition.
Then he rolled, and could feel the slide of those talons coursing through his hide again, leaving behind tufts of fur and crimson lacerations, but providing the brandished evasion. Free of Oliver’s clutches, he could do something else besides bear the brunt of the pain.
Another notion contorted, distorted, rattled along its demonic cage: because in another world, the Reaper had always done much the same, fighting, sparring, practicing, encouraging fellow Basin members. They’d unleash and he’d take the damage, they’d stoke and he’d breathe in the cords of pain and anguish, always tempted to unravel bits and pieces of hell back upon them.
It wasn’t much different with his tiger form, as he regained his feet and composure, as he tampered it down, down, down, into recoiling instincts and stranded wakes. But his piercing eyes narrowed, and he maneuvered quickly, swiftly, despite the tugs of wounds, intending to get closer, to advance upon Oliver, and then drag one foreleg back, a building of power and strength, before launching it forward, attempting to knock the youth asunder with one potent swipe of his paw.
The crushing sensation did loosen up his grip quite a bit, but somehow, Oliver stayed on for the time being! Until he wasn't. His head was seemingly up in the clouds or maybe he was suddenly overly confident. Whatever it may be, it was keeping him mighty distracted!
With a mighty swoop, Oliver was knocked off of the beast, his talons basically going back into his paws. A deep growl left his throat as he tried to ready himself, staggering back onto his feet. Lowering himself down to the ground, he attempted to look intimidating. While he knew this wouldn't intimidate Deimos, it was more for the feedback that it would give him. That maybe it could work on a different beast.
Then, he'd make his next attempt. Oliver would leap forward and attempt to grasp at the tiger before him, trying to jump onto him and get the tiger by surprise. This would be a bit rough, though, seeing as he was still recovering from not only the aches of being squashed, but also that rough swipe of the paw.
Quiet, observant, eyes riveted directly upon the other cat, he watched as he lowered himself to the ground, unfortunately having the opposite effect of intimidation. Considering the amount of lives led, pummeled, bombarded, not much led Deimos down into the realms of terror or horror; save for friends in the midst of danger.
So as Oliver advanced, launching once again for the same sort of jump, leap, claw attack, the tiger was onto him. He noted in the back of his mind for Oliver to come up with other strategies, other moves, before everything became too predictable.
He maneuvered quickly, feeling the swipe, the feel, of the sharp, keen nails raking down his side, but avoiding the weight of the leopard upon him. He’d take the blow, the pain, the tufts of fur and blood streaking down his silver coat. Instead of seething into those misgivings, he advanced, turning, twisting, back towards the opposing beast. Then he raised his forelegs, attempting to bring his paws down upon the smaller feline, intending to push him down into the earth.
It seems that Oliver's attempts were indeed very futile. Honestly, it was a lack of wit on his part, seeing as he should've realized that attempting the same maneuver wouldn't work if it hardly even worked the first time. It was mostly a lack of variety and him simply not knowing that he had more options than just that. For now, it was too late and Deimos was very quick to respond to his attack.
Oliver's mind was preoccupied with latching on, so much that he missed the next attack completely. Powerful paws came down on him, causing him to let go and tumble to the ground. Letting out a growl, he tried to wiggle his body around and use his paws to grasp at him, trying to shake off the tiger who had managed to shove him to the ground. His mind had run out of things and he was growing steadily more nervous for some unknown reason, which was absolutely penetrating their bond.
Wiggling movements, body parts likely to dig into the ground, a leg freed – but other than Oliver’s paws digging into his own – the movements seemed abysmally futile. The nails stung and bit into more of the pain languishing over his figure, but wouldn’t deter him from his current stance. Deimos was too large, too massive, too broad, too strong, and Oliver had made the fatal mistake of allowing himself to be felled into the ground. Were he a bit more experienced, he might’ve found a way to clamber further out (a few notions came into the Sword’s mind – sand or dirt in the eyes, biting at him, doing something other than reeling into nervousness). Instead, it seemed to be all apprehension.
The tilt of the General’s head indicated only a predatory awareness; were he not so readily in control of his being, of his mind, these circumstances could easily fall apart into death and destruction. His vocals rumbled through the Attuned bond, rough, grating, and deep – the slightest inclination of irritation. If you were to simply give up out there, and he lifted his jaw to incline towards the woods, the fields, the wilderness, the world outside this one, you would die. He maneuvered one giant paw intended for Oliver’s shoulder, and another attempting to lock down his hindquarters. Try something else.
There is a reflection of worry, embarrassment, and fear when Deimos' voice rings through his head. He had failed in every sense of the word. It was honestly awful and Oliver was far from proud of himself. Still, the man seemed to be willing to give him another chance- but that didn't mean Oliver lacked any comments. I didn't want to hurt you anymore- I've already done so much. That was an explanation- or more like an excuse. It was his reasoning, but it also wasn't going to stop him.
With Deimos giving him another change, Oliver took it in stride. With a fury of motion, Oliver attempted to attack Deimos' face... but he didn't extend his claws. He hoped that the man could at least give him feedback to say if it would be effective, but in no way did Oliver want to cause any permanent damage to the other man. Meanwhile, he'd try to bite at whatever he could with his head, grasping for anything that would be within reach. And with his back paws, he'd try and attack at the man's belly, once more not really extending out his claws.
Deimos could understand the sentiments and ruminations behind Oliver’s thoughts; the unease, the worry, the fear, and then the spoken vibes. He’d run into the same issues with Amalia, who’d strived and tried but had no yearning to grasp the hilt of her daggers, and his eyes narrowed in speculation. I have had far worse echoed, an attempt to channel the apprehensions of the other feline elsewhere. The Sword had survived invasions, wars, abductions, and bloodshed; Oliver’s claws would hurt for a time, but they would heal, the same as all his other lacerations. The ichor would dry. He would mend. A reel in his schemes presided, weighted in the ether: Your enemies will not be as kind.
The beast reared back his head as paws came clattering to his face, the strangest of assaults because there was no anguish, no irreverence behind it. It was effective in that regard too, surprise granting Oliver the opportunity to escape and evade, a lift of the tiger’s body as he shook his massive cranium back and forth. With that, he was no longer in reach of Oliver’s teeth or paws, the smaller attuned liberated, a snort extended. Better. Then he shifted entirely away, allowing the youth to get up once more.
But, it seemed as though enough was enough for today – he’d been tested in predator skills and combat. We can end here, unless there was something else you wanted to do.
Even if Deimos had survived far worse, that still missed half of Oliver's point. Deimos was someone he trusted- someone he wished he could eventually call a friend. To see the blood on the white fur, the blood in his claws, to know that he had done something like that to a person who he cared for... felt bad. It was one thing to protect oneself, but to do it just for training? it felt brutal. Oliver could only hope that Deimos would be okay in the end. Understood It was quiet, but showing that Oliver wasn't going to fight. Deimos was right and Oliver had nothing else to say on the matter.
Somehow, his unconventional plan of attack actually worked. Who knew that pawing at someone's face would actually work? Oliver sure as hell didn't. The moment he felt the paws remove from his body, he immediately started to try and get away. The word of encouragement was all Oliver needed and once he was freed, he was scrambling to his feet. His body was readied for another attack and Oliver let out a low growl, prepared to do something... until Deimos allowed him to stop.
Raising his head up, Oliver thought for a moment. Well... I have two questions or requests, really. How can I attack? Seeing as my second one didn't work- and can we get you healed up? Please?
Brutality had been embedded and ensconced within his skin for a pattern of lifetimes. It was expected in training, and in reality. He would hold nothing against Oliver for the wounds the other man had marred across him – an acceptance of his role, of the traditions steeped in blood. How would one accomplish something without practice, even if it was lethal and deadly? How would anyone deign to protect themselves without beholding some knowledge, some skill, in those parameters? Impulsivity, impetuous, and audacious designs would get someone to a certain point, but eventually the mind closed over, couldn’t fathom, couldn’t predict, and all that was left was ignorance in the wake of disaster. Not a good place to be.
He began to maneuver, one savage step after another, the tug on his wounds a miniscule offense, not ceasing, not desisting, from gaining closer access to the barracks. An audible snort ran through him at Oliver’s second inquiry – he couldn’t remember the last time someone had fretted over his wounds, but he gave a nod to Zuriel. The unicorn gave him some brief grief through their connection, but ambled over just the same, dipping her horn towards his lacerations.
So while he was mended and tended to, the beast considered the first again. Telling Oliver exactly what he could or couldn’t do what not Deimos’ point – he wanted the other man to be able to think for himself. Scenarios were never going to be the same, no matter which fight, scuffle, or event they managed to wander into. There wasn’t going to be someone to hold his hand every moment, or tell him exactly what to do. So the feline sat on his haunches, staring blatantly at the youth. Think. You are in a predator’s form. No one had told Deimos what to do when he attuned into a bird, coasting along on a hapless flight, descending towards the ground. No one had told Deimos what to do when he first shifted into a tiger. Or a bear. Or anything for the future. It was instinctual. It was inherent. It was already alive, well, and beating before them. How else do animals hunt? How do they catch their prey?
It wasn't hard to notice that Oliver calmed down very quickly when he saw Zuriel come over and begin to work on healing Deimos. His body physically relaxed as well as basically sending out a scream through their bond of him trying to calm down. It was okay. Deimos wasn't hurt for good. They pounce... and use their claws and teeth. But isn't that what he already did?
Shaking his head, Oliver was beginning to get a tad bit restless. This was a lot to take in and he was left with tons to think about. A lot of it was him trying to prove himself to Deimos- to show he could do something great and amazing, but it felt so hard. How was he going to beat someone who was so much larger- so much stronger? Will you be here? If I want to train more? I know that... my instincts are weak... but I want to be able to protect others. His heart ached and yearned for it. To at least see that he could help others- be more than just a nuisance and a waste of air and space.
While Zuriel worked (her own haughty acknowledgement channeling through), he snorted, and it billowed through bond not as frustration, but more of a brief admonishment. Yes, but they also do more than jump upon another’s back. That wouldn’t always be effective, especially depending on the size of his adversary or opponent. He’d learn more as he experienced more. When you get the chance, study your peers, and like animals. Oliver should find, look for, those alley cats and watch how they conducted themselves, how they hunted, how they moved, how they stalked. It would provide a wealth of information, simply through observation. He could then hone his own skills, practice amidst further, future skirmishes.
But this shouldn’t have been about proving anything to him. The Sword was not a baseline for approval.
The tones thereafter caused him to narrow his eyes though. Had he ever been in such a way when he was younger – apprehensive, nervous, inclined to seek validation at every turn? He couldn’t recall, perhaps as a child, but as he’d grown, so too had his confidence in his own abilities. Practice became instinctual, instinctual became inherent, and inherent motions became unfurled, blistering vengeance. So he’d oblige the fellow beast. Yes. He would be here, remain, for Oliver and anyone else who required his training and knowledge.
Thinking for a moment, the smaller cat nods in response to what Deimos tells him. His voice falls silent as Deimos continues on, clearly not quite ready to respond to what he had said at first. It was something he'd have to accept and while jumping on Deimos' back sort of worked at first, he also knew that the man was right. It wouldn't always work. I'll try to watch more. Was all he could say. There was no arguing or really anything else to say. Oliver had nothing constructive to add and he had already embarrassed himself enough. It was pitiful and maybe, someday, Oliver would be able to do far better.
Luckily, the faint relationship between the two hadn't been totally tarnished. Maybe it was Deimos' role as General or maybe the man actually wanted to see him succeed. Whatever it was, Oliver was permitted to return to the grounds for future training. Thank you Deimos... I hope the next time we meet, I'll be able to put up a much better fight. Oliver knew he had failed and would've been killed if this was a true fight. He could assume how disappointed Deimos felt, how the man probably viewed him as lesser and stupid. It was a terrible feeling and Oliver could only hope it wasn't felt through their bond.
Almost turning to leave, Oliver gave the tiger a final look. I should probably be on my way then. And off he went, heading back towards his home and disappearing into the grass, his tail flickering behind him.
FIN for Oliver. Feel free to respond a final time.
Oliver extended that he’d try, which was better than giving in, better than crawling along the ground, better than searing into nothingness. The beast tilted his head and nodded towards the acknowledgments, curious if Oliver would adhere to the studying notions, practice amongst others, or get pulled into further distractions. You are welcome mused through the attuned bond regardless, and another nod as the other cat turned to go. Zuriel had finished with her healing ministrations, some wicked little contortions nestled between their connection, and he snorted into the midst, traversing back the way they’d come, grabbing the turkey he’d left nearby, intending to at least utilize those moments into something for dinner.
