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!
He was without swords and armor, blades and chainmail, or targets today. Instead, it was a restless stretch of sinew, muscle, and fur, raw power undulating beneath predatory acclaim. Goals and bullseyes didn’t factor into his beastly manifestation at this hour, along the haze of flickering, chilling moonlight, the press of Leafchange echoing and brandishing on their limbs.
To fight in the evening, to practice in the dark, with a feline gaze and senses, poised for destruction, for ruin, for annihilation, for things he couldn’t achieve in the last season. For those left behind. For those left to freezing conjectures and nothingness. For all the failures wearing and bearing down upon his hide.
So Deimos stalked in the pale, luminescent glow, in the vibrant stretch of pooled shadow and darkness, eyes narrowed at the pinpricks of movement from the breeze, rapacious edges as he maneuvered and motioned along the back fields, the training grounds, setting his sights on anything and everything making its presence known in the dark. Better, he promised himself. You will be better.
Padding along, the blonde man had chosen to use his new abilities to go out on a mini-adventure. This shift had provided him with something new and incredibly unique: night vision. As well, it had sharp, powerful claws, thus allowing him to feel fearless, as though he could go wherever he wanted...or almost anywhere. Oliver knew to stay away from the fields, he was smarter than that.
His journey would result in him venturing around, sniffing and searching for whatever he could see. Once or twice he would pause and look around, seeing a small rabbit or a bat flutter away, but nothing was all that interesting. Lost in his own world, he found himself wandering around and towards what would end up being the Military Barracks. Sniffing at the air, he could smell something familiar. His head perked up until he saw the familiar figure of a tiger: Deimos.
Crouching down into the grass, Oliver watched with keen eyes, his tail swishing back and forth. He wasn't going to pounce or attack, no, he was merely watching: eager to see what Deimos would do next.
Another wandered into the midst, and he ceased all movement for a moment, save for the swivel of his ears, still, stoic, statuesque. A predatory predilection curled and coiled into his mind, maybe more feline than his human endeavors, or they were merged together in the conflagration of beast and man, narrowing his eyes to study, to ponder. Should he go after the erstwhile form, maul, annihilate, and cast off into oblivion? The temptation, the enticement, sunk into him, until he took in the expanse, the figure, and it was too familiar to launch upon.
For now.
The swishing tail, the crouching down, might have been foolish – but Deimos almost expected it from Oliver. So he only addressed him through their attuned bond; if he’d been rendered into his normal form, a brow would’ve been arched, curious, inquisitive, but readily unsure. Oliver, a deep rumble, a hint of a growl. What are you doing?
The moment he had crouched down, the beast stared right at him. Surely, this was Deimos. The scent was familiar and there couldn’t be any other white tigers within Caido, let alone near the barracks...right? The creature stared at him in a predatory way, reminding Oliver of the incident with Sunjata. A voice rang within his ears, allowing his body to relax. It was Deimos, yes, but he was far from happy.
Remaining where he was, Oliver stared forward at Deimos, his ears flicking and tail still swishing. I don’t like being stuck inside.... it’s dark and empty and soundless. So I wanted to come outside and explore. Slowly, he stood up ever so slightly and looked forward at Deimos, his body relaxed.
I don’t want to be alone. Do you mind if I join you?
Deimos could understand the notions of restlessness; it coaxed and curled through him now, a twitch of his tail, of his ears, of his whiskers, of the yawning, midnight void and its endless properties. Half of it might have simply inveigled annihilation, an age-old penchant for menace and malice, certainly not swayed by occupying a solely carnivore mind. Frustration and apprehension from seasons before kept pummeling at him, clawed through his chest no matter which form he perceived and snagged, be it human or beast, irritated, vexed, he couldn’t be anything more than what he was currently. He slunk along the veil of night, cast into beams of moonlight, shards of soulless regard for split seconds, before slinking back into contortions of shadow; rapacious edges and treacherous means.
The question grated against him, and for a few piercing moments those puncturing eyes narrowed, contemplating, deciding. Didn’t the Sword want to be alone? Wasn’t that his solace? Wasn’t that always the way of it? To cast himself back into the anchors of darkness, where it was comfortable, familiar, and certain? But then again, it was just him and his vices in those voids, in those parallels. His fangs clicked together while he considered, roaming along the brush and grass of the training grounds, biding his time, his torment. No. I do not mind. Some granule of truth, some lie embedded in there too – stare flickering to the ground. You need to learn to be quieter, if you ever intend to hunt successfully. Whatever the prey may be.
Once Deimos had seemingly relaxed a small bit, Oliver started to walk on over to his friend, still remaining very submissive with his head ever so slightly low. Already he had incited some sort of response out of Deimos, one that clearly wasn't favorable, so he best show that he meant no harm. It is best to act proper and though he were intending nothing wrong than to behave as if he wanted to fight his companion.
Thank you, There was a twinge of a smile to his voice, a small bit of happiness when Deimos had allowed him to no longer be alone. Any company was good company- er- Deimos was suitable company. Yes.
The next commend would've earned a blush if he were a human. Thankfully, leopards cant blush so his embarrassment was hidden visually, but unfortunately, Oliver still sucked at hiding his emotions so there was a twinge of this through their bond. Yeah... I know... His voice trailed off as he turned away. Suddenly, his eyes widened and he looked over at Deimos, his head much higher now. Could you teach me how to hunt? How to sneak up on prey?
Embarrassment flickered and bound against him; not a familiar, accustomed emotion to the beast, which meant it must’ve belonged to Oliver. He pondered it, but made no comment, stoic and reticent once more, a rumble of a growl on the edges of his existence. An eternal fixture, most likely, mixed in with the weight of a thousand other conflagrations and doldrums, rampaging against his own walls and fortifications.
At least the smaller cat was aware, and apparently intended to make something of it. The ministrations of humiliation seemed to fade away at other predilections and notions, insistence on assistance replacing the submissive connotations. In another time, in another world, Deimos might have insisted on his intimidating factions, on glowering, on looming, on presiding in his unattainable, unreachable, primordial throng of pernicious precision; a threat, an omen, a warning.
Here, he merely breathed, inhaling, exhaling, before turning. Follow me. His coat didn’t quite blend into the eclipse of darkness, more accustomed to the moonbeams, to the luminescent glow, but he intended to wander out of the barracks lines and training fields, where the lawn and turf had been taken care of and flattened; more apt, more likely, to find something out in the longer entanglements of grass. All the while, his movements were precise and accustomed to predatory wakes, savage, but slow, maneuvering into the expanse as if he were ether, as if he weren’t there at all; another piece of shadow despite the ivory and silver coat.
There was a perk up of his ears as Deimos started to guide him. Thankfully, Deimos was willing to deal with his...overly excited nature. Reeling himself back, Oliver tried to put on a stoic expression himself, attempting to hide any sort of happiness or excitement he was feeling, masking it as well as he could. Already, he knew many people found it to be annoying as all hell and while Deimos hadn't said anything, that didn't mean he hadn't thought it.
Following allowing, he placed a paw forward before hearing a loud rustling of the grass. Gulping, he proceeded to try and walk as quietly as he could, still clearly not quite yet used to his massive paws. Now, he wasn't absolutely loud, but he was far from absolutely quiet. As compared to Deimos, he was a thundering horse, boots against hardwood at the dead of night. His back paws seemingly handled it far better, only his front paws were struggling to keep the volume down. Even then, he was trying his hardest and was making a small improvement as to when he had first arrived. He didn't as fast as he could, but still managed to decently keep up with his instructor, ready to see what trials he would face next.
Deimos didn’t expect Oliver to behave in the same mannerisms – no need to adopt a stoic mask, no need to maintain a reticent stature. This portion of the exercise was merely to blend in, to take in the surroundings, to channel the predatory instincts nature and gods had granted them. Oliver seemed more adept at fumbling forward, advancing, but it was made in careless distinctions; no thought to where his feet fell, if there was any indication by the crunching, rustling intonations of the grass. Slow your pace. The point is to act as if you are not there at all. Like ether, like smoke and fumes, like air; untraceable by sound. He bunched, coiled, his muscles in place, limbs taut, ready to spring at a single predilection, but each movement, each motion, as they roamed further into tall grass, was methodical, calculated.
The reeds and blades bent around him, their dried aspects only proffering the slightest granule of noise, as if the wind bade them to maneuver, instead of his larger mass. He crouched then, down further than the plants, maintaining a silent, quiet, existence; head only turning slightly to observe the other cat’s attempts. If they could somehow manage to advance further without startling everything around them, then they might be able to put the techniques to actual use.
Right as he was midstep, the voice rang through his ears and he bashfully turned his head down, ears flattening against his head. Slowly, he set his front foot down and nodded. Alright...I'll try. Walk slower...okay. It must've been super bad if Deimos pointed it out so quickly, but at least the problem sounded easy to solve? That was good....right?
Trying to walk slower, Oliver watched his front feet as he continued to walk. He was still a bit concerned with staying up to pace with Deimos, but he had indeed slowed down quite a bit. Once he felt as though he were being a bit quieter, Oliver tried to lower himself closer to the ground, making a clear attempt to try and hide himself even more from anyone watching... if someone was watching other than Deimos. It wasn't going to work in the moment, clearly, but maybe it'd be useful in the future? At least he was trying his best.
An ease of breath, quiet and fortified, ambled from his chest, at one with the shadows, with the blend of evening and twilight. Softer footfalls, an oeuvre of calm, composed, lissome movements, each paw meticulously placed amongst the grass and reeds. His head turned, eyes ghosting with eerie clarity over to the smaller cat, watching as he eased into the strands of blades, a single, feral nod indicating improvement.
Then his ears twitched vaguely, twisting back and forth at the sensation, at the notion of another thing approaching. A rush of feathers, a trace of plumage, wings tucked against frames, from somewhere nearby. He lifted his nose, tracing over scents, over recognition, pondering if it would be a useful venture, attempt, to meander through. Turkeys, he reached through the bond, the bob of his head indicating the direction, then a swift glance at the other again, as if to ensure Oliver was following. You can practice on them.
Using the mediating tips that Loren had taught him as well as the new things he had learned from Deimos, Oliver had managed to feel relaxed and calm. Unlike before, Oliver had started to feel like he was okay. His movements had become smooth and natural, rather than rough, rigid, and unnatural. It was as though he had finally partially given into himself, allowing what felt natural to happen rather than controlling every minute detail or mistake. A wave of calm would rush through their bond, showing that Oliver had finally relaxed and wasn't worried as much about pleasing Deimos.
A voice would ring through their bond, reminding him once more that Deimos was present. Oliver sniffed at the air once it was announced that turkeys were present. The scent was new and unfamiliar, but Oliver tried to ingrain it into his memory, banking it for later. Turning to look at his companion, his ears raised, showing a bit of confusion. Was Deimos really going to trust him with this? Slowly lowering himself to the ground, Oliver moved towards the scent, attempting to maintain his meticulous movements. Do I just...creep up on them and pounce? Oliver asked as he allowed the scent to guide him, to pull him towards the turkeys.
Once he'd come to the turkeys he'd lower himself fully to the ground and wait, watching them and inspecting each turkey. Searching to see if one of them would be an easier target- or worse- one to completely avoid.
Slowly and stealthily, snakes, felines in the grass, serpentine gestures meant to bend and sway them towards roosting turkeys, making little noise in the brush. It should’ve been instinctive, to undulate, ripple, and slither along the grounds, soft and hollowed, carnivorous and rapacious, inching and itching for the predatory notions of disaster and calamity. He breathed in the embodiment of feral forms, waiting, waiting, waiting, until they were crouched before the flock. The Sword was like a ghost, a wraith, a phantom in the eaves, in the grass, dropping down into the ether, the soil, the ground, scrutinizing between reeds and blades of sod, turf, and terrain. He examined Oliver too, watched, listened, to the alterations the other cat made; a dignified nod passing through, and then naught more.
No. Which would’ve followed the arch of a brow, had tiger dispositions been made for such catty endeavors; instead his eyes went back to the rustling forms, dark plumage attempting to blend into the veils of darkness, would’ve, had it not been for their feline eyes. You study them. Pick a weaker one. Maybe older, maybe younger, maybe no longer as gifted in movement or flight, maybe not as bright as the rest, maybe not paying attention, drawn away from inherent instincts. Which seems appealing? There were a vast range before them – and Deimos wanted to Oliver’s aims and attempts, where they’d be headed when chaos and bedlam sprung loose from their hunting contortions.
03-11-2020, 12:54 PM (This post was last modified: 03-11-2020, 12:54 PM by Oliver.)
OLIVER
Unlike the powerful feline before him, the leopard had not yet fully learned to channel his feral instincts. There were brief moments where they would appear, but he clearly didn't understand how to properly use them. His abilities to fight had been lacking, to say the least, and he obviously had much to learn in that department. It would take a lot of getting used to and hopefully this experience would allow him to unlock that true feral instinct that often called to him.
Staring forward, his eyes allowed easy view of the birds. Suppressing any sounds, his tail flickered ever so slightly as he slowly moved his head, inspecting each bird carefully. There was a clear leader as well as some clear smaller ones, but those were knocked off. While they may be small, they seemed young and easily capable of flight, as did the leader who would most likely put up a good fight. With a flicker of his ear, he sent a message to Deimos, maintaining his eye contact on the birds. The one towards the left... he isn't walking right. I think he has an injury. There also seems to be an old one next to him, as it isn't moving as quickly as the others nor does it move as much. He would then eagerly wait for approval, for the next steps to take.
