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 trip out to the Woodlands was one that needed to be done. He had tried hunting in the settlement and of course, he failed miserably. The most he had been able to snag was a rat. It was nothing he should brag about. While there were plenty of hunters with fresh meat, Oliver wanted to get some of his own. Not only would it provide practice but it would also allow him access to the bones and the hides: both would prove to be beneficial in the long run.
A small camp was set up: nothing impressive. A very small cart that could be pushed or pulled by a human along with a few bags, two containers of water, and a small medical kit should he need to quickly patch himself up. It was nothing to brag about, but it would work just right.
Once he had set it all up, he quickly shifted down into his leopard shift and set off. Trotting along, he made sure to watch out for his surroundings to adjust how he was moving, speeding up when available and slowing down when coming along grass or leaflitter. It would all work out in the end once he saw a hare in the distance. Lowering himself down, Oliver slowly made his way towards the creature, using large roots and bush to obscure him as he stalked the creature. The hare was an adolescent: not quite an adult and a perfect target. Only when he felt fully prepared did Oliver finally take action.
With a pounce, his paws made contact with the hare before it had a chance to respond. Kicking at him, Oliver quickly finished it off with a simple bite to the neck. With a quick snap, the creature was dead and little blood had been shed. Thank goodness.
Removing his claws from the small creature, Oliver shifted back and plucked it up. Not as big as he would like, but it was big enough to be nice for a stew and hopefully provide some bones for projects. Oliver certainly knew of enough people hoping to include bones in some sort of way in a couple of commissions. Whatever he didn't use on things he already needed to do would be saved for future work.
Making his way back towards the small base he had set up, Oliver made sure to keep a watch out, his ears shifting into ones that fit with his fox: massive and not exactly scary. It would allow him to listen better to make sure he was safe as he made the small journey to put away the hare for safety.
Broken and battered and torn, the Sword sought relief in the quiet outlets of the wood; familiar, haunting, but with enough trails and precision for him to wander without need for thought. Without diving headlong into another trial, another tribulation, another moment seeking to end in devastation, dissolution, or annihilation. He didn’t hunt. He didn’t forage. Just an echo of movement, of wayfaring strides taking him deeper into the fathoms of a world he understood.
Another’s scent caught on his nares, and the tiger’s form debated on pursuing or ignoring. It’d be much easier to do the latter, to peel away under the cover of canopies, to cease and desist with doing anything at all; a quiet meandering, a stolen traipsing, and he’d be in the clear, liberated and free.
But the familiar edges knew he should’ve been checking in on the younger man – and he withheld a long, withering sigh, and continued on the singular route of Oliver. Only when he came across a camp did he stop, pausing, tilting his head in the most mild of curiosity. Feline eyes lifted to the familiar outline, but no other expression or notion came filtering through, save for perhaps one of forbearing exhaustion. Oliver, and a brief nod of his massive cranium. What are you doing?
The faint sound of movement was enough to catch his attention. Fox-ears pointed straight towards the sky as he looked around for a moment, his back stiffening and body preparing for an attack, but instead, he saw the familiar form of Deimos... or another tiger that just happened to be white. Yeah, he shouldn't have let his guard down, but Oliver was quickly met with the man's voice: solidifying that this was the general.
Relaxing, Oliver moved on towards his task, putting away the rabbit. "Hello Deimos, nice seeing you out here." Simple and clearly unbothered. Oliver was calm for once. It was a bit of a surprise to see Deimos out here but with the threat completely gone, he had absolutely nothing to worry about. "I wanted to get some hunting in... both for practice and for the animals themselves." A light shrug and he tied up the bag before securing it in a nice spot on the cart.
Returning his full attention to Deimos, Oliver realized it probably was a bit awkward for the man to crane his neck to look up at Oliver, so to make things easier Oliver shifted down to his leopard shift. I needed some bones for the shop, some people like it infused into the metal while others use it as a handle or other decorative purposes. The meat and fur are for obvious reasons. Oliver didn't see a reason to explain in lengthy detail on the latter two: both were self-explanatory really: one for food and the other for clothes. It would serve him nicely in the long run and he'd be able to truly use every piece of the game he managed to snag.
You're... free to join me? If you'd like. I was sticking with rabbits and fowl, but if you want, we could go for a stag? Antlers would be amazing to have, truly, and would be even easier to acquire with the help of Deimos.
In another time, Deimos might’ve been amused by the preparation for an assault, or some intimidating layers forged on his presence. But now he felt like an empty vessel, carried ashore one too many times on its hollowed reaches, tired, fatigued, burning at both ends and nothing to show for it. Nothing but loss, ruin, and devastation, annihilation built up from seasons of never-ending suffering.
He strived to focus on what Oliver was telling him, because for once it made sense, and to see the blacksmith applying and utilizing himself correctly was a welcome surprise. He settled his haunches down to the ground, tiger tail the only thing maneuvering, absentmindedly lingering around in waves along the earth. Calming. Settling. Good to see you trying. A change he honestly thought he’d never see – shrugging through his shoulders, eyes riveting on the collection of hunted items stowed away for future use and intentions.
The offer curled through him too – and he nearly refused. Tired and weary, distraught and untethered, lost from anything and everything he’d ever sought, he was in no mood to hunt. To do much of anything. To be naught more than some haunted figment on the backdrop, alive but certainly not well.
But maybe it’d be a decent distraction, a way to unfurl into primordial things, into unrelenting vehemence, into moments that once scorched along his bones. Sure rattled there, a drained and weary tone. Lead on.
There was a strange feeling echoing through their bond and although Oliver wanted to know more, he chose to not pursue such ideas. Deimos had proven to be rather closed off and someone who didn't show their emotions well, it felt almost manipulative to use this small show of emotions against him in such a way.
His attention remained focused on the activities planned. If they were to speak about it then fantastic, and if not? Oliver could only hope this strange feeling would subside and the man before him would be happy once more. While Oliver wasn't sure if he could call their relationship a friendship, he still cared quite a lot for the man. It was most likely one-sided, but he didn't care much for that, not really wanting to think about that sort of idea for too long.
A huff of laughter and Oliver shakes his head. "Gee, thanks." Obviously joking, Oliver offered the man a light shrug. "Someone once asked me for a skinning knife with a bone handle, so after that, I've started trying to work more on that kinda stuff... they turn out really pretty, honestly... I like using bone in my work." A strange idea but hey, might as well include it in the conversation.
His proposal was accepted and Oliver found himself beaming almost. The joy wasn't loud, more like a soft bit of happiness that echoed through the bond. It was subdued- far more than he used to behave. Either Oliver was working on hiding his emotions or he was genuinely growing as a person.
With attention turned towards him, Oliver offered the man a final nod before venturing off, assuming that the much larger cat was following after him. Allowing his senses to take-over, Oliver sniffed at the air and listened, waiting and hoping for something good. It took a big of trotting through the bush to actually pick up on something. The scent was somewhat familiar- not a rabbit and hopefully something good.
Thank goodness for the attuned bond. Not wanting to lose Deimos, he sent a small comment the other man's way. This way. And off he went. Since his last hunt with the other man (although, they weren't quite hunting together at that point), he had clearly learned quite a lot. His feet landed much, much softer now; a sign Oliver was now in far more control of his body than ever before.
The scent grew stronger and stronger until Oliver came to a stop. Lowering himself towards the ground, Oliver slowly crept closer until he saw two deer in the clearing, one doe and one buck. Perfect.
Deimos found it very difficult to be happy when his world kept shattering down around him. In another time, years before, when everything seemed so much simpler, when friends weren’t obliterated at every turn, he might’ve been able to glance past predicament after predicament. But here and there he’d endured, he’d persevered, through trial after trial after trial; except these seasons seemed to overlap in misery, anguish, and despair, and it kept beating, berating, down the back of his spine and through the fortified walls he’d always carefully maintained. They were tired. Everything about him was thoroughly exhausted, fatigued, and worn down by bedlam after bedlam, by misfortune after misfortune, by mistake after mistake; left behind to rot and decay from the inside out.
None of which was Oliver’s fault – but he couldn’t match the excitement or laughter, could only gaze at bones used for handles, at growth instead of reeling backwards. A noteworthy change of pace from the blacksmith. It was still palpable through the Attuned bond, the little notes and refrains of warmth – Deimos just didn’t know what to do with it. Didn’t deserve it. Couldn’t prolong it.
Instead, he nodded and followed, an instructor at the back, watching and waiting to see how Oliver reacted to surroundings, to movements, to hunting and vigilance. The tiger could sense other beings – the scents intermingling as they maneuvered, as savage steps meandered through trails and paths, to a forged purpose instead of drifting in and out of melancholy. Fluid motions bent beneath canopies and boughs, age-old, familiar bounds tucked into the feline expanse – witnessing Oliver lower to a crouch when he discovered the deer.
Another lesson instilled perhaps – as the General remained perfectly immobile, a frozen piece of predatory deliberation. Think of what you see. Which one is weaker and easier to hunt?
Without Deimos vocalizing his thoughts and feelings, there wasn't much Oliver could do. While Oliver had been trying to grow and learn as a person, he still strived to seek the approval of the fellow hybrid. Deimos had shown his disappointment in the past and Oliver knew he hadn't quite reached what the man wanted, but the least he could do was show his attempts to become better.
So while Deimos wasn't being open and was clearly off in some way, Oliver was simply going to do what he could. Try to make the situation better in whatever small ways he could and if that meant going for a simple hunt, then sure. It would give both of them a distraction and hopefully prove useful in many other ways.
One of the things Oliver had learned is that he has to withhold any sounds from leaving his body, no matter how excited he was to pounce. It meant he was the quietest he had probably ever been around the General, the only real sound being ones that only highly tuned ears could pick up or his voice through the bond. I should get the doe, she's better for my size and strength. I could take her down easily without too much of a fight. The Buck was probably too large and too strong for this shift, at least if he was working alone. Speaking of the buck, there were concerns surrounding him, ones that he should vocalize to the General. [i]But I also need to be aware of the buck. He will most likely try to knock me off or stab me with his antlers. If you could go for him then that'd be great.
With one final acknowledgment of Deimos, Oliver made his move. Slinking in further, Oliver moved along towards the side where the doe was. Pausing for a moment, he watched. Paws adjusted as he readied himself to pounce before he finally leaped forward. Claws extended and he aimed straight for the doe's back, attempting to latch onto her back half.
Silence, blessed, blessed quiet, wasn’t something expected by Oliver, but Deimos took it for what it was worth: growing, and learning. For a man who was frequently hushed and hidden behind his nonchalance and reticence, it’d become a comfortable habit. To sit. To wait. To patiently watch the rest of the world, calculating, pondering, wondering, until there was an opportunity for his move.
Understood traversed through the bond. Oliver had the right notions, considering which would be easier for him to snag, what dangers might be in the midst, before making his maneuvers. The careful observer, the General noted positive changes since the last time they’d trained and met. The blacksmith seemed far more comfortable in the motions of his shift, in the capabilities, and in the possibilities of what he could do, instead of reeling in dangerous amounts of uncertainty. They’d have to see if any of it paid off.
And while Oliver slunk and crawled, the Sword slowly stalked, intending to use Oliver’s assault upon the doe as an ample distraction. Reverberations of almost nothing, ricochets of naught, he lingered across the grounds as if a piece of its backdrop, scenery, surroundings, crossing towards the buck’s opposing side. When Oliver extended and leapt, Deimos did the same, unfurling a range of violence and vehemence eternally stored within his body, within his mind, unleashed in a cataclysm of destruction and mayhem. His massive form intended to knock the stag asunder, and down, to pounce and sink claws into flesh.
His directions were seemingly translated well without any resistance. Either Deimos knew this was a bad idea and was allowing him to do it or he was just being his normal, quiet self. Oliver certainly hoped it was the latter and that his current ideas were actually plausible.
Allowing the silence to settle in, Oliver had fully made his way over before the attack.
Landing onto the doe, claws immediately latch on to the back half of the creature. digging in and allowing himself to hold on. The creature cried out and immediately started trying to run, bucking at him. Ignoring the harsh kicks to his chest, Oliver started to try and use his hind legs to kick at her feet and under half, digging in his claws whenever possible to fully stop the deer altogether.
Meanwhile, Deimos was doing a mighty satisfactory job. The Stag was just rearing to leap forwards towards Oliver, ready to use those antlers for their purpose. He was no match for the size of the tiger. Of course, he didn't go down without a fight. Bucking and swinging around his head, the stag would try his best to make contact with the white wall, fighting for his life.
It was true – Deimos would’ve allowed Oliver to commit to the actions just to see what would happen. If he’d learned anything. If the foolhardiness and ignorance still seeped into bones. Still lingered in thoughts. Would he have stepped in if it became too much?
Maybe. Probably.
He watched as the blacksmith’s assault seemed to be going somewhat well – the kicks to the chest would likely be smarting later – and then concentrated on his own efforts. The Sword’s paws and claws clenched down upon flesh, an inherent disposition no matter his incarnation, and a rumble of a growl stirred in his soul. No outright vehemence or violence, simple tactics drove him onward, attempting to dodge the kicks intended for his bones, landing upon the ground to redirect his focus. The beast then launched with vigilant, brutal force towards the stag’s left side, striving to bring it entirely down.
Since Oliver had attacked first, and he had chosen the smaller of the two, the doe was finished off quickly. Claws dug into her underside and rammed into the hind legs, causing the deer to fall to the ground. Kicking around, the deer almost managed to kick him again, but Oliver knew to be quicker and to avoid the legs now that he had already been hit. The task was nearly done and with a pounce and a bite at the neck, the deer was finished off.
Fortunately for Deimos, everything went right. The buck was prepared to charge, more than ready to attack Deimos now that he was fully off, only to be met with a powerful pounce that knocked the deer straight to the ground. It'd be easy to finish him off, two of his ankles were broken and all that was left was the finishing bite.
With a hop, Oliver moved off of his own deer and watched Deimos with keen eyes. Meanwhile, he worked on licking at his paws, cleaning off the blood from them meticulously. He knew Deimos was fine, but somehow if he needed help then Oliver was more than ready to spring into action.
Finishing blows and piercing, penetrating fangs, inherent designs ensured a swift end, mouth cutting off the deer’s air supply, a choking, grasping clench he’d orchestrated many times before upon enemies and adversaries. It was almost nothing. No satisfaction. Just patterns of seasons and cycles of before.
The deer eventually went still, limp, and the dead weight hung from his jaws, and he slung, dragged, it over to a flattened expanse. No need to clean the blood around his paws. It’d been caught on his hands one too many times, stained them crimson in the midst of battle-hymns and trumpeting calls to arms.
So the pounding, cumbersome decadence battered between his shoulder blades again, and determined to forge on, he lifted his head from the rampant silence. All set? A respite, a breath, before he picked up the beast again, striving to wander back towards Oliver’s camp.
