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 ocean does not apologize for its depth and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
Out of the buildings, out of the noise, and down into the routes and streets, the beast immersed himself in the footholds of patrols. Nothing insistent, nothing beating down into the cobblestones, but his ritualistic, savage, enduring pace, memorizing more pathways, tethering himself to the streets and passages, rather than the enclosed section of council halls and squabbles. Times to think. To breathe. To do something other than mull over the latest series of regrets, rues, and juxtapositions – out of his depths in being capable of preventing Kiada’s eventual departure. She belonged to a different faction now.
Same and different, different and same – and his steps were nearly silent, purposefully lacking in the puncturing depths, and more into the stealthy, quick, predacious convictions. He rounded alongside the Citadel wall and carried on, nodding towards individuals and still some strangers alike, gazing up over the horizon, pondering, wondering, orchestrating, calculating – and coming up empty. Save for items, shields, and weapons, the only support he could grant had been nearly the choking nuances of LongNight years before.
Nothing.
The heavy weight pressed into his shoulders once more, and the monolith raised his head again, striving, trying, with great difficulty, of not laboring back down into those drowning, sullen voids. To reach over the surface. To grasp at shorelines. To beckon steel and fortitude, mettle and might, to stretch once more, and find something other than the burdens rampaging down his spine.
Happiness is not an ideal of reason but of imagination
Ningo farming wasn’t all that interesting. But, occasionally, it offered a distraction, an exercise, that wasn’t entirely expected.
Fucking ningos, the curse crashed through his mind, its sentiments probably also beaming across the attuned bond, as he wandered the rooftops in his feline shift, using the heightened senses to track the pesky birds that had made an escape. The ningos, for the most part, had all gathered quite happily at the facility he had built for them, had appreciated the shelter and safety offered to them – even if every week a number of them end up on the dinner tables of many residents in the Citadel.
It was their purpose. Chuy was a farmer, and that term included being a butcher.
It also included being a ningo-herder, apparently.
‘Deimos!’ he called across the bond when he first caught the man’s scent upon the chilly air. With a leap and a bound, he made his way towards the temporary warden, leaning his spotted crown over the edge of a nearby roof to behold him. ‘Seen any ningos around?’ he posed hopefully, ears teitching as he awaited a response.
the ocean does not apologize for its depth and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
A distraction echoed and beckoned, though Chulane might likely not even perceive how gratified and content Deimos would be with it. He could hear the connection, the stirring of like bonds and souls and attuned fixtures, but was uncertain of its parameters, eyes glancing at ground level, not presuming it’d come from so high above.
Until there was the sounds of claws on roofing materials, and he glanced upward, his gaze widening at the leopard, muffling a quiet chuckle. A crack, a sojourn, away from the morose thoughts, and the ridiculous nature of the day, would be a welcome experience. He tilted his head from this angle, one brow arching in customary reaction, and considered the big cat’s question. There was half a moment where he wondered if Chulane was remarking upon the amount of wild ningos caught, snagged, and butchered by the Sword for various purposes and amusements – but when there didn’t seem to be any pinpointed remark or accusation in that direction, he didn’t permit the question to surface.
“A few back there,” and he lifted a hand, a thumb, pointing backwards, down towards another one of the streets. He hadn’t bothered them, in no mood to disturb the fowl. “Did you lose some?”
Happiness is not an ideal of reason but of imagination
He was glad at least someone was laughing, though he tried to hide it. Leopard eyes and ears heard the softened chuckle, and instead of finding annoyance in it, he too decided to see the humour in the situation. It wasn’t every day that a leopard dropped from the rafters asking about the local version of chickens, after all.
A small huff exited the feline nostrils as his sharp gaze followed the pointing thumb down the alley, as he sampled the air in an attempt to hone in on them further. ‘They’re only lost if they’ve left the Citadel,’ he retorted with mock affront, his form stalking along the edge of the rooftop in the direction.
‘Some of the layer hens decided to run off with some of the meat roosters.’ The explanation was offered, though he didn’t mind whether it was fully understood or appreciated – ningos ran off all the time, it was difficult to restrain them. Mostly, they stayed near the farm for convenience. But this was a fair number of birds, at least a dozen, which he couldn’t allow to stay gone for long.
‘I’d prefer to get them back to the facility alive,’ he clarified, turning his gaze upon the Sword with amusement colouring the bond. ‘Wanna help?’
An arch to his brow followed the slight affront, though he didn’t apologize, and the monolith didn’t have a clue what to do with the information associated with layer hens and meat roosters. A shrug instigated through his shoulders instead, rippling over the muscles undulating beneath furs, though he didn’t miss the indication that the birds needed to come back alive.
His features were the picture of stoic innocence thereafter, hiding the sudden mischief lurking in his mind. “Sure.” A definitive answer before he altered, shifted, into the form of the golden eagle – something the birds had feared in past persuasions. Wings spread, plumage extended, he settled for a singular leap, catching on air currents, before hastening further speed, and flying towards his indicated directions earlier.
And sure enough; there they were, still lingering and pecking at a few pieces of rooted plant life managing to survive and spring along parted stone. I can drive them, he offered, and perhaps Chulane could head them off at the next possible impasse, that way they could continue drawing them closer and closer to the farm.
With a volley of silent, but deadly notions, he descended, talons purposefully drawn outwards to scare them, hinder their movements and motions into abrupt panic.
Happiness is not an ideal of reason but of imagination
He was pleased to have Deimos’ help, trusting that he might have some more success than if he were to do this on his own. Halo was not a big town, but when you were one man (or leopard) stalking a whole bunch of rogue ningos, it suddenly became quite the challenge.
The feline nodded to the eagle’s notion, crouching low as he awaited the inevitable – birds and feathers flying, squawking and clamouring near him. And when they came, his nose was twitching, his body tensing, ready to make a leap and scare them down the other alley, the one that would take them in the general direction of the farm.
He leapt into the alley, yowling and growling, swiping with paws that kept claws sheathed lest he damage his own product with his actions. But he found the birds, while panicked at his appearance, mostly ignored him, instead flying around him, continuing determinedly on their path away from the farm. ‘Hm,’ he said after he landed, standing to watch them disappear down the road.
Making his way back to the rooftops, he crouched in waiting on what he estimated would be the next path they would take, giving the simple instruction of ‘Let’s try that again,’ to his assistant.
The driving proportions went well – a flurry of wings and plumage and panic that made his rancorous, unrelenting mind sink into its bitter ruthlessness. Perhaps it was the predator impact, or the notions of how he’d always been, intending to scatter them like pathetic little adversaries, daring the world to come at him, so he could unleash some heathen torrent, some bestial outlet –
Which, while moderately successful, didn’t have the impact they’d been intending.
Instead of towards Chulane’s farm, they flickered and flew down another alleyway, off into the road, and the eagle landed upon a roof, perching, watching, calculating. Considerations were put into place, possibilities maintained on the bird’s mind. What if we funneled them? His piercing gaze went to another alley further along the stretch – if Deimos could continue to scare, haunt, and taunt them from above, and Chulane from behind and along the ground, they could have a better outcome? Or we need a way to ensure they go in the right direction. Otherwise they’d be doubling back, and working ten times harder than necessary.
The farmer would know the ningos best anyway, no matter how much treacherous, demolishing force could be supplied by the Sword. Where do you want me?
Happiness is not an ideal of reason but of imagination
The ningos were proving to be a stubborn lot, resistant to the attuned form their keeper held, and the larger predatory eagle too. He supposed it was to be expected from the barely-domesticated species, which spent all of its time in Citadel walls, exposed to various people and their attuned forms (or even magic of an Abandoned) at any given time. ‘They’re just being stubborn,’ he commented softly, sending a pulse of agreement to the suggestion of funnelling them in the desired direction.
‘We need them to turn right at this intersection, not left,’ he offered, stalking along, gesturing with the tilt of his head. ‘As they come near, swoop into them. I’ll jump down and try a good snarl to convince them we mean business.’ And with that, he got into position, crouching low along the rooftop, ears pricked at the sound of approaching clucks and chitters which suggested the small flock was nearing.
‘Go!’ The command came at the same time the leopard leapt from the rooftop, snarling and growling, swiping with unsheathed claws this time – though he was careful to aim his swipe so that it did not connect with a bird or feather. And their combined efforts would see success this time – so much so that the ningos turned in the desired direction and went quite a distance towards their nesting grounds at the farm. Triumph and elation filled him, as he followed keenly in their rushed footsteps and wingbeats, snarling and grumbling every now and then to ensure the birds kept on course.
It would not last the entire trip back – eventually the path they followed split four ways, and so being unable to block off enough exits to funnel them the correct way, the flock was split. ‘Ah,’ the leopard huffed softly. ‘Let’s knock the snow down from that roof and block off the western path,’ instructions came, as the leopard jumped to the designated rooftop to begin shifting snow so that it would fall into the path below, hopefully creatin enough of a barrier to deter the ningos should they want to venture this way when they were next herded.
Truth be told, Deimos would’ve preferred mauling the birds where they stood, clutched in talons, taken and rendered apart. But that would’ve defeated the purpose of the current activity, so he tucked the predacious, avaricious, ruthless edges away, following on the wake of instructions, for Chulane would’ve known the birds’ behaviors best. The Sword had only ever stalked and hunted and intimidated them – though these had proven to be a more obstinate batch.
Success came upon plumage and claws this time though, and the flourish of their movements, of their motions, beseeched and guarded his potential onslaught – turning, chasing, rampaging with his raptorial predilections, until there were other venues and directions to pursue.
He tilted his avian head vaguely at the four diverting paths, listening to the next set of directions. His gaze followed and flickered over the roof, along the western intervals, and with another nod, he hastened towards the request. A flash of wings, a steady drum of motions, and he had ascended along the boundaries and fringes. Utilizing one appendage, and using the other as a supportive base, he intended to gather the snow and whisk it off with movements from the plumage and feathers, the bones, muscle, and sinew. Is that enough? A glance downward, pondering the state of ningos and their flight.
Happiness is not an ideal of reason but of imagination
One might not think a leopard and an eagle could shift enough snow to achieve what they wanted, and yet, the rooftop they were using had quite enough snow on it at just the right angle that success was indeed seen. Pulses of jubilation radiated from the leopard, who sprang from the now-clear rooftop to an adjacent one as the snow came tumbling down, looking to his friend with bright blue eyes that seemed to hold a smile in them, before leaning over the gutters to view the blockage they had wrought.
It was something he was sure one of the residents of the Citadel would be annoyed to have to move the next time they ventured this way, and perhaps Chuy himself would clear it later, using antlers and the strength of his moose shift – but for now, it would serve another purpose.
‘Excellent,’ he hummed, before looking between each path the ningos took. ‘Well, half of them have gone the right way. Shall we see if we can get the other half going that way too?’ He paused, chewing on his thoughts a moment. ‘Could you fly high and overtake them, try and get them back to here? Then I’ll try to usher them down the right path again.’ He moved into position again, prepared, hopeful their tricks would work a second time, and that the ningos would be safe in their abode once more.
Snow piled high, a future nuisance to be examined and moved at a later date, and a rumble of a snort, a brief laugh, fumbled through the bond as Chulane’s amusements peeked past. His eagle features remained in their singular, stoic countenance, but he wouldn’t begrudge or ignore the hint of some mirth and joviality in the task.
And instead of digging further into why vehemence and some assortment of violence diverted him, there was more to be done. Fortunately, those streaks of his personality and existence were exactly what was required – and with a smirk ignited in the Attuned measures – the beast hastened off.
Deimos was a furious, rampaging motion within the blink of an eye, unfurling plumage, rapidly descending, and lifting upwards with sleek, wild contentment. They weren’t ruthless designs, but close to it, a lofty, crafty, cunning assemblage of untamed dominions, flying headlong towards the ningos, and swiftly overtaking them. Despite his size in comparison to the inept birds, speed was one of the golden eagle’s greatest factions, and he could easily strip and trip them out of the air if need be – however, his predacious notions in these platitudes was simply to maneuver them in the right direction.
A tilt, a flick of his wings, and he attempted to do just that.
Happiness is not an ideal of reason but of imagination
Leopard inclinations took over, at last the attuned leaned into the instincts, letting them stalk, crouch, wait with a patience his human senses would not manage. The ningos would come, he could hear them fluttering, scrabbling, and they would turn down his path because they were stubborn and foolish. They were prey.
No, the farmer squashed the notion down. These were ningos that had to live, to breed and feed the Citadel – they were not his leopard shift’s snack to feast on just because he was predator and they prey.
Right?
Sky blue eyes followed the figure of the eagle, tracking where it went through feel across the bond when buildings obstructed his sight. And soon after, there were ningos, Deimos successfully driving them this way – a few were intelligent enough to venture the correct path, but three of them dared to attempt this way.
He was ready for them, leaping and pouncing with a roar and a swipe – evidently not as accurate as before though, as his great paw did knock one down from its low flight and left it stunned on the ground. The other two were well scared enough however, and promptly followed the rest of the flock back home.
Before he could restrain himself, the leopard pounced and ended the life of the ningo that had fallen. The farmer preferred using a butcher’s knife on a stunned bird for a quick, clean death when the time arrived, but in this moment, the leopard and his instincts achieved the same end.
‘Looks like roast ningo is on the menu again,’ he pulsed across the bond with sheepish amusement, picking the bird up in jaws and looking down the path to where the birds went towards the safety of the farm. He was confident they would find their way back home – they’d been given a big enough scare by he and the temporary Warden to make it so.
‘Thanks Deimos. ‘Till next time,’ for he was sure the ningos would always be a source of problems or entertainment, even as they fed the region. With a nod and a flick of his elongated tail, he made his way in the direction of the place he called home.
