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!
Sweet rain like mercy in the night Lay me down, wash away the sorrow
When the word of a trial spread around her dining room, Vega was interested. It was easy to tell where the crowd was gathering, and the woman moved with them. Despite her size, bodies parted for her and she was able to stand in a spot where she could easily see the action. She was highly interested in what their new governor would do. The inn keeper had never seen him in action -- this was the first real time she had left her inn to see what the rest of the world was up to. Grief would do that to you.
Now, with interest, the curved woman cocked a hip and settled in.
Caress my soul and set it right Lay me down, show me your tomorrow
She can feel the excitement, the bloodthirsty tension, in the air. Raza walks along with the crowd, more curious ‘n worried about this so called Trial. The Governor has a fuckton’a drama, an’ it ain’t her job to deal with it anymore. ‘Sides, she thinks as she waves (like this is an entertaining spectacle) to a friend, Jack’s ability t’move the mob that showed up at the Governor’s House the other night showed who was really in charge.
Makin’ a mob? That’s nothin. Get men drunk enough an’ suggest somethin they been gripin’ on, and they’ll grab their torches ‘n assemble right on up. Stoppin’ one? A whole other matter.
Raza sidles up t’Vegaeachin’ out to touch the woman’s arm to let ‘er know she’s there. “Men,” she offers quietly. “So much drama for a couple’a dumb Outlanders. It’s like they don’t even know they’re not actually in charge here.” Arching a brow, Raza silently inquires if the other Torcher agrees or not.
Knowing more about what's about to go down than anyone has any right to (hells, Jack is almost the one who put the idea into Sunjata's head), Jack slips through the crowd as though the fight has been put on hold until his arrival.
He sidles up to watch, standing on Raza's other side, a cigarette between his lips which he offers out to her. "There'll be blood on the sand 'fore the end of this. Watch the crowd - they'll be the ones to let us know whether or not the Governor's worth his salt."
And if Torchline decides they aren't on Sunjata's side? Well, Jack's been backing the wrong horse from the very start, hasn't he? It'll be a thorn in his side to say the least, but he'll deal. He always does.
Jack being an Abandoned is common knowledge these days, however his Telepathy remains a well-kept secret:
Magic: Passive Telepathy | The user can read the surface thoughts and emotions of those within a 30ft radius. Control is excellent. Note: "Thoughts and emotions" include anything written in a character's narration in a post.
Type: Grey | Rank: Mastered
Also branded with a small star tattoo beneath his left eye.
And Shaju approaches, as he has done twice so far in his life, to face his Trial. To win at all costs. Does he bring a gun to this knife fight, this time? No.
He brings something worse.
His time with Nate in the Fingers has been productive to say the least. When the tide isn't drowning the Ascended (to some extent, given his interesting ability to not drown) and the sun isn't burning him, Shaju has been busy. Indeed, when the boy sees his lover, he might look a little different to how they left each other last.
Injuries, yes. In abundance. Let your imagination flesh that out. Or better yet - let Nate detail it for you.
No, it's the leather muzzle affixed over the Ascended's nose and mouth that might be the most marked change - and the fact that he's being half dragged, half carried by two burly gentlemen under Shaju's employ.
Stepping forward, leaving Nate to be the distraction he's meant to be, he barely gives the boy or his husband a glance. He merely slips the ring from his finger and tosses it over his shoulder, into the sea, and slips the knife from his belt.
Let it begin.
Shaju has abandoned his disguise, and has thrown his ring into the sea.
Type: Grey
Grey Rock Ring | A ring inlaid with a plain, grey pebble. When worn, you become innocuous and forgettable to others.
No promise sweeter than a blood pact
Nothing harder to go through with
than a vanishing act
Not to say that this whole shitshow is kinda your fault, but this whole shitshow? Little bit your fault. At least, you definitely had a hand in stirring unrest with the whole getting a couple demigods involved thing. And sure, you don't regret doing everything you could to make sure Vai was safe after she nearly got the life beaten out of her - and sure, you also still resent the damn Biter for bringing all this fucking drama onto Torchline.
But do you also feel bad about how you acted? mmmm, little bit.
You find a place with Raz and Jack, just as the drama starts. Kane, or not Kane, whoever the fuck he is, and his Nate-dragging lackeys. Stupid fucking Zephyr, getting taken in by a gods-damned psychopath- but now is not the time. This is Jata's fight, as much as you might want to get your knuckles bloody on Vai's behalf. So you stay with your crew and glare as intently as you ever have, spitting as the traitor walks into the ring. "Show 'im yer teeth, Biter," you mutter, knowing he can't hear you and not giving even one fuck.
Though you repent and don sackcloth
and try to make nice
You can’t cross the same river twice
// but i'm not good with directions and i hide behind my mouth i'm a pro at imperfections and i'm best friends with my doubt //
He wants to be able to say that his being dragged is a conscious protest, a deliberate attempt to make things difficult, and maybe, when he’s finally able to talk about this day years down the line, that is what he’ll say.
The truth, that will be utterly obvious to everyone who can see him, is that he’s too broken apart to do much more than flinch away from the eyes that have come to watch this spectacle, and try weakly to wrench himself free of the hands on him.
There’s almost too much to take in, and it’s only a small mercy that he no longer bleeds red, that he isn’t stained with it. Between the beating of the waves, the blazing rays of the sun, and the utter lack of fluid, he’s diminished, no smaller, but curled in on himself as if it will protect him from anything. His mouth works behind the gag, though it’s impossible to tell what he’s doing behind it. There are shiny marks, burns, along his shoulders, his chest, where the sun has beat down, and patches of what would be bruises on anyone else along every other visible part of him. A sluggish trickle of fluid moves down along his hands, where marks around his wrists still haven’t quite managed to close.
He’s still, weak, right up until he sees Sunjata, an explosion of desperate movement rushing through him as he tries to do something. It’s short lived, only the burning in his gaze remaining when he falls limp again, almost delirious.
and now that my mind's out, and now i hear it clear and loud
leaving well enough alone is no choice of yours to make
guilty says the proof, this town has no room for you
A crowd forms, because of course it does. He’d advertised it on the Notice Board. It’s a show, just as all the other Trials had been. It’s a show, just as his father preferred. He casts a glance as they arrive, spying Ronin first and offering a nod of his head, the briefest twitch of a smile to Adam’s beginning call that’s followed up by others. And he breathes a sigh of both annoyance and content – content at the fact that they believe in him – annoyed at how similar to Korofi it’s become.
Hotaru is there, Melita, Wessex, Zephyr, Jack, and he holds his breath as the rain begins to fall, pelting against his skin. Dawn arrives, and with it, the time for the battle. He sees the brief shape of Kane over the edge of the cliffs, paired with others, but it isn’t the lackeys that distract him. No. It’s Nate. Just as he’d thought. His heart lurches, it sticks in his throat. It’s a perfect distraction, of course, taking one step forward with dark eyes of shadow and sorrow, Nate’s name swallowed down hard in his throat when his husband stills from seeing him.
There’s a muzzle among the rest of the wounds and brutality, the fluid and shiny scars. But he was alive, and that for now is all he needed to know. “Hotaru, Melita.” He finally manages to rumble, looking back to the crowd briefly for the blonde and the red-head, sure that the hand-off would happen while he focuses on his father. Speaking of which, as he looks back to Shaju, the ring is gone, the resemblance clear for all those gathered to see. That similar jawline, those eyes, similarly tall but built like a truck, and Sunjata swallows hard against the red of rage he sees. The comparison between the two of them would be evident.
The blade is drawn from Shaju’s belt, Sunjata’s already got his in his hand, his jaw set hard and he tries to even out his breathing. He knew it would throw him off balance, seeing Nate this way, seeing his father fully there. But he can’t still, he can’t give in now. Still, he can’t speak, his throat too tight, unsure of what he’d even say, because gods knew he wasn’t good at words.
He makes the first move, because of course he does, shifting that blade to angle down and launches himself at his father, blade drawn, searching for whatever spot he can get to close the distance.
so look out, i fear they follow near
from the gallows you'll swing for all the kids to see
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
The boy looks at Nate, looks at the crowd, looks at everything. Shaju, on the other hand, spends his time examining his blade, rolling the cuffs of his shirt to the elbow, taking in the ground around them and the position of the dawn. And he does, of course, position himself so those first fingers of light will shine directly into his opponent's eyes. So when Sunjata does dart forward, it will be into this flash of gold.
What's more, Shaju wants him in close, is waiting for it. So in this Sunjata will get his wish, but he might not get the results he hopes for. Shaju's blade jabs out as he steps in close, the knife slamming quickly into the Flood's side and out again, before he twists to crack the hilt of the weapon across the back of his opponent's head. And then he's stepped by, circling, waiting for the next attack.
leaving well enough alone is no choice of yours to make
guilty says the proof, this town has no room for you
His father has always been calculating, has always taken in the area around and figured out how best to position himself to gain the upper hand. It’s something Sunjata never took to, so much more reactive than that. So he launches, the sun catches in his gaze, a brief break through the clouds that have a hiss slipping from his lips, nothing more so than when the blade sinks into his side. A growl of pain leaves him, staggering forward a fraction as he catches himself, managing to barely miss the hilt to his head, taking it to the back of the neck instead.
It causes him to falter off balance again when he goes to swing, back around, trying to take the ease of which Shaju moves, circling like a predator to pray and Sunjata stifles down the predatory skins within him as they wish to latch out. One hand moves to his side where the blood has begun to soak through his shirt, pausing while his father circles like a vulture. And when he thinks he has an attempt, he reacts, lashing out with the blade again, this time going for Shaju’s shoulder and aiming to slash down.
so look out, i fear they follow near
from the gallows you'll swing for all the kids to see
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
Circle, launch, circle, react. The boy dances a predictable dance, and his movements are near panicked in their clumsiness. Violence borne out of fear is never as effective as violence whose seeds were sown with patience. In he comes again, and again Shaju ducks in to meet him. An arm comes up to catch the forearm slashing down with the knife. This time it's with a blunt fist that he aims a quick jab up into the diaphragm, hoping to wind, to disorient,
And if Sunjata does double over, it will be directly into Shaju's knee cracking across his jaw. Then he's dancing away yet again, keeping the sun at his back, wiping the blood from his blade on his pant leg.
This time he doesn't let the boy pause for breath, though, lunging in and sweeping out a leg to try and topple Sunjata, to take his balance from him.
The lion immediately shifts to being on all fours standing upon turning his head towards the incoming small group and seeing Nate and the state of the Ascended, hackles raised as he growls. He can see the horrific state the guy was left in, unable to do much or have the strength to do what little he could do. Large eyes looked over the key figure in this incoming group, narrowing as a growl enters his throat.
Neos didn't really have anything akin to a parent when he came into existence, but from what he did know about how human families worked, what he saw now told him all he needed to know about this cruel...
...we were right.
I don't care if we were, I feel like one false move from anyone would put him in a worse position.
The lion turns his head towards Sunjata, seeing his overall reaction before lunging forward. Focus on the fight, I'll watch on Nate for you.
Neos found himself thankful he was in his current form as he turned his attention back towards Nate, eyes and ears fully open and on high alert...because he was pretty sure his own hands would be shaking violently by now, if he had them. ...it's like I'm looking at Archer, the Attuned muttered to himself in his head, purposely preventing the thought from crossing the bond to be heard by any other connected to him somehow.
leaving well enough alone is no choice of yours to make
guilty says the proof, this town has no room for you
He isn’t smart enough for this, he never has been. But he’s strong, perseverance settled hard in his bones. His father was born to win and Sunjata had never gotten the chance to – too soft, too much like his mother, too useless and pitiful with that victorious blood within him. The Arbiter born and raised, a victor of battles and fights, of laying down the law, and Sunjata had always been the one that never wanted any of it.
He’d laid awake for days before his first Trial, hoping he wouldn’t make it through. And here he was, challenging the man that kept that tradition alive and well and Sunjata had been the one that suggested it. So it’s no surprise that he still isn’t prepared for his father’s quick movements – has he ever fought back? No. But the hand that grabs his arm flashes him back in his memory and he falters, the memory crashing into him just about as hard as the fist comes to his diaphragm and Sunjata’s coughing – choking, trying to swallow down some air even though it seems like it won’t ever come.
Somehow he manages to keep the blade in his hand, though he doesn’t know how when his jaw cracks, and he can’t keep the hold on the shifts in his skin. Another growl of pain that shifts to something other when the leg sweeps out and he finds himself with his back to the grasses, rain pouring down onto him heavily now, glinting through the thin stream of light.
He shifts, a snarling panther in his place, bleeding from his side still, growling and baring his teeth, rising and launching with claws outstretched to take Shaju down with him, shifting back into himself when he makes contact.
so look out, i fear they follow near
from the gallows you'll swing for all the kids to see
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
The panther is a disappointment rather than a surprise, and the steel that shoots through eyes already like mercury makes that much very clear. Sunjata has chosen to debase himself further, though it has given him the upper hand he so sorely seeks. The sleek black shape launches through the air and even the Arbiter in his prime would not have been enough to get out of the way. They make contact. Shaju goes down. Sunjata shifts back into himself.
And with his arms so occupied, Shaju takes full advantage. Indeed, it's with almost devastating ease that he lifts the blade, presses it to Sunjata's left cheek.
Presses.
Slices.
Pulls.
Blood showers him, but Shaju is already moving, trying to kick Sunjata away in the frenzy. When he's on his feet again he takes a moment to catch his breath, again wiping the blood from the knife, before promptly throwing it in the dirt. He juts his chin at the boy, as if to tell him to get up, to keep going. Handicapped, he's giving Sunjata the shame benefit of an advantage.
leaving well enough alone is no choice of yours to make
guilty says the proof, this town has no room for you
He can see the disappointment within the look, but he’s so far past caring at this point. He launches himself regardless, letting his fury take over and as per usual, makes mistakes with it. He launches, manages to take his father down, and he doesn’t even have a heartbeat of a second to realize it before the blade is pressed to his cheek, before it’s cutting, and Sunjata’s turning his head, trying to pull away from the pain of it all, from the blood that floods his mouth and down the side of his face, coating his cheek and neck and shoulder.
A cry leaves him as he moves out of the way, as the two of them part and his father stands again. Sunjata remains, in the grasses, the rain mixing with the blood and making it drip more and more. He’s stilled by this again, the pain of doing anything with his jaw, that he flinches when the blade hits the ground, peering up through pained, dark eyes, staring back at his father. And it’s… Anger that overcomes him again when the chin is jutted at him, the insult of the advantage.
But he absolutely takes it. He takes any advantage he gets, standing again after his heart thunders in his chest and he spits the blood out, aiming at his fathers feet – sure that he needs stitches or some type of healing to try and piece his cheek back together, but he isn’t there yet. They’re both still breathing and this time Sunjata’s definitely got something to fight for. So he shifts, attempting to repeat Shaju’s movements in a sense – to learn which side he favors, as if this were some sort of training lesson.
He goes to launch himself again, quick as his father had done before, quick to drive his blade into Shaju’s shoulder to hopefully weaken his dominant arm, before he withdraws.
so look out, i fear they follow near
from the gallows you'll swing for all the kids to see
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
