|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Jaeger Erdarastrix Vice Captain
|
 Posted: Fri Nov 30, 2007 10:23 am
If the heart of Noctua is the Deep Woods, then the heart of the Deep Woods is the small grouping of massive trees that make up the Brigadier's territory. Since before the end of the Great Clan Wars, he has claimed this ancient tree-stand as his own. They are his silent companions as well as his home-- their gnarled bark and thick limbs, scarred here and there by fire or flood but stronger for their struggles, are a lasting testament to the strength and endurance of Noctua-- and of the Sentinels themselves.
It is well past moon-rise (not that the moon is visible through the thick canopy), and the Brigadier has already dismissed all of his Elites, including Sleet, from the meeting he had called to discuss the mysterious white egg-- and what hatched out of it. A long and occasionally violent discussion between the senior Wardens had exploded in the Meeting Tree after Sleet revealed the unpleasant surprise that had hatched in Citrine's hollow. The Brigadier was forced, at length, to defend his decision to allow the Minder to keep the Spectre chick. He's still not sure he has the correct decision, but at least now everything is quiet again. And, he is sure, the chick will not survive the coming winter. Spectres are not well equipped to deal with cold.
Feathers fluffing, the old bird grumbles to himself as he settles his tired bones on one of his favourite perches, worn barkless and smooth by decades of grasping Sentinel talons. It's easy on the feet. His blind side habitually turned towards the protection of his tree's enormous trunk, the Brigadier closes his eyes and settles in for a nap.
It's been a long day.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Nov 30, 2007 11:00 am
Unfortunately for the Brigadier, it's going to be a slightly longer day.
Before he has the opportunity to fall asleep, a small voice pipes up from out of nowhere. Well, not from nowhere, exactly - from a nearby branch, where a smallish bark-coloured Mus is perched. Dark eyes blink, reflecting what scant light there is in the Deep Woods.
"S-s-s-sir? Ss-s-sorry, sorry to bother you Sir, but," a gulp, and then the tiny (and extremely brave!) Mus continues to speak, "it's about Fletcher, s-Sir. She, uh.. uh.."
"We're worried about her," interjects another Mus. This one is larger than the first, more brightly coloured. Catcher himself has come to visit the Brigadier, knowing full well the elder Sentinel's habits. "She's going to do something bad, and we can't stop her. We heard what happened," he pauses, an accusatory gleam in his bright eyes, "and we don't blame her. But we'd stop her if we could, for her own good."
Catcher turns about on the branch, such an easy target even for an old bird like the Brigadier, and calls back over his shoulder before moving away. "Just thought you should know." The other Mus stays behind, waiting for any orders the Brigadier might care to impart.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Jaeger Erdarastrix Vice Captain
|
Posted: Fri Nov 30, 2007 11:45 am
One goshawk-red eye snaps open at the very first squeak, and the Brigadier's head twists abruptly to stare at the intruding Mus. Nobody enters his territory uninvited, not even Sleet-- for a Companion to do so is suicide. He is just about to snatch the bark-coloured Mus when Catcher's voice stops him, and the Clan leader's attention is drawn to a new target.
...Except this new target is bringing news that the Brigadier has been both expecting and dreading. And so he listens, as he rarely listens to any food item. Catcher is one Companion the Brigadier has managed to prevent himself from eating-- not because of the Mus himself, but because he knows how important (and how necessary) he is to Fletcher. As the extremely brave (or extremely foolish, depending on how you look at it) patriarch of Fletcher's Mus army turns his back on the hulking Sentinel and moves away, the old bird's feathers rise in irritation.
But there's still something here to eat. Without looking, the Brigadier's foot snaps out and grabs the smaller Mus from his place on the tree-trunk. He lifts the little thing up to his face and glares at it with his good eye. "Where is she?"
"...H-her t-t-tree!"
"Good."
And a moment later, the Brigadier is winging his way through the night towards Fletcher's blasted-out tree... with the end of a still-twitching Mus tail dangling from his beak.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Nov 30, 2007 12:21 pm
Fletcher's territory - the Outlook, as she likes to call it in her more lucid moments - isn't all that far from the Brigadier's in distance.
It couldn't be further from his territory in terms of appearance, however. While the Brigadier's stand of ancient trees seems to represent all that is good and strong and lasting about the Sentinels, Fletcher's lightning-blasted oak and shattered clearing speaks of defeat and disarray. She likes it that way, however, and has been overheard muttering about how she can see for miles. Even if they can see her too.
The approach to Fletcher's tree is eerily open and silent, the twisted and burned corpses of trees gleaming under the moonlight. So much light - so open - so few Sentinels would dare to traverse this much open air, and even Fletcher is reluctant to do so any more than is necessary. She's been known to sleep in the communal areas rather than going back home, or to stay holed up in her territory for weeks on end.
Tonight, however, Fletcher has made that perilous journey twice already - once to see the hatching, and once to return from it. And she is preparing now to make a third trip as she rummages about deep within her hollowed tree. The combined noise of her crazed muttered rantings and her scuffling search can be heard from outside the great oak.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Jaeger Erdarastrix Vice Captain
|
Posted: Fri Nov 30, 2007 12:57 pm
The Brigadier does not bother with subterfuge, nor does he make the typical call to introduce his presence in her territory. He doesn't, in fact, follow any of the rules of polite Sentinel behaviour at all. The old war bird just powers his way across the open area surrounding Fletcher's tree, sparing only a single shrewd glance for the moon above. There are few things he truly fears these days, and although open space bothers all Sentinels, he does not take time to stop and think about it. No-- best just to push through and hope there isn't an ambush waiting from Above or below.
There isn't, this time, but he's committed himself; he's flying in at such speed that he has no real time to slow down before he lands, and considering his weight and the amount of momentum he's built up, he's set himself up for a truly spectacular landing. Or crash landing, as the case may be.
Sure enough, a moment later and with no warning, the Brigadier's heavy form slams talons-first into the entrance of the hollow. With all of his feathers sticking on end, he looks three times his normal size and fills the entrance-way entirely, head swivelling rapidly back and forth to take stock of his surroundings. This place never looks the same twice, and he knows the crazed Watcher well enough to guard against attack. "Fletcher!"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Nov 30, 2007 2:52 pm
Before the Brigadier has time to shout out, Fletcher erupts from the shadows in a flurry of feathers and slashing silver, gleaming metal that catches the scant bits of light allowed past the Brigadier's form. She moves so swiftly that the air rushes before her, ruffling the Brigadier's feathers - or at least, one would assume that it is only the air.
At his call she skids to a stop, hastily-donned war talons gouging deep furrows into the lightning-blasted wood. There's little point in attempting to conceal her murderous intent, not now that he's seen her, so she hunkers down and rocks from side to side, hissing sharply at him. "Out of my way!"
Her words are clipped and deliberate, bitten off with sharp clacks of her beak. Pupils fully dilated, she turns her head every which way as if searching for another way out of the tree. She knows full well that the Brigadier is blocking the only easy exit, but she can't help but check.
Again.
And again.
Stressed out (and more than a bit frightened), Fletcher hisses and clacks her beak, lurching forward suddenly as if she'd try to shove past the much larger Sentinel. "Lemme out!"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Jaeger Erdarastrix Vice Captain
|
Posted: Fri Nov 30, 2007 9:46 pm
There are very few Sentinels that could charge the Brigadier and not find themselves instantly set-upon, and even fewer that can do it armed with war talons. War talons that Fletcher-- and every other Sentinel-- are forbidden to wear in public. But Fletcher is... Fletcher, and Fletcher is as lucky as she is unstable. The Brigadier holds his position; the Clan leader's response is defensive, instead of the violent explosion it could easily have been.
He shifts his weight to prevent her escape, and fluffs his body into a full threat display: feathers hackled, wings spread wide, tail fanned. He is a huge, menacing, hissing sphere, absolutely filling the easiest path to the outside, and a single blood-red eye glares from the centre of it all, staring Fletcher down.
Rocking his weight from foot to foot, the Brigadier's beak clacks sharply, rapid-fire-- the sound is as loud as dead wood snapping. "Enough of this!" Clack-clack! "Stand down!"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Nov 30, 2007 10:14 pm
The mentally unbalanced Sentinel becomes suddenly unbalanced in a more literal sense as she comes to a halt as quickly as she'd lunged at the Brigadier. Her beak gapes widely, panting, breath heaving as her face hovers mere inches above the ground - she's caught herself in this awkward position, glaring up at the larger Sentinel who bars her way.
A low keening cry escapes from her, echoed by the scraping of her war talons as they carve a path through the ancient wood. Her feathers raise, rippling in the dead air, and her ear tufts lie flat to her head while Fletcher narrows her eyes in a clear attempt to concentrate; an attempt that is almost painful to watch. All the while she cries that eerie cry, wavering in and out with each breath.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Jaeger Erdarastrix Vice Captain
|
Posted: Fri Nov 30, 2007 11:02 pm
The only change in the Brigadier as he stares at Fletcher is a slow dilation of the pupil of his good eye-- and then a rapid contraction as he realizes what exactly she's trying to do. His head jerks up an inch. "Fletcher!" The word is low and strained, as though the idea of her trying to gather her Will against him is, at least for a moment, painful. It also, unfortunately, infuriates him; his hackles rise even further. The old war bird is a coiled spring, and that spring is just about to snap.
Then, slowly, he relaxes. Not in his posture, which he maintains in order to block the exit, but his expression... and his voice. The Brigadier speaks; low and soft at first, a purring rumble that is rusty in its attempt to be comforting. He says nothing of her attempt to use her Will. "Fletcher, hold. Hold. I understand." Shifting his weight slowly, he maintains eye contact as best he can. "You know-- you know-- I feel the same way. Have I not lost as you have lost? " He leans closer, almost imperceptibly. "I took you back from them. I know what they did. I know what they are."
Although he knows he risks a cross-forest chase if he's wrong, the Brigadier slowly and deliberately draws in his feathers and refolds his wings, watching Fletcher the whole time. And with equal deliberation, he steps forward slowly towards her. "But the Minder is right. The chick can be used. If it survives. But it is her right to raise it-- Sleet's mistake saw to that." The old bird sighs wearily, his eyes half-closing. "Put away your war talons, Fletcher. I will not see you exiled for that creature's murder, and I cannot let you fight the Minder to get to the chick. You must stand down."
The Brigadier leans down and, very lightly, preens one of Fletcher's ear-tufts. "...Please."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Dec 01, 2007 11:43 am
During the Brigadier's speech Fletcher remains absolutely stock-still, still keening quietly, still staring up at him - albeit not as intently as she had stared before. She does not move when he calls her name. She does not move when his anger rises, nor when he calms. She doesn't even move when he finally clears her path to the outside, to the hatchling that every fibre of her body wishes to see dead and bleeding, entrails spread over the ground.
She falls silent as he steps towards her, and finally, when he reaches out to preen her ear-tuft, Fletcher sighs and relaxes. The war talons fall from her feet as she pulls free of them. The russet Sentinel sighs again, shuddering faintly, and peers up at the Brigadier - looking, for a moment, like a lost hatchling herself. "It deserves to die," she mutters resentfully, "but I won't harm it. I- I'll just watch it. Y-yeah..."
"But what if there are more?"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Jaeger Erdarastrix Vice Captain
|
Posted: Sat Dec 01, 2007 12:53 pm
“Then I will need you, and your… skill, to protect the Clan.” Gruff and somewhat regretful, the old male preens Fletcher’s other feather tuft just as lightly, and then straightens. “And you will have your chance to use those.” He glances at the war talons pointedly.
With a rougher sigh than Fletcher’s, the Brigadier shifts his weight wearily and peers down at the Watcher; for once, in this half-light and amidst the feather-strewn ruins of the blasted-out tree, he looks his age. His full age. “Watch the chick, but do not interfere. If the Minder complains….” The old bird trails off, but the meaning is clear. This is the way things have to be.
For now.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Dec 01, 2007 1:18 pm
"No no, no.. no, I won't interfere. Won't even know I'm watching," she stammers, off-put by the Brigadier's appearance at the moment. In her eagerness to reassure him she manages to conveniently overlook his first statement, which is just as well considering her failed attempt at the unthinkable. "It-- her name was Citrine, right? The bright one. I'll talk to her. Let her know."
For a moment Fletcher looks as though she'd dearly like to reach out to the Brigadier and return the gentle, calming preening that had helped her so much just a few moments before. But a glimmer of light caught the sharp edge of a war talon, and her intents shattered while she stared at the deadly edge.
A faint scrabbling at the entrance grabs her attention for a moment - Catcher has returned - and a look of relief passes over Fletcher's face as she finally straightens up and resettles her wings. Her gaze returns to the old war bird, and her beak gapes in what might pass for a grin, if Sentinels could grin. "How many this time?"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Jaeger Erdarastrix Vice Captain
|
Posted: Sun Dec 02, 2007 2:26 pm
If he sees Fletcher's temporary desire, he does not respond to it; the old bird seems somewhat withdrawn for the moment, as though deep in thought. The idea that there are more Spectres is not speculation, it is fact: that egg didn't lay itself. But how many there are, and where, and their intentions... well, that is something his Wardens are now charged with discovering. And discovering quickly.
The return of the Mus patriarch snaps him out of his reverie and he turns a faintly malicious glance on Catcher. At Fletcher's words, the Brigadier huffs in ill-humour that is almost certainly an act. "...Only one." Because there weren't more available. "I needed a snack for the journey." Uh huh. He gapes slightly, despite himself, and glances at Fletcher out of the corner of his eye.
Then, like day into night, the humour is gone. His beak closes, his expression becomes distant, and with a quick feather-rouse, the Brigadier turns to peer back out of the hollow that Catcher just entered. Beyond the open space that stretches around the blasted tree, Noctua's comforting darkness looms. There is so much still to do, and now that this emergency has been dealt with, his mind is moving ahead to the next thing on the horizon. "I should go." The old bird glances over his shoulder at her. "Are you going to be...?"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Dec 02, 2007 3:49 pm
And while the Wardens search without, Fletcher (and her Mus army) will watch within. That business with Yew and the creature from Above may have been something that any right-minded Sentinel would dismiss as Fletcher's typically paranoid exaggeration, but that combined with the Spectre chick and the disappearances... no, you're not paranoid if they're actually out to get you.
Catcher, meanwhile, has taken a very deliberately circuitous route towards Fletcher; he stays very clearly outside of the Brigadier's easy strike range. A slight nod confirms the loss of one Mus - a Mus who went willingly to his death, for the Greater Good - and then Catcher continues past Fletcher and into a small hole in the side of the tree's interior. Off to round up the troops and pass on some new orders, no doubt.
And now the Brigadier is leaving. Fletcher nods to herself, rational enough (at the moment!) to be pleased that he came to save her from doing something stupid... although she plans to have words with Catcher about his behaviour, soon. "Y-yeah, you should," she nods again, her attention already wavering a bit as her gaze wanders about her home, "I'll be fine. Fine, fine, right as rain. Broken as always! But, but.. but I won't break anything, promise."
Her gaze stops at a ghastly trophy, one of many she's got displayed on her walls - a full wingspread, feathers only, the ends of the feathers crusted with decades-old blood. "I promise."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Jaeger Erdarastrix Vice Captain
|
Posted: Sun Dec 02, 2007 5:00 pm
Head still turned, he follows her gaze to the wingspread. Don't make promises you can't keep, Fletcher. But rather than say the words that come unbidden to his mind, he turns back towards the exit and gears himself up to make the flight across the open space and back to the heart of the forest. "Good."
And just before the old bird launches himself, he adds, "I'll visit soon." That's his own never-kept promise, and a long-time benign habit; he always says it-- with the best intentions-- but time always proves him wrong. Clan business keeps the Brigadier from the social duties he once had. Although Fletcher is one of the few Sentinels he feels obligated to keep a more personal watch over, the truth is that it takes something akin to Catcher's intrusion to remind him that the well-being of the individual is just as important as the well-being of the entire Clan.
Without another word or backwards glance, the Deep Woods male makes his creaky way out of the hollow and, without further ceremony, hurls himself into the sky. He'll be glad when he gets through the open space surrounding Fletcher's tree, and gladder still once he's back on his favourite perch. That nap is desperately overdue, and the Brigadier intends to take it... because the churning feeling in his gut tells him that in the near future, sleep may become a very rare commodity.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
