[ AW ] ♦ The Stars Above

Exalted Bacchae

She walked the frequently trodden path. It was soft underfoot, worn away by many paws and by the soft foliage that flanked the trail. For a while, the trees blocked the brilliance of the stars above but, she could already hear the sound of the waterfalls up ahead that heralded the arrival of the break in trees.

She heard a low hoot as Nightglow made himself known. The white owl flew in from the treetops and landed on her shoulder. He smelled of blood and she knew he had taken himself away to catch something to eat. Of course, he always came back. He was well-trained.

She accepted nothing less. If he'd shown any inclinations that he would be anything less than trainable and disciplined, she would have killed him for he would have served more use dead than alive.

Now though, she depended on him for the abilities that he held. How he made her life a bit easier.

She left the treeline then, and sat on the banks of the shore. Her eyes lifted skyward, gaze trailing the stars. She made sure to look each of them in turn before closing her eyes and offering a prayer for herself, her nation, and her family.

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Art & Coding (c) Plymouth

The night is deep, the last embers of twilight swallowed by the dark embrace of Heaven’s Tears. The waterfalls roar - a lullaby from the untamed nature - he Dire moves through the dense forest like a shadow given form, his steps hushed against the moss-laden earth. The air is damp with the mist of cascading water, carrying the scent of pine and earth. Above, the sky is clear, an infinite stretch of indigo punctured by celestial fire.

Darkness unfurls, consuming the woodland in long, creeping fingers, and the creatures beneath him stir - some moving obliviously, others sensing the silent predator in their midst. Dire does not hunt tonight. The behemoth is off duty, his gaze keen yet unhurried as he prowls the heights, surveying the world below. The wilderness bows to his presence, the unseen revering his rule even in silence.

Then, golden eyes lock upon something delicate. Ethereal. As if sculpted from moonlight itself, the female moves with an unearthly grace, wraith-like in the silver glow. @Exalted is a vision, an ascendency among mere mortals, and Dire watches her with the intensity of a hunter admiring his prey before the chase. His possessive nature hums beneath the surface, primal, insatiable, but for now, he is content to observe. To revel in the sheer existence of beauty.

He wonders if she feels his gaze - if the weight of his attention will draw her eyes to him, unravelling the distance between them. He does not hide; there is no need.

He is inevitable.

Notes:: Well hello to you too,

Table @Calatiah, Art @glacialee

Exalted Bacchae

For a while, she sat, simply enjoying the peace the stars offered. The feel of the cool, night breeze on her pale coat, the feel of Nightglow's talons on her shoulder. It all lent itself to her feeling alive.

However, that did not mean she was unaware.

As a guardswoman, she always was on alert. It was a learned habit at this point, to always keep aware of what was around you. Because even off-duty, you never knew what could happen or who could be watching you.

She tilted her ears back, towards the beast who lurked in the shadows. Her head did not turn, her eyes did not open, but she still addressed him when she spoke loud and clear. "Who stands there in the darkness? Are you a follower of the stars? Or are you starless vagrant?" If it was the latter, she would tear them limb from limb and remind them which land they found themselves standing in. She was born under The Father, and she took her role very seriously. His justice must always be met.

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Art & Coding (c) Plymouth

The weight of her voice cuts through the night like a blade - clear, unwavering, laced with quiet authority. The stars above shimmer, their light pooling in the silver thread of her coat, casting her as something more than mortal. A sentinel. A force of reckoning.

Dire does not falter. He does not shrink from the warning laced within her words. Instead, he steps forward, the mist curling at his paws, the moon painting his frame in a muted silver. His eyes gleam - dark fire caught in liquid amber, feral and knowing.

I walk beneath the stars, he says, voice a low rumble, steady as the earth beneath them. But I do not follow them.

The words carry no plea for acceptance, no concession for her judgment. He is what he is - a force unto himself, neither begging the heavens for guidance nor fearing the consequences of straying beyond their light.

For a moment, he studies her, the way she does not turn to see him, yet knows he is there. A warrior’s instinct. A predator’s vigilance. He appreciates such things. Strength deserves recognition.

And yet, there is something else. A quiet fascination. She is sharp as a blade, but carved in elegance, as if the heavens themselves had shaped her from their own light. He thinks, briefly, that possession is inevitable. That what captivates him does not escape him.

Notes:: This can go one of two ways! I'm happy for a bit of a tussle between them!

Table @Calatiah, Art @glacialee

Exalted Bacchae

I walk beneath the stars. Ah, so it seemed that there would be no conflict here. For this was no-- But I do not follow them. And there it was.

She breathed in, deep, through her nose. Then, out slowly as she says, "Father above, guide your daughter this night. Fill her with Your holy justice." And then, she opened her eyes and turned her head to look at the heretic.

He was large, smaller than she, but large. However, his body was build in sharp angles and thick shapes. He stepped towards her and though she was off-duty, she knew she would have no problem with hauling him into the jails to have her superiors deal with him. This was a harsh land and it had no room for those that did not conform.

Those that did not follow the will of the stars would be nothing but their downfall.

She rolled her shoulders, flexed her paws, and readied herself for a fight. "Are you unaware of the lands you walk? Heretics are unwelcome here. They are who helped bring about the end of The Eldritch Tree." And she turned and stood to face him, the owl on her shoulder lifting its wings to keep balance as its eyes stayed on the man, silent and intense. "Have you anything to say in your defense?" Her eyes reflected the darkness of the night, bleached of color, almost the same blue as the sky itself. Yet, despite that, if one looked hard enough, they could see the raging light of fanaticism deep within. The devout belief of the gods in the sky.

The hatred for anyone who did not believe.

The desperate need to prove herself to her superiors.

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Art & Coding (c) Plymouth

The night thickens, the sky stretching endless above them, silent and watchful. Dire does not flinch at her words, nor does he bristle beneath the weight of judgment. He meets her gaze, unwavering, a predator before a battle, knowing neither will yield without tasting blood.

He tilts his head slightly, golden eyes narrowing with something unreadable - thought, amusement, perhaps the slow burn of curiosity. I am aware, he says, voice even, yet carrying the promise of something untamed beneath its calm surface. And I remain.

His steps are measured, his form unhurried as he draws closer, the mist swirling at his feet, curling against the unseen force that bends to his will. He is smaller, true, but his presence is vast, a storm contained within sinew and flesh. He does not cower before faith. He does not kneel before the gods above.

You speak of justice, he muses, eyes flicking to the owl that watches him with silent intensity. But justice is forged in fire, not blind devotion.

It is not defiance, not yet. It is observation - an unravelling of belief, a test of conviction. A zealot's a flame, flickering in the depths of her gaze, bright and consuming. It is the mark of those who believe, those who fight for something greater than themselves. He does not hate it. He does not fear it. A shame really.

But he does not bow to it.

Would you drag me to your cells simply for walking beneath your skies? His voice is a challenge, smooth, edged with something raw beneath the surface.

Would you chain a man for standing unshaken before your gods?

His stance remains unyielding, his frame relaxed yet ready. He does not move to fight, but he does not move to flee. He waits - to see what justice means in the hands of one so devoted. To see whether faith is steel or smoke.

Table @Calatiah, Art @glacialee

Exalted Bacchae

His words. Why did she feel they were a test? As if he were pushing at her convictions, at her faith, to see if she had what it took to back her words? To back the nation. To back the very stars themselves.

They stood above. Silent sentinels to the encounter. Watching. Waiting. Were they judging her too? Did they want to see what she did in the face of a challenge? Was she all bark? Or was she able to back up what she said?

"I am not blind, my devotion guides me. So too does The Father, as He is my guiding flame." She turned the words spoken against her to an advantage. She did not see her devotion as a weakness. No, only heretics believed that. Their devotion made them strong. It gave them conviction and the will to do what was right no matter the cost.

"Yes, to both. By order of the Praetorian Guard, I hereby place you under arrest for conspiring against the stars. Yield or I'll forcefully put you down." She growled and though she gave him the option to submit first... she didn't like the thought that he would. A sick part of her wanted the challenge, wanted to feel teeth and to taste blood. The rush of adrenaline with fighting was like nothing else she ever got to feel.

And.

He didn't disappoint.

She lunged. Nightglow took flight.

Rolled a First-To-30 match in Discord. Exalted was the victor!

She shoved him into the dirt, standing tall and proud as she held him on the ground. "My stars watch me with pride tonight. Can you say the same, vagrant?" Clearly, it was by the will of the stars that she should put him down. They wanted her to bring this criminal to justice. "What is your name? So that I and the stars know who brings them shame this night?" Perched in a nearby tree, Nightglow sat with wings spread, ready to fly with speed to the nearest guardsman so that they could help Exalted haul the nonbeliever into the jail for judgement.

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Art & Coding (c) Plymouth

The stars bore witness to the collision - a clash of devotion and defiance beneath their watchful gaze. He welcomed the charge, meeting it with a predator’s precision, his body twisting to absorb the impact with a controlled pivot. Claws scraped against the earth, the whisper of combat threading through the roar of waterfalls.

She was fast - driven by purpose, by righteous fury. But Dire was something older, something forged in instinct rather than faith. He caught her momentum, his frame coiling like a serpent ready to strike. A calculated step. A shift in weight. Then he twisted himself in return, attempting to grapple onto the scruff of her neck.

Dire's grip had been sure, his strength unquestionable, but she was relentless, driven by something deeper than mere survival. In one swift motion, she turned the tide, throwing her weight into his shoulder, using his own power against him. A calculated move, a warrior’s answer to challenge.

He faltered - just for a moment. A rare slip in the rhythm of combat. The earth beneath him trembled under the force of their struggle, the mist curling around them as if nature itself watched with bated breath.

Immobilised but never defeated, Dire met her gaze, golden eyes flickering with something beyond frustration. Admiration, perhaps. A test answered with undeniable proof. She was no hollow disciple. She did not preach empty words.

A slow exhale escaped him, the taste of iron lingering in the air, the heartbeat of the wild thundering in his ears.

Interesting, he murmured, voice laced with something unreadable

Tonight, he was no victor.

Pinned beneath the weight of devotion, Dire does not fight. Not now. He does not thrash, does not snarl, does not waste breath on denial.

My stars do not watch, he says, voice low, steady despite the dirt that presses against his frame. They do not cast judgment. They do not demand blood.

There is no plea within his words. No fear. Only truth - his truth, the truth of one who walks without celestial guidance, who does not falter beneath the weight of faith.

His name? She demands it as if knowing him will define his worth, his crime.

Dire, he offers simply. Not a confession, not a surrender, but a declaration. A name forged by his own hand, carried upon his own terms.

His name was not unknown, nor was his presence an anomaly. They walked the same path, aligned with the same forces, yet tethered to vastly different convictions.

So, he mused, voice carrying the weight of something deeper, something contemplative. His body remained still beneath her hold, but his gaze was alive - searching, unravelling the depths of her fanaticism. Was this duty? Or was it something more? Did she wrestle with familiarity, or had she already sentenced him in the court of the stars above?

Tell me, he said, the title curling off his tongue like an invocation. What do you truly see in me? A heretic? A threat? Or something that does not fit within the rigid world you've carved?

Would conviction alone dictate his fate? Or would some form of recognition complicate the justice she so sought?

Table @Calatiah, Art @glacialee

Exalted Bacchae

She stood above him and yet, there was something inside of him. Some defiance that did not quell. No spirit that quaked and demanded mercy. He did not beg for release. Did not beg for her to not drag him away to the dungeons. He did not break. He did not fall prey. No, he lay there, some indomitable spirit that refused to be humbled.

Interesting. He'd said. She could decide if it was admirable, or if it infuriated her.

He spoke and... something within her understood. It clicked into place. Her eyes flicked to her bird in the tree. He stayed himself and her gaze returned fully to the man underneath her. "Then whose stars shone on you, on your birth?" Which ones did he follow? What was his creed?

She fell quiet, studying him. The bold amber eyes that stared back at her. She did not answer him for a moment, simply narrowed her eyes as she fished in them for something. Her ears twitched back and then forward, and then, "Who are you? Do you test me this night?" Was he simple vagrant? Or was there someone more within this man? The way he fought, the way he carried himself. He was an enigma, and she planned to get to the bottom of it.

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Art & Coding (c) Plymouth

He did not shift beneath her scrutiny. He remained as he was, grounded yet unshaken, the weight of her authority pressing down but never truly pinning him. Her questions lingered in the mist between them, curling in the silence, waiting for answers.

None, he said, voice steady, a quiet defiance laced within the single word. No stars shone on me, no divine hands shaped my path. His golden eyes did not waver, did not flicker with hesitation. I follow only what I carve for myself.

He did not speak with regret, nor with arrogance - only certainty, the kind that could not be bent or broken, only understood.

She studied him, searching for something beneath the surface, her gaze cutting like steel. He let her look. Let her probe and question, let her wrestle with the unknown.

Do I test you? A slow exhale, a glint of amusement sparking in the depths of his gaze. Perhaps. Or perhaps you seek the test yourself.

His body remained still, but his presence was vast, pressing against the edges of the moment, filling the air with something more than just defiance. An enigma, yes - but not without purpose.

I am Dire, he continued, the name a declaration, not an offering. And whatever you think me to be, I will not change it for the stars.

I am of the Guard, same as you, he said, voice edged with assumption. But I do not worship the stars that watch us. My duty is to the strength I forge, to the justice I see fit - not to celestial hands that would dictate my steps.

The words did not hold resentment, only certainty. A truth he had long embraced, one that had shaped him in battles past. He was no stranger to the laws that bound them, nor to the convictions that fuelled their blades. But faith had never been his guide. Only instinct. Only reason.

You see heresy, Dire mused, unbothered by the declaration that had pinned him beneath her. I see a warrior questioning the world as it is. What is justice, if it does not withstand challenge?

Table @Calatiah, Art @glacialee