• Open • Cats in the Crate-le

[Mastemyr]

23 Ashan 719

It was raining, but that didn’t stop the mad cat.

Mastemyr was hunched over in his human form, teeth gritted. Unlike the usual black, his hair was completely silver, damp and slicked back over his crown. He tried to dig his bare feet into the mud as he dragged the oversized crates to a small opening at the dreary bazaar. The container was empty but made with sturdy foreign wood and smelled of dried hay. Tiny meows sounded from the sack hanging from his neck as he used his arms to heft one crate alongside trader’s tents, the bloody bandages tied around his calf quickly getting soaked. He was covered in scratches and the licentious bitemarks of vermin, on display across his bare torso. He lifted his head at the first mercenary to walk by his display and grinned, leaning against the crate and using his weight to knock it over on its side. He used his claws to pry away the lid and slipped his body inside, a rogue rat squeaking at the disturbance.

He detected it before he fully knew where it was, snatching into the dark and grabbing it harshly by the belly. It gave a shrill cry before a crunch sounded and Mastemyr’s face poked back out into bazaar. His eyes were mischievous orange, and his jaw moved before a dark mass shot from his mouth and rolled across the mud, sinking into the sludge. Rat head. He rolled the limp body between his fingers, feeling the rodent’s fur grow sticky and warm.

Blood coated his shining lips and he grinned again, pulling back into the recesses of the darkened crate, peering through the boards, “Hello,” he purred at the first patron that passed, peeking outward from the dry box as he maneuvered into a comfortable position alongside his shield, “Mastemyr has wares if you have cooooin.”

[Kisaik]

They were riding out through the burhos, despite of the rain. Kisaik had nevertheless left his armor and fancy underarmor clothing at home, so it wouldn't need to be meddled with. Alaiwa would be washing the armor and making sure it was up to snuff. He felt strange without his gear, having worn it for almost three tentrials. Like he wasn't a knight anymore, even though he still felt like it. He debated the idea of fitting Slate with his barding. The cat seemed to enjoy the feeling of the armor, almost as comfortable as any cat bed. Nevertheless, he wanted to give the cat a chance to move without the armor.

He could feel the cat's reflexes and strength as he rode along. For all the carrying an armored tunawa on his back and the barding into the bargain, the cat had grown strong over the past trials. And their bond had grown as well. Every day Kisaik felt more confident astride Slate, better able to direct his cat's movements. He was a better rider overall.

A mewl sounded from somewhere nearby, as they approached the bazaar. Even audible above the usual din of the crowds. Actually a chorus of mewls. Kisaik lifted his head, listening closely to the sound of the cat noises. "Do you hear that?" He asked Slate in Tree talk.

Then, without warning, Slate gave Kisaik a sampling of his newfound strength and prowess. It began bounding with all speed toward the bazaar. "Woah! Slate, heel! No Slate! Slate?" But the cat wouldn't hear it, impetuous as it was.

It finally stopped in front of an interesting looking man who was flanked by several crates, from which had come the apparent mewling. Kisaik meanwhile righted himself, and dropped off of Slate's saddle, approaching the strange man while ignoring the rat head that Slate was chomping down on. "Really, Slate. Manners! That's the man's rat head."

Having chastised his own cat, Kisaik bowed before the man. He introduced himself in heavily accented common, "I am Kisaik, or maybe you've heard of the up and coming knight, Mädärä Ciuruọrun?" Kisaik looked at Mastemyr quizically, "At any rate, it looks like a fine batch of cats you've got there... but um, what are you selling?"

[Mastemyr]

23 Ashan 719

Mastemyr was all teeth and smiles at the new arrival, peering between the worn crate boards at the cat that pounced upon his offering, “A creature of taste,” he purred, balancing the kittens that were growing more unruly with every attempt to keep them within his lap. He watched the feline with imperceptible eyes that bounced back and forth. There was this cat, one that instantly began gnawing on the severed rat head, followed by a rider. If you asked Mastemyr what he thought of that, he would be adamant - cats were not beasts of burden, but that was up to the animal to decide. If it found a working relationship with one of the twig children, so be it

“Kisiak,” the Mortalborn repeated, scratching at the underside of his own throat. He had not heard of any knight and the only other tunawa he recalled in recent events had been Rabu...

Or had he?

The Mad Cat’s memory was spotty at best, shattered and reformed. Over and over and over.

What were they talking about?

Mastemyr’s expression blanked and then he suddenly grinned, jolted by mental electricity.

“What am I selling? Kisaik. Kisaik. They’re cats. They hunt. They watch. But you know this.” Mastemyr spared an affectionate look at the feline that was scrapping its teeth against the bone above the rat’s eye, licking at the darkened fur. The kittens in his own possession hooked their little claws into his chest and he grimaced, tensing as they began to climb up and onto his shoulder. A black one with green eyes meowed shrilly in his ear and he leaned back, plucking them back into his lap by their scruff. Adorable, insolent children.

They tried to scatter again, but his hands pulled them back and they they attacked his knuckles. He began to play with them, wiggling his fingers, remnants of rat blood drying into the crevice of his flesh, “Sssslate. Slate. Slaaaate…. Why have you named him this?”

Mastemyr looked down with a certain judgment in molten gold irises, the pupil narrowing. Dark hair emerging from the shadows and loomed above his guest, his necklace dangling downward as he smelled the humid air, “Was it you or Madara?”

[Kisaik]

Kisaik returned the man’s smile, but it slowly faded as the man stalled in his responses. It seemed there was either something troubling him, or perhaps he was under the influence of some somber spirits. Either way, Kisaik shrugged as his smile faded and shrunk.

Then he explained what he was selling. ”You’re selling… cats? But… Cats choose their owners. A cat is not traded, but pledges itself freely to the one that loves it gives it food and gives it a safe home.” At least that’s how the relationship worked in Kisaik’s mind. He wondered if Slate had other ideas sometimes.

Speaking of slate, the cat had finished with the rat’s head. Having done so, it now took an interest in the man with his cats. It jumped up onto him, and began rubbing against his arm. Eventually Slate crawled up onto his shoulder, and began purring and chattering in Mastemyr’s ear. It may have just been nothing, or perhaps a twist of the wind, but it almost sounded as if the cat were communicating with Mastemyr. If he could understand the cat, he’d hear it say, Actually he named me after a rock. A rock, can you imagine? I, Ibiti Hau, reincarnated prince of a mighty pride, Nigbawo Yäfï, whose lineage stretches to the very beginnings of our world. The cat stopped it’s chattering, and then meowed, You won’t tell him my secret, will you? I’d prefer he remain the comic relief in our duo.

Of course, Slate really cared not if Mastemyr gave up the information, or he wouldn’t have confided. It was just something he needed to get off his chest. One way or another he’d balance the situation going forward, it was the feline way.

Meanwhile, Kisaik had meandered toward a small orange cat, with a white belly. He looked at the kitten, and smiled at it. It chattered at him. He chattered back in Tree-talk, which of course the cat wouldn’t understand. But using animal noises on animals tended to put them at ease, at least in Kisaik’s experience.

Then the tunawa looked up at Mastemyr. ”Oh! Mädärä Ciuruọrun is me, and I him. It means Sir Ciuruọrun. That’s me, I’m a knight errant. And yes I named him slate, as it appeared to please him the most at the time. And he responded to it.”

In Mastemyr’s ear, the deliirium prompted another bout of chattering from Slate, as dreams mixed with realities and back again, Is that so? I always presumed that Slate was tree-talk for food..

[Mastemyr]

Cats choose their owners, he said.

Mastemyr’s eyes narrowed and his teeth flashed. Was this stick lecturing him on his own domain? “I said I’m selling them,” he growled, clawing himself forward so that his torso protruded from the crate, rain rolling down his skin, “I didn’t say they would like you.” The more his mind tumbled with the suggestion, the more agitated he became, a sharp huff rushing from his nose, “Cats are not dogs. They do not stay because someone gives them food and a bed. They have no need for those things. They stay because they want to.”

Mastemyr’s voice was raising, a throaty grumble cut off by Slate who pressed against his arm. His attention dropped sharply but at once his scowl softened and he huffed again, leaning back and out of the rain.

There was still tension in his muscles, but he ran a thumb along the felines cheek, listening as it chattered for his attention, “That so?” his hand slid beneath his chin and the feline jutted his neck out, pausing in his story until Mastemyr’s hand fell away.

Ibiti Hau.

“I am Mastemyr Kaidonis,” he told the cat promptly, seeing that Kisaik had begun chattering as well. Clearly he was in his right mind - everyone else was doing it too. Unless… The tunawa wasn’t real...

The Mortalborn glanced conspiratorially at Kisaik, running his tongue across his teeth as he ran his hand down the animal’s spine, “Your secret is safe with me… Slate.” he winked, and then focused back on his customer.

“There are no knights in Yaralon,” he claimed with confidence, more evidence chalking up against the guest’s existence. All they had were mercenaries in shiny armor, and even then, only sometimes, “Where are you from, Offender?”

---
Ancient Tongue

[Kisaik]

"No Knights in Yaralon! Why I just told you I'm a knight, and we're in Yaralon are we not?" Kisaik seemed positively steamed at this suggestion, yet his manner softened when the man asked him where he was from, "I'm from Desnind, originally."

"So... How much for one of these cute little friends?" Kisaik asked, turning his attention back toward the little ginger kitten he had been chattering with.

Meanwhile, Slate's eyes narrowed as Kisaik began carousing with the ginger. He rubbed against Mastemyr's ear, and purred, Excuse me. But a moment.

So saying, the cat hopped to Mastemyr's knee, and then down to the ground. Low on the legs, it stalked the kitten, and hissed, Do not encroach on my servant, young wart! He's mine!

Kisaik quirked a brow at Slate's behavior, hissing and stalking a much younger cat. Really, that wasn't very gentlemanly. "Slate! Please be kind. It's just a wee kitten. We don't stalk the meek, we protect and cherish them!"

When the tunawa tried to interject, getting between his cat friend and the kitten on the ground, Slate grew irate and hissed at him instead. Stupid treeface! I'm asserting my dominance. Stay out of it, you do not know our ways!

But from behind Kisaik, the ginger cat began rubbing against the tree man, and peeking out from behind him at slate. It's beady little eyes taking in the much larger cat, and reveling in the protection of that larger cat's owner.

A low growl issued from Slate's throat at that. Kisaik was getting quite nervous at this point. "Uh, Mister Mastemyr! You seem to be good with cats... What should I do about this little spat we're having?"

[Kisaik]

In conclusion, I, Ibiti Hau, reincarnated prince of a mighty pride, Nigbawo Yäfï, asserted my dominance over the Cat Master's small litter. The young wart that tried to steal the heart of my servant, Treeface von Cretin, was driven back into the crate from whence he came. The jumpy Treeface tried to stop me, oh how he tried to cajole and appeal for mercy. Yet I would not be denied. The Old Ways decree that a cat should do as he will, and if the hair on his back stand on end, claw the nearest Offender.

That offender happened to be the bastard of a low-life street cat of Yaralon. But that is not to degrade my victory over the Yari kitten. Even kittens in Yaralon must fight and scrape for every meal, every day they lived a testament to their endurance. A tribute to their survivability. That I, Ibiti Hau, have accomplished such a triumph speaks to the superiority of my breeding and spiritual line. It cost me in blood, as the young kitten had razor sharp claws which it did not hesitate to bat me away. It left me a souvenir in the form of a handsome scar across my nose.

And now, I ride home back to the burrow that I have claimed for myself and Treeface von Imbecile. There to get a well deserved rest, and respite from the indignities suffered that day.

Sometimes, I have a thought about that Cat Master, and the wise soothing tones of his voice. In time we will meet again, I hope, that I may be reborn to a form more fitting my gradiosity.

Until then, I sleep in a bed of hay and eagle feathers.

Treeface von Ignoramus' Harpy Eagle is eyeing me again from his perch. He thinks that I do not know what he plans, to also steal the heart of my servant, which is wrapped wholly around my little claw. I will not have it, says I. The Eagle shall fly on the Morrow, and I? I will defile its perch with my scent. I will rub that jagged wooden perch with my saliva, so that it knows its doom swiftly approaches.

One day, all birds and mice of the field will know the name of my former glory. I am Ibiti Hau, reincarnated prince of a mighty pride, Nigbawo Yäfï, and this is my story.

[Doran]

Kisaik:

Knowledge:
[*]Acrobatics: Knowing when to leap in defense, and when to stay the hell out of dodge.
[*]Animal Training: A cat is independant and isn't bought.
[*]Animal Training: Cats are territorial.
[*]Animal Husbandry: Rats are a fine snack for cats.
[*]Etiquette: You must respect a cat's agency.
[*]Mount: Riding a cat while it's chasing a rat.
[*]Persuasion: Convincing the strange catman to sell some cats.
[*]Persuasion: Trying to make peace between a kitten and a full grown cat.

Loot: -
Wealth: -
Injuries: -
Renown: -
Magic XP: -
Skill Review: Appropriate to level.
Points: 15

Mastemyr:

Knowledge: -
Loot: -
Wealth: -
Injuries: -
Renown: -
Magic XP: -
Skill Review: -
Points: 15

- - -

Comments: I find the fact that Kisaik’s mount is a cat interesting. As for Mastemyr, did he really eat a rat? But then again, he’s the Mortalborn of Cats. Either way, Mastemyr’s and Kisaik’s conversation about the nature of cats was quite entertaining. It’s a pity that their meeting ended prematurely, but I quite like the last post that was written from the point of view of Kisaik’s cat (or is it the other way round, and is Kisaik Slate’s Tunawa)?

The names that Slate gave Kisaik (Treeface von Imbecile and so on) were great!

Enjoy your rewards!

P.S.: Mastemyr, if you want knowledges for this thread, send me a PM, please, and I’ll edit this review.

P.P.S: The text in your first three posts was a little hard to read, Kisaik.