Intro
Seen by few and proven by fewer, the dark secret of the territory known not even to most of the pride. None who look for him seem able to find him. He has been here longer than this pride and the pride before it, waiting with endless patience in his vigil below the surface, with two shamans reborn as eternally living ravens, one black and one white, by his side.
The executioner, or "Fodder", has resided beneath this pride's territory for longer than they've been around. He makes his home in a large underground cavern at the end of a long, steeply declining and winding tunnel. He isn't a part of the pride, and known only by the shamans, who keep it a guarded secret. After all, knowing what he does would only upset most lions.
In his cavern, deep below the surface, Fodder waits, cold as death, for cubs. Specifically, cubs who can't survive on their own that were driven out of a pride's care. Those who got driven out of the territory before they were weaned, or those who are simply on the verge of death because their mothers didn't teach them how to hunt yet. They are called down into the winding tunnel, where they meet the executioner. He gives them a drink of water from a puddle in his cave, a grooming with a cold, dry tongue, and company for a day, sometimes less if they're closer to death or in pain. Then, he kills them, in a practiced, swift manner to avoid as much pain as possible. The cubs' bodies are stored at the back of the cave until he has time to go up and leave them for scavengers, and their whispers are held in a sort of hibernating state, sleepy and slow, until Mazzikim can take them out of the cave and into the spirit realm where they belong.
Fodder has no true magic of his own. What mysticism he may seem to have about him is a side effect of his apathy and his long life. All of the magic about Fodder is purely environmental, or from the two ravens with him. The environmental, strong magic based at his cave was created by many shamans long ago, and maintained by the two who stayed around.
Fodder's cave radiates two types of energy: one to hide its presence, and one to draw someone to it. For lions who don't belong in the cave, of any age, Fodder's tunnel entrance is made to seem entirely inconspicuous, to look like an abandoned badger or snake burrow, and forces a sense of unimportance about itself so that even those who are looking for it pass it up as not the correct passage. The other type of 'radiation' creates a sense of curiosity, making the tunnel seem either interesting or like a good place to hide and rest. It can't force somebody in, but since most of the lions it needs to approach are cubs with nothing else to do who have been abandoned and need that sense of safety so desperately, it most often works on those it needs to. The default radiation is the one that puts a veil over what it actually is, and the ravens and Fodder make exceptions as needed. The radiation of inconspicuousness clings to Fodder's being when he leaves, making it more likely for lions to not realize they've seen him, but by no means impossible, hence why he still sneaks when around highly populated areas.
Fodder doesn't need to sleep. When sat undisturbed in his cavern, instead of sleeping, he enters a trance-like state that allows him to reach out and 'sense' whispers. Through this, he observes abandoned cubs that are close to dying and sends out the ripple of magic that prompts them to seek out his cavern. The raven shamans join him to help with this in more than one direction, to cover more ground.
Fodder seems to be in the doorway of death. Not in front of it, not behind it, but right in the middle, stuck between life and death. He does not eat, he does not thirst, he does not age, and his body has a mummified quality to it. His body is always cold, his fur is coarse. He is effectively preserved in time. This also allows him to be a 'source of light' in the depths of his cavern. Because of how close he is to death at all times, almost a spirit himself, the light of the whispers in his cavern reflect off of the white parts of his fur, giving him a ghostly quality when down in that cavern.
Fodder himself has almost no whisper at all, on the verge of becoming a hollow husk, all for the purpose of dissuading whisper-hungry lions or other creatures from trying to steal his whisper if he is killed, or if they are simply observing him and gauging whether it's worth it to attack for a whisper. He is rarely killed by others, but when he is, one of the ravens leaves the cavern to fetch his tiny amount of whisper, and give it to a new body in the cavern so it can grow and obtain the same black and white appearance as his previous body. The husked state he's in is part of what's sapped him of all passion. The other part that's muffled so much of his empathy and reasoning is simply the amount of time he's been doing this task.
Biography
The executioner had already been established when Balaur and his pride made their way to this new lands. The scrappy little lion already lived in his hole in the ground, in a deceptively lush part of the land. Balaur found him when the big smilus had scouted out the area, to be sure there were no predators or snakes that already called this place home.
Balaur wasn't phased by the executioner's job. The king didn't get the explanation of how long ago this had begun, or how old the executioner was. Balaur had killed cubs and lionesses on the journey to this new place; death was not unfamiliar to him. But Balaur did know that to many, this would be more than unsettling. So, when Balaur left this cave, he sought out the lion shaman that had come with them, Screech. She'd lived a long time, seen many things. As it turned out, yes, she already knew of the executioner. She knew of the darker variant of magic that he used, the whispers of mournful mothers and lonely cubs who gave him immortality so he could spare lost lions a slow death. It was the grimmer variant of the golden, warm magic Screech had used to save Ceto's life, and given the sirenomelia cub a tail, all those years ago.
Balaur's stubby tail thumped against the ground behind him as he watched the comparatively tiny lioness. Screech was deaf, but he spoke anyway. "The pride wouldn't listen to me forever. And I'm growing so old, so quickly....I'm very tired. I don't have much longer. Do I tell my heir, Coalfoot, about this? Do I warn them all so they can keep our cubs away? I'm sure the executioner wouldn't be able to tell the difference between an unwanted cub and a foolish one."
Screech looked patiently up at Balaur, a worn out smile on her muzzle. She can't hear what he says, but she saw where he came out from, and she knows. She's familiar with the executioner. She can see that he's agitated, and, for Balaur, surprisingly he looks conflicted. She's deaf, but clever. She can guess at where some of his worries lie.
Screech looked over her shoulder at him as she stood up, to make her way to the back of the hill. Balaur stares at her in confusion, but she speaks up anyway, in her odd, muddled voice that gives away the fact she can't hear herself talk. "Don't tell anyone about him. Don't worry about your cubs wandering into his claws, I have just the thing to take care of that. Do not worry about when I die. A lion shaman never truly dies. My whisper will still be here, and I'll see to it that this place is safe. I'll always be around, even when I'm not. The only thing that could let somebody notice the smells or sounds that come from the executioner's lair is if another shaman or myself wanted them to see."
Balaur let Screech leave, watching the sunrise through the sparse trees and tall grasses. He couldn't go back to his pride until this task was done, and he was sure it was safe. Screech always seemed to do her magics at dawn, then the sun touched her current project. Sure enough, an hour or so later, the old lioness made her way back around the steep hill, tapping a bony paw against one of Balaur's giant ones. "It is done. He is hidden. I told him about it. His ravens have enough magic to shield him from sight when he takes the bodies away, now and again. Your pride's cubs will be safe, and your pride doesn't have to know. Keep this a secret."
The old king nodded slowly. And, despite his cold attitude so often, he leaned against Screech. She leaned back. They'd take the secret with them, away from the pride, when they died. The executioner watched from the mouth of his tunnel, before turning and heading back down, down, into the murky, dark depths. His ravens followed close behind.
Interactions
You sit next to "Fodder" to see how he's doing. He leans in to whisper his suspicions about another pride mate. Perhaps it bears watching?
Other lions in your pride used to tease "Fodder" about their weird appearance, until they started a rumor that they were favored by the spirits. Nobody wanted to mess with that.
all art here by myself |
