MELITA
Monster hunting was a torment from the past, one she allowed to haunt her, to sculpt her, to mold her, bestial and barbaric, intertwining with the rush of her ichor, her veins, her ferocity. Ronin’s invitation had all but sealed the deal – she’d be roaming just as she had been before, straight into the heart of demons and massacres, but stronger, faster, better. Why she’d want to return to those thwarting bastions and zealous, manipulative, aggressive ramparts was something else entirely (familiar in its stead, a way for her training to be implemented and wielded, a test, a torment, because she’d been touched by savagery and sinister ministrations and couldn’t give it up). She wasn’t without arms or munitions, her handcrafted bow clinging to her back, her favored staff pulsing in her hands. Fangorn bounded along her side, and whether or not he was impressed by her next set of notions was something altogether: his signature, fanged frown molded along his face. Melita and the gourd chose to announce their presence through diligence and quietness rather than their usual, loud, abrupt entrance – sliding across woodland thickets and besotted moss, ducking beneath branches, breathing in the hushed platitudes, difficult, but capable. Her gilded eyes first roamed to Ronin, her smile widening, appreciative and acknowledging his invitation by coming to the beckons, by arriving there, eager for destruction and mayhem. Then there was Emmett, who received a wave, and Remi, in lion form, a bold pat along the top of his mane proffered and a sneaky smirk tucked along her lips. There was only one she didn’t recognize at all, but he received a cheeky endeavor too, before her gaze focused back on their leader, staff remaining upright and firm in her grasp. I’m ready her stance said, no words necessary. The excitement pervading from her essence was likely enough to convey anything she wished to say.
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
