From being an Abandoned who had rarely left the Hollowed Grounds, to embracing the call of adventure, to dying and being reborn first as an Ascended and then as an Ancient, Maea has gone through quite the amount of changes in her life. One thing remains common, though, in her attempts to find out just where she belongs; she’s always had a craving for knowledge which has brought her to so many places and to meet so many people here in Caido. We can’t wait to see what else is in store for her!
Congratulations, Maea!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
Skinning and hosting by the epically talented Kaons, and functionality fanciness by the coding magic of Neowulf. If you ever see either of them around, make sure to show them some love!
A community, a collection of souls sequestered and clustered together, a sanctity, a sanctuary: she’d had one of those in the Rift, but it’d been to ensure survival, so they all remained upright, mobile, and alive, a family of disassembled, broken souls. But here, here there were chances for more: more than just treachery, more than just dire consequences, more than just upheaval. This was a chance to belong to something, and she wondered why she hadn’t come sooner.
Her eyes lifted to the outside, inspecting her earlier work on the paint, pleased to see it was still holding well: before her gaze settled on the massive double doors, on the threshold of beckoning, siren-song predilections. She’d joined them before, assaulting a banshee. She’d been acquainted with numerous members. She’d willingly hunted monsters before, when it was all she had, when it was all she could do to ensure her cherished ones lived another day, another hour, another moment. She glanced at Fangorn at her side, bending down to pick him up, to curl him into her arms when the strangest series of nerves bombarded against her. What if they didn’t want her? What if she wasn’t enough? What if she was still an ineffectual mess?
Then her boldness, her audacity took over, one hand on the doors, twisting, turning, and pushing, until she was an individual casting a shadow on the light portaling into the next room: catching the décor, the pelts, the pride, infiltrating the wares, the finer points, the dastardly, daring inferno. “Hello,” she called into the opening, not the void but something else altogether (home, her thought echoed; she wanted it to be home), managing to tiptoe her way further. “I would like to join all of you,” her voice bounded, an exultant, exuberant refrain when her heart thudded and bloomed, a blossoming of potential if they allowed her to stay.
At this time the guildhall was abuzz with low voices and laughter; drinking and coming and going. Ronin was still getting used to that, to seeing his quiet home transform by midday into a public place. Still, though - it didn't make it any less his home. He heard the familiar trill of a voice and headed for the entrance to greet Melita. Upon his shoulders a white dragonet shrieked a greeting and flapped her wings - and attached to Ronin's fingers, her chubby little fists gripping her father tightly, Aoife plodded around on feet not yet strong or balanced enough to walk alone.
Leading Ronin around though - she could manage that. "Join us?" Ronin gazed up, grinning at Melita. "What a fine idea! You can start with this monster, if you like." He scooped up a squirming Aoife, who let out a cry of outrage at the ending of the game.
She needn’t have worried, but the relief was so intense, too immense, that at the trill of an ivory dragon, a flap of wings, Aoife’s toddling appearance, and Ronin’s grin, she loosened a sharp breath, whittling it down to a softened sigh. Fangorn gurgled and hissed his own set of greetings towards hatchling, child, and guildmaster, and the youth dipped low, allowing him to be free of her hands so that he might inspect anything and everything. Her heart beat a drumming crescendo, nerves and appreciation, hands suddenly clustered together with nothing to hold or do. “Possibly one of the scariest I’ve seen,” she laughed and shook her head, remembering the babe in Remi’s custody at the festival, while they danced and shrieked with delight, with unspoken whims and mercurial columns. She proffered her arms to scoop up the child too, if Ronin was willing to unleash the tiny beast.
Then the youth grew into a bundle of nerves again, which was very stupid, because the acceptance seemed too easy – perhaps she was meant to go for a trial, maybe she had to fight her way in, before she was finally recruited into their halls, into their merry laughter. Her gilded eyes held a myriad of questions, but her tongue settled for just one. “Is there anything I need to do?”
Ronin was all too happy to surrender Aoife to Melita's waiting arms, the girl's outrage turning to delight at the fiery haired woman's attention. "The absolute scariest. She doesn't get to see ladies much, so this must be a treat." He grinned and beckoned the girl further inside, where the fire was low (it was too hot anyway) and the drinks flowing.
"Hunt monsters, mostly," Ronin said with a laugh, nodding over his shoulder to the notice board they had just passed. "Folks post marks up there. Take whatever one suits your fancy. If there's anything bigger and bumpier though, I'll usually arrange something similar to what we did with that banshee." Because of course she was welcome after taking down that creature.
Melita’s hands grabbed hold of Aoife in the most tender of amusements, lifting her upwards, listening to the small giggles and radiant laughter. The youth followed his beckoning grin, swinging Aoife around midair, watching tiny fists fly around, then collecting her much like she had always done with Fangorn, hoisting the babe into the crook of her arms, balancing her carefully along folded inclinations and strong grasps. “What a fearsome little thing you are,” she cooed in the child’s soft hair, a resounding echo of words transcribed and fostered upon her as a screaming, tempestuous toddler. She’d been so proud.
While her fixation had been on Aoife, she also meandered her attention to Ronin’s slight tour – gazing at the notice board, notes of monsters and mayhem, streaks of demons running amok amidst the clambering storms. She nodded her head, remembering the banshee, the strike of emotions playing against her heart; why, why, why a dangerous inferno, until she saw its measures, its might, its grief for herself. The honeybee girl wasn’t entirely sure what to say after all of that – accepted and tolerated so easily, when other worlds had done their best to shake her to her core, her foundation. “Thank you,” she applied instead, an unearthly, ethereal grin glimmering off of her features.
"Yeah, you should hear her when she's hungry," Ronin said with a cackle, glancing over his shoulder to where Aoife was curled up in the crook of Melita's arm, cooing up at them and grinning like butter wouldn't melt. She most certainly wasn't to be trusted, and Ronin adored her for it.
The thanks weren't necessary and Ronin could only nod a you're welcome to her, moving to sink down in his favourite seat beside the fire, not that he needed its warmth these days. He motioned for the empty seat opposite him, or anywhere she cared to make herself at home.
"It's settled, then. I look forward to seeing what you bring back!" He nodded up at the walls, littered with trophies of things that went bump in the night.
