nothing to keep me from the storm
Melita Najya


Age: 19 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 4 - Strg: 21 - Dext: 22 - Endr: 22 - Luck: 15
FANGORN - Mythical - Vampire Gourd
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#1
MELITA
Melita remembered the outline of the river, the wild plunge and fall of its depths, the intertwining of its fathoms, pressed into the path ways with bare feet and untamed ambition. She wasn’t there for the water today – though the shelled anklet bounding against her skin was like an imploring rush, begging for release along the current’s edge. Were she not occupied with a certain task, she might have done just that, free and abandoned, flying across the fortitude with nefarious grace and unbridled enthusiasm: a bird, a beacon, an insatiable, avaricious thing. But she was no dryad, Naiad, or nymph, no fey, no spirit, no entanglement of anything other than boldness and audacity.

The proffered staff in her hand, she and Fangorn combed the embankment. At first, she played on its fringes, dipping her toes along the froth and foam, before remembering her task, why she was here at all – the cracks in her weapon, the shadowy fabric pressing together and taking her gift, offering her one in return. “A Wicker Woman,” she cast under her breath, eyes gazing upon canopies and boughs. The gourd gave her no assistance, as lost as she, eerie stare kindling into the woods and beyond. She couldn’t fathom anything differing or alternating from tree to tree, woefully ignorant, asking no one, heading straight into treachery, danger, without the slightest inclination of how deeply immersed she was (used to it, to the sensation of ominous foreboding pressing on her skin, grown and baptized in its bestial wake). They advanced further and further, deeper and deeper still, one hand touching over bushes, scouring and scanning copses and glades, the other holding her weapon aloft like a beloved friend, and she was hoping to rescue it from the plight of its cracked, splintered surface. Now, if only she could find what she was looking for…
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
Delah Tàirneanach
the Greatwood Guardian
War Chief

Age: 100 | Height: 4' | Race: Fae | Nationality: Natural
Level: 5 - Strg: 11 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 25 - Luck: 28
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#2
if you throw me to the wolves
"Well you won't find one here." A voice suddenly says from somewhere behind the copper-haired maiden. If Melita turns, she will see Delah, arms crossed, a mischevious scowl on her small features. Today the war chief is dressed more simply, clad in earthen colours and textures she looks fairly unassuming, save for the hardened steel in her mossy-gaze and the way her body moves with a predatory grace.

"But I suppose that isn't overly surprising. That you, one of the barrier-folk would come traipsing into our woods again, misguided and simply looking to take."

With an arched brow, the war chief leans against a tree, her wings folded neatly against her back as she apprises the taller woman with a look of disinterest.
i'll come back leading the pack

Coding base by Sky!
Melita Najya


Age: 19 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 4 - Strg: 21 - Dext: 22 - Endr: 22 - Luck: 15
FANGORN - Mythical - Vampire Gourd
Played by: Heather Offline
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#3
MELITA
The honeybee girl knew danger, sometimes relished its treacherous expanse, its scalding eternity, no world entirely safe from its heathen, fiendish craft. A voice caught at her senses and entangled, implored, her to look, and while Fangorn hissed, Melita’s eyes met the encroaching, ominous beacon.

Then she smiled.

“Oh – where could I find one then?” Her smile was bright and uplifting, as if she didn’t stare upon a warrior clad in her crafter armor, in her hatred, in her venom, in her vitriol – all predator while Melita should’ve been the prey. Instead, she was impossibly incandescent and bold, audacious still despite the scorn sent her way. How many times had she gazed upon fire and poison, and never turned away? It wasn’t going to happen now – not when she’d come this far. Misguided. Perhaps she was. Simply looking to take. In a sense, yes. There was no lie there, hidden amidst the brush – forthright and voracious, and she shrugged, glancing back at the trees. Then she twisted back to Delah, a hand proffered, introductions extended even if the woman wanted little to do with her. “I’m Melita.” And since she wasn’t wanted here (a common malady the girl had frequently faced – down in the Rift’s crypts, blistering, scalding, and seething her way to safety; you won’t scare me settling upon her defiant, amicable features). “Ludo asked me to find the sap of a Wicker Woman.” Her smile turned somewhat sheepish, as if she were apologetic for stumbling and bumbling her way in. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be bothering anyone here.”
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
Delah Tàirneanach
the Greatwood Guardian
War Chief

Age: 100 | Height: 4' | Race: Fae | Nationality: Natural
Level: 5 - Strg: 11 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 25 - Luck: 28
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#4
if you throw me to the wolves
"Where they grow." Delah answers. She cannot outright lie, but that does not entail that her answers must be at all helpful.

With a raised brow, Delah watches the girl approach, stares down at her proferred hand. "The fae do not shake hands." The war chief says with a condescending smile. With sudden speed, she reaches out swift as the wind. For a moment her hand is a blur, black fur creeping up her arms and jagged feline nails extending from her fingertips. However as her fingers stretch over Melita's skin, they appear entirely normal once again. Clasping just beneath the girl's elbow, Delah nods with a curt smile. "This is how the fae greet one another." She says, her fingers pulsing for a moment against Melita's arm before letting her own drop back to her side.

"I am Delah. Chieftess of the Fae."

The mention of Ludo made the warrior bark a laugh, her arms crossing over her chest once again. "I am sure it thought you would die in the process. Wicker Women are one of the most clever and deadly species of tree in the wood. Tell me, Melita, did you think your beauty would be enough to coax sap from one? Or that your gourd might somehow be of service?"
i'll come back leading the pack

Coding base by Sky!
Melita Najya


Age: 19 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 4 - Strg: 21 - Dext: 22 - Endr: 22 - Luck: 15
FANGORN - Mythical - Vampire Gourd
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#5
MELITA
Melita fought off an eyeroll at the first answer – not a response at all really, but a sidestep, a way to condescend. She ignored it, allowed it to bristle off, but she was no closer to an actual Wicker Woman or completing her quest.

Her hand was refused, which she should’ve expected, given the cold, chilling vibes, but her spirit wasn’t maligned or shifted, still remaining, pivotal and bright, a blistering, simmering thing, christened from the sun, the sands, the dunes rising across her toes. Not much could dissuade her. She didn’t expect the swift movement or motion, reminding her of snakes, of asps in the grass, or the sable fur, the predatory talons curling and unfurling from fingertips, stretching, imploring, as if she would suddenly be lacerated and lanced by those claws, shredded, mauled. But then it didn’t happen – in the blink of an eye, there was only normalcy, her elbow clasped, a curt smile from a warrior christened on the woman’s face. “That was so cool,” she whispered, in obvious, beatific awe, thinking about asking the chieftess to do it again just so she could watch the ripple of animalistic power and prowess – thought better of it seconds later. Then Melita went to do the same, but deficient in the fundamental, carnivorous exploits – lacking claws or talons, but ardent, zealous, fervent, and dangerous in her own right all the same. “Pleased to meet you, Delah.” Which wasn’t a lie – her eyes were rounded, wide, bewildered, but intrigued, curious, and amiable too, listening at the bark of her laugh, at her chuckle upon Ludo’s request.

Had Ludo been sending her to her doom? Jigano had told her of its trickery. Perhaps her naivete had made her believe the deity was only kind and beneficent, taking her mere shells and inspiring her down this road to recover her cracked, splintered staff – face hidden by masks. A sudden chill fell over her, features blanking; a maddening fear closing over her mind as she remembered, recalled, the way their world had fallen apart, lured and beguiled by false paragons and deities, how’d she sworn not to follow her forefathers in their foolish games and quests –

She swallowed down the ravenous bile burning down her throat. “Oh,” was a whisper, brows furrowed, eyes suddenly not on the chieftess or canopies at all, but the ground, as if that was the only place her stare was worthy. She shook her head, impulse and impetuousness driving her onward, to here, to here, to here, and then nowhere else – no information, no knowledge, no sagacity, just boundless, emboldened, stupid hope. “No. I didn’t. I just thought – “ but she hadn’t thought, which was her usual problem. Not her lack of precision. Not her strength. Not her fortitude. But her blinded ineptitude, audacious, and avaricious persistence. She folded her arms, tucked them against herself, and felt Fangorn brush against her ankles.
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
Delah Tàirneanach
the Greatwood Guardian
War Chief

Age: 100 | Height: 4' | Race: Fae | Nationality: Natural
Level: 5 - Strg: 11 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 25 - Luck: 28
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#6
if you throw me to the wolves
It was clear that Delah seemed to approve of Melita's appreciative tone, even though her own expression remained clad in storm clouds and stones as she regarded the taller girl. Indeed that was probably why she allowed the clumsy return of the gesture.

"No, go on. Finish that thought." Delah baited, with a wicked smile. "Or shall I? You just thought that because a god gave you a quest, and how important you must be to have been given one, that you'd just...wander about? No matter you are in entirely the wrong part of the woods, no matter that you've absolutely no way of acquiring the sap, but it would all work out somehow, yes?" Delah crossed her arms with a predatory scowl.

"You outlanders are all the same. You are not special because you have been thrust into our lands, not even because our creatures tolerate you." She added, moss-eyes dipping towards the gourd and then back up again.
i'll come back leading the pack

Coding base by Sky!
Melita Najya


Age: 19 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 4 - Strg: 21 - Dext: 22 - Endr: 22 - Luck: 15
FANGORN - Mythical - Vampire Gourd
Played by: Heather Offline
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Posts: 580
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#7
MELITA
She’d crossed a line somewhere: wouldn’t be the first, wouldn’t be the last, designed and molded in her winsome, but willful interludes, where the persistence survived but the colder, calculating measures did not. The words marred and scalded, tipping over the edge of her pride, but she listened anyway, not immediately defiant, not immediately seditious, spreading her inhales with slow, methodical breaths, countering with calm, composure and patience even as the raw glimmer of sedition tipped and dipped along her wiles. She took it, the barrage, the siege, the battering ram – some of it true, some of it nuanced, some of it completely false; but with a smile, savage and untamed, beckoning its way across her mouth. “I’ve never been special,” she proclaimed – a matter of fact when the rest of the world had blended into magic, into enchantments, into shifts of animals and torrents of claws. She’d made hers – each talon, each dagger, each maneuver and motion of her staff, each swing of a broken, barbed blade, each pinnacle, each paragon. Just this once a god had talked to her, looked at her, the little fire, the little flame, and allowed it to build and grow, just a smidgen, so that she could absorb, or die trying to reach for the sky.

“Maybe it'll work out. Maybe it won’t. But I’m willing to try, and sometimes that’s all that matters.” She’d dared. She’d strived. Perhaps that meant nothing to Delah, to someone who knew about the woods, who lived in amongst its particles and beauty, who could take from the elements, foster the intricacies, barrel and trap and seethe. “I doubt we’re all the same – otherwise this world would be a very boring place. I would never proclaim that all the Fae are so singular either.” The honeybee girl didn’t ask her to give them a chance. She didn’t ask for anything, really, her chin raised and her kindness still ringing from her mouth, even when the leaves, the moss, the brambles, and the thorns didn’t want to listen. “I’m sorry for coming where I don’t belong.” But it’s always been that way; I don’t know any different. The only place she’d ever been wanted was in the Dragon’s Throat, and it was gone, tarnished, extinguished. She’d landed here, to escape, to evade, to implore something other than chaos and bedlam in her life. Perhaps that had been a foolish thought too.
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
Delah Tàirneanach
the Greatwood Guardian
War Chief

Age: 100 | Height: 4' | Race: Fae | Nationality: Natural
Level: 5 - Strg: 11 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 25 - Luck: 28
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#8
if you throw me to the wolves
Delah merely smirked. "You are too old to believe such fairy-tale naivities." The warchief said with a raised brow. Humans aged differently than the fae did, but Melita looked like no mere babby. "Trying is not all that matters. Certainly not with the gods of this place."

Undaunted by Melita's efforts, Delah's eyes remained slightly narrowed, haughty with superiority. "Your world is boring. Brown, nearly lifeless. Now that your barrier has been lifted, what do you do? You seek out something else. Why? Because you are all boring. You look for someone else to fulfill you. Our woods. Our gods." Delah shrugged with disdain.

"Not just somewhere you don't belong. Not even where you need to be." The jaguar continued with a pointed look around as if to remind Melita that she'd not find the sap she sought in this place.
i'll come back leading the pack

Coding base by Sky!
Melita Najya


Age: 19 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 4 - Strg: 21 - Dext: 22 - Endr: 22 - Luck: 15
FANGORN - Mythical - Vampire Gourd
Played by: Heather Offline
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Posts: 580
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#9
MELITA
Don’t she wanted to say, when Delah’s words spew out with their solemn snickers and haughty intonations. All she’d ever had were her efforts, her determination, her stubborn, stalwart perseverance, blindly charging into battle, into tasks, into forces, to protect, to pledge, to do something other than wallow in the miserable factions of her life. She could hear it crumbling down around her though – those blessed, beautiful beliefs and creeds, things she’d held onto for what felt like centuries, because it was all she’d had. Maybe her land was boring and brown and lifeless, but that was all she’d known – she’d come from a beautiful realm suddenly encased in darkness due to greed, due to avarice, due to gods and their false paragon statutes, their duplicitous diatribes, the grasping, mercenary claws of her own people dooming and damning them all. “That was the only way I survived,” she murmured, lost in the moments that shaped and scalded her.

Delah wasn’t wrong. Melita simply didn’t want to believe it.

But it kept unraveling around her, belonging nowhere, having no one, nothing, you are naught springing against her eyes, ruining whatever smile she’d tried to embody and imagine. She shook her head, gaze registering somewhere on the ground, clinging to something, anything, when it threatened to flicker apart. “My world is dead.” Helovia, lowered into its own catacombs, sepulchers, and knives; but the girl could see the reaches of darkness and blight on the tips of plants and the depths of leaves, raised her gilded stare to the jaguar’s. “Aren’t you afraid yours will be too?”

One arm wrapped around her stomach, a means to comfort herself as Fangorn nestled his way in front of her, like a protective guard no one required. “Then where do I need to go?” She uttered, quiet, the girl who was nowhere and naught.
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
Delah Tàirneanach
the Greatwood Guardian
War Chief

Age: 100 | Height: 4' | Race: Fae | Nationality: Natural
Level: 5 - Strg: 11 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 25 - Luck: 28
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#10
if you throw me to the wolves
"Yes." Delah replied with a terse but immediate honesty. Her chin lifted slightly, eyes subtly blending back to green as she regarded the youthful face of the honeybee child before her. "I do. It is why I wish your kind would stay out of it. For three hundred years our forest has been at rest. You let the barrier fall after explicit instructions not to. I will not let the Greatwood be the first casualty in a second war."

Taking a breath and holding it, Delah looked down at Fanghorn, nibbling the inside of her lip thoughtfully. "They do not like to bond." The warrior said almost casually. "They don't usually have a mind that feels the need to avoid death, and so bonding is not normally a solution they take." She added.

"Tell me why Ludo asked this of you. What is it it wants? Or is it you, who wants something?"
i'll come back leading the pack

Coding base by Sky!
Melita Najya


Age: 19 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 4 - Strg: 21 - Dext: 22 - Endr: 22 - Luck: 15
FANGORN - Mythical - Vampire Gourd
Played by: Heather Offline
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#11
MELITA
Melita was slightly surprised by Delah’s admission, by the lifting of pride for a few, scarce moments. She must’ve struck a chord, however light and miniscule, before the Fae chieftess rounded back upon her. But all she could do was nod in the face of the facts: the Spire had fallen, the barrier had been lifted, and history repeated in the scrape of avaricious, clinging humanity, eager and fervent to feast their eyes on more and more; and though she didn’t have a direct hand in it, her mere existence meant her presence had an impact; Her eyes flickered back upon the blight, the curling of darkness against the vivid green, the ominous, foreboding enmity crawling and biting, feeding and devouring, upon the innocent. She swallowed; the bitterness, the regret, hurt. Here they were, incapable of stopping themselves for reaching for the stars, for the canopies, for the backdrops that weren’t theirs.

The warrior’s eyes dropped down to Fangorn, and Melita barely breathed, pondering about the layers lingering between, clustered together in magical instances and things she couldn’t quite understand – not an enchantress. “He was the last one remaining after the previous Leafchange,” the youth explained, her gaze soft on the vampire gourd, recalling the instant with an obvious fondness; bonding, connecting, neither alone any longer. “Fangorn has always known how to endure.” It was what allowed him to survive for as long as he’d had, while his brethren were slaughtered, cast back out into the void. Her grin grew as she lifted her stare back to Delah. “I offered him some food, and in return, he stayed.”

Then the subject altered, of the Gods, of Ludo, of Melita’s quest. She lifted her staff, displayed it in front of the woman, presuming she had a knack for appreciating weaponry. “I made my staff,” and there was a semblance of pride there, a little emblem of her perseverance and abilities, but she didn’t let it stay. “But while defending a friend, I cracked it.” The girl paused, before taking the staff back into her arms. “I asked Ludo if they could fix it. They required the sap of a Wicker Woman.”
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
Delah Tàirneanach
the Greatwood Guardian
War Chief

Age: 100 | Height: 4' | Race: Fae | Nationality: Natural
Level: 5 - Strg: 11 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 25 - Luck: 28
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#12
if you throw me to the wolves
"To endure." The chieftess repeats, her eyes narrowed slightly. Though there is a ... flickering there. Her gaze lowers again to the creature, such a strange marvel of Rae's endless creativity and penchant to let the mechanisms of nature do as they pleased.

Glancing towards the staff, Delah tilts her head, moss-eyes scrutinizing the details that she can see. "Why not fix it yourself? You ask our gods to repair your weapons, search our woods for the supplies you need..What exactly are you planning on giving back to this world, that you are so happy to reap from?"
i'll come back leading the pack

Coding base by Sky!
Melita Najya


Age: 19 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 4 - Strg: 21 - Dext: 22 - Endr: 22 - Luck: 15
FANGORN - Mythical - Vampire Gourd
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#13
MELITA
Delah might’ve found a contradiction there, if Melita let her see enough – but Kaos, thus far, was not in these woods, in these haunted halls, in these painted galleries of canopies and light. She’d have to find different avenues and concepts, tilt her head and examine further; a mistrust in divinities because of a singular blight from the past. Her Sun God had been a decadent, powerful, blistering soul, and she’d been enamored with his prowess and aspirations. Kisamoa had been a combination of everyone’s weaknesses, frailties, and flaws, the defects in a moral compass, the human nature crudely defined: greed, potency, desire for anything and everything. He’d promised them the world and they all clamored to it – while little things like Melita and Clementine, babes nestled between meadows, thistles, and moss, couldn’t have done anything to cease and desist the clatter of chaos and its ringing dirge; worlds swept away in the blink of an eye. Even their own cosmic beings had been taken in, absorbed, destroyed, and that was when the honeybee youth learned of the stretch of power – and that there would always be someone, somewhere, better, stronger, and ready to take on the world. So she smiled at Delah, taking her staff back into her hand, features entangled in bliss and stalwart guises, while underneath, she simmered and scalded, waiting for a chance. “Whatever they require of me.”
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
Delah Tàirneanach
the Greatwood Guardian
War Chief

Age: 100 | Height: 4' | Race: Fae | Nationality: Natural
Level: 5 - Strg: 11 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 25 - Luck: 28
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#14
if you throw me to the wolves
"Oh I see." Delah retorted sourly. "So you will take freely, but only give back when asked to? How charmingly selfish."

Where the warrior might have been inclined to aid the younger woman—sap from the trees that Melita sought were something that the fae had often kept for necessary occasions—her youthful and willful ignorance of the world around her had sufficiently lowered the warrior's impression of her.

"Leave my woods now, or I will have you thrown into the pit and sacrificed to the tulmhainar." She warned with a feline snarl.
i'll come back leading the pack

Coding base by Sky!


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