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!
07-01-2019, 07:19 PM (This post was last modified: 07-01-2019, 07:22 PM by Adam.)
Adam
Adam sat on a short wall, staring off into the sky. Now that the barrier was gone it seemed far more open, even though their new leader restricted movement all over again. Sometimes, if he was in a nostalgic mood, he could look across the fields and kid himself that if he went far enough, walked long enough, he'd find himself on the roads of his home again. That his horse would be where he left it and he'd be able to just jump into the saddle and ride off once more, this strange adventure behind him.
But more and more, he knew it wasn't going to happen. No, he was here, and all that he had left of his home was the few artifacts he'd managed to bring with him. Adam pulled a gun from his belt and tilted it this way and that in the sun (which he'd noticed was still bright but had lost some of its heat now they were later into the season), watching the way the scratched metal caught the light.
Before, when he'd known he could buy bullets at his next stop, he might have been tempted to do some target practice, challenge himself to shoot a branch of a far off tree; he was worried that without taking regular shots his skill with the pistol would deteriorate. But there was little he could do and bullets he had to save, so he sighed, slumped, and sat with the pistol held loosely by his side.
Collected my belongings and I left the jail.
Well thanks for the time, I needed to think a spell.
She remembered the taste of Tallsun on her skin; rich and invigorating, but pressing and marring too, adrift until her hands hurt with the clench and burn settled in her palms, with the rush of sultry air pulsing against her head. She’d been born under its feral, dry stature, alive and ambitious in the balm of its ire, a child of the dust, of the dirt, of the earth, of the fire from within – but Leafchange called and christened her flesh with cool intentions and a desire to move forward. So she did, she did, she did.
Melita maneuvered with her bow on her back today, staff still cracked, not whole, not mended, no Wicker Woman sap yet collected (and that was intertwined along the back of her head too, stuffed amidst the dreams and aspirations, if Ludo hated how long she took or if they cared at all). The quiver settled along her shoulder, arrows whistling against one another on her quick, sure strides, Fangorn bounding behind, growling at anything and everything, a hiss on the ether, a brand lingering along her spine. She desired to hunt. She desired to move. She desired to do something, anything, other than listlessly, languidly, maneuvering beneath the swell of clouds and the shifting, the changing, of climates.
A shining light glistened from her peripheral vision and she stopped, ceased all motion, to watch and ponder over where it’d come from. Not an animal; nothing had shields of metal or glass reflecting across their sanction (nothing she’d yet to come across, anyway) – she scanned the fields much like a predator, settling and curling herself into a lower position, until she came upon the source: human, sitting on a wall. She didn’t recognize him, not at this great distance, but curiosity, boldness, and brazen capabilities spurred her onward.
Her smile was bright and luminescent as she moved closer and closer, lifted an arm to wave and beckon. “Hello!” Then she loomed, advanced, tilted her head at the sight of the strangle metallic object in his hands. “I’m Melita,” she fostered introductions before truly getting to the heart of her inquiry, measuring on some polite boundaries. “What’s that?”
A motion in the distance caught Adam's eye, and he looked over to see a woman approaching. She was smiling and waving, so hopefully she wasn't here to arrest him for some arbitary law. While he was stewing in melancholy at the moment, he found it in himself regardless to sit up a bit more and return the smile, going to put his gun away until she got closer and asked about it.
He'd forgotten how unusual his guns were here since his conversation with Edy. After a pause where he almost said a gun....duh? he lifted it up (didn't pass it to her, not yet. Didn't want another accidental shooting on his hands) to show it off. "It's a gun. You put bullets in it..uh, like little metal balls, and it shoots them out really fast and it hits things. I would show you, but I'm running pretty low on supplies."
"Oh, and uh, I'm Adam." He introduced, holding out his other hand to be shaken.
Collected my belongings and I left the jail.
Well thanks for the time, I needed to think a spell.
The stranger returned the smile, and in Melita’s overly trusting, altruistic tendencies, she immediately felt at ease, the curiosity stoked, the inquiries incited, settling in for knowledge and sagacity. He proclaimed the item to be a gun, but the intonations and reverberations of the word sounded so utterly foreign to her; she didn’t recognize the shape, but could understand its purpose. It was another form of a weapon, but smaller. She pondered over the likelihood of its speed, trajectory, and power, humming a little to herself as she bent closer to his lifted hand, not grabbing hold of it just yet (though the temptation was there, poised and ready to snag at a moment’s notice). “Oh, so, sort of like a bow?” Her head tilted in question, gilded eyes landing on his darker shades; the quiver and aforementioned munition lingering on her back. “Where did you get it? I’ve never seen blacksmiths make such a thing.”
Upon introductions though, she raised herself back up, proud and genuine, the grin still fostered along her mouth. She shook his hand as he granted his name. “Pleased to meet you, Adam. What are you going to do with it?” Probably not practice, if he was lacking supplies…it would be a shame to waste them out here, with nothing to hunt, with no adversaries to chase, with no monsters clawing at their thresholds. Maybe he was just showing off? Or playing? If she had one, she’d likely do the same thing.
Adam had spent his whole life stealing and being surrounded by those who did, so he tightened his grasp on the gun, recognising the way Melita's hand tensed. He had more sense than that. Even if he hadn't been concerned about their worth (which given they were personalised and engraved, he was), it was never a good idea to hand a gun over to someone with no idea what they could do.
"Uhhh...it's kinda like a bow, but a thousand times more powerful." He explained, tilting his head from side to side. "They're pretty normal back where I'm from, but I haven't seen any here. I got 'em years ago, back when I was working on the streets." Adam paused then clarified: "As a highwayman."
What was he going to do with it? Thinking that an odd question, he took a moment to answer. "...Probably not much, really. I wear 'em cos I'm used to the weight and they look cool, but I'm trying to save on bullets. If I want a weapon I'd probably use my dagger...I've never been good with bows, so I haven't really got anything else to do."
Collected my belongings and I left the jail.
Well thanks for the time, I needed to think a spell.
“A highwayman?” Her brows furrowed while her mouth formed the inquiry, trying to imagine it – a man on the highway (whatever that happened to be)…and that was his occupation? She’d heard of scores of others: cobblers, blacksmiths, forgers, the typical warrior pursuits and angles, seamstresses, healers, but never in her wildest imagination had she ever heard such a job description. His world sounded quite different from any of the others she traversed within: with their metallic guns, weapons, tiny bullets meant to be more potent than a bow. She hummed a little under her breath, thinking, mulling over what to do next.
At his mention of daggers, on munitions he intended to use though, she grabbed her quiver, her bow, strapped to her back, and proffered it. That’s how Melita always operated: a friendly hand, an open beneficence, learned from days when survival meant everyone worked together to achieve another day, another moment, another breath in a harsh, unrelenting void. “I have a bow! Would you like to practice?” It was homemade, nothing beautiful, ornate, or smooth like his gun, but it was sturdy enough to fulfill her hunting duties, the string taut enough to perform its required release, the arrows whittled with light feathers from local birds. There were enough things out in the fields to set up as targets: she'd done it on numerous occasions, hoping to hone in on her skills and precision.
"Yeah, you know, like--" He paused and looked over at her. Adam didn't know if Melita was a Natural, but from her blank stare he could tell she didn't know what he was on about. "I guess you don't know. It's...I used to ride my horse along the roads and find carriages with rich idiots in, then rob them." There wasn't any shame in his voice about this (in Adam's opinion, the rich always deserved what came to them) but he did give her a sideways glance, wondering if she was going to have a moralistic problem with his occupation.
The eagerness with which she held out her bow, at contrast with his tightly guarded gun, made him pause. The alert criminal in him immediately looked for ways it could be a trap, but then he dismissed it; she was just charmed by him, of course. He holstered his gun and took the bow, felt it in his hands and the weight of it. It was more wieldy than a gun but lighter.
"Yeah, why not?" He accepted with a smile, then lifted up the bow, pretending to shoot with no arrow actually in his hand. His elbow was too long and his tension not enough, but he had not had enough experience to know.
Collected my belongings and I left the jail.
Well thanks for the time, I needed to think a spell.
“Oh,” she answered – puzzling over the complexities of carriages, roads, and rich idiots; though the contemplations ranged from intrigued, interested, yearning to see this sort of debacle, and then shrugging. She wasn’t one to judge too many flaws or defects, not when she had managed to accommodate herself with quite a few – too rash, too impulsive, too brazen, too headstrong, too eager. A little snicker tucked itself along her lips though, impressed by the notions – she wished she’d orchestrated such events in the haze and waste of the Rift, instead of desperately clinging to survival, to wrenching friends’ out of enemies’ claws. Perhaps they could’ve been more successful. She shrugged again, glancing back at the gun once more before it was put away. “I wonder if any blacksmiths could make your bullets? Then you’d still have a supply.”
Adam took her bow, seemed intrigued by it; but then the way he held it was all wrong, and her features ensured she looked mildly horrified. “Oh, not like that!” She reached for his arms, not at all shy, repositioning his elbow, gentle, encouraging. “Here, you reach back with this,” and she placed the string, as taut as possible while rearranging his arm, within his hands. Then she stepped back, chin in one of her palms, thinking, mulling over if she should give him an arrow, afraid he might injure himself. “Try practicing without an arrow first. Release your fingers when you’re ready.” Her gilded eyes rested on his posture, on his technique, not diving into how different it was to suddenly be the instructor, instead of the trainee, the scholar, the pupil.
"Don't think blacksmiths here know how to make the gunpowder and stuff for 'em..." Adam mumbled, though he did actually consider going to ask. He had assumed this place simply too backwards to even consider going to ask for a bullet being made before, but he had had his assumptions broken before...
He was a little surprised to hear Melita so strongly object to his way of holding the bow, having thought of himself as a natural at most things he tried. Trying not to look too offended, he let her adjust his elbow and hand, then pulled back the string again, hopping off the wall to stand as he did so, leaning in close (like he thought you were supposed to, right?) and pretending to shoot a far off tree.
With a glance towards her, he let go of the string, snapping it back to a taunt line. "It's kinda hard to tell how well I'm doing without shooting something." He commented, not sure if his imaginary arrow was soaring through the air or laying sadly in the grass.
Collected my belongings and I left the jail.
Well thanks for the time, I needed to think a spell.
She hadn’t realized that maybe her loud outbursts, though often not harmful in their intent, could be construed as something else entirely. Someone could be offended by the way she spoke; and though it was often laced with good humor, enthusiasm, and sunlit smiles, others could always be offended by it. “Sorry,” she realized after, already not very well versed in instruction. The youth took a step back, surveyed his pose and position, the way he held the line, taut and smooth, nodding when it met with her satisfaction. “I just didn’t want you shooting anyone, or anything, until you had the right approach.” The lithe girl winked, then glanced out into the field. “Let me make some targets first.”
She ambled out into the long grass, picking up several stones along the way, as well as some sticks, branches, and already fallen leaves. They’d have to improvise, without paint, without cloth, without hay bales – though the thought crossed her mind to bring him to the newly furnished training area at the Monster Hunter’s guild – but the things around here could also be utilized. Eventually, she’d managed to concoct three rather poor-looking marks, goals, and bulls-eyes, the closest leaning precariously to the left, a stone ambling sideways along a couple boughs stuck into the ground. She shrugged, indifferent to their odd cant, and then bounded back to where Adam waited.
“May I?” She held her arms out for her bow, merely to demonstrate. “Now, once you’ve selected your target, you need to notch your arrow.” She grabbed hold of one in her quiver, openly showing and displaying her methods, before placing it back within her grasp, ready to fire. “Then we aim.” She lifted the weapon, felt the grand weight and arc of it in her hands, a steady breath billowing through her nose. “Pull the string.” Her arm muscles bunched and coiled, her callouses well suited to the practice. “And release.” Her fingers loosened, unleashing the arrow, and it sailed through the air towards the middle target, a fair distance away, not as close as the first, nor as far as the last. It landed dead-center, sticking precariously from a pile of leaves stuffed between a slanted pile of rocks. Then she handed the bow back to Adam, racing forward to retrieve the bolt, before returning for his opportunity. “Your turn.” The youth’s smile was gilded and eager, fervent and ready, hopeful and full of pride – waiting to see how he’d attempt any of the goals.
"Wouldn't be the first time I shot someone here..." Adam mumbled under his breath, not loud enough for Melita to hear. It would probably be good not to do it again, so he tried to take her criticism on board and watched her make targets with a little apprehension, hoping he would do well. It would be horribly embarrassing for him, as one of the best shots in the land back home, to be crap with a bow.
He watched as she took the bow and fired, raising his eyebrows and whistling as she hit the target dead on with apparently minimal effort. Of all the tutors to have, it appeared a good one had fallen into his lap. Eagerly, he took the bow back, wanting to impress.
"Okay..notch the arrow..." He took an arrow and lined it up, a little awkward but good enough, then pulled back the string. He tried to aim for the target closest to himself, not wanting to start too hard. "Okay...three..two..." on One he let go, watched the arrow sail through the air and just clip the edge of the target, landing in the grass a foot behind it.
Adam sighed. "It's hard, cos I'm not used to aiming with two hands."
Collected my belongings and I left the jail.
Well thanks for the time, I needed to think a spell.
The youth didn’t catch Adam’s mumbling; too busy creating her targets. She wouldn’t have laughed at him though, because she knew and understood a lack of precision, the weight of impulsivity, the increasing need to succeed, even when it blistered right back in one’s face. But they could also always learn from it, seek to drive and ground themselves; a lesson she’d frequently had to face.
But she did watch him keenly as he followed her instructions, the same blinding, encouraging smile along her lips, witnessing him notch the arrow, then following its movements as it flew through the air. It managed to clip the target, an endeavor she considered successful. “Look at you!” She lowered her voice to a whisper, as if it were devious and scheming. “The first time I shot an arrow, it landed at my feet. Well done.” She followed it up with a wink before going to retrieve the weapon, returning to give her advice.
So he wasn’t used to aiming with two hands; which must’ve meant the gun only required one. “Hm. What I like to do is aim and point with my drawing hand,” she indicated, asking for the bow back so she could show him. “There’s a difference. If you aim with just the arrow tip,” and here she displayed – notching the arrow, using it to try and figure out where to go on the third target, and allowing it to be flung into the ether – it landed beyond the goal entirely. “It goes too far.” She took another arrow from her quiver, letting the other rest in the grass for the moment so she could demonstrate what little sagacity she’d gained over the years. “So if I point with this hand, like so,” and she lowered it, so her hands, her fingers, indicated where the arrow was going to travel, and then repeated the same gestures. “It should land…” and an audible thunk was heard, meshing into the poorly-constructed rock formation, dead-center again. “There.”
She tilted her head and gave the bow back. “Try again?”
The way she said 'look at you!' did feel a little condescending, but Adam took the praise anyway, glad she wasn't laughing at him for his first performance. "Thanks. I just hope I hit the target next time."
He let her take the bow back and again was a good student, watching her move the arrow carefully as she spoke. As with most things physical, he was sure getting the hang of it was 90% practice. You could talk riding or shooting forever, but at the end of the day you just had to get in and do it until you didn't suck. Melita had obviously practiced a lot, from the way she again shot right into the middle of the target.
To that end, he took the bow back and took a deep breath, lined up again. This time, when he loosed the bow, his arrow hit the edge of the target, between the outer edge and the center. Not perfect, but better than last time; he grinned and whispered: "Yes!"
Collected my belongings and I left the jail.
Well thanks for the time, I needed to think a spell.
This time, for his improved performance, Melita gave a little fist pump and a loud whoop – the shout scared away a few birds settling into the long grass. “Nice!” Her smile was an enthusiastic, beneficent chord, a hum beneath her breath as she ambled forward and retrieved the arrow she’d left behind and Adam’s. Upon her return, she eyed a few of the targets while tapping the arrows against her toes, tilting her head and considering what to have him try next. Maybe she could test him? Something to up the ante? Or would that be too soon? She hoped the endeavor would ensure he had more practice, more concentration -
“I have a challenge for you!” It was meant to be a provocation, a dare, a summons, her warm grin remaining along her features. “If you can hit five of the targets, anywhere,” and here she paused, indicating it didn’t matter where they landed, as long as they managed to pummel their way into the poorly made goals, “You win a prize!” She didn’t think it mattered that she hadn’t come up with one yet – that could happen later. She’d ponder it over while he took his shots. With that, her hands went back to her quiver, proffering the set of seven arrows.
