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!
Yeah. Pumpkin dudes weren't for him, but by the sound of things, Melita seemed to have formed a bond with him. The ankle biting joke actually did manage to get a small smile out of Oliver. What a miracle! "He's....he's something alright. I think I might prefer something a bit more fluffy myself? But I mean hey, if he makes you happy then that's great." Pumpkin dude just wasn't for him. Oliver was fine with waking up to a Luxere staring him down, but the pumpkin devil? Heck naw. Oliver would kick that thing out the window without thinking.
"Ah...sleeping, yeah." There's hesitancy to his voice, not sure whether or not she's serious. Do the monsters just sleep until LongNight? Why hasn't anyone gone down to kill them if that were the case? Surely, they could just mass kill the monsters and then never have to worry about them again if sleeping was the solution. The next promise is again, confusing. Oliver couldn't tell if she were joking or seriously offering her protection. "If it makes you feel any better, I highly doubt they'd want to kill me. I mean, have you seen me? I'm just bones. Nothing on this body, but I'd gladly let you save me. I'll be a damsel in distress." There's a joking tone to his voice and a grin on his face. Yeah, he decided to joke around a bit to help lighten up the situation.
His happy mood seemed to carry on over as he wasn't bothered by the lack of god responses. "It'll be spectacular! I try not to think too much about it, don't wanna overthink the first time I get a response, if you understand where I'm coming from. Don't wanna rush it or ruin it." Oliver didn't want his imagination to get ahold of his dreams for a god to respond to him, leading to him trying to not have daydreams about the meeting where he is responded to.
i just want my existance to be
more than trembling
Well, perhaps not everyone could appreciate the value and companionship of a vampire gourd. She shrugged at the notion of fluffy; there were plenty other ferocious, fearsome, volatile things to get their hands upon and bond with, and she wasn’t going to relegate herself to merely the cute or seemingly non-lethal (and who knew – sometimes the visually appealing or adorable ones had the deadliest bite).
He didn’t seem calm or nonchalant about the monster thing, which was fine, almost expected really, for those who hadn’t experienced anything other than LongNight’s run and the peak of claws over skin. For a child who’d grown and survived amongst sharpened fangs, fiends, and heathens, it was almost a segment of normalcy. To feel one’s heart beat a little too fast. To feel the fibers of fight or flight rush through the skin. To bask in the ambition of slaying or racing across the horizon, aching to live out one more evening. “I’ve never heard of a monster having preferences,” she teased, shrugging again, one finger dabbing and elongating Ludo’s illustrious rags within the mud. “They take what they can get.” What they could maim. What they could tear. Weaknesses they could tap into, explore, and devastate, ravage, ruin.
As for the gods, her eyes drifted back to him, tilting her head to examine. The girl could understand it; she’d come from a world where a false god had run rampant, tricking and deceiving, until death and shadows were the only imminent thing from Kisamoa’s grasp. It’d taken her a long time to even think about venturing towards a shrine, much less obliging a deity her presence, or vice versa. “Sure.” Her finger traced over her initial lines, and then brows furrowed in concentration again. “Which one do you want to meet the most?”
The blonde would never admit it, but he tended to have a very weird way of acting at times. Like many others, there were things he didn't like and he could be a bit stubborn at times. While normally he tried to live a life of not judging others, he wasn't perfect, not in the slightest. It's why in this case, he didn't really feel like he could personally own a vampire gourd. He was happy that Melita had him, sure, but he could never see himself even considering to have one as a companion. It wasn't the fact that it was dangerous, Oliver just didn't understand how it could be a companion. Oliver seemed to have a bias towards smaller creatures that more likely resembled the domesticated pets he had been used to, such as cats or dogs. Like, he had an interest towards dragons, but gourds? Nope.
Unlike Melita, Oliver had no memories of monsters. No recollection of ever having to fight for his life. It meant that this entire thing felt like a nightmare made real. "Nice to know they don't have preferences, totally. That makes me feel so great." This must be like an all you can eat buffet, except the monsters didn't care what the buffet was offering and were just stocking their plates to the brim with humans. What a nasty way of looking at things. "Do they not come out in the daylight because that is when they are weakest?" There was ignorance on his part, but so little was known about the monsters. He wanted to know more, so much more.
That was something he had considered a small bit. "Well, I know for sure probably one of the Old Gods...and other than that, I'm not sure yet. I've heard lots of different stuff. Like, I'm friends with someone who has met with Safrin, but I also want to speak with the other two...I guess I'm just not sure yet." He had prayed to both Safrin and Frey in the past, both without a response. "Have you met the gods?"
i just want my existance to be
more than trembling
Perhaps Oliver didn’t find her joke amusing, or the alacrity immersed into truth and veracity a hard pill to swallow. “I have no idea. Each monster is different.” Each with its own parameters and scruples, abilities, a twist and turn; some lingering in seas, aiming to devour long lost souls, some harbored in desolate shadows, aching for a bite, some that resurrected vital, honored beings and churned them into something they weren’t, and some that acted like gods, that could assume memories, control and contort into phantoms of the past. The last stung in particular; her mother’s once-gentle warble gargled and haughty, her once-lovely hands, smelling of herbs, clinging to the honeybee girl’s throat, asking for her to die. The youth would assume their tactics no longer; the experiences all uncanny and altering, haunting and horrible; and why she’d sworn to chase them down, erase them from the earth, send them to oblivion, tired, so damn tired, of the world suffering.
Gods were different stories and indications. Oliver had prayed, but no lasting results. A friend who’d met Safrin. “What have you heard?” She was always eager and curious to know more; her fingers flicking over the edge of rags and continuing with the outline of floating things, little lanterns at the image’s side. “I’ve met Ludo.” A full, expressive smile fell over her mouth, a little mischief tucked into the sanction. “I can channel them too.” Call for them, though it’d only ever been Ludo, deep distinctions of safety in rags, escaping from blighted vampire gourds, screaming at Loren – brief glimmers of triumph in a sanctity that didn’t always grant them.
Oliver didn't really like the topic of monsters, that much was clear. It tended to be hard for him to really poke fun about them out of fear. He didn't want to accidentally jinx himself. It was also hard to tell that she was joking, so maybe he was just put off in general. Maybe once he could fight other's he'd be more willing to mock the monsters.
Switching the topic to gods was slightly better. While he didn't have all that many experiences and didn't really know all that much, Oliver felt decently comfortable talking about them...to an extent.
"Well, a lot of it is just what offerings to give and other people's personal experiences with the gods. Like...I know that Ludo is much more playful and tricky, that it is interested in toys or things of that nature. Then I know that Frey is the god of sex...looks really sexy...likes fruit and sex. And Safrin has...done a lot of good things. She helped out a friend of mine, did some really cool stuff." Finally, Oliver could take a breath and calm back down. Ugh that was a lot to say! Hopefully Melita thought that he was understanding things pretty good. Not too bad for someone who had only been there for a few weeks.
i just want my existance to be
more than trembling
A year before, Melita would’ve clenched her jaw and hissed at the notion of gods; of those dastardly beacons who’d done nothing but trick and deceive. She would’ve spoken resolutely of a Sun God, varnished and lacquered in fire and embers, in beatific strength and dignity, she would’ve boasted of his power, of his abilities, of the world he’d cultivated: the Dragon’s Throat, risen to the heights of sand, dunes, and cliffs. But that was before everything had shattered around them. That was before avarice took over. That was before she realized even primordial beings, things that had existed for eons, for centuries, for eternity, could be duped, trapped, and ensnared. That was before every nuance of a nightmare seared across her skin.
Ludo’s muddy portrait completed, she moved on to embellishing lanterns at its side, some long, with little lights she wished she could make glow, some short, swung from fabric and rags, and the mask perfectly in place. She listened, listened, listened, about Ludo’s tricks (warnings she’d once received herself, and then gone on to ignore), Frey (one she avoided), and Safrin (did some cool stuff). But then nothing more.
Which was slightly disappointing, when her own experiences had been offered, ready to share. In truth, she’d never discussed anything about channeling, about summoning, about calling, calling, calling for those illustrious deities in their time of need, how she was merely mortal and savage and ridiculous, and they still came. Maybe Oliver didn’t want to know. Maybe it wasn’t interesting. Maybe he hadn’t been listening at all. Maybe he thought he'd already learned everything there was to know. Maybe he’d yet to understand that there was more than just clambering about in the bits and pieces, in whether one was playful, in whether one enjoyed fruit – and more about what they represented, more about what they were. The honeybee child wouldn’t have been able to answer all of those contortions – that was best left to the Naturals, those like Amalia, who’d spent their lives in reverence – but she would’ve tried.
She brushed her hands, streaks of mud down the length of her palm and fingers. Perhaps he was proud of what little he’d obtained. Perhaps he should’ve been. She shrugged, uncertain if she was even in the right to judge – but it stung a little, to be not worthy of asking. “Hopefully you’ll learn soon from your own experiences,” the lithe warrior said instead, eyes not even bothering to glance their way at him.
There was a clear shift in her attitude which caused Oliver to frown. Had he...said something wrong? Maybe he shouldn't have been so rude about her gourd friend. Gods. Great job Oliver. There ya go again being a little judgemental dick. Deciding it may be best to try and cheer her up, Oliver focused on something he remembered her saying, something he had taken interest in.
"Can you....well, would you be willing to tell me about all of your Ludo experiences? I didn't know that someone could channel one god in specific." That was something Oliver hadn't really heard of, but it felt sort of rude to ask. So either he was going to mess it up even more or maybe he'd be able to show that he was interested, just that he struggled a small bit to talk about the gods. "I don't know if Ludo would want to talk to me...but I do know I like to hear about other's experiences with the gods. It makes me understand them more I guess. It's a bit awkward to ask about Frey, though." It's a small attempt at a joke, hoping to lighten up the situation once more.
"But if you're willing to tell me, I wanna hear about Ludo...tell me about how you met, how you've channeled it." He was all ears, as long as she was willing to become the storyteller.
i just want my existance to be
more than trembling
Melita could be petty and vengeful – one only needed to either ask Loren or Kiada about those particular tendencies – but for a vast majority of the time she was also compassionate and bold, eager to help, to aid, to ensure others succeeded. She just didn’t know what to make of Oliver though; with his yearning to listen to the gods, but mostly only about his own endeavors or what he’d heard. He only asked her thereafter, and those spiteful granules in her mind threatened to sprout, to huff, to frown, or to simply amble off, leave him to his own devices or to wander off and ask someone else.
She sighed though, because she should’ve been better than that.
“Well, the first time I met Ludo I’d prayed at their shrine. I’d prayed at several shrines, but never received any answers.” Presumed it was just happenstance, from her experiences, from the irreverence still clinging to her blood, from the way her worlds had continually been destroyed by the layers of an immortal’s machinations. “I asked if they could fix my staff.” Her eyes went to the beatific weapon, Siabrhan, coated in Wicker Woman enamel. “They sent me on a quest, which only went poorly at first because of my own blunders.” Like wandering straight into a void that didn’t possess any of what she needed, saved only by Remi’s generosity. “When I brought back what they asked for, they placed it upon my staff.”
Then she shrugged, because there had always been people doing far greater things than herself. “I’ve channeled them a couple times – I’m not sure if I can channel others. It’s a like a call for help, and only when I can’t do something for myself. Once was when I captured by a giant vampire gourd,” and here her grin became massive and devilish, insinuations of more of the pumpkin frivolities with larger consequences, “and they freed me from the vines.” Quite gracefully, generously. “And one other time when I thought someone was trying to steal from a creature.” Another shrug; it might have been on the edges of blight-infested rage too, but Ludo had still responded. “But I’ve also gone to a number of shrines with no answer. Sometimes they’re busy. Sometimes your request wasn’t enough.” What she believed, anyway. No one had really told her otherwise; speculations permitted, but no answers truly unraveled.
The blonde made sure to listen keenly to her story. His eyes never leaving hers really. It was a bit of a mistake to not ask her before, but now he was giving her his full attention. Really, he did find it to be interesting. Ludo wasn't someone he heard much about. Oliver had heard the most about the Voice and Frey, and even then he had only heard so little. It felt kinda weird to go up and ask someone about their, most likely intimate, experience with Frey. So to have someone be so willing to tell him about Ludo? It was fantastic. He was taking it a bit for granted, absolutely, but he still showed his devout interest in the subject.
"So...what happened when you called to them? You know, not at a shrine. Did they appear in front of you? What does Ludo look like?" Ah yes, he was still full of questions. Hopefully Melita wouldn't mind indulging his wild spirit in a bit of storytelling. Besides, the only way to learn is to seek, right? It's easier to ask about Ludo than it is to ask about Frey.
i just want my existance to be
more than trembling
The inquiries were there now, either provoked by her story or some other motivations, but she shrugged, her fingers lightly tracing over the lanterns again, little lights exuding from them like striking beams. Her eyes didn’t lift from her drawing while she explained, attention on her silted craft. “More or less. They appeared right alongside the vines the first time,” dragging her out of the pumpkin’s clutches, her gratitude, her acknowledgment, pouring out in waves, the series of circumstances and cycles thereafter – how quickly things had been altered, maimed, destroyed, and then utterly triumphant. “And then by the creature we were trying to save,” in a way, a maneuvering, lumbering beast with no ability to do anything but maneuver along its threshold of ice and snow. Perhaps she should’ve been drawing out that particular scene instead, or the one with the pumpkin.
As for what Ludo looked like… “Here!” She pointed down at her moderate tracings of mud, where the rags formed, where the mask conformed, where lantern lights gleamed (immersed in imagination on those ends, perhaps, what it would appear like beneath muck and mire). Her ensuing smile was proud, even if it didn’t properly convey anything and everything Ludo was – she couldn’t quite depict the airs of mischief, the feelings of life amongst scraps of cloth and folds of fabric, the threshold of safety, and the ominous beckoning, foreboding nuances, behind it all. Mysteries and enigmas, quandaries and warrens; her favorite of all the heralds.
So Ludo actually came. Like. Actually appeared when Melita called. Maybe Ludo wasn't as terrifying as Oliver initially thought. He had grown wary due to the warnings of the god being tricky, worried that he could easily be taken advantage of. However, Melita did help to make Oliver feel a lot more calm about the subject.
Glancing down at the art, Oliver raised an eyebrow. "I've never seen a god...so I hope you're okay with some questions?" Melita seemed like an open book, so why not. "Ludo...they wear a cloak, do you see their face? What does their voice sound like? And could you feel like a presence or a sense of power?" All of the questions are weird, but they are ones he's wanted to know, in a way. What do the gods sound like? Do you feel something before they show up? So many things that only those who have been in the presence of a god would know. He'd ask those he was closer with if he didn't already bombard them with too many questions. They clearly were very sick of him by now, most likely.
i just want my existance to be
more than trembling
Even if Ludo came at her call, it didn’t mean the deity wasn’t tricky or devious. Melita had been given enough warnings from those who’d been under trials and tribulations from the celestial being too, who’d been cursed (or there had been Roana, given and granted a task she never got to complete – that the being was lectured for later), but due to her impetuous, emboldened behavior, didn’t really listen to those either. Perhaps time would tell. Perhaps she’d merely continue corresponding with her antics and flutter along, skimming the surface of specious underpinnings.
More inquiries, but at least Oliver was seemingly invested, curious. “They wear a mask,” and she pointed, indicating the drawing where the disguise was clearly depicted. But a thoughtful hum drummed from her mouth at the sound of the herald’s voice, which seemed to alter depending on their mood. “Sometimes like this,” and she attempted a mild impersonation, full of whimsy and amusement, charmed and delighted by something, “and sometimes like this,” a deeper, anguished declaration, when scolded or admonished.
And for senses of power? “Yes! But that’s difficult to describe.” Often a flutter on the breeze, a ruffle of fabric and rags, enriched, embedded, varnished, and lacquered with a quality only Ludo could embody – a notion to be experienced for one’s self.
While the artwork she had created was lovely, it was hard to tell exactly what everything was. There was only so much one could do with one shade of mud, leading to Oliver struggling to recognize the fact that the god wore a mask. Still, he did feel a small bit embarrassed for that mini-mistake he had made. "So interesting...Ludo sounds different from the other gods. Then again, none of them sound the same, not at all." One was childlike and tricky, another was into sexual things, and Safrin was elegant and wise. There was obviously way more to them than that, but it was what he had gathered for now.
Another question came to mind, one he felt like he couldn't hold back on. "Pardon all the questions...but did you feel something when you didn't receive a response? Like....a sign that the gods were watching? Just too busy to respond? Or were you met with complete silence, only waiting to see when you should leave." Not once did he have a feeling, but once Melita had mentioned that Ludo had sort of an aura, he had to ask.
i just want my existance to be
more than trembling
She hummed cone more, a shrug in her shoulders, incapable of answering the first statement – for the girl hadn’t set her eyes upon any of the others, save for maybe a few at random events, but never close enough to hear them talk, to listen for intonations, to watch for altered expressions. While he presided and mused, her eyes drifted along the labyrinthine fog of the bone bridge, glancing into the abyss, and then back again as more inquiries were presented. This time he asked about failures though, which had been an ever-present thing in her life well before other gods, other lands, other kingdoms. Her little hums ceased though, memories reflecting over the days she’d melded and kneeled beside the shrine to no answers, to the vacant, hollowed portions of the earth, where sometimes she’d just reacted with understanding, and others with sobs, wreckage in her lungs. “I’ve had my fair share of failures too. Sometimes they were busy. Sometimes they were…grounded?” Was that the right word or connotation? She wasn’t certain, and couldn’t really share much more than that; not when Ludo hadn’t been forthcoming, nor needed to be. It likely wasn’t any of her business at all. “My offerings were still taken though, usually.” As if savored in the aftermath, thankful, despite the inability to come.
