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!
She nodded at the gratitude, then slipped away when it grew silent and hushed; perhaps nothing left to be said after the heartache and anguish. Melita wasn’t about to surge back into the topic, and couldn’t think of any safe options after. While her hands worked back on the basket, more than half-finished now, tucking some strands of fronds and sticks back upon themselves, thoughts multiplied and deviated, struggling for a subject matter that wasn’t morose or ridiculous. The only thing she could double back upon was a hastily made promise multitudes of seasons ago – a sigh slipping in between. “Sorry I never brought back any of that sludge from the bottom of the Spire.” Not that it mattered much now; but she’d always been a girl comprised of convictions and stalwart boundaries. “I tried to. I definitely remember going there. But everything else was a disaster.” Wessex following her in, trying to stop her? The pestilence had inflicted and scorned her cranium; and sometimes she wondered if it was better to not remember everything.
Phoebe glanced at Melita in complete surprise at her sudden apology, for something that she herself hadn't thought on for...months at least. But her expression did manage to soften slightly. At least it was a different topic. "Don't worry about it. I know you tried. But...well most of us weren't ourselves at that point." she said with a bit of a shrug. The Blight had come straight from the Voice after all and had required the intervention of the gods.
"A disaster." she said softly, followed by a mirthless laugh. She turned a wry smile to the redhead. "Seems a rather apt way to summarize the last year, wouldn't you say?"
“Yes,” she nodded, ascertaining everything in between, the self-doubt, the forgiveness, how none of them had been in their right minds, clutching and clawing, demonizing and terrorizing. She didn’t speculate again – if it had been truly her, and simply allowed to unfurl and unravel at the slightest insinuation – shrugging too. “Can you think of any good things that happened?” Maybe they could dwell there, instead of in the negatives, chasing down sunshine ramparts, rather than flailing along disastrous intervals. They all knew how heavy each burden had been. Then her hands continued along the basket, winding along towards the peak of the hold itself; getting prepared for the handles, for strong, stalwart bonds in fronds and ferns.
Anything good that happened in the last year? She considered quietly, hands idley playing with her basket. It was hard at first, terribly hard, her mind overridden with the grief and pain the last year had brought. A little nudge from her companion brought a hint of a smile to her lips though, and she carefully patted his head between his horns. "I got Pim." she said quietly, the dragonling letting out a contented grumble as she scratched at his head. "And I became good friends with Frey...perhaps a bit of a one-sided friendship but I doubt anything between a god and a moral could ever be considered truly equal." Even so, it had been a good thing, a good friendship, Frey's mix of tender care and hard-truth giving helping her grow in ways that would have otherwise taken her years to achieve on her own.
"What about you?" she asked, glancing over at the honey-bee girl.
Her hands were still busy, gaze down on the basket, forming the top of the handles, drawing them together in a somewhat, knotted contortion, striving to resemble a bow. All the while though she listened to Phoebe, nodding back and forth at Pim, because companions were wonderful (a wink extended towards Fangorn in his leaf nest), and relationships with deities, no matter how far. But when the inquiry was extended back towards her, the girl had to still, contemplate. Melita measured her successes by adventure, danger, thresholds of mischief and joy, tilting her head a fraction, an obvious pondering settling along her face. “I met some great friends and family.” A start, humming a little under her breath once more. “Received a beautiful staff from Ludo,” and her palms kept roaming, closer and closer to the fronds and stalks she plaited and braided. “And helped defeat a giant vampire gourd.” The last statement was on a feral set to her grin. Nothing about being consumed by the blight. Nothing about falling to pieces beneath shrines with no responses. Nothing about the echoes of failure tied to her blood, beating, beating, beating the same crescendo day after day.
Phoebe hummed, managing to give Melita a ghost of a smile, even if it didn't quite reach her eyes the effort was there. "It sounds like a fairybook story." she mused, a hand running over Pim's scales absentmindedly. "A brave young warrioress, coming to a strange new world, receiving gifts from gods, defeating terrifying monsters, and finding new friends along the way?" she nodded slowly, eyes staring off far and away. It really was like a fairytale, even mixed and interwoven with the sorry, Melita's tale seemed to have more light in it than darkness.
What would her story have?
Slowly she stood, holding her basket in both hands, and ignoring Pim's growl of displeasure at having his nap disrupted. "Thanks for talking with me, Melita. It's...It's been really nice."
With all the good and none of the bad, maybe it did sound like a fairy tale. Except they knew better, and no matter how much Phoebe painted it in broad strokes, their lives were enriched with trials and tribulations, some too heavy to simply cast aside for the grander, more opulent tones. “If only it could always be like that,” she smiled, but it’d dimmed somewhat. Perhaps Phoebe’s would’ve been the same, capable of turning bitter edges into gilded seams. But that wasn’t where they were or who they’d become; twist and turns of fate, no matter the determination, casting them in this current state. The honeybee child had every intention of dragging her wiles and mercurial iniquities right alongside her, not bending, not breaking, when the world seemed to crave it – but gods, some days it was hard.
Would they get easier? Or would something else just take its place?
The handles were finished in her musing, tied together at the top, little fronds laced and woven, as if they’d had time for these intricate details. Within the same breath, Phoebe stood, hers completed too – no more reason to sit there amongst their melancholy voids and vibes. It wouldn’t make anything right. “You’re welcome.” She rose too, grabbing hold of Fangorn in the process, her fingers itching for action when all they had left was repose. “Let me know if you need anything.” She bobbed her head, before grabbing her basket too, placing it along her arm, and walking from where she’d once arrived, sauntering out into the midst – no better, no worse.
