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!
He had seen the honeybee girl on the edges of things, passing her between tragedies and short-lived celebrations, but it had been far too long since he'd sought her out to simply talk and see how she was doing. He had let some of his friendships lapse in the seasons since LongNight, and he didn't want to drift too far from the fierce, fiery hunter and her vampire gourd companion. Drifting seemed to be something he was doing more and more of these days, and it was becoming harder and harder to leave the farm and Rory's side as the summer wore on.
He came into the VlamVloed early in the afternoon, hoping to avoid the drunks and crowds that would come later, and Isuma perched on his shoulder, reeping softly as she looked around in wide-eyed wonder at the newly-renovated establishment. He reached up to skritch at her ears, ruffling her fur and feathers as he looked around, glad to see it quiet - and no sign of Sunjata, given how they'd parted at the end of their last conversation.
"Melita? he called quietly as he moved further into the bar, making his way through the tables and chairs. "It's Jigano. Are you here?" Isuma dived from his shoulder in his moment of distraction, flying up to the rafters for a bird's-eye view of the room, seeking Fangorn for a playful game of chase or a tussle.
Despite having a designated presence and position within the bar, and a room down the hall, the girl had spent less and less time there – inclined to wander in the midst of Torchline, or just to avoid the rampant hostility some of Sunjata’s patrons had instilled (Phoebe’s destruction included). For now though, she was keen to clean up some of her latest, messiest work, a few little sketches here and there, somewhat inspired by Bastien’s artistry and tutelage, though she’d never admit it. Her own tapestry of the Dragon’s Throat hung over her desk, a picturesque scene of desert and flames, dragons and some old reel of longing for a world she couldn’t have again. Her eyes went to it, as they did frequently, when not ghosting along the memorial wall – then peeled away, intentions returned to keeping papers together, Fangorn nesting in his bed.
The girl didn’t expect anyone to come calling after her, so she raised her head with sudden alarm when her name curled softly and quietly along the edges. Her cranium swung in the direction of the voice, only to find Jigano and Isuma. “Oh, hello!” She chirped thereafter, rearranging things again, stuffing the artwork back into some other book she’d borrowed from the Atheneum on more sword techniques, inspiration drawn from all corners of the earth lately. “How are you?” It was an invitation to join her, pulling up a seat nearby, patting the surface of the wooden resin with one hand. Fangorn had managed to pop one eye open, and then returned to slumber.
He'd seen Melita at her desk at the bar's christening, but he hadn't really been back since. Loreseeker business and his own curiosity had kept him moving, and there was something bittersweet about the Vlamvloed when he had so many memories of the Rathskeller that intruded when he was in it. His eyes scanned the decor, noting what was new - some new furniture, it looked like, and more booze on the back wall - before Melita's voice pulled his attention to her desk off to the side. His eyes lit up, and Isuma trilled a happy greeting as she dove from the rafters to circle around the honeybee girl's head before landing near Fangorn and beginning to prowl closer towards the seemingly-sleeping gourd.
"Hi, Melita," Jigano smiled at his friend, crossing the distance and looking her over with relief to find no gaping wounds or missing limbs or other sign of tragedy writ large across her mortal coil. "I am more or less intact." He grinned wryly as he took the proffered seat, looking up to admire the tapestry over the desk. "How about you? I've been meaning to catch up with you. What've you been up to so far this year?"
Fangorn slept on while the two settled and conversed, likely tired from their latest adventures in Torchline, bounding and bouncing along sand and dunes, enough activity to make any sentient vampire gourd exhausted and fatigued. Melita’s heart went out to Isuma though, and she offered the gryphon some of the treats she had stored in the desk drawer, tossing them towards the creature. At the bard’s inquiry though, the youth could only shrug, a light lift to her shoulders. “The same as everyone else, I suppose.” Nothing special, nothing unique, going through the motions, the seasonal changes, attempting to survive and weather whatever storms were pummeling, coming, their way. Accomplishments had seemingly felt hard to come by – and maybe she simply wasn’t doing enough, struggling to find her place in every other alteration and schism along the horizon. Her eyes shifted to the tapestry – maybe the only thing of note, but it wouldn’t be worth anyone else’s time – only her memories of home, her essence of childhood, long since lost in the trials and tribulations of life. It’d just be the first string of tragedies. The gilded gaze riveted back to him quickly, a tilt of her head in curiosity. Surely the Loreseeker had seen or experienced far greater, grander things. “What about you?”
Isuma was immediately distracted by the treats, hopping to catch one and then dropping it to pick up another and then realizing she had a conundrum. After a moment's consideration she managed to get them both in her beak and trotted over to the sleeping Fangorn, putting one treat in front of her snoozing friend and then curling up beside him to nibble on the one she'd kept for herself.
Jigano tilted his head with a wry smile in acknowledgment of Melita's quiet answer. Which 'everyone' she meant he wasn't quite sure; everyone seemed to go their own way, pursuing their own goals and adventures. Some in Halo, others in Torchline, others in the Grounds, building or hunting, exploring or spying, or doing a dozen other things, each to their own. He continued to study the tapestry, admiring the weave and the depictions of deserts and dragons therein. "Mmm. Keeping busy, more or less... capturing suns and singing for Safrin, finding cannibal lairs and dragons in Halo, putting out fires around the farm from the damn flinthoppers..." he trailed off with a rueful shake of his head, remembering how the four of them - Fangorn and Isuma included, of course! - had done flinthopper-removal duty around the edges of Rory's fields last year. "Do you still hunt often?"
Her eyes widened with a fair amount of interest at his own tales, but she already understood the means and measures behind capturing suns, singing to Safrin, and the latter half of putting out fires from flinthoppers – brows rising on the intonations of people who ate one another, and dragons. Her eyes didn’t stray to her artwork, where there were pictures and scenes coveting vivid wings and outstretched, hovering, potent, powerful little beings – the theme of the Dragon’s Throat. A kinship to scales. “Oh, do tell me more about cannibals and dragons.” She grabbed them a drink while waiting, helping herself to a pitcher of water nearby and fetching several glasses, though if Jigano wanted something stronger she could likely find it and oblige him, figuring Sunjata wouldn’t mind.
Fangorn rested on, completely tuckered out from Torchline adventures, and while she filled the wares, she hummed softly in thought. “I do.” Hunting kept her mind occupied instead of rattling around in a tomb-like state. “I’ve been training with a sword lately too.” A mischievous grin crossed her features, content to revel in more and more munitions; ferocious and unwavering no matter the weapon in her hands.
"Ah yes, cannibals." His smile quirked wryly as he waited for her to return with the drinks, contentedly taking a water glass. "Thanks. Now, let's see... I had asked Warder Neron, Halo's ruler, about the rumors of mageglass there, and he suggested that we check an abandoned mine at the edge of the village of Whitebrim - where that ice genie was," he noted. It was the only other time he'd been there, and he suspected he wouldn't be going back anytime soon. "He had warned that they were a dangerous and unsavory folk... he wasn't kidding." The bard grimaced and sipped his water, wetting his throat for the tale. "It looked unused at first, and we took a tunnel that looked like it hadn't gotten much use even when the mine was active. Our first clue that something was wrong was when we had to cross an icy bridge over a small chasm... one that had metal spikes at the bottom. Who puts spikes in a mine?" he asked, the question mostly rhetorical since Melita already knew the answer was: cannibals.
"The path split, and one tunnel led towards light and the sound of voices - not what you'd expect in a supposedly-abandoned mine," he went on with a wry grin. "We'd been warned about the dangerous townsfolk, and we weren't looking for a fight, so we took the other, darker path. A ways down it we found some boxes..." He hesitated, expression shifting to something harder and grimmer. "They were filled with human body parts, stacked and packed into the boxes and tucked away into an ice cave like it was a larder. It was... not a good thing to find down there in the dark," he said softly. He took a breath to steady himself, pulling his smile back into place. "We went a bit farther and spied out some more people down there, but no sign of the mageglass we'd come for, so instead we retreated to report what we'd found to the Warden. I'd like to be part of clearing that nest of scavengers out myself but..." he shrugged ruefully. "If Neron wants my help, he knows where to find me. He has his own people for that job, though, I'm sure."
Dragons could come later, one story at a time. For the moment he tilted his head curiously, eyes gleaming at hearing she'd found another weapon to add to her arsenal. "Short sword or long sword?" he asked curiously. With her quickness he suspected she could do some proper damage with a rapier like his, but with her strength she could batter down an opponent using a heavier blade too. Somehow he suspected the latter of the fiery-headed huntress.
For her part, Melita remained a rapt, attentive listener, as if being imparted with tales of legends, triumph, and heroics, as her mother used to tell – vivid stories, pieces and particles woven to make a delightful image in her quiet rapture and reverence. This one didn’t quite hold the same regard, loaded and distinct with treachery, no merriment to be found, but not once did the girl grimace, tilting her head, tending to the articles at length. “Well, that sounds like quite the adventure.” To rid themselves of the cannibals or not sounded like Halo’s dilemma, and not Jigano’s, but she shrugged the notion away. “This mageglass you were looking for – what is it?” With no magical enchantments embedded in her form, it wouldn’t have mattered, remaining as mere statutes and statures of curiosity, her mind scheming, pondering why anyone would go to such lengths for portions of glass. Which meant it held meaning, value, and possibly power.
At the question poised to her, her brows lifted for a moment, before her feature were rendered into a ferocious grin. Within any other time or instant, it might have signified danger. For now though, it simply beamed in an effervescent glow, pleased in her rapacity and bludgeoning. “Short, though they’re only wooden blades for the moment.” At some point she’d find herself with her own, and then her arsenal of munitions would be grand and wonderful all over again. One could never have enough weapons.
Melita was an excellent audience, and Jigano enjoyed sharing his story with her - though he wished he had a more cheerful story to tell, or at least one with a happier ending. No fight, no triumph over the forces of mad cannibals; it was more a scouting report than a tale of courage and heroics or battle and victories. Still, Melita's attention and focus on his words was appreciated and he nodded in wry agreement that it had been an adventure at the time, uncertain whether they would be discovered or find themselves in a fight for their lives once they realized they weren't alone in the caves.
"It's supposed to enhance magic power," he explained, as Loren had explained to him. "A clear stone that somehow makes spells stronger. But also might make them go out of control," he admitted after a moment's thought, remembering the book he'd found. "It seemed worth studying, at least, to see what was legend and what was fact, but..." He shrugged, because since they hadn't found any it didn't mean anything in the end. He sipped his water, looking forward to hearing what new lethal toys she had found to play with, surprised to hear that they were only wood but admittedly a little relieved. It was the smarter way to start training, after all. More likely to have all your fingers and toes at the end of the day.
"Single sword, or double? Or sword and shield?" So many options and permutations, and the short sword offering such variety in combined styles. He grinned back at her eagerness, glad that she was adding a close-combat option to complement her deadly skill with a bow.
She’d been correct in her assertion – an item not meant for her – but certainly amongst the anointed, consecrated others. The youth could understand how such a thing would bend and shape individuals, a greedy, avaricious overture in the midst of spells and antics. That it might make them go out of control was another notion – awry, awry, awry, and foretell disaster along the way for others. Melita fell to quiet hums in her musings, tapping her fingers against the desk as her mind rumbled and roamed around in these conjectures. “Maybe it’s for the best?” She shrugged. “What if it fell into the wrong hands?” Which didn’t mean him or anyone else with mage characteristics – her notions were settled upon those of Zariah’s ilk, dubbed the Merciless because of her means of transgressions and chosen actions. What if it fell into the right hands? Would that make any difference? Many of her items were magical in nature – did that mean she should’ve been granted or given their nuances, their beatific statures? Food for thought, combing over her skull as her eyes went back to him.
“Like I would use a shield!” She laughed, a jovial streak of merriment at her ability to simply ignore all defensive procedures and just lay on straight offensive tactics. Bound to bite her somehow, someway in the end. “Single, for right now.” Though the promise of double swords had her nefarious grin back in place, gaze clearly contemplating a score of nefarious inclinations and possibilities.
He nodded at her question, not quite rhetorical, and utterly in agreement. "For the best for now, at least. To be honest I was worried about Zariah getting her hands on some of it first..." His thoughts paralleled hers and he shrugged wryly. "I was hoping we could find ways to counter it, perhaps, or circumvent it. But for now we won't know. We can keep looking... but at the moment I don't have any other leads on where. And there's so much else to do now that Torchline is open, too..." he trailed off, a flicker of weariness in his eyes before he sipped his water and banished it, focusing determinedly on enjoying a pleasant afternoon catching up with a friend.
Her quick denial of using a paltry shield had him grinning, waving in mock-apology. "Perish the thought! I must have mistaken you for someone else for a moment," he teased back. He had a shield made by Deimos, a beautiful piece he took with him when he expected a fight... which, admittedly, wasn't as often as he probably should on this world. "But once you get the basics down do you think you'd put a dagger in your free hand? Another blade? Or keep it efficient with just the one sword?" he asked, enjoying the brightness of her mischief as he offered additions to her arsenal.
Maybe they’d come back to it later then – distracted by all the other nuances and notions of the world. They spiraled out of control so very often, it was a bizarre feeling to suddenly have time to claim breaths stolen from lungs, to bask in suns, to seek out the glory of the ocean (if they allowed themselves – because that was always the way of it, how they carried the world on their broad shoulders when no one asked them to). So she allowed the subject to drift apart and away, focusing on the tangible, wanton, craved things of the sea. “Have you been yet? What did you think?” It was a glorious excitement, filled along the edges of her smile; portions of the sun, the shoal, the surf, ancient worlds coming alive before them all over again. She’d longed for the ocean in the same way she’d longed for the sand, for the dunes, for the coaxing, enticing heat of the sun – yesteryears in her mind, flickerings of a childhood long since left behind.
The mention of daggers had her grin curling into a more juvenile decorum, adorned by impish, devilish delight. “Sunjata gave me some daggers as a gift.” The enthrallment and excitement embroidered and woven along her features were enough to register she was a youth of simple tastes: weaponry, munitions, ways to pummel and devastate adversaries and enemies. “We’ll see. I’ll try anything.” Not a slouch in regards to gathering as many materials as she could – eager and ready to defend, to slash, to rip, and tear – the only things she’d ever really known or understood.
Her question lifted some of the weariness from his gaze as her met her eyes, and there was a wistful smile on his lips as he nodded slightly. "Once," he said softly. "I had read about the sea but never seen it before. It is... so much vaster than I had imagined. Older and... limitless." He shook his head, knowing the words were inadequate but sharing Melita's awe and excitement over the raw elemental power inherent in the ocean.
Weapons, he suspected, would always be the preferred gift for the fiery summer child. Arms and armaments to bedeck her in steel and sharp edges, ready to rain mayhem down on whoever had the misfortune to get caught in her path when she gave herself over to the dance of war and all its accompanying violence. There was an elegant beauty to such single-minded lethality, and he could admire the path she had chosen for herself even if it was different than his own. "I'll be eager to see what works best for you," he grinned, an idea twisting at the back of his thoughts. He set his water down and pressed his hands together, letting the bronze chimes of his creation magic harmonize with the gold and green of healing and earth as he pulled his palms apart, gathering the abilities he'd utilized once before in Loren's new infirmary to shape a stoneware jar filled with a light green paste that had a mild, clean herb scent to it. He ended with a lid to keep the unguent fresh as he offered it with a wink.
"And this should help those training bruises heal more quickly so you can get back to it faster. Or you can offer it to your sparring partners so they'll be able to withstand more of your blows." A far less beautiful gift than weaponry, and one that would eventually run out, but he hoped that she would find a good use for it in her rough-and-tumble assaults and quest to make herself a stronger and more dangerous predator.
A spring in her grin, a sprig of curlicued reverence in her undaunted factions, the effervescence in her eyes. “It’s wonderful and powerful.” A dream in her gaze, a haunting poignancy of precision and might she’d never have, never contain, but could greatly admire anyway. It was a part of old tales and would eventually hold a threshold in new ones, constant, beatific, a vast, overwhelming accord where she yearned to stretch her limbs and scattered along the wind – nymph ambiguities and picturesque divinity, as if she too could be a merchant of its sails, instead of tied to the land.
Weaponry had been something she could only tangle her hands into once she’d embarked into Caido: sticks and stones were some measure of armaments, but the fine-tuned, honed, and harpooning shards and swords here were far greater, far grander, far deadlier. She’d sunk her teeth into them upon first sight, grasped their crafts, coated their edges with training for precision, for accuracy, for something other than reckless endeavors. They were still there, just as part of her as any other unrelenting, ferocious qualities, but better kept. “What other weapons do you use?” She hummed, relishing the chance, the opportunity, to delve further into whatever means worked best for others, then taking a drink of her water, staring up at the ceiling.
What she didn’t expect to see on her glance back down was Jigano crafting something within his hands. “Oooh, new magic?” sprang from her mouth instantly, and then she returned to silence to watch, to bear witness. A stoneware appeared, and some strange pasty concoction in its boundaries (she probably should’ve known what it was – her mother would be ashamed somewhere in the heavens, glancing down from her healer ramparts).
She also didn’t expect it to be granted to her.
“Oh, thank you!” Her hands went for it, treated the item with reverence. “What’s it called?” Because she was full of bruises and scars, of mauled, mutilated figments; rising from each and every one of them with a sneer, with a growl, or with a seething designation in the back of her mind. Perhaps this would be far better.
