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!
knew what she was doing when she invited the wild in
Melita wasn’t a frequent patron of the bar, but she’d opted to utilize its darker contortions today for mischief and melee, rather than heavy drinking and conversing. Enchanted by the light sea breeze winding its way through the corridors, she and Fangorn made their way towards the back, a few nods given to familiar faces, her arms loaded with paper, charcoal, and paint.
Before she found herself distracted or deterred from her task, the youth laid out the supplies across the table, folding her arms across her chest to fully plan out her deviant, mischievous follies. A devilish, impish accord settled its way along her smile, within her eyes, mildly feral as the youth pondered how best to accomplish her mission.
No great artist, but always one to strive and try regardless of talent, she grabbed hold of a piece of charcoal and got to work – initially drawing out a large face, oval, no misgivings applied to it yet. Fangorn had already been placed upon the surface, weighing down the paper from billowing in the wind, and filling in the role as critic. There were a few grumbles and hisses here and there when something clearly didn’t look right – but that had been Melita’s intention from the beginning.
With relish, delight, and a quiet set of giggles, she set about sketching, drawing, and tracing out a rather large nose on the unfortunate individual’s face.
He'd been directed to the Hanged Man by others before, but the few times he'd braved it the place had been full and bustling, filled with a rough crowd that had quickly sent the young hunter back out into the evening streets. Today it had caught his attention as he'd been returning from dropping his morning hunt off with the butcher, and he was enjoying the warm winter sunlight as he headed back towards the edge of the city. The sight of the bar gave him pause and he nibbled his lip uncertainly. At least it wasn't likely to be busy at this hour, not yet, and maybe he could try and talk to the owner...?
He pushed his way in through the door, brown skin and green tunic, shaggy black hair and his bow and quiver slung over his shoulders as amber eyes adjusted to the dimmer shadows within. He didn't see anyone behind the bar at the moment, but he did see a vaguely familiar head of red curls that he recognized from the day he'd helped out at the Slagveld, and he made his way towards her tentatively. "Hello?" A quiet greeting, but as he neared and saw her drawing with charcoal and paper his eyes lit up with a flash of deep yearning and he only barely stopped himself from reaching for one of the pencils.
knew what she was doing when she invited the wild in
Quietly grumbling or laughing amongst themselves, depending on the individual, Melita occupied herself with an outlandish round of amusement. Once she’d settled on the overly, large, and exaggerated nose, she moved onto the hair, striving to make it look somewhat realistic to the actual figure. The eyes were fine, but eyebrows given into a furrowed look, embellished in a flurry and fury of mischief. More than once she ceased to simply look at the rendering again and giggle, placing her charcoal down to survey it in its entirety. It would need a few finishing touches…maybe some color…
But her attention deviated from her follies when another approached; a very tentative stance and movement, despite being far taller than she. The impishness and devilry faded, piecing away portions of the wild merriment. She had very brief memories of the individual before her, and certainly no name, no other action or recollection she could ponder or commit to. The uncertainty in this land though drew her to silence, to wondering if she required the weapons at her back, along her belt, or if, measured by the weight in his stare towards the paper and pencils, there would be other notions and predilections to consider. Her eyes narrowed speculatively regardless, not threatening, not snarky, not menacing, but enough of a stance and familiarity in the comfort of potential vigilance and violence. “Hello.” She paused in the interim, and Fangorn’s eerie gaze riveted to the stranger too – much more guarded and suspicious. Her voice followed suit, steel and fire, mettle and grit. “Anything I could help you with?”
Two alleycats stalking round and about each other might have been as wary as the pair; shadow and fire, young and younger, tall and short, but archers both. Amber eyes shifted for a moment, catching sight of orange and flame, and then widened in surprise at the carved gourd that seemed to be watching him. That was too strange, too outlandish, even for this very weird world though... wasn't it?
But all thoughts of what he'd initially come into the bar for were whisked away by the sight of paper and charcoal, even if he was too far away just yet to see what the young woman had been rendering with her artistry. "I... sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt. I just... could you tell me where I could get some of that?" he asked, wary but wistful as he nodded towards her supplies. "Paper and... the charcoal. Pencils." Belatedly, fingers tightening on the strap across his chest that held his quiver as courtesy reasserted itself. "Ah. Sorry. I saw you at the Slag... vald? I don't remember your name though." An admission with a wince and an apologetic bob of his shaggy head.
knew what she was doing when she invited the wild in
She waited; either to spring, to fight, or to impart something else altogether, a clockwork of tempestuous whims at her mercurial disposal. Torchline had served somewhat as a second cousin to the Rift: she was accustomed to the weight of danger, to the outline of treachery, to the besiege of irreverent, immoral tidings, had been chiseled, sculpted, and carved out of its soulless paradigms long before ever being exposed to sands and surf again. Strangers were prone to anything and everything, but her strength, her might, her menace, her bite, her howl was a glorious, illustrious thing too – rarely doubting her own capabilities.
But the shift in maelstroms didn’t come; the taller creature apologized, and asked about her paper, her pencils, her assortment of artistry, but not the renderings themselves. “Oh,” and she shrugged, some of the tension easing away from her form. Melita wasn’t quite so foolish as to drop her entire guard, but the measure of her words weren’t so agitated, vexed, or dipped in edges of fire, the brink of embers and cinders. “The marketplace, but the merchant is only there certain days.” Plus, what she hadn’t snagged for herself, she could easily pilfer from Sunjata’s quarters.
Had he wanted some? Her eyes went to the way he held the strap on his chest, palms itching for her own, tucked along one of the chairs. Thereafter, he only asked for her name, something she could afford to give and grant. “Melita. And yours?”
He noted her own tension, the coil of muscles and the hawk-sharp eyes that watched him as he watched her, two young creatures who had been tricked and conned and twisted around before in the town of the sly and the quick and the heartless. Neither was willing to set their guards down, but she had something he wanted, had yearned for, ever since he'd met Hotaru. Something he had no time for, no funds for, no place to safely store... but something he wanted all the same, irrational and illogical as it was.
He listened to her reply, a slow nod of recognition that he'd likely missed the merchant, given his own hesitance to stay in town longer than necessary and the likelihood that the few days he'd been to the market had been ones that particular seller was elsewhere.
"Kellan," he offered back, a harmless trade as he peered over her petite shoulder to see what she'd been sketching. For a moment his expression remained politely puzzled but then his eyes widened as he recognized the caricature as the man who had employed them both that day, and he had to bite his lip against the laugh that threatened to escape at the humorous nose and wrangled features. "Will... will you do the man that was with him, too?" he asked, maybe a little too hopefully.
knew what she was doing when she invited the wild in
Kellan, brandished to the back of her mind as another creature met in this strange, bewildering world. She didn’t expect anything else, merely the march of guards, ramparts, or something else in place of their antics, bending forward again to complete the shoulder portion of her artwork. Considering it from another angle, it was missing a semblance, a noteworthy contortion besides the gargantuan nose, and as tempted as she was to start outlining missing teeth, she opted to draw a rather crude fixation of a ghost behind him. Pale, no name given or necessary, a figure with some rags adorned and a rather delicate looking bow, enough for her to giggle to herself. Horrid, maybe, but a touch of mischief embedded and in place, no more ridiculous than the monolithic nares.
But Kellan had a suggestion thereafter, a question that caught her outright, made her laugh again, a chime of mellifluous and wild tendencies. If it echoed across the bar and disturbed other patrons, she really didn’t care, rebellion building and brewing under her skin. There had to be a story here, and she wasn’t about to tell him that the caricature was of her uncle, and that Nate was another portion of the extended family. “I can, if you tell me why.” An arch to her brow, a heathen gesture to her shoulders, devilry beholden in the dimming light.
Her question gave him pause, the hunter shrinking back a little. There was shame and a flicker of old fear in his eyes as he gave a slight shake of his head in silent negation to her offer. It wasn't a memory he was eager to relive much less recount to a stranger in a bar with more strangers listening in. He had enough problems standing up for himself without being singled out as prey for more of Haulani's bullies. "I... It's not... something I want to talk about," he mumbled instead, ducking his head uncomfortably. "I could... do it myself if you'd be willing to share some of your things, though?" A hopeful counter-offer, hesitant and uncertain.
"I can buy you a drink in exchange or... some food or... something." Not that he was flush with favors to be affording any such thing lightly, but he had missed the catharsis of sketching and her endeavors had reignited the embers of artistic inspiration that the challenge of daily survival had largely banked.
knew what she was doing when she invited the wild in
Nothing out of the ethers and vestiges; no trace of semblances, disasters, or ruins. It was a shame, really, when the youth had so dearly wanted to pluck and pull at information, striving to needle and convince. The measures had been ineffective, glanced off due to something like discomfort, and she shrugged it away. Unfortunate, because she didn’t have much to go off of Nate except personal experiences, which was fine, but the meddlesome, tempestuous portions to her craved more.
Sharing seemed to be the preferred mode, and the sharper, petulant, scarred edges of her wanted to refuse. To see what he would do if she disagreed outright. To irritate and nettle simply because she could. But Fangorn caught her eye, and she sighed, sweeping a piece of the poster-sized paper towards him. At least there’d be an exchange in it, a deal fortified. A slim piece of charcoal was given and granted too, and then she realized she hadn’t said anything at all. “Do you live in Torchline?” Easy, matter-of-fact, no need to dig any further; while she sketched out a name at the bottom of her drawing: Sunjata the Arm-Biter (because Zephele had said it once and it burned in her brain, made for a swift chuckle and snort).
She didn't seem willing at first, this auburn-haired huntress with her cucurbit confidante, and Kel pulled back into himself as he sensed the inevitable refusal; one more coldly casual dismissal in a city full of them. He braced himself for the denial, fingers tightening once more on his quiver strap as he tried to compose his face to dignity, but Melita's sigh was a sudden shift in the weather, and he hesitated in uncertain hope as she pushed paper and charcoal towards him. There was a look in his eyes, wary and uncertain, as if waiting for her to snatch them back, but her casual question and return to her own work soothed him enough to take a nearby chair and set his own bow and quiver aside while he reached for the charcoal.
"I... yes. I do now." An admission with more than a hint of resignation, but his expression began to clear as he squared up the paper in front of him and let his hand hover over the crisp white page, the moment of endless potential lingering before the charcoal touched it and he began to enact his art in simple, sweeping lines. A head, a nose, pointed and sharp, and a sneering twist to a sharper-toothed mouth. "What about you? And... him?" He wasn't sure if gourds had a gender, but he kept sneaking fascinated glances at Fangorn, clearly baffled and curious by the odd vegetable in their midst.
knew what she was doing when she invited the wild in
She eyed the initial start to the drawing, sneaking in glances over her shoulder every once in a while, trying to decipher or pick out the angles of Nate’s features that were bound to be over-emphasized or embellished. It was the teeth, Ascended fangs, and a sneer she’d never seen on the man’s face. What happened? was another inquiry that she figured wouldn’t be answered, left a mystery until she either plucked it out of him, or he decided to leave it remaining. So the wild child shrugged for the moment, returning to her own paper, smoothing out some roughened lines, or emboldening a few others, going back over Sunjata’s massive nose.
The youth hummed while she worked, a nonsense song, without lyrics or true melody, born out of amusement and indifference. While Kellan seemed very furtive and withdrawn, she carried on about her work, not disturbing his save for a couple other deceptive stares. “Fangorn and I live on the Ark.” If that insinuated anything, she didn’t really care. Half her time was devoted towards the land anyway, since they were docked, rambling around Sunjata and Nate’s house, causing whatever antics she could, and then the one destined for sea.
Sketching and drawing were two things that Kel had enjoyed since he was young, and he had some skill with them. He'd never really done caricatures before, but Nate's countenance was identifiable beneath the exaggerated nose and teeth, the too-sharp jawline and narrow, villainous eyes. A cartoon villain, but one with a basis in reality, and the young hunter's hand occasionally shook and smudged a line as he remembered that fear-laced night and the Ascended's words whispering cold terror against his neck.
He couldn't match the man physically, but surely if he had toyed and bullied Kel in such a way, he'd indulged his darker vices with others? At least they'd know they weren't as alone as he'd been feeling, if they saw this.
"The Ark? Is that Jiao's boat, too?" he asked, attention perking up at the recognized name and a flicker of relief beneath his wariness at hearing a familiar connection. "How is she?"
His hand steadied as he began to block in the lank hair, filling in shadows with the charcoal and leaving the white paper unmarked where he wanted the light to strike his unwitting model. "Is Fangorn... I mean, I've never seen anything like him before," he admitted awkwardly. "What is he?"
knew what she was doing when she invited the wild in
There was a wild temptation burrowing and then cycling through her heart, craving to know and understand the insinuations behind the caricature of Nate. Nothing she’d seen of the man had ever been maligning, wicked, or abhorrent, but this individual had obviously borne something in the Ascended’s midst. So she studied, pondered, dug into considerations and contemplations on how to get the answer, on how Kellan might share the story. Feigning a look of complete innocence, her eyes back upon her own paper, bolding some other lines and humming under her breath once more, she merely nodded her head in the direction of his sketch. An offhand observation, as if it were naught more than a blip. “I’ve always had good experiences with Nate.”
Of course, maybe the same could be said for her uncle too, but she was in a devilish mood, and had no intentions of shaking it off.
The subject altered and changed though, so the tone and tune did the same, light and jovial as they spoke of the Ark and Jiao. “Oh yes! Our Quartermaster.” She rather enjoyed the Fae’s company, especially when she felt like an outsider immersed into the other tight-knit contortions of the shipmates. “She’s doing well.”
Fangorn seemed to remain a hot topic each time he made an appearance here, and soon enough the inquiries started again. It made sense; anyone from the Grounds automatically knew of the pumpkin’s origin (at least, if they’d been around in autumn), their sharpened, honed fangs, their predilection towards snapping at ankles. But here they didn’t know, hadn’t seen something of his nature (they had other monsters). “He’s a vampire gourd. They come out in Leafchange in the Hollowed Grounds. He opted to stay with me a couple years ago.”
"Nate... is that his name?" he asked cautiously, stealing a glance at the young woman who was sharing her supplies with him. "He didn't... introduce himself..." He trailed off, swallowing hard and forcing the tremors in his hand to still so he could finish another sweeping line of hair before he turned the charcoal sideways to begin shading in the sharp planes and angles of the Ascended's face. It was hard to imagine the monster he'd met in the moonlight being kind to anyone, but then... he had twisted kindness and cruelty all through their conversation, slipping between one and the other with terrifying fluidity. Maybe it wasn't so hard to believe that he could wear one face longer than the other if he had reason to.
"H-how... do you know him?" Some connection to the boxing ring, maybe?
Talk of Jiao was far more welcome, and Melita's brightness and reassuring that the Fae was well brought a flash of a smile to Kel's face like sunlight peeking through clouds. "I'm glad. She... probably doesn't remember me. But she was the first person who took the time to talk to me and help explain things when I... when I arrived." Bluntly, even painfully honest, but patient and well-meaning. She had given him a start in a world that he still had so much trouble adapting to.
Curiosity took his eyes to the grinning gourd as more charcoal was smudged to darken greasy hair, and he smiled again at her story, not knowing how malicious Fangorn's cousins could be. "I've never seen anything like him," he admitted, though that was probably obvious. "What... what made you choose the name 'Fangorn' for him?"
