Be on Your Gourd [Seasonal Event]
Melita Najya
the Honeybee


Age: 26 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
Level: 10 - Strg: 57 - Dext: 58 - Endr: 58 - Luck: 57 - Int: 1
FANGORN - Mythical - Vampire Gourd SILA - Mythical - Dragon (Fire Breath)
Played by: Heather Offline
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Posts: 2,913 | Total: 10,652
MP: 9824
#1
 
M E L I T A


Wessex’s innovations in amusement, and grand use of the gourds, had inspired Melita to come up with her own game. The youthful sprite had skirted her way down the field, humming with a few pumpkins under her arm as she scouted out a playing area. An idea had sprouted in her head as she wandered, reminded of days spent training, which had been haphazard and slightly inept at best, but encouraged a means to practice precision. She’d never quite bested it, more prone to impulse and action, to barrages and swift, sudden motions, but there was no harm in bringing it back into the fold, especially with so many potential victims.

When she’d found a clearer spot, flatter, not rolling down a hill or cascading into a stream, the girl settled herself into a makeshift plan. Hands on her hips, her gaze swept over the valley, and spied a few objects that could serve her purpose. Before long, she’d managed to gather a few rocks, sticks, and leaf litter. Targets, she smiled and beamed, before putting herself to the test.

She lined them up by varying distances – the pile of leaves being the closest, the small stone in the middle, and the stick the farthest and most difficult – hard to hit by its narrow existence alone. Then the girl snagged a pumpkin that had strayed too close, clearly curious by her endeavors, and backed away.

Melita eyed the leaves first, trying to match up how far she’d have to throw, how much she’d have to push. She envisioned the red, brown, and yellow hues blending together to become an enemy – some dastardly demon, some fiendish monster, and grinned. The wind whistled behind her, encouraged her rally, and she launched the gourd, listening to it fly through the air and land in the back portion of curled, withering fronds. “Excellent,” she proclaimed, and set about grabbing another pumpkin for the stone’s assault.





Alistair Valentus
Monster Hunter

Age: 32 | Height: 6' 0 | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 3 - Strg: 15 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 6 - Int:
Played by: Andy Offline
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Posts: 361 | Total: 1,197
MP: 0
#2
ALISTAIR
Alistair had been hunting the blasted things since they first sprouted and as of now they seemed to never cease. Not that he mind, it was particularly fun training and honing his skills by tracking and hunting them.

It was during his routine parameter checks when he noticed a familiar face. Youthful and vibrant, it was difficult to forget such a face in a world so bleak.

As he approached, he said nothing. He simply watched Melita with amusement as she went about all her trouble setting up her targets.

He sat a safe distance away, bow and arrow resting on the ground, stubbled chin resting over his palm as he chuckled quietly.

As her artillery found the mark she may hear the sound of applause in the background, the hush roar of the crowd as Alistair cupped his hands around his mouth and mimicked the sound.

Had she turned he would smile and offer a familiar wave before pushing himself up and approaching.

"Expert marksman...please, another display of skill, if you may."
Melita Najya
the Honeybee


Age: 26 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
Level: 10 - Strg: 57 - Dext: 58 - Endr: 58 - Luck: 57 - Int: 1
FANGORN - Mythical - Vampire Gourd SILA - Mythical - Dragon (Fire Breath)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 2,913 | Total: 10,652
MP: 9824
#3
 
M E L I T A


Part of Melita’s faults and foibles were aligned directly to her more impulsive traits. Despite a majority of her childhood being spent amidst demons, fiends, heathens, and the more treacherous wraiths (shifting sometimes in the form of her family; alluding to devastation and terror), she still rushed headlong into her follies and crusades. Bullheaded and stubborn, obstinate and defiant, fey and mercurial, half the time her pitfalls could be evaded by simply taking in the rest of her surroundings, by twisting, by turning, by utilizing more than audacity and boldness.

So it came as a massive surprise when she heard applause, a faint, embellished roar of a crowd. Her breath stopped for a moment, frame whipping around, jaw slightly dropped while her hands had balled into fists – pondering over which weapon to use, which munition she could supply to undermine an enemy – before her mouth curled immediately back into a swift smile, a light laugh. She loosened a breath on the chuckle, on the giggle, wild, savage, but not muddling straight into danger. Alistair didn’t represent menace, didn’t ensue horror, didn’t entangle monstrous threads of misery and woe; and that was enough.

The youth bowed at his applause and compliment, bending over in pockets of head bobs, spine straightening and untamed hair growing more untamed in each movement. “Thank you, thank you,” she proffered through a stream of laughter again, as if performing for a crowd. “An encore?” Her brow arched, fierce smile inclining into a feral smirk as she grabbed another pumpkin nearby, and turned back towards her lined objects.

She swung this vegetable back further, intending for it to be unleashed on the stone, a fairer distance away. Her precision was sorely lacking here though, and it wobbled through the air, before bounding off the side of the rock, splattering more in the grass than on the ancient surface. Melita shrugged, laughed again, fully aware that her lack of patience, that her ambition to merely move and assault had formed the error. Her gilded gaze swept back to Alistair, the grin even more impish. “Give it a try!”






Alistair Valentus
Monster Hunter

Age: 32 | Height: 6' 0 | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 3 - Strg: 15 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 6 - Int:
Played by: Andy Offline
Change author:
Posts: 361 | Total: 1,197
MP: 0
#4
ALISTAIR
"I really shouldn't, parlor games aren't really my thing."

All while Alistair said this, he was taking up a pumpkin and bouncing it in his hand.

"Childish these games you know?"

He remarked with a playful smirk before he threw the pumpkin at the stick and predictably missed which he humbly accepted with laughter.

"I was testing the weight of these things...can never be too sure."

He attempted to reason before slinging one true smacking and splitting at contact with the last target.

"See? So..."

Motioning with his head toward her artillery, Alistair held Melita's eyes.

"About that encore?"
Melita Najya
the Honeybee


Age: 26 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
Level: 10 - Strg: 57 - Dext: 58 - Endr: 58 - Luck: 57 - Int: 1
FANGORN - Mythical - Vampire Gourd SILA - Mythical - Dragon (Fire Breath)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 2,913 | Total: 10,652
MP: 9824
#5
 
M E L I T A


It was all a childish manifesto, and for Melita, born to peace and grown in artifices, warfare, treachery, and deception, these hours were for the quiet, silly moments. She’d forgotten them once, standing amidst tombs, catacombs, and sepulchers, scarred and beaten, but never broken, chin angled defiantly against the rest of the tyrannical monsters and ghosts. The girl relished in it now, coaxed mercurial whims and tempestuous eaves, because it was better than mourning, than brooding, than suffering, than remembering those barbaric beacons, those brutal sirens, those zealous, nefarious instances catching, snaring, and threatening to consume her. She’d take the mischievous threads and wind them all into beautiful tapestries, had she ever managed to utilize the skill: her fingers had been splayed over swords and shields, between blood, bone, and embers.

She wasn’t the least offended by his discourse; it made her laugh, quirk her brow, as he curled straight into hypocrisy. The youth wouldn’t call him out on it, simply watched with her delightful ebullience and her impish grin as he hurled a gourd towards his intended target. “Of course,” she hummed, though it didn’t carry the tone of heralded belief – tunes of devilry and amusement.

The challenge was on when he hit the stick – she witnessed it splatter against the wood, gave some boisterous applause in return, and with a single nod, approached the designated area, the line drawn across the plain. The provocation was all she needed; enemies would probably comprehend her vices long before she ever registered their double-edged tendencies. Melita fully understood that she likely wouldn’t even come close – her power was sometimes too much, too little, everywhere in between, nettled and crossed in a bed, a crown, of thorns, impetuous and savage, wild, untamed, never given a proper lesson. Her tactics had come from survival, persistence, and perseverance; if she hadn’t learned to be swift, to be quick, to be hasty, then she wouldn’t have been there, in the flesh, in the tangible streaks of fairy and devil. The girl would’ve been just as dead as the rest of her world: blackened, shadowed, and forgotten.

The pumpkin deciding to nibble on her toes was the next victim. She grabbed hold of its stem, leaned back into her throw, attempted to time the release so it would fly through the air, land directly on the stake, be caught in the throes of agony and woe on its descent. Instead, however, it launched off the side and barreled midway down into the field, to which she snorted. “What’s your secret?” She half-joked, half-intending to find the answer: it would likely be practice and precision, but in her lack and absence of meticulous study, the notes might’ve been a lost cause.





Alistair Valentus
Monster Hunter

Age: 32 | Height: 6' 0 | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 3 - Strg: 15 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 6 - Int:
Played by: Andy Offline
Change author:
Posts: 361 | Total: 1,197
MP: 0
#6
ALISTAIR
"It's no secret really."

Alistair replied as he bent down to grab another pumpkin, walking over to place it in Melita 's hand. Had she allowed he would take her wrist gently and place the pumpkin in her palm.

"If I may?"

Alistair asked, gesturing to go behind her to help give the proper instruction. Had she agreed, he would step behind her, a hand around her waist as the other wound her arm back.

He would position her fingers to run across the lines of the pumpkin.

"It's all a matter of positioning yea? You want to keep your fingers like this..."

His strong, calussed hand placed over hers as he positioned her fingers and kept them over to maintain her grip.

"Going to use the ridges of the pumpkin to build the speed, use your middle and index finger to guide the aim."

His voice was easy, a gentle smokey rasp as he continued. The hand on he waist gently guiding it to lean to the side.

"Treat your hips like a rubber band, ever fire a sling shot? Same concept. Your legs are the bracers, your hips the band. Your arm the stone. You're going to wind back, plant your feet...keep your toes pointed out directly in front to help guide you...and you sling out your wrist, releasing right around here."

Again, had she allowed he would mimic the throwing motion, though not releasing the pumpkin. Just using the motion as an example of how Melita would be improving her aim.

"Got it? Want to try it together, than if you improve try on your own?"

He asked innocently enough, turning his head slightly to see her off the corner of his eye.
Melita Najya
the Honeybee


Age: 26 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
Level: 10 - Strg: 57 - Dext: 58 - Endr: 58 - Luck: 57 - Int: 1
FANGORN - Mythical - Vampire Gourd SILA - Mythical - Dragon (Fire Breath)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 2,913 | Total: 10,652
MP: 9824
#7
 
M E L I T A


No one had ever schooled Melita in the ways of accuracy, though she’d never blamed them. There hadn’t been time, there hadn’t been those brief intervals of repose and sanctuary, where the heavens and heavens opened up, allowed them those quiet moments of peace and safety, when she could’ve obliterated targets with a skillful thrust, instead of blindly scalding, ripping, and tearing. But there hadn’t been – disaster and oblivion had been around every corner, nightmares had stretched across their eyes, and devastation would’ve come to them in the blink of an eye, in the letting down of one’s guard. She could only imagine the amount of damage she could’ve dealt, out there in the shadows, upon the length of demonic sands and nefarious mires, had someone been able to show her the true meaning of combat.

So it was only appreciation and gratitude in her gaze, in her stare, as Alistair offered the tutelage. It was thank you in her heart, in her lungs, in her spitfire motions, in her silent, unsung declarations. Her wrist followed his touch, fingers taking hold of the gourd placed in her palm, and the more exuberant smile gleaming across her face. She nodded her compliance as she maneuvered behind her, thinking naught other than endless excitement over learning a new skill, acquiring the ability to calculate, to slow down, to breathe in those feral moments of assaults and vehemence. This wasn’t the battlefield, but perhaps, if she could practice more, it would become much more natural than bounding straight into hell, than recklessly, heedlessly, annihilating; blending into an art.

Her figure obliged his requests, arm winding back, fingers gliding along the lines of the rind, where the grooves were more prominent, noticeable, apparent. She’d never even truly thought about them like a grip – she’d just flung, thrown, gave over to speed and hasty notions. The girl even gave pause to recite his commands in her head, the rasp easily flowing into her ears, along her thoughts. Your legs are the bracers, your hips the band, leaning into the concept with youthful abandon, likely too fast and unsettled, but clinging to the education like a lifeline, completely comfortable with being guided into the fray. She slid her toes to point in front, envisioned the days of slingshots, impish delight when a stone pummeled some newfound enemy. The mimicked motion, the picture in her head, fostered fundamental clarity – brows furrowing in obvious thought, pouring all her attention into the matters at hand.

When she realized he’d proffered a first attempt together, she finally collected herself back together, the feral, savage intricacies blending right across her face, as if she were ready to face demon after demon, fiend after fiend, instead of sticks, stones, and irritating vegetables. “Sure! Ready when you are!”






Alistair Valentus
Monster Hunter

Age: 32 | Height: 6' 0 | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 3 - Strg: 15 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 6 - Int:
Played by: Andy Offline
Change author:
Posts: 361 | Total: 1,197
MP: 0
#8
ALISTAIR
As Melita met Alistair's gaze so fiercely, his head flinched back as he smiled rather amusedly toward her. He would lean closer with a squint of his eyes.

"Are you sure you're ready for this? Because once you say yes there is no going back..."

His tone deathly serious. His eyes holding the same intent as appeared to forget to blink, until he laughed.

"I'm kidding, you're going to do great. Alright then, so just set yourself."

Alistair instructed as his arm gently firmed around her waist to make sure Melita had the proper understanding on how to move her hips. Had she allowed, he would press her closer so her head would be leaning back against his shoulder, close enough to sync their movements.

"Relax...deep breath..."

He instructed, his voice softening as he looked down slightly and to the side toward her.

"Here we go."

He would mimic the easy motion of the throw two more times before the third, to which he instructed her to release the pumpkin at the proper time. Had she done so, the third target would see her pumpkin lobbed and impaled over the stick.
Melita Najya
the Honeybee


Age: 26 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
Level: 10 - Strg: 57 - Dext: 58 - Endr: 58 - Luck: 57 - Int: 1
FANGORN - Mythical - Vampire Gourd SILA - Mythical - Dragon (Fire Breath)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 2,913 | Total: 10,652
MP: 9824
#9
 
M E L I T A


The wild youth would’ve liked to think of herself as a great scholar, capable of taking anything and everything in; but she understood herself too well to ever fully regard herself in the art of sagacity and wisdom. She was too hasty, too reckless, too ridiculous; preferring the grand upheaval to the slow and steady machinations. Impetuousness was her only true oeuvre, a masterpiece of sheer will, determination, and heedless actions: endeavors meant to be swift, seditious, and irreverent. She was a smoking gun, finger on the trigger, eager to ignite, to explode, at a moment’s notice: a demon on the prowl, a savage, sinister threat to her friends, to her family. Life hadn’t instructed her on how to settle beyond revolution and chaos; peace, repose, and the time to learn hadn’t even been on her mind.

To Alistair’s first retort, closer and closer still, she only arched a brow, rolled her eyes, and laughed. This was nothing and they both knew it, just practice, just notes of precision, just seconds and instances where she could breathe, and not immediately jump into the fray.

But she did as she was told, a pupil when given the right circumstances, breathing, barely even noticing how much closer he was. Her full intent was on meticulous details (for once; such a rarity it likely should’ve been documented somewhere), on impalement, on how to further devastate an enemy, gourd or otherwise. The motions came slowly at first, then the proper release was conducted, and she followed the movements keenly, efficiently, without haphazard actions, without destructive tendencies, without rushing headlong into something too big, too risky, too treacherous. Her eyes followed the pumpkin’s path as it lobbed briefly, then fell, without grace or distinction, upon the stick, firmly impaled and ruined.

“Yes!” She shouted, a fist raised over her head in triumph, as if she’d won the latest battle. “We did it!” She volleyed, silly and youthful, the vibrant, regal glow of glory glowing along the rise and fall of her smile. Her stare finally flickered back to Alistair’s impish and delighted, another mocking bow and curtsy extended towards him, but the gratitude was clear, warm, and resonant. “Thank you!”








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