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!
Melita had employed, utilized, and incorporated a semblance of weaponry, munitions, and tactics as of late: her bow, fighting stances in and out of the water, and even daggers. But her steadfast partner, besides Fangorn, her beloved staff, had been readily ignored, as if forgotten.
Time to remedy those notions today.
She arrived along the sands with it already tucked into her palm, swinging it back and forth, flipping it between hands and fingers. The ritual was familiar, routine, favored by way of loosening and warming up her muscles, spinning back and forth in the morning sea breeze, in the slightest touch of chill. It pulsed through her flesh and undulated along skin and bones, and something about it pulled and tugged at her heart, a wild inhale, a vicious exhale, before proceeding further down the beach.
The youth found a few stray bushes to hack away at, swift and keen, but they provide any defensive or offensive maneuvers in return. Then she tossed several shells in the air, intending to hit them before they sailed back down to the dunes, catching them on the underside of their fortified concoctions. They flew off on a feral connection, and she watched them briefly until they landed some yards away.
What she really needed was someone who would fight back.
It was a thankfully overcast day and the evening had come sooner than it usually did, the sun not showing itself directly, just in cracks of light from the clouds, faint enough that Sam did not have to be too concerned about his weakness. Still he wore a big coat and hat for his walk, tilting his head down to cast more of a shadow over it as he headed out to the isles.
He was getting a bit bored of his walks up and down the pier and they were too full of people, all with the potential to be muggers or con artists. Here he hoped he might see some beautiful nature and solitude, be able to consider things over as he watched the sea. At least if he got stuck, he still had Loren's abilities in his fluid, stored from the last night they'd had together, which now felt like it had happened years ago.
The first indication that he wasn't going to be alone was the wiggling of some bushes along with a series of noises that were quite alarming without context; when he finally saw Melita he relaxed a little, though still treaded carefully, seeing she was apparently fighting the air. "U...Um...are you...alr..alright, Melita?" He asked, raising his voice as much as he dared while it still shook.
She pushed, she cajoled, she fought against the ethers, the vestiges, of weakness. Howls and growls fought to bite into the air, defiant, menacing, ferocious little growls threatening to lift into the surroundings, but with nothing to fight, nothing to rally upon, except whatever immobile victim she chose, the sounds were restrained. Out amongst the shadows and bare light, it was merely her and Fangorn, and she could lift her arms, volley and rail upon the schematics of imaginary foes as best she chose, placing two hands upon the staff and thrusting it forward, manifesting images of adversaries, of demons, blowing through them with clean, fluid movements. Each inhale was a pattern, each exhale a contortion of coiled energy and raw precision, some brought upon by impulse, some by inherency, a recalled scheme, a magnificent memory.
But then there was a voice within, and she ceased immediately. There was a hint of acrimony and hostility in the bridge of her shoulders, an instantaneous reflex brought on by growing up in a land intending to demolish every occupant. When she finally turned her head over her shoulder, the staff clasped tightly in her hands, the stiff, unyielding, unbending rigidity ceased, recognizing the individual coming along the sands.
“Oh, hi Sam.” A casual wave followed, as if she hadn’t been thinking of beating him into the ground seconds before; a swift smile taking the place of her sedition. “I was just practicing.” The honeybee youth didn’t know the man very well, the casual encounter and the like throughout the Grounds, but he’d always been kind enough. Fangorn gave him a hearty grumble of a hello from the shoreline, and then the inquiry was on her lips before she could stop it. “What brings you out this way?”
Thankful that Melita's pose became less aggressive as she looked over (Sam knew in his current state he couldn't take on anyone, especially not Melita, who had always struck him as the fighting sort), he stepped forward a little more, eyes drifting momentarily to Fangorn by the waves before going back up to her.
"Oh um...I'm j-just on a walk." He explained, trying to force a smile; it was better than admitting he was walking just to try and occupy his mind with something, because otherwise it would go to the pain and he'd become a mess. "What..are you practicing for?"
Desperate for something to do, he found himself further asking: "Is it...an..anything I can help with?"
A walk, closing in on the evening. If Melita were an entirely different person, she might have asked further about the whole subject matter, but since she had done similar (and even number things – like shooting arrows into the evening), she thought nothing of it, as if these were perfectly normal circumstances.
The first inquiry was met with the slightest tilt of her head, and then impish accord across her lips. “Anything. I want to be prepared for danger of any kind.” Because she’d experienced it over and over, in Helovia, in the Rift, even here, never intending to be caught unawares, weak, foolish, or stupid again. While it would undoubtedly occur, happen, in some manner, she still craved the precision to fall back on. Instinct, inherent, muscle memory honed in motions and movements, instead of faltering, flickering, wandering on the sidelines, begging for salvation that wouldn’t come.
This girl wasn’t one to plead anyway.
As far as his assistance, a cheekier inclination wondered if he’d like to be a mobile target, but then that might be too cruel, and Sam had never been to her. If it were Kiada there’d be zero hesitation.
They’d probably already be fighting.
Pursing her lips and wrinkling her nose in thought, she offered a suggestion thereafter. “I can show you some moves, or help you train with a staff. Have you ever used one before?”
05-26-2020, 05:09 PM (This post was last modified: 05-26-2020, 05:09 PM by Samuel.)
I want roses set on fire
And I, well I want what’s best for me
Sam thought trying to prepare for danger of any kind was somewhat of a fools errand, but he stayed quiet, not knowing Melita well enough to try and argue the point. She was likely much better at her fighting than he was for her practice, so he didn't really have much to stand on.
"Um...no." He'd not been taught how to use any weapons. The only offensive thing he'd ever put to regular use had been his cube, which had been a matter of 'throw it or place it on the thing then run', hardly any kind of skilled moveset involved. "..If...if we practice, you ne-need to go easy on me." Trying to laugh to appear casual, he pretended like he wasn't actually a little scared of Melita's abilities with her staff.
Melita had grown up in worlds where survival wasn’t a sure thing; and frankly, it hadn’t been in Caido either. There were monsters, there was mayhem, there were all sorts of unpredictable notions and chaotic embraces shorn about the land – and since she intended to immerse herself within it – it would be foolish, and unwise, to not be prepared.
His no didn’t give her much pause; the youth figured on that status. No judgment on her part; not everyone was made to bear weaponry, or yearn to engage in armaments. And they shouldn’t be forced to either. She’d offered, and it was up to Sam if he wanted to accept.
Her brow did arch on the last statement though, an impish, smug grin spoiling along the edges of her mouth. “I suppose I could try,” and she tapped her chin in thought, before maneuvering around, gathering up a long enough stick or bough to act as a makeshift staff. The girl handed it over to him, then backed away a few paces. “What if I put one arm behind my back?” And she did so, placing the staff in her right hand, and the other near her spine. “Do you want me to teach you, or do you want to try first?”
Sam took the staff, wondering what the hell he was doing as he tried to feel out it's weight and find the best place to hold it, his hands feeling weak and like they could shake off at any moment along with his confidence. At least Melita appeared to follow his request, offering to put her arm behind her back: possibly a handicap he ought to be embarrassed to need, but he didn't have any misconceptions about his own ability; he was sure even like that she could beat him. He nodded.
"Um...t-tell me what to do. With it." He asked, holding the staff out in front of him, two hands on it evenly spaced as he'd seen people do before, but with no idea what to do after that point. As unnatural as it felt, without the Voice's protection it would help him to learn some personal defence. "Do I...po...poke you...?"
“Sure!” Obliging immediately, gesturing forward and removing her hand from behind her back to display the move to Samuel. A bright, sundry smile followed, genuine, without artifice, excited to assist, help, and better her own defensive measures. “You’re going to try and hit me!” A better thought might’ve been a target, but based on the Ascended’s lack of sagacity and experience, she wasn’t terrible worried about being struck with a stick.
“First, hold your hands like so,” and she brought her staff forward, in front of her, both hands gripping the beloved armament, almost like breaking it into three equal pieces. “Then bring it over your shoulder, and get into a stance.” She displayed both, well-worn and adjusted into the machinations and manifestations, following her own directions, expecting him to do the same. “Now, when you move forward to hit something, bring this leg with it,” and she chose her right, sending the staff downward through air, intending to maul, maim, and brutalize whatever stood in her path.
She assembled herself back into formation, the promised hand behind her back, aligned with her spine, calloused grasp in tune with the weight of her weapon. Prepared, fervent, embracing the challenge, the whims of her smile meandered into an impish grin. “Okay, you try!”
Melita, miraculously, did not want to mock him: instead she helped, coming forward to show him how to better hold and use the staff. Sam, infinitely grateful, followed her instructions as closely as possible. He had not been expecting to be told to put it over his shoulder and tried to mirror her, glancing back every few seconds to make sure his staff was in a similar position. When it was close enough, he practiced the foot work a couple of times.
He let out a little gasp as he watched her staff swiftly descend through the air and leaned away from it, then decided to try his own attack. Moving as she had, bringing down the staff as he stepped forward...Sam found that in the unfamiliar position he struggled to maintain accuracy or speed: he accidentally hit Melita, but with such a small amount of force that it was equivalent to a fly's fart.
Embarrassed, he pulled it back up. "Um..ma-maybe you co..could show me how to de-defend first. I do..don't want to s-start fights, after all."
Well, this was a little disappointing. For all her strategies and skills, for all the mirrored movements, in the end, she didn’t need to defend herself at all – instinctually drawing her staff before her, only for a minuscule tap to pluck at her shoulder. “Oh, you’re going to have to do better than that,” and she shook her head. “They’ll eat you alive, Sam.” They signifying anyone in these parts, willing to snatch, claw, rip, and tear at the slightest inclination of weakness. This world would see him as an easy target, to rob, to sink at the bottom of the sea. To do away with as if he were nothing – and Melita knew that wasn’t what Samuel conveyed.
So perhaps showing him how to defend would be easier. “Okay,” she sighed, inhaling a breath of fresh air, pondering the best descriptions. “When I come at you,” and here she held a mocking movement, instilling pretenses into the fold, one hand still behind her back, “You can pull the staff out in front of you, and twist it in any direction, in attempt to block.” She demonstrated several times, swiveling her armament forward, backward, spinning it sideways, as if it were nothing more than an extension of her arm. “Ready?” The honeybee youth proffered when the visuals were complete, lunging forward, intending to whip her munitions towards him from the side.
While Sam was plenty embarrassed about his poor showing, he couldn't help the little laugh at Melita's comment: had she not seen his stooped posture, his stuttered speech, the delicate way his hands curled around each other? "They we-were going to anyway." He told her, rather sure that the only reason he'd survived so far was a combination of Zeph's protection and pure dumb luck.
At least they moved to defense, something he felt he might have a better chance at. Holding the staff out and adjusting til he was stood solidly, he prepared himself for Melita's approach.
This time, things went better. He held the stick out towards her swing and while the clatter of the hit made him step back just a little, he held firm, pushing back against her and avoiding being hit. Nodding with a smile as if to say he now understood how to do it, he waited for another attack.
Maybe because Melita had never been an individual willing to give up, to shirk, to shake in the shadows or quake in the light, she couldn’t understand Samuel’s response. For a moment she thought about gritting her teeth, clenching her jaw, furrowing her brow, and unleashing a series of tirades – about weaknesses, about prevailing, about something of substance or merit. But Samuel had lived in this world far longer than she, had made it until now without the need for violence, protection, or stalwart conveyances. So she sighed, shaking her head. “You can’t live that way. Not anymore.” For whatever reason, for whatever had happened to him – she couldn’t fathom an existence meandering, tucked away, hiding from the world. “You can fight back.”
So she did just that; he’d defended well, and so she upped the ante, utilizing speed, strength, swift, tactical movements, aiming for his right side. The intent for the swing of her staff was towards his hip, intending on making him move, maneuver, figure out how to defend himself from this particular angle.
Melita's fighting spirit was miles away from his, but Sam found that her message resonated with him somewhere; he did have to fight for himself now. No Goddess and responsibilities at his feet meant picking himself up and continuing despite it all, no matter how hard it got. While he still hoped he wouldn't have to resort to fighting (least of all because no amount of training would make him good at it), he was grateful she was giving him the chance to learn.
And it was time to learn again: he surprised himself, eyes seeing Melita going for his right side and his body reacting before he had a chance to think, going to block the hit with the staff. It was not perfect: his form was still a little shaky, but he managed to make contact, protecting his leg for the moment. With a laugh of accomplishment he gently pushed away Melita's staff.
