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!
Purpose to her steps, driven along the wares of predilection, her heart full and light, not questioning the uncertainty of upheaval, of the potential for throngs and discord. The fiery youth had already memorized the pathways towards the shrine, shifting away from the port and down to the shoreline, feet tracing lightly over the shallows, not bending, not breaking, not yielding to storms in her heart. Instead, they were breathless whims, ethereal and airy, as if she belonged to the pieces of veneer beneath her, as if she was finally in her element.
Then she kneeled before the shrine, fingers touching the face, the arms, as she’d so often seen natives do, and placing her offering into a shadowed nook. A doll she’d found in the market, hair springing from husks, created and adorned with a gentle, humble face. Thereafter, she bent her head down, proffering solemnity in between grins. “Ludo, thank you so much for the arrows.” Though she couldn’t recall how or why she’d managed to snag them, she knew the herald had its mark over their fringes, over the rapacity of their spark. “They are wonderful.”
Which led her to this moment. “I was wondering if I could request a similar thing.” To fight the monster dwelling within the Fingers, to seethe against something they would have to inevitably combat.
”What a lovely dolly,” Ludo crooned, having appeared silently shrouded around the statue, its masked face snug next to the statue’s. ”A similar thing? You wish for more spiky arrows, sweetling? What shall it be this time? Poison tipped? Arrows that sing?”
Letting out a peal of laughter that was simultaneously innocent and eerie, Ludo unravelled from the statue before floating down before Melita, a rag snatching up the doll at the same time.
Familiar rags and expressions, a croon, a shroud, a peal of laughter in the gaze of sunlight. The youth’s merriment bloomed in response, a bright, kindred smile for the herald before her – the doll taken and snagged, favored once more. Her tones were easygoing and light too, buoyant along the sea-salt waves and the caws of gulls, relaxed, a repose in regards to weaponry and armaments. “Those are great ideas,” and she’d note them for another time, another opportunity (though what she’d do with singing barbs hadn’t occurred to her, but the poison ones…something to consider for the future). “But I was hoping for some with ice.” For the monster that scorched deep in the walls and pathways of the Fingers, for an opportunity to freeze, or slow it down, in the multitudes of danger, treachery, they would undoubtedly find.
”With ice...?” Ludo peeped over Melita’s shoulder at the quiver divided in two, the raggedy god tilting its mask two and fro, all the while dancing the dolly into the folds of fabric. It did not forget the gifts it was given, after all, and the honeybee girl was always generous with them.
”Very well,” it said. ”But I shall call upon you one day in the future, when I have need for you. And you shall answer, yes?”
For all the things Ludo had done for her, for others, the youth could scarcely refuse. There was half a notion resting in her mind, of the days around the blight, of moments stretched and scattered in Roana’s wake, in the ultimatums placed down upon the other woman, and the bizarre aftermath following. But she was impulsive and impetuous too, and this had already led her down one singular pathway, of memories gone, no longer traced, but powers manifested in the latter. What she’d have to lose in the fold wasn’t a particular mark on her, for now. “Yes!” Was marked in its usual exuberance, ready and eager to offer her quiver.
Yes was all that was needed, and Ludo clapped two scraps of rags together. ”Wonderful,” it said, leaning over once again to inspect her quiver. The mask could not and did not breathe, but Melita still might feel the whisper of cold shoot past her face as Ludo sighed over the quiver, and a smattering of arrows within became ice white and exuded cold,
”There you have it,” it said. ”Run along then, off you go.”
06-15-2020, 08:28 PM (This post was last modified: 06-15-2020, 08:31 PM by Melita.)
you must burn brighter than ever
Cold, chilling ramparts, sentiments of glacial, frigid contortions curled over the quiver, and she watched, eyes widening, eager, fervent, awe-inspired as the arrows and their armaments transpired through the void. Like ivory, like ice, they sheered and shown, the billowing of rime. Her fingers went to touch, and it was a shock to the system, to her skin, enough to make the glowing smile turn even more generous, reverent. “Thank you so much!” And she meant it, every sense of the words – turning, twisting along the air, the quiver back across her shoulders, fervent to be shared and shattered against future, foretold cretins. Fangorn followed, and they basked against the coast and the brine, footfalls in sand and surf.
