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!
Kiada and Delphia had effectively smacked him around. He had retreated to his job for a few days, admittedly distant to all those around him as he wrestled with his grief and guilt. But today is not a day for meditations and memories. LongNight approaches, and though the only thing to fear here is looting and stubbing your toe on various paraphernalia if you wander outside, Harper can already tell he's going to go stir crazy. He was never meant to stay still, having been flying on ropes and backflipping on beams since the time he could walk.
So Harper does what he does best. Explores, without a care for anyone else. He's running down the beach laughing as a small group of merchants shout and curse after him, having disapproved of him jumping into and using their stall for his freerunning. But he can't help it, he's meant more for the sky than the sand, and even their half-hearted thrown items his way won't deter him from climbing things he shouldn't just like any overgrown boy.
The girl was fire and vitriol, and would let the world know it in her fervent flames of movement, a crimson whirlwind of wolfish proportions and infernal contortions. A fixture of molten barbarity, she twisted and turned along the beach, bare feet sinking into the sand and lifting back up with practiced ease, unwinding, unfurling, in a graceless wake. For once, she’d pinned her hair back, as the wind had continued to drag it into her face and she couldn’t see the drawn finish line she’d instilled for herself. And now she raced past it, where Fangorn stood, watching and waiting. Eventually, slightly winded from her exertion, she rounded back towards the gourd. “Time?!” She announced, loud and breathless, heathen upon her sands. The companion grumbled something in return, clearly meant to signify a departure and arrival measure. Whether or not the girl understood it didn’t seem to matter, as she fist-pumped into the air. “All right, that's better!”
But then she was distracted by another individual on the horizon, and she watched for a moment, a picturesque figment of coiled energy, predator inclusions, waiting to determine her next maneuver. As the figure grew closer though, she noted its similarity and appearance to someone she knew, and a grin immersed, entangled its way through her lips. “Harper!” She waved then, extending her arm back and forth in the sea breeze, flagging him over, ignoring the fact that there were others trailing after him, in the midst of a chase.
There are a few hardier souls out on the beach, enjoying the comparatively weaker rays of sunshine that even winter cannot fully eradicate. Dodging around newly disgruntled beachgoers only makes it easier to ditch the angry merchants that have yet to give up the chase. As he's spinning past a woman who shrieks and swipes for him at the surprise of his presence, Harper hears his name called from a distance, and lifts his gaze to scan the horizon. Melita is immediately recognizable even with her fiery locks tied and pinned upon her crown, hand aloft and waving. His own rises immediately, smile spurred to appear on his face to take place of the manic grin previously splitting it.
Now, any gentleman - or sane individual - would not drag their questionably-friend-person into the trouble they've willingly created. Luckily for Melita, Harper is neither of those! So he goes barrelling down the stretch of sand towards her, the merchants hollering and giving chase now that he's running straight instead of creating diversions. "Melita! So good to see you, now run!" Cackling, he reached out to try and snag at a piece of cloth or an errant hand or arm. Pausing only long enough for Melita to snag Fangorn from the sand before he's dashing back off along the water, laughing uproariously and hoping Melita is right behind him.
Harper continued barreling, and she continued watching, head tilting a fraction to witness the bombardment of other citizens racing after him. Not fussed or concerned about the commotion, the youth simply gathered the rest of her supplies and weaponry lying on the beach, fastening them either to her person, or carrying them firmly, tightly, in her grasp. She’d spent far too long, growing up in the midst of chaos, to be perturbed by its facets – nonetheless intrigued all the same. What was the cause for this apparent reign of terror and villainy (especially since the latter was usually regarded in Torchline as an everday occurrence, expected in most circles). Armed, ready, and fervent, she scooped Fangorn into the crook of an elbow, and took up dashing all over again.
Nimble, swift, keen on sand in bare feet and experience, she laughed at the entire display, at wild things chasing after the wind. The honeybee girl chanced a glance over her shoulder, and sure enough, the townsfolk were still there – pondering for an instance if she’d need her bow, her staff, or her daggers to fend them off if they couldn’t outrun, outpace, the individuals. “What did you do?” A giggle, merriment and mischief despite the present, looming possibilities of danger, an arch to her brow as they tore across the dunes.
Even in the face of a modest crowd of angry merchants, Melita doesn't cringe away. Her eyes remain clear and bright, fearless. It's precisely why Harper has no issue stealing her along on this particular fox chase, certain of her ability to defend and outrun equally. By the time he reaches her she is ready, no need to tug her along or encourage any speed, and they go thundering off side by side down the ocean's winding coast. Her shorter stature clearly doesn't daunt her, as swift and seamless as his own winding path that only makes the voices dwindle and shout a few lingering insults.
When he looks over his shoulder the crowd has slowed, clearly aware they'll never catch the fleet-footed man and prioritizing returning to their stalls instead of leaving them unattended or in the questionable safety of the presence of their fellow sellers. Melita's giggling tone brings his head back around, and he grins roguishly at her as he slows their pace to a jog, winding between beachgoers to break the line of sight of any eagle-eyed pursuers. "I went free-running on their stalls, they didn't care for that or the disruption of their merchandise." His foxlike grin is unrepentant, if anything he's inclined to do it again. How else will they get used to him?
Slowing, he catches what bit of breath he'd lost and turns, hands propped and positioned upon his hips, grinning at the pair before him. "I couldn't let you have a boring day now could I? What are you up to out here?"
The game was over before it’d even truly begun – her eyes catching their strides winding down, the defeated look to their shoulders. The honeybee girl tried to hide her disappointment in not being pressed into some onslaught, some anarchy, some relish of debacles, excitement, danger, and treachery – but perhaps those would be best saved for future footholds. Her pace slowed to match Harper’s, no longer sprinting headlong through the sand, meandering through pockets of other people, blending into surroundings and situations. She waved to a few she might’ve known from market squares and pavilions, or those who knew her from the Ark, otherwise falling quietly into modest footfalls, staff in her grasp and quiver lightly bounding against her back.
She arched her brow at his fox-like grin, and couldn’t help but render her own Cheshire appearance, an unmistakable round of mischief and glee. “Can’t say that I blame them,” resounded in a light laugh; she might’ve done the same – chasing and rampaging until someone received her message loud and clear. Fangorn was placed down on the sand once more, and the gourd relished not being jostled around by Melita’s unrelenting grasp, shaking a few vines here or there and conjuring strange looks from locals.
“Oh, I’m never bored,” the youth conjured giggles again – fairly true – because she’d always managed to find some sort of ridiculous situation to put herself within. Equal parts curiosity, intrigue, and boldness settled into her ether and manifested an assortment of beliefs in conquering minute aspects of the world. “I was testing my speed,” she hummed, deciding to skip along the tide as it wandered in and out, touched along the tips of her toes.
