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!
all the drinkin' and the druggin' and the black and the red the achy skin and all the sweat in my bed
Nate was gone. And while Sunjata doesn’t have much to go off of memory wise, he does remember that there had been a fire – the remains of his home burned and charred, scorched and left behind. He remembers Nate making it out. He remembers it, but nothing else. And suddenly, the Flood is wondering if he’d simply misplaced his fiancé, wonders if he’d wandered off from where Sunjata had left him, though he can’t remember why he’d left him.
Haai is at his side, keeping an eye on the attuned as he sits along the sandy beach of Torchline – just out front of Haulani, out front of where his new home was. In the corner of his eye he can see the blinding, shimmering shells of crabs drift past – wondering if the creatures are made of diamond and finding it not all surprising. This was Caido, anyway, essentially anything was possible right?
But it’s that, the idea of diamond crabs, that has him shuffling back into the shade a bit – back propped up against the palm trees as Hels swirl overhead, watching as more of those diamond crabs appear and disappear from view.
Open for anyone! <3
i think i'm losin' too much but there's just never enough
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
Distracted and deterred by other things, by other motions, she’d left them – stupid, really, in her impulsivity and impetuous tendencies, when she’d promised to help.
But no matter. She’d do better now.
Fists curled against her sides, for no one else’s frustration but bitterness at herself, she wandered down the coast, bag already full of essential items she figured could wait until the wedding, or she could sneak them in, or pretend nothing was amiss.
Which was a terrible thought too.
Her eyes caught the form of her uncle nearby, along the beach and shoal, and the youth believed maybe now she could start trying again, being wiser, being braver, being tethered instead of always wandering, always traversing, always making some sort of error.
Instead of bounding, she walked well before him, coming out of the distance from yards and yards away, Fangorn at her side, quiet for once, as they came closer and closer; uncertainty weighing her down, not knowing what to expect. “Hey,” sauntered from her mouth as she approached, apprehension coiling along her mouth and a sigh daring to follow.
all the drinkin' and the druggin' and the black and the red the achy skin and all the sweat in my bed
It isn’t Melita he sees at first. No, he follows the trail of diamond crabs, scanning through the wavy heat to spy a red head approaching. And he knows somewhere inside she should be familiar, but it warps and shifts like a mirage, and for a moment all he can piece out is that he knows this person. The hey that rumbles our sounds deeper to him than it is in reality, and he squints as Melita approaches — only not seeing her. He sees her father, and for a second his lip curls, a brief memory of rain and blood, a cocky twist to Gaal’s lips while he’s carted away.
Is this his end too? He can’t tell. Has Gaal arrived to take him when he couldn’t do it before? He shivers under the idea of it, chewing on the inside of his cheek. His gaze tears away from her, fists digging into the dirt at his side, knees drawing up in a sign of weakness and being unable to mask what he wants to, to pretend to be that suave person again.
But when he finally looks back at her, Gaal doesn’t stand there. No, it’s Melita, and the worry that’s grown in the pit of his stomach grows bigger as he wraps his arms around his legs and presses his forehead against his sandy knees. “Mel…?” He croaks out, muffled behind the legs, eyes squeezing shut.
i think i'm losin' too much but there's just never enough
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
She was not her father’s daughter. She wasn’t raised by him. She was barely acknowledged by him, and from all of Sunjata’s stories, she blatantly strived to create a path not aligned by his measures and machinations. She’d fight anyone who said otherwise – who’d ever thought she was Gaal’s flesh and blood beyond the crimson hair and the interwoven tempers. Perhaps it was better off that she had no knowledge of her uncle’s sights – of how she might’ve blended into the manifestation of that wicked, belligerent, useless man.
Instead, she watched as he seemingly cowered, and she became her mother, calm and composed, airy and light, and she whittled into her sister, ethereal and compassionate, coming to kneel before him, her hands eager to reach, to hold, to comfort. “Yes,” she whispered, tilting her head in some ebullient, mischievous grace, the only elegance she’d ever embody except in onslaughts and chaos. “I’m here.” Softer and then still, Fangorn coming to join at her knee, she smiled, hoping to catch his eye. “How are you?” Which might’ve been a silly question, considering how she’d heard he and Nate had burned their house down; and she didn’t dare ask about her possessions, if they were lost too, those mere remnants of anything else in her life. It didn’t matter for the moment anyway.
all the drinkin' and the druggin' and the black and the red the achy skin and all the sweat in my bed
There’s something far more crushing about this and Sunjata can’t put his finger on it, not as he hides away from his niece, trapping himself into the sands and the shade, into the soot that still seems to cling to his skin. He hasn’t been this unkempt before, but the fear of water was far too great than dealing with being dirty for a while, at least until a cure comes. If it ever does.
She’ll find no resistance from him if she tries to grab his hands, his forehead resting on the backs of his shark scarred legs, as he keeps his eyes shut tight just so he doesn’t have to see her face, watch it shift and mold into someone else.
“I think… I think I lost Nate.” He rumbles, unsure of where his fiancé could have gone. Was opening up the night the house burned down too much? Had he left after all of that professed love? He doesn’t know. But much like a wounded animal, he’s frightened and anxious. But a thought occurs to him, has him tilting his head this way and that from the comfort of hiding behind his knees. “We’re staying at the Slagveld now… Upstairs. Clementine's lantern is there.” Certainly if this were truly Melita, she’d react to that. If she were an imposter like his mind keeps trying to tell him, then it wouldn’t matter.
i think i'm losin' too much but there's just never enough
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
He hid from her, and she wasn’t certain why; wondering if she failed far more than the world had let on. Her eyes went to rest on the sand for a moment, quiet and contemplative, watching a few tiny crabs scurrying by, angled away from shadows and heading towards the sun. A quiet breath, and her hands were in his, fingers clutching on much larger ones, but both calloused and worn from their weapons, from their strife, from their lacerations, from their wounds a thousand times over.
The first statement stunned her, and she strived not to show a glimpsing moment of panic – of not being enough, of being so stupid and so dumb and so ineffectual that she’d left them long enough for the Ascended to wander off into the midst. The apprehension buoyed in her throat, and she tried to calm it down, down, down, wondering if these were part of the hallucinations, of the sicknesses, or reality entirely. “Do you remember where you saw him last? We can go look for him.” She wouldn’t leave him alone again. The fiery youth had broken her own vow, and would work to re-forge it into something whole and real and tangible.
Her gilded eyes still tried to catch his, and a notch of something else clung to her gaze then, maybe a tear, maybe a perilous notion, of sacrifices and lost kin and battered, bruised souls. “Thank you for thinking of her.” She lifted one hand to dash away a stray tear on her cheek, in awe of selflessness in the face of fire and brimstone.
all the drinkin' and the druggin' and the black and the red the achy skin and all the sweat in my bed
She takes his hands, her own calloused against his, and he can feel it — feel the way there’s a light squeeze, enough that her question has him lifting his head from behind his knees, sad shadowed steel focusing on the young woman’s face, trying not to keep it from shifting into someone else.
His head shakes, a quiet shaky breath leaving him. “I can’t remember.” Which is very much the problem. His memory has been terrible since the sea panther, and it had only gotten worse with the sickness racing through his body. “I remember being in bed… And then here.” He doesn’t remember how he got here, doesn’t remember the steps he’d taken to get to the beach from the Slagveld. But all he knows is that he’s lost a very important part of himself and is helpless in where to start searching.
He watches her wipe a tear away and he shies away from the teardrop, from the water it represents, his gaze looking past her to the ocean’s waves. “I think… I let the bat go too.” His brows furrow as he searches through the parts of his mind that focus in and out of the blank blackness. “Will you come home with me?” He asks suddenly, fevered body sweaty and warm, jerking his head to her face to see if she would.
i think i'm losin' too much but there's just never enough
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
She remained, clutching and grasping, a line, an anchor, a tether for him to hold onto if he needed it; even while his memory crawled and coiled away from the ethers. “Okay,” but it wasn’t what she wanted – eager to chase after Nate for him, for both of them, so things would feel together again, if only for a few moments. If only so there was some security in the world – but they had to make it for themselves, woven with tough fibers, with mettle and grit and fire in their bones, and she’d fight for them, with every tooth and nail. “Would he go looking for something?” Would it make any sense, in their sickness?
Melita snorted at the insinuation of the bat; a smile reaching across her face. “Good. He’ll be happier for it.” Than burning up inside a damned house, than becoming more embers and cinders like the rest of them. Her gaze went up towards him, watching, as he asked for her to come home, as he jerked and moved with a rapacious edge, as something sunk into her limbs. “Of course.” Then she rose, her hands still in his, not pushing, not pulling, but there, ready to assist.
all the drinkin' and the druggin' and the black and the red the achy skin and all the sweat in my bed
Would Nate go looking for something? He’s not sure. “Maybe?” He replies, uncertain if it’s the answer he’s looking for. “He was supposed to stay. We were going to get married and… Build a new house. Start over.” Without Maea and Clemente’s ghosts lingering. A sudden thought occurs to him, however, and he’s using the outstretched hand from her as she stands and his request is accepted, to lift himself up from the sand, Haai toddling over to greet Fangorn with a weary whine.
“What if he’s late… For the wedding?” He asks, frowning, but keeping her hand in his while he begins to walk the way to the Slagveld. “I think he’s been gone a while.” There’s an edge of sadness in his tone, something that seems to suggest whatever mask he tries to wear around Melita to appear strong has fractured into a million pieces. And now, just the broken, glued together boy of Korofi stands with his hand in hers, terrified, worried, and full of sorrow.
i think i'm losin' too much but there's just never enough
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
“You will.” Absolute certainty poured out of her lungs then, another vow she intended to keep, a promise of salvation and determination. Even if Nate cannot find a way home on his own, wherever he happened to roam, she’ll go out and find him. She’ll bring them together again, ensure everything goes smoothly – even though naught really had in this tumultuous, tempestuous void. Her voice was not a whisper, but not a roar either, just a paramount and paragon of strength and fortifications. The girl had been fire and steel for a long time, and she’ll remain that way for them. “And if he’s late, then I’ll go fetch him.”
A nod of confidence, conviction, and assurance, an oath riddling across lips and behind teeth, rattling along her tongue. Persistent and keen, blunt and edged. How long was a while in terms of this sickness? In the reality of the realm, instead of the swallowing, consuming void they were immersed within? Her hand clutched tighter, because she could feel the apprehension, the sorrow, clinging to the sands and his skin, and it was devastating – when they all deserved so much more than the constant pain and the echoing terror. She wanted to be a beacon, of some sort of hope, triumph over the ruins, that they could all scramble together and nothing would go awry. The youth who would eat fire and walk on water, who would billow sands and surf apart to help them get to where they needed to be, as they wandered towards the Slagveld..
all the drinkin' and the druggin' and the black and the red the achy skin and all the sweat in my bed
“You would.” He agrees, finding the conviction in her words to be true. She would find Nate if he doesn’t show, she would bring him home. “You will.” He murmurs again because he’s not sure what was right and what wasn’t anymore. He doesn’t know what he’s said and what he’s kept inside. And it’s that realization that has him clutching her hand tighter as they find the entrance to the Slagveld, slipping through the door and going up the stairs to find their makeshift home.
On the table, beside Lusea’s lantern, Clementine’s lantern sits along with the trinkets he’d made his niece. And Sunjata lets go of her hand to sit in the cold shade of the interior of their home, sweat still dripping down from his temples as navy feathers flicker to life through his dark sweat slick curls. “I think he’s sick too. He won’t say he is, but I think he is.” A small nod is given with that, knowing deep down that it’s a fact, feeling it far more intensely than the hallucinations.
i think i'm losin' too much but there's just never enough
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
She would, she would, she would, keeping this assurance in the depths of her chest, in the notched bones of everything else that ached alongside it. Even if he didn’t quite believe it, even if he couldn’t see it now, even if he doubted, because she wouldn’t blame him, after her recent antics, the honeybee youth would grasp the earth with both hands and shake it until it came apart, until she found the Ascended roaming from within. Her fingers wrapped and assured, tight squeezes of familial strength, until they arrived at the home – different and not, and her eyes went to salvaged objects.
Clementine’s lantern, still soft and sweet and all the things Melita was not, and Lusea’s alongside her, filled her heart, filled her lungs, and she wrestled the agony away, chiseling it down further. For him, really, so he didn’t have to endure her pain and misery either, so he didn’t have to see it or maneuver around it any longer. This wasn’t about her. “Vai told me.” Her eyes flickered over the remnants of objects, one finger lightly, delicately, tracing over the tip of her sister’s lantern, then moving away, too sacred to defile. “I thought Ascended couldn’t get sick.” Which meant this was far worse – more encompassing, more emboldened, than the blight.
That had turned her into a monster. That had revealed all the nuances, all the shame, all the brutality underneath.
Her jaw clenched tight, and her gilded gaze roamed. “Do you need anything?”
all the drinkin' and the druggin' and the black and the red the achy skin and all the sweat in my bed
He sits at the edge of the table, sinking into a seat as she offers up Vai’s name, Sunjata’s mind trying to filter when the last time he’d seen her had been. “Vai saved me.” He says quietly, not recalling the time most recent when she’d found him in Apopo and brought him home. Because that hadn’t been Vai, that had been his mother; Right? “With the lightning… I was going to have a heart attack and she stopped it.” He remembers so suddenly that his hand lifts to the crook of the elbow of his right arm, fingers running along raised scars beneath Safrin’s tattoos.
As for Nate getting sick, he seems to focus and unfocus, before focusing again. “He’s different. Warm. I thought he was happier.” His brows furrow, a shake of his head as his hand continues to trace the scars down to his wrist, to the hand encased in pink scars that poke out from dusty sand and soot. His gaze slips to Melita, unable to answer her last question, on if he needs anything. “I can’t do this anymore if he doesn’t come back okay, Mel. I can’t do it again.” There’s that shakiness in his voice again, shaking his head with uncertainty, worry, fear, before he turns back to the bed which occurs to him that it was the last place he’d seen his fiancé.
i think i'm losin' too much but there's just never enough
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
Vai saving him didn’t surprise her; the healer was that kind of person, a huntress, a fighter, and compassionate all at once. Something and someone to revere, to look towards, to try and strive to become – were Melita anointed with such knowledge, she might’ve tried. She journeyed along the edges and boundaries of fire and infernos instead, hissing at shadows. “She’s a wonderful person. I’m glad she could help you.” Far more than Melita ever could – her arrows embodied similar magic, and she was no bandage, no alm, no balm.
Her gaze went back to him, a soft smile, wondering if she could coax a want, a need, out of him. Sustenance? Water? Instead she heard the worry, the apprehension, springing to life, and she sat down close to him, hand reaching for his again, if he wanted it, if he needed it. “I’m sure he’s happier. Especially with you.” The grin bloomed and blossomed, golden gaze settling on his. The words slipped out thereafter though were heartbreaking, and gods she understood what it meant – the way everything had fallen apart, diminished and demolished, ghosts in his shelter, in his sanctuary, come to life with every brutal air. “I know. But he will.” Or she’d die trying to get him back – dragging his ass through whatever land he currently occupied. “And you will always have me.” Which wasn’t the same – but family was family, and blood was blood, and she was strong and stupid enough to defy the world.
