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!
09-19-2020, 08:35 PM (This post was last modified: 09-19-2020, 08:47 PM by Amun.)
if I ever start to think straight
Amun sat crosslegged on the edge of the dock, staring at the moonlight reflecting off the ocean. Every once in a while he'd kick his feet and snarl at the water below. Even more rarely, he'd laugh or swat at the air or go on a long rambling rant about nothing in particular. However, there was no one else in sight: what few sailors were out and about gave him a wide berth, which was easy as this particular pier was abandoned.
On the sands leading to wooden planks, Zhanshi happily swam through the earth. He was making tunnels as he went, underground sculptures and passageways known only to him. Occasionally, he'd launch himself into the air, fly over, and circle around the potter's head. Every time, though, the landshark would inevitably return to the ground.
Melita made no secret of her inevitable search. She hastened out along evening strolls, believing Sunjata safely tucked into the makeshift house for the time being, Fangorn at her heels, striving to uphold emboldened promises. The main dilemma was that she was uncertain of how far the Ascended could’ve gone, and while she stretched her hand out, the lantern light conveying her winding, walking path, the apprehension curled in her gut. Because what if he was lost? Where could he have gone? Through portals? Into the sea? What would make him wander far from home? Hence why she’d started on the latter, hoping it wouldn’t take long – that in Sunjata’s sickness he hadn’t noticed Nate close at hand.
But with the way Fangorn seemed to nearly shrug, in the incapability of sensing the Ascended, she clenched her jaw, and fought off fate. “I bet he’s still close.” For the alternative made her feel very grim.
They caught another nearby however, and she lifted her lantern higher to see a recognizable, familiar figure in Amun; not the Ascended she’d been yearning to find, but perhaps he had information. Weapons at her back, the youth followed down along the docks, the vampire gourd grumbling and hissing at the semblances nearby; the landshark roaming. It gave her pause, and so she didn’t stray too close. “Amun! How are you? Have you seen Nate, by any chance?” By any fortune at all?
Zhanshi had no compunctions about approaching Melita and Fangorn. Indeed, when she spoke the landshark made a beeline straight towards them. Arriving at their feet, he circled around them, occasionally biting in the air though not in an intentionally threatening way.
Glancing back, Amun grinned at the pair who'd arrived. He spun on his ass until he was facing them. "Mel-i-ta," he called back, drawing out and savoring each syllable." Waving at her and Fangorn, the potter patted the wooden boards next to him.
"I've seen and heard lots of things." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards the ocean and the horizon. "I think there are sirens out there trying to lure me to a watery grave." Chuckling, he frowned. "But I don't like the water and I don't need to breathe, so it's not working."
The rumble beneath the earth resounded, and struck close to her feet. Though she’d never met one on her own, rumors and stories of landsharks would be enough to frighten or terrorize anyone; a steady breath unfurling from her as the child bit at the air, and she wondered if it would be wise to pet it, or leave it to its own devices. She did snag at Fangorn, however, pulling him close to her chest, as Amun spoke.
Her eyes flickered to him, narrowing suspiciously at the way he spoke, at the way he seemed to drift. It felt awfully familiar, and the eerie twist and turn of dread began to slowly descend back into her gut. “Good. I’m glad. You stay right there, I’ll be over in a moment.” Skittering around the companion, she hoisted herself along the docks, coming towards the wooden boards, placing her lantern down along their filaments. The light caught in fractions and fragments, like wisps of cool, calm, collected air, and she tried to settle her heart.
“How are you feeling?” The way he hadn’t answered before made her wonder, made her ponder, made apprehension float along her shoulders, threatening to branch and bramble over the muscle.
Sadly, Melita picking up Fangorn would not save the gourd from Zhanshi's attention. The landshark leapt from the ground into the sky. Swimming around the woman and her companion, Zhanshi flew up, down, and around the other two.
The Ascended's eyes tracked his companion as the landshark swam through air. Smiling, the potter nodded as Melita came down the dock. The landshark followed, and Amun snagged his companion and set Zhanshi in the potter's lap. The landshark nibbled on the Ascended's fingers.
Staring at the lantern, Amun reached out one hand towards it. "You have fire," he breathed. Meeting Melita's eyes, he pouted. "I know I shouldn't, but can I have some? Please?"
Shrugging, he let Zhanshi go so the landshark could return to the sand. "I feel warm and kinda fuzzy." He rubbed his hands up and down his arms. "Like a blanket's inside me." He chucked.
Then his head whipped around towards the ocean. His lip curled and he shook his head. "No. I won't!" Turning his back, he folded his arms across his chest.
Fangorn’s growls and rumbles echoed and resounded in her hold, and she wondered about the landshark in particular, and might’ve spent more time on its existence, on how Amun might have acquired one, had everything else not been so distracting. She pushed the lantern out of the way, further from her, so the lights danced off to the side, etching on nothing but open space, air, and sand. “No. I don’t think that’s a good idea.” No flames. She mentally checked off a list in her head, symptoms perhaps, and then another semblance of dread settled into her core. Would Nate bear the same? Would he be off searching for embers, the very same element that could destroy him?
Instantly restless at the notions, at the thoughts, she squeezed her companion tighter. “Then you won’t need the fire.” Should she leave now, while she had the chance? Or would it be better to keep Amun company, for these short, idle moments, while he shouted at the waves? Something in her heart broke, for all of these people, for all of these beings, trapped and ensconced in the blinding, sickening unknown. “Do you want anything else?” Besides the embers – which he wouldn’t be receiving from her hands.
Amun made a whining sound in the back of his throat. "Please?" As Melita moved it farther away he leaned towards it, stretching out one hand, but it was tantalizingly out of reach. Groaning, he let his hand flop back into his lap, pouting.
"But I want it." Then his nostrils flared as his eyes traveled to her neck. Licking his lips, he scooted towards her.
Growling in annoyance, he raised his right hand. "I said no! I'm not joining you. The water won't claim me." Snarling, he fired off his flashbang as far as he could: it erupted in the water, igniting the night with light and sound.
Twisting around, he met her gaze. "Can't you..." he croaked, then tried again. "Can't you hear them? See them? They're calling."
His eyes trailed down to her jugular again. "Yesssss. I want a drink. I'm so thirsty." Breathing harder now, he let his fingers creep across the wooden boards to her.
She probably should’ve sensed some semblance of danger. But her familiarity and friendship with Amun had lent her towards expressing the same in return, despite warnings, despite possibilities, despite treachery lurking amidst delirium. Her eyes narrowed, her own warning, as his gaze lingered on her neck, managing to mentally gauge where her weapons were; daggers on her calves, bow on her wrist, ready for any beck and call, quiver on her back.
The flashbang made her jump though, and Fangorn growled from her lap, his own signal and foreboding. “Who is calling, Amun?” To see, to decipher, to wonder if there was anything more than the plaque resting on their souls – because she’d been a victim of the blight, knew what it was like to not be yourself (or had she been all along; that twisted monster girl tearing into the earth?).
A drink; but not of anything like water, and she leaned away, the intonations a deadly sibilance under her breath. “No.” It was a hiss, a branch of thorns and nettles, an instance where he’d either take the insinuations, or brush up against the exact flames he’d been requesting moments ago. “I have water.” Hands grabbing hold of her canteen, offering it; expecting a certain result.
09-20-2020, 06:12 PM (This post was last modified: 09-20-2020, 06:12 PM by Amun.)
if I ever start to think straight
Looking out at the horizon, Amun flipped off the sirens that floated just beneath the waves. Their song floated through the air, and although he swayed to its rhythm, he didn't move from his spots. "Sirens. They're trying to lure me to a watery doom, because I'm a sailor. They're right there." He pointed at the shimmering figures.
As Melita offered water he shook his head back and forth. "NO!" Shrieking, he slapped the canteen out of her hands and away from him. "Not...not water. Never water." He spat on the ground.
Then he stared into her eyes again. "Blood. Please. It'll be good for both of us, I promise." He started rocking back and forth a bit and moaning. "But I can't have it if you don't give it to me. I promised." Bringing his hands back, he hugged his arms to himself.
Sailors and sirens, her eyes wandering from him and out into the abyss. She hadn’t heard any of them on her voyages along the sea, only the scraping of monsoons drenching them all, only the ghost whales trailing after their ship. Horrors and adventures, sojourns and the unknown; glancing for the figures, for the lack of reality shaping behind his gaze. Then they sunk to her lap, where Fangorn nestled and curled, protective, and she found she didn’t know what else to do for them. "There's nothing out there, Amun. You're safe here." For any of them with these ailments. Only company, only trial and error.
No wonder Vai had seemed so exhausted.
But if she kept him occupied for the moment, then he wasn’t out amidst the danger, the ether, save for not listening to her warnings.
Then her canteen was slapped away, and she had to react quickly to catch it, to sigh under her breath. “Okay.” She didn’t have anything else.
And her blood wasn’t going to be an option. Melita wasn’t her uncle, willingly giving himself over, and she’d heard enough of the circumstances surrounding the taking of ichor to believe it wasn’t an experience she was ready for. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Warmer, her voice gentler, she pondered something else instead. “What if I find you some wine? Would that be better?” Than water – some notion of substance, but if he was Ascended, maybe it didn’t matter.
Shaking his head, Amun's hands curled into fists. "They're right there. Trying to tempt me. But I'm stronger than them." His laughter echoed through the night, haunting and otherworldly. "Unless they're a dream. I've been dreaming a lot, and nobody else believes what I see and hear." Looking at Melita, he pouted. "Do you believe me?"
Baring his fangs, the potter nevertheless stayed rooted to his spot, arms wrapped around his body. "Wine isn't blood. Nothing's blood. Nothing is as good as blood." Swaying again, he started chanting what sounded like a mantra under his breath. "Freely given, I promised. Freely given, I promised. Freely given, I promised." As he spoke, his eyes strayed towards the lantern, his pupils reflecting its flickering light.
“Yes, you are.” Stronger than illusions, than the fantasies a mind could conjure, could exploit, could snap and sizzle. She hadn’t been, once, chasing down ramparts and hastening for violence. It was brutal and barbaric, the way her memories chafed and bristled against her, and she swallowed down an avaricious gulp of air, as if that would waylay the recollections of her own living, breathing hell. “Could you tell me what you see?” Head tilted, as if curious, as if yearning to know, instead of just earning and craving a distraction from the cataclysms warring through skin and flesh.
She clenched hard over the bracelet on her wrist though, as he chanted words that might have very little meaning if he couldn’t remain in control. She could imagine the flames on her quiver springing to life, granting him exactly what he wanted, but at a severe deprivation. Melita considered Amun a friend; but she’d protect herself. She always would.
You can’t have me; defiant to the world, senses alight, ready to ignite.
Grinning, Amun pumped his fist in the air. "Yes I am! You hear that, siren songsters? I'm strong." When Melita asked what he was seeing, he glared at the figures floating in the murky depths of the ocean.
"There are three figures. They have fish tails, like the mersons, with the torso of a woman. But bird heads and arms. Wings. Feathers." He clapped his hands over his ears and moaned. "And their song is the most beautiful sound in the world. But I won't swim with them. I won't."
Having worn himself out, he slumped forward and closed his eyes. "I want to sleep. But I can't." He sighed.
She followed his line of sight, and saw nothing depicting his descriptions. No figures with tails, no merpeople lookalikes cast into the sanction, or the eerie ether lights. No bird heads cawing, trapping, enticing, and no wings with feathers, wild with plumage. Merely the waves, the gentle lull, rolling back and forth. “That’s true. You shouldn’t.” No swimming for the Ascended, even if he didn’t need to breathe – something else could be lurking out there. She’d met several dangerous possibilities on her own voyages.
Melita was tired too, weary for the way the world had continually shifted into something barbaric, the way peace never seemed long-lasting, a fraction, a fragment, a figment, of repose they could grasp onto for as long as possible. But still, in the quiet, it dissipated. Her fingers splayed over Fangorn again, the threat gone for the moment. “Would you like to hear a story? Maybe that will make you sleepy.” A warm smile; she could conjure a fable to war away the sirens, the fictions.
