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!
Eating fire is your ambition to swallow the flame down
Gods, she’d fucked up a bit this time.
While contemplating her life choices, the youth wandered – unfolding back into the greenery, into the sustenance and substance of life, teeming and scheming with possibilities. Perhaps she was wilder than before now, haphazard with her roaming thoughts and idle concentration, only nymph-like based on muscle memory alone, lifting bare feet over roots and ferns, over entangled filaments, over jungle warrens. Maybe it would be best to become lost in this haze here too, to become one with the trees, the greenery, the wildlife, and forget, for just one moment, that she’d promised to do something a bit more deadly, a bit more treacherous, a bit more stupid than she’d done before.
Fangorn grumbled from beside her, and she shifted the quiver on her back, leaning down to pat and scratch the top of his head while she continued barreling onward. “I know,” she whispered, murmured, either to him or to herself. And the answers to her current issues weren’t going to be found in here, but maybe today was for curiosity. For something else besides the tremulous, tempestuous apprehension spiraling through her blood.
to be lit up from within, vein by vein to be the sun
Night has only grown deeper since he's been out, roaming the jungle, but the darkness doesn't bother Peter anymore. Most things don't bother Peter anymore. He should be going home soon, should be turning his feet back towards Haulani, back towards beaches and places that seem so gentle and calm. But ahead of him, there is that endless call of just a little further, a little further. There is a mystery behind every tree.
Five more minutes, he promises himself, and then he will turn around. There is a countdown ticking away in his head, a patient tick of numbers that leaves him as soon as he hears someone ahead of him. For a wild tangle of trees and plants, there were a lot of people out wandering.
Fleet footedness has returned to him, aided by the ascended lightness, and it keeps his steps near silent as he creeps up behind the girl, taking in her strange companion, the quiver of arrows at her side. "What do you know?" He asks softly, close enough to be heard, but still out of arms reach. Death hasn't made him careless, even if he doesn't feel pain anymore.
I’m sorry lover, I’m sorry I bring you down Well these days I try, and these days I tend to lie
Eating fire is your ambition to swallow the flame down
There was no warning, no sound, no snap of twigs, before the soft voice echoed in her ear. Between all her other senses, all her other notions, any apprehensive notions fled the youth immediately. It was all trigger fingers and hot-blooded recollections of her childhood, of running, of racing, of defending, of muscle memory honed tight for these occasions. Emboldened and fiery, audacious and seditious, she dropped to a crouch instantly, dropping Fangorn down in the bed of vines and moss, drawing one of her many daggers hidden under her dress. Rapidly, fluidly, like water, like embers, like a dangerous, molten animal (and maybe that was what she’d become; without thought, without mercy), she shifted, turned towards the stranger. “I know how to gut a man,” she hissed. Feral and wild, untamed and unbeholden, no gods here in the warren of her mind.
The stiletto was raised, poised from her grasp, pinpointed towards him – a being she wouldn’t recognize, even if it hadn’t been dark. There were a myriad of ways she could approach this, and not a single one of them entered her mind, save for the savage intervals grazing over her flesh, locked in accord along her hilt. “Who are you, and why are you sneaking up on me?”
to be lit up from within, vein by vein to be the sun
Arms reach had been a wise move, though it doesn’t feel like enough when the girl turns into a crouch, a blade sparkling in her hand. Peter recoils, crouching himself, suddenly reassessing the whole situation. There’s an unfamiliar click in his wrist, a blade extending from his arm, feeling as natural as one that would usually sit in his hands. It’s something else new, though it’s also something he can actually think about later, when he’s not in an uneasy stand off. ”Have you... done it before?” He shouldn’t sound so curious, so casual, but he’s not sure how else to respond to the thread. Silence feels lacking, inappropriate.
The longer they’re both still, the more Pet relaxes, in tiny measures and spurts. ”I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” He offers, a single shoulder lifting in a stiff shrug. ”I... thought you might be lost. Or need help. Or... you should have heard me.”
I’m sorry lover, I’m sorry I bring you down Well these days I try, and these days I tend to lie
Eating fire is your ambition to swallow the flame down
She could hear the click of something else – and it made her unfurl, unravel a little further, at the threats, at the notion, at the semblance of becoming caustic, seditious, unruly, in this unknown scape. “Yes,” she hissed (no - but she’d done it to enough monsters and demons that it wouldn’t be difficult; she knew where to cut). How much would it take? How quick could she be? Was this a true test of her skills – over all the other disasters she’d wandered within?
But then he seemed to relax, and her teeth were still bared, Fangorn growling at her feet. The dagger remained held tightly in her hand, ready, willing, able, as he shrugged in the depths of the shadows and she could see the slightest movement of his shoulder. “Well, I didn’t.” A wrinkle to her nose, much like a snarl, but she was less prone to swiping out at his flesh. “I’m okay. I’m not lost.” She'd simply stepped out into ferns and warrens, distracted, deterred, calm before he'd arrived. “Are you?” Lost? In need of assistance? The bizarre encounter keep her poised with a wild, irreverent composition, a feral, savage thing, born from fire, prone to infernos in a single instant.
to be lit up from within, vein by vein to be the sun
He doesn't quite straighten up, not yet, but he does shift, the hand not split into a blade lifting to tug up the layers wrapped around his torso, revealing a patchwork of scars, none worse than a twisted silvery rope that all but bisects him. "Could you do better than that?" Really, Peter isn't sure why he pushes, why he prods at buttons when he doesn't know the mechanisms that lie behind them.
His ease is not mirrored, though it does little to deter Peter from relaxing more, another audible click as his blade hides itself away again. His head tips to the side, the words 'Well you should have.' dying on his lips, useless and unhelpful. But she is not lost, his concern, already a long-forgotten notion, unnecessary. "Are you... are you going somewhere, then?"
As his concern is turned back around on himself, Pet stands, taking another step back as he does for just a little more breathing room between them, and looks around at the explosion of lush green vegetation around them, the calls that echo in the distance from gods only know what. "I'm... alright." Not lost, not really. Not in any danger.
I’m sorry lover, I’m sorry I bring you down Well these days I try, and these days I tend to lie
Eating fire is your ambition to swallow the flame down
Bizarre, weird circumstances, frameworks she was having trouble understanding. “Maybe,” she hissed, but her eyes have widened now, taking in the blunt scars, something she’d yet to actually place on a human. They’re not unlike the puckered edges lining her spine, from days of electricity and lightning strikes, from defending a sibling she’d eventually lose anyway. Maybe she wouldn’t be able to. Maybe she could. Maybe it burrowed and buried and hollowed out; uncertain how he’d obtained any of these things. Or who, what he was. She should’ve, from the festival in Halo, but there were so many other nuances, so many other circumstances (ghosts brought back to life: Adam, Kiada, Maea).
His blade was tucked away, and hers remained in her palm, a fervent extension of her sedition. She didn’t turn her back on him either, angling off to the side, where Fangorn nestled and growled. “Exploring.” For a distraction, and she wasn’t certain if she liked this one in particular. The evening dwelled in the same fracas though – sounds swelling from nocturnal heathens, fiends, flora, fauna. “What are you doing here?” She still didn’t have name, had no notions about his face, his features, nothing to match tones, pitch, inclinations; so the flame didn’t give hers away either, keeping the snarl from unfurling, unraveling.
to be lit up from within, vein by vein to be the sun
His shirt is pulled down again quickly, scars hidden away under layers of woollen sweaters and thin shirts. The maybe is enough sap his worry, Peter sure enough of his ability to avoid being stabbed by someone who hadn’t seemed to make a habit of it. Perhaps, if he’d been paying attention, he would recognize her better, would be able to pull her face from his own memories, especially since the Festival was the only clear memory left in his head, the freshest one.
Exploring. A drive he understands well. After all, what is he doing here if not exploring? ”Are you...” Guilt pushes his words, Pet intensely aware of the fact that he’d held his tongue instead of offering his name, that he was now asking a question. ”Are you looking for treasure too?”
Again, bright eyes roam around them, this time Pet taking in the trees and plants as if he’d never seen them before, as if he hadn’t quite realized where he’d wandered. ”Exploring.” The single repeated word is unconcerned, and he nearly feels contrary enough to leave it at that. Nearly. Despite his nonchalance, Peter is very much aware of the knife still sitting in her hand as if it’s the only home it’s ever had. Very much aware of the actively hostile plant she shifts toward. ”My... my partner is... busy. And I’ve never seen a place... like this before.” Its near impossible to tell if the pauses between his words are intentional, or simply the results of a quick mind and clumsy tongue.{/i}
I’m sorry lover, I’m sorry I bring you down Well these days I try, and these days I tend to lie
Eating fire is your ambition to swallow the flame down
“No.” She wasn’t looking for treasure; she’d been wiling away at distractions, at deterrents, at ways to find herself out of the hole she’d put herself in. This strange encounter might have qualified as a diversion, but it hadn’t relaxed, hadn’t sent her into a repose. The knife in her hand continued its remaining stature, over the marks of callouses, a lightweight edge, an extension of her menace and fire. She hadn’t forgotten her quiver either, and it would only take a few moments to cast flames, electricity, or ice into the vicinity – but there seemed to be no other lingering threats.
Just confusion.
“What are you looking for then?” What treasure lingered here? She slid further into the groves, brushing past ferns, Fangorn’s vines gliding over the ground – a watchful eye, the corners of her gaze, the rush of sedition continuing its spread through her veins. Unaware if she was encroaching on any foreign plant that might not have enjoyed her presence – the inquiry pooled from her mouth into the eerie, enigmatic dusk, hollowed and hallowed out. “Who is your partner?” She’d continue on there, maybe, afford some matter of established brethren, kin, beloved things, if this wasn’t to be some shitshow parade. “I haven’t either,” Melita murmured after further consideration – the Rift had been home to many things, but no jungles, no vines, and Helovia’s midsts hadn’t unveiled anything, save for maybe the Hidden Falls, and she’d never wandered into that threshold.
to be lit up from within, vein by vein to be the sun
”Oh.” It’s a soft reply, one that is a touch disappointed, despite best efforts to not be. He sighs, biting his lip as he worries over saying more, revealing anything new to her. In the end, it can’t really hurt, considering he doesn’t have a map, or any actual idea of what he’s supposed to be looking for. ”I heard um, from a... another man, here, that there was treasure.” A shoulder lifts and falls in a shrug, before he continues, protects himself just a little more. ”I don’t know where, really. Just... it’s here.”
It’s strange, how easy it is to talk about Adam, even with a dangerous stranger. ”He’s a very important man. He has a meeting. With the Governor.” This type of gloating is both familiar and alien on his tongue, made easier by the subject, the words pointed away from himself. ”His name is Adam.” No last name, only because it’s something they share, and he’s apparently decided that he’s not giving up his name first.
I’m sorry lover, I’m sorry I bring you down Well these days I try, and these days I tend to lie
Eating fire is your ambition to swallow the flame down
She stared at him – really and truly stared. Her features could have been hallmarked as dumbfounded, bewildered, or merely confused, the perplexity in her brows shifting and turning with each phrase. Melita had no room to comment, not really, given her proclivity for impulsive actions, for wandering out into the regions without a rhyme or reason - distractions from her current debacles. So they were in the same quandary, with only wandering means and knives to brandish at one another. Delightful. Maybe someone had sent this stranger off on a wild goose chase just for kicks and thrills; it would’ve been a Torchline thing to do. “What man?” She shook her head, eased back some of the wild locks away from her face.
Which might’ve been a decent notion, for suddenly her discontent pulled into something else altogether – mentions of important man and meeting with the Governor (her uncle), and then the name itself. “Adam?!” She laughed, and it was an exuberant, loud cacophony of sound and joy, remembering the boastful individual whom she’d taught to shoot an arrow, the news that he had perished, the lantern she’d placed along hooks for his companion. The confounding notions at the latest lantern festival hadn’t escaped her – she’d mostly stood there dumbfounded (and maybe a little caustic; that Kiada had died without her knowledge and then was reborn was another blasted notion altogether). “You must be Peter then.” The ease came over her, less rigid, less drawn into battle, extending the hand not holding her dagger towards his. “I’m Melita.”
to be lit up from within, vein by vein to be the sun
The question is casual, after all the huffing and puffing and brandishing of knives. Suspiciously so. Pet doesn’t quite blink, but his brows pull together, tightly enough that he squints helplessly. What man? Was he born yesterday, handing off chances like a babe with candy? ”I... don’t know.” There is an unearned certainty in his voice, despite the actual answer he’s given.
That she seems to recognize Adams name is not a surprise (see Important Man, above) but the exuberance that accompanies the recognition is immediately more than Pet expects. In fact, her laughter does more to cow him than her blade had, even if it is a joyful sound. He’d never learned to tel the difference between laughters, after all. That she knows his name only reinforces the uncertainty stretched over every bit of his frame, an extended hesitance overtaking him as he looks over her outstretched hand.
At first, her name sparks nothing, save for a distant itch, a memory more haze than anything else. A day in the mud. A baring of his soul the likes of which he hasn’t actually offered anyone else, bar Adam. ”You’re... something, uh, with Sunjata? Kind of?” He hadn’t understood the connection when he’d first been told it, didn’t understand it any better less than half remembered. Only then does he grasp her hand, not shaking it but holding it, his skin cool and uncomfortably misshapen by scars.
I’m sorry lover, I’m sorry I bring you down Well these days I try, and these days I tend to lie
Eating fire is your ambition to swallow the flame down
The unknown caused her to tilt her head, narrow her eyes again; not to dangerous degrees or decrees, but the bizarre semblance of this meeting. So what were they even doing here – she with distractions, he with aimless wanderings? She couldn’t help or assist with these semblances, fortunately or unfortunately, she really wasn’t certain either, and let the subject drop.
The honeybee expected him to start discussing Adam – and she had a myriad of questions about the nuances from beyond - but even Melita could fathom that it wasn’t a good time to begin discourse and discussions surrounding death, the afterlife, and subsequent resurrections. Not that there ever was a decent hour.
What made them come back?
Chosen in the Voice’s wake?
Did that change things?
The inquiries slunk behind her teeth, not dragged across her tongue, piercing away, back into her chest. Instead, she focused on other figments and fragments of the ridiculous conversation (incapable of following its feathering, trailing elsewhere, plumage she’d yet to decipher). She didn’t care that his hand was cool in her hand; Nate’s always had been too. She didn’t mind the scars either. Her body was marked with plenty of them.
It meant survival, in some way. That they’d endured. Sometimes more than once.
“His niece,” Melita presided. Whether or not this was a good connection either would remain to be seen – Sunjata had as many enemies as he had allies, interchangeable on mercurial whims and tempestuous days.
to be lit up from within, vein by vein to be the sun
Silence is not usually an uncomfortable thing for Peter, but this one proves to be different, much in the same way most things have since he came back. This, at least, he can work on. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, back and forth, and tries to offer a thin smile, his face pulling tight into something accidentally but unmistakably a grimace. ”How do you... how do you know Adam?” It would be good information to have, would add weight to the conversation later that night, the what did you get up to today babe?
Even if he is awkward and uncomfortable speaking, Pet manages to be relatively normal, if extremely passive, with his handshake. He even waits to pull away until the other does, his hands folding neatly behind his back. Bright blue eyes pert up at Melita curiously, awaiting either confirmation or denial, and ending up with more han he expected. Confirmation, yes, and with more than he expected, though the extra knowledge does nothing in his hands.
”I see.” Peter offers simply, easily to her claim to family. He even manages to hold his face in that neutral place for a breath, two, before his brows pull together and looks up at the honeybee girl almost apologetically. ”What um... what’s a niece?” Family is not exactly something he’d had, anything beyond siblings or parents a strange and nebulous tangle.
I’m sorry lover, I’m sorry I bring you down Well these days I try, and these days I tend to lie
