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!
Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins
Melita wandered.
With a myriad of quandaries, enigmas, and experiences throttling her mind, the only escape was movement. Motion. Action. Equipped and out-fitted with her weapons, with her armaments, with her fire-forged determination, the youth and her vampire gourd followed tracks made in between vines and moss.
Others had been out here, plain to see in the mark of civilization, snapped twigs, twisted leaves. And after a while, it became habitual to trace over previous foundations, to see what someone else had seen, to view, to wonder, to do something other than sulk, doubt, or unleash her fury.
But then the trails abruptly ended, and she found herself face to face with a series of streams. Instantly delighted, she tread very carefully to the first one’s embankments and edges, reminded of the Greatwood’s expanses. Like the babbling brooks, like the swift turn of shores into rivers, and at some point into oceans. Exuberance, wild and undaunted, billowed from her expanse, as she knelt beside the water, spying the glitter, the deceit, the potential. “Look at this,” she whispered to Fangorn, as her companion joined her (somewhat reluctantly, though his vines did snake back and forth, as if torn between remaining firmly on land or leaning into the soft soil). Her fingers pointed and jutted towards a particularly gleaming, gilded, golden object, tilting her head, rising slightly above a crouch, to gaze upon it a little better.
So many paths, so many possible chances, and somehow, fate always seems to have them converging. Nate had been strolling along the beach, half searching for a sear cat, half trying to avoid everything else, when he’d come across the trickle of a creek leading into the sea. There was no better distraction that following it, and now here he is, deep in the jungle with only Pemota by his side.
And now, surprise of surprises, he stumbles not only upon someone, but someone he knows. Someone he’d been wanting to talk to anyway. Melita is focused on the stream, on whatever treasure lingers in its depths, and far be it for Nate to break her focus. At least right away.
Silent feet carry Nate behind the honeybee girl, Pemota high above them, her light dripping down like starry snowflakes, slow and tranquil. He leans over the water, comically far, and cocks his head, a loud question escaping him. ”What are we looking at?”
Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins
Melita was instantly reminded of the Stonesong and its flowing rivulet, the little treasures of rocks, pebbles, and elements clattering and lingering near the bottom. It was a welcome distraction, to hunt for both buried and noticeable fixtures, to place her hand within the cool expanse and wonder, marvel, at everything surrounding her. Not at home, where the world had tilted in so many degrees that she openly looked forward to packing and heading out to sea. Not along the rims of burnt decrees and clustered unknowns. Not where war threaded, threatened, loomed, and lingered. Here, it was as if there was no outside world. No people. No humanity. Just the whisper of the wind, the entanglement of birdsong, the brushing of leaves, and the rushing of the glade.
Fangorn uttered a low rumble, something like recognition, and her head tipped upwards to find Nate before her. She’d been so absorbed in her task that she’d failed to notice his presence – and a harsh intake of breath, a gasp, flickered over her sentiments. The youth fell forward, knees instantly drenched in the idle stream, but she didn’t care as she laughed, as he leaned over, as she rose to offer her arms. “I have no idea,” and she meant it, the moment gone in these other soused interludes. And despite the sodden nature of her clothes, she extended that generosity, that compassion, for the individual whose choice had been flung aside in the course of very poor planning. “Are you okay?”
Hands reach out to try and grab the honeybee girl before she tips into the creek, too late. It hadn't been Nate's intention to scare her, to throw her off balance, but here he was. At least the fall is accompanied by laughter, by joy, something the ascended sorely needs. He hates to be leaning on her quite so much, but he's glad, truly glad, that Mel's around when he needs her.
"Of course I am." He evens offers the flash of a smile along with the words, there and gone again in a breath, stolen away by worry and stress that seems to never leave his shoulders now. "I'm always okay Mel." A lie, and they both know it, but it sounds pretty, sounds like something he should be able to say.
Whatever awkwardness infects him is shoved to the side in favour of something else, of news he wants to share, if it hasn't already been spoiled for him. "I," He draws out the word, making sure his niece's full attention is on him, "have news. Good news, surprisingly." He wasn't willing to think himself into circles wondering if she would find it good as well. It should be enough that he's pleased with it, that he's considering it good news.
Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins
She didn’t even hold it back. Didn’t even try as she twisted together the ends of her dress, let some of the water drain and return to the stream. “What do you mean, you’re okay?” How could he be, after what Sunjata had done? While he was still recovering from the latest bout of disaster? Her features screwed into narrowed eyes and a wrinkled nose, an air of absolute confusion as she glanced over at Fangorn, looking for some support in this sudden mess. “How can you be?” Were they already talking in circles, in riddles, in enigmas? Had he already forgiven that god damned moron? And if so, why?
She shook her head, incapable of making any sense of it. Eventually her gaze snapped away from the gourd, from the twinkling aspects of treasure below the flowing veneer, and towards her uncle again. “Good news?” That’d be a nice change of pace. “Go ahead. I’m all ears.” She snorted, but managed to obtain some semblance of a smile, a smirk; trying not to infect the grounds already with her bitterness and rancor.
Her words, immediate, emotional, batter at his carefully constructed walls, prt of Nate quaking in discomfort as he stands against the assault. Immediately, Pemota lowers to hover around his shoulders, a steady, calming presence, starlight working to fill in the cracks of his mind. ”I’m okay because I have to be.” A one eye gaze is focused on Melita, unblinking and serious. ”Someone involved in this has to be okay, and it’s me, again. So I’m okay.” It’s not forgiveness, it’s not even real, but if he can pretend long enough for things to mend, he can have his catharsis then.
Really, it doesn’t have to make sense to Melita. It barely makes sense to him, hence his keen desperation to not look too closely at the facade. Nate would much rather focus on brightness. Though even here, now, it’s overshadowed by a twinge of worry, uncertainty over his nieces reaction. ”I went to see the Voice, in the Grounds.” Obviously. ”We talked about a lot, but, to make a long story short,” and more exciting ”she ascended me again. To godhood.” Nate’s hands spread out in a weak jazz hands, a pair of crackling arms popping in existence over his shoulders in a far more spirited display.
Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins
Melita stared. Stared and stared as the words flew over her, as Pemota descended. She could see she was causing some upset, some disruption over the pretenses, masks, and the lies, but apparently someone had to be the instigating ass around here. Someone had to be throwing the truth. Someone had to be denying the ridiculous nature of everything surrounding them – of all the nuances contained in that house, with its embers and stupidity and gods she couldn’t wait to take a break and sail off into who-knows-where, just to get away from the rampant, unnecessary drama. “That is such bullshit.” And he knew it. He had to know it. Fangorn grumbled at her feet, his vines coiling around her ankles in some way to subdue, but the flares were already there from residual conversations and thoughts surrounding her other stupid uncle. They were stoked and kindled with little prompting, and this, this was enough. She did manage to quiet her voice, however, muting it into less than a roar. “You don’t have to be okay after what he did.”
Was he going to immediately forgive him? Pretend nothing happened?
When a goddess’s child was brought into their home?
Baffled, she ceased wringing out the ends of her dress, dropping it thereafter where it dabbled over the edges of the water once more. She was so tired of the facades, of the masks, of all the stupefying ways everyone tiptoed around Sunjata as if he needed to be coddled every five seconds for things he initiated.
Nate’s good news. Right.
This didn’t always have to be about the Flood.
She sighed, trying to diffuse the coil of blood boiling in her heart, in her veins, in her flesh and bone. She shouldn’t even be mad at Nate. And for some reason, she didn’t expect this particular bomb to be dropped either.
Nate. Demigod of the Voice.
And she, an avid devotee to Ludo.
It hadn’t been an issue before. Or ever. And so she swallowed down that bile and tried not to recall how she felt about Wessex and similar properties, how there was a war looming and that sides were going to be drawn and she hated it. So for a moment, the honeybee put on that whimsical, mercurial grin, watched as extra arms came out an array of movement and motion. “Congratulations.” She just didn’t know what it would mean.
Of course he knows. Of course he knows. Nate doesn’t need it thrown in his face, doesn’t need to be reminded that this is fucked up beyodn anything he can deal with. ”I know.” He snaps, clenching his teeth and lifting a hand to brush back through his hair. He takes a moment, tries to shake the sharp sting of emotions away, and tries again, softer. ”I know. I’m... not, really.” A huff of laughter leaves him, hollow and distant as a gathering storm. His free hand reaches out to find a place on Melita’s shoulder, squeezing gently. ”I just don’t have time for it right now.” For a breakdown, for a big emotional whatever. It’s coming, faster and faster, but as long as he can hold it off he will.
”You’re not the one who should have to deal with it anyway.” It wasn’t her thoughtless hands that had put him in this state, after all. ”But... thank you.” For caring, for trying to point out the unfairness of it all. It does help, in some small way, to make him feel less insane for his emotions.
Nate half expects more drama, more heartbreak with this revelation, but the honeybee girl surprises him in the best way. A simple congratulations drops from her, and Nate immediately leans in to wrap her up in a four armed hug. ”Thank you.”
Peace like this can’t last long, not with Nate in the state he is, not with the world in the state it is. Nate leans back, some serious slant in his one eyed gaze, in the downward bend of his lips. ”I don’t want this to... change anything.” At least not any more than it already did. He’s well aware of his nieces divine allegiances, of what it could mean.
Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins
The rage sputtered for him – maybe it was the huff of laughter that sounded hollow and aching, maybe because her wrath was for another and not him at all, and maybe it was just the way he squeezed her shoulder. She dimmed entirely, a frown pooling across her features, brows furrowed, hands balled into fists down by her side, willing and able and ready to fight for something she could only bark and howl at. “It’s not right,” she curled mulishly, on a snarl, on the range of stupidity Sunjata managed to conjure at least once a season. “I don’t know how you deal with it all the time.”
She sighed, trying to ease it all down, down, down – maybe into the water, maybe into the world pooling around her. The four-armed hug surprised her in the end, and something short of a giggle immersed from her chest and carved around her bones.
Then she gazed upward, into the eye, into the threshold of alterations and changes they probably should’ve all seen coming. But Melita was apt to dance around the particulars, the span of gods until it came too close to call or home; and here it was. Reality was hard to embrace and difficult to fathom. Crossroads and lines eventually drawn, but for the present, she didn’t have to neglect, forget, or truly understand. “For now,” and she nodded, understanding, fighting back the notions contorting in her jaw. Nothing would change for now.
”I don’t either.” Nate replies before he can stop himself, looking mortified for a moment. The expression fades from his face quickly, though not without a wince. ”But... I do. Because I love him.” It’s not exactly a good save, but it’s truthful, painfully sincere.
For now is the best he can hope for, isn’t it? For now is better than he’d hoped, honestly, though he wishes it didn’t need to be said at all. ”For now.”
Nate manages to muster up the decency to lean away before asking his next question, though hands stay wrapped around Melita’s shoulders. ”Do you... do you think you’ll have to choose a side?” Do you think Ludo will make you? Is the question he wants to ask, though it’s one he knows he doesn’t actually want the answer to.
Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins
The honeybee didn’t judge him for his mortification. It was cycle after cycle, season after season, one thing after another with very little breathing room to adjust or recover from the latest debacle, before one more emerged. Before something else reared its ugly head, and Sunjata managed to find himself right in the center of it all. In another moment, in another lifetime, Melita might have considered the option that her uncle could be a good father, or give some worth, some mettle, to the notion. Instead, all she could wonder for the instant was if all of this was going to continue billowing and unfurling apart. “I love him too, but at some point he has to…,” what exactly she’s not really sure. Her hands flailed upwards, as if that explained everything. Stop? Breathe? Chill out? Process more than one thought?
The for now simmered and settled there, in between, and the frown loosened into a finely drawn portrait of frustration and wonder, curling and coiling in her eyes as she stared down at the water. How simple, how easy, it would be to meander out into the rivulet and stand upon its top, race down the shorelines, and not yield, not answer the question. “I have a feeling I already have.” A promise once laden with forthrightness and conviction – layers upon layers of bounding towards the ragged herald.
"Yes. But... I still want to support him, while he figures it out." A soft huff leaves him, Nate shaking his head. "And he's gotten better. Slowly, but..." Shrugging, he tries to not let other developments linger in his mind, tries to not let them show on his face. A dark, shadow flickers over his face. "Even with... what he did." With how much it's changed, how much he's forced them to change.
Glancing away, Nate licks his lips and nods. She had, hadn't she? They both had. He wonders if there'd ever been a way to avoid these lines in the sand, this gossamer web of divine entanglement. So he tries to shift, as much as he can, though an obvious connection still lingers in his mind. "You know, I think out of all the," Nate waves his hand, makes a non-committal groan, "Ludo is the one I know about the least. How did... you get close." Another question Nate isn't really sure he wants the answer to, but he can't help himself. Can't keep from asking, from trying to get into her head.
Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins
Melita pondered then if it mattered what Sunjata tried, strived, or learned. In the end, if everyone always flocked back to him, gave him what he wanted, accepted the constant acts of stupidity and selfishness, would it all amount to nothing? Would he grow? Would he become proficient in anything? Or would the cycle continue – because there’d never really been any consequences? “Are you sacrificing yourself too then?” Her words weren’t delicate – never had been. But Nate deserved far better than sticking it out with her uncle, if it meant simply burying his head in the sand and permitting it to happen over and over and over again. “You can support him by setting up some boundaries. This wasn’t okay. You don’t have to be all right with it.” Maybe she was beating herself into a wall over here too – and she’d eventually watch them all clamber and slide back together. "If you keep tolerating it, won't he just keep doing the same old shit?"
Nothing amiss. Nothing broken. Nothing repaired. A band-aid over lacerations and open, gaping wounds.
She drifted along the stream, her bare feet clinging to the pebbles, eyes wishing to find the gold that seemed so lost now. Simpler ventures and times, beyond fractures and rifts, where the journey hadn’t felt so rough, so barren, so desolate. Her hands balled back into fists, fingers tugging at the fabric of her dress, Fangorn grumbling beside her – naught was enough to settle the adornments of vehemence careening through her. Her eyes narrowed while she looked down, at the inquiry, at the question, at the way everything seemed purposefully muted and torn. “It was the one I always went to. Always seemed willing to help.” The honeybee didn’t ask him about the Voice. She’d heard enough once, from Samuel, about a decision that ultimately hadn’t truly been his.
The way he couldn’t go back.
Instead, she hovered over the abyss, and wondered about falling. “What made you want to become a demigod for her?”
”I’m not just toler- Mel, I’m leaving.” He didn’t want to say it, had wanted to be able to leave and come back with the smallest number of people knowing, but he wasn’t going to stand her and be berated for not being willing to commit to a choice. A hand comes up to scrub roughly at his face, long slow strides keeping him close to hear as they meandered along the creek banks. ”Its not... forever, I don’t think, but... I know, I need the space. I need time.” He doesn’t know if it counts as a boundary, but it is a clear show of unhappiness, of serious consideration about what he and Sunjata were together.
Pemota drifts ahead of the pit of them, leaving Nate to deal with this mess alone, without the weight of her support or calm. He tries to move pst his own tangle of a relationship, tries to focus on Melita’s answer instead. ”Thats good.” He offers, and almsot manages to mean it. ”Help with that?” Comes the inquiry, his head cocking in his nieces direction. He knew of her most recent quest, with the ghost whale, and thinks he remembers some others, but a quest wasn’t the only way the gods would help.
And of course, that lense is turned back towards him, towards the Voice. ”Shes put me back together, more than once.” He’d grown closer to her, of late. He’d volunteered himself, again and again, sauntered willingly into her arms, and hardly realized it. Until now. ”Its... I feel like I owed it to her. Especially since she could fix what Safrin did. And... if I could be this...” He gestures at himself with two sets of arms, ”Then maybe i could be strong enough to hold things together.” Obviously things hadn’t worked out like that.
