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!
yes, yes, I am wild I am the wind that makes breathing hard
Rumors abound and stories unleashed had her sinking her feet into the murky, tempestuous boundaries as they’d traveled and traversed their way through the jungle, and then into another warren. “This must be it!” She highlighted towards Milo, the poor unfortunate soul she’d managed to drag, coerce, and convince to travel with her based solely on Aurelia’s accounts. The bubbling murk was a dead giveaway anyway, and she beelined, despite the heat and sultry air, towards the bog congested water. Fangorn, with an obvious amount of trepidation, sauntered and bumbled behind.
Tying her hair back as it stuck to her neck, the youth pondered over their haphazard journey, toying with the staff in her hands, half-inclined to stick it into the depths to test the surface and water level, then second-guessing the maneuver. “Where do you think we’d find a witch?” Her gilded eyes shifted back to him, an arch to her brow, a shrug to her shoulders, as if the wayward wandering was no bother to her at all (it wasn’t – and this had all been constructed purely by impulse and stupidity). Fairy tales and legends had always painted tapestries of wicked little homes with wicked little people; and this didn’t seem to be match the descriptions.
I am the ocean and the battered shore I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury
i have seen what the darkness does say goodbye to who i was
He hasn’t explored much – it’s always been something that had set him on edge. But he’d let Aurelia know he was taking a trip with Melita – out to explore and perhaps have a fortune told. Perhaps something he either tells or keeps a secret, it was hard to say. At the very least, he’s comfortable going with Melita, and they bound into the Feverlands quickly. He doesn’t know where they’re going entirely, but he does know that he is enjoying himself at least.
He runs a hand through his hair, readjusts the pack on his back, and tries to cling to the shade where he can as the humidity clings to his bronzed skin, and he flashes Melita a bright grin. “Hmm, dunno, prolly where all the creatures ‘r headin’ to.” He makes a considering look, turning his head to stare down at the swamp as it begins, watching the lily pads for any movement. “Oh! ‘Lita, look, there’s some frogs.” He points, leaning toward her with a boyish whisper. “Maybe if we chase ‘em they’ll give up ‘er location?” A mischievous grin spreads, and he darts toward one of the biggest frogs quickly and comically as his legs sink into the damp earth.
i ain't ever been away so long don't look back, those days are gone
yes, yes, I am wild I am the wind that makes breathing hard
Melita had lived in too many worlds and too many lands to not explore; an inquiring mind, a vicious pursuit, an impetuous, glorified aptitude for antics, blunders, and heroics alike. Where this minor adventure would end up on the scale of stupidity was anyone’s guess; but it scarcely mattered to the emboldened honeybee.
Where all the creatures were heading to…her eyes glinted immediately to the potential throng of movement. Not Attuned, not capable of circumventing their thoughts or compelling them into motion, her own measures were haphazard and zealous, lurking closer to the edge and brim of the swamp. But Milo spotted frogs, and so she crouched, a little menacing glint to her eye as she stared back at him. The mischievous grins matched, and she prepared herself. “Excellent plan,” she noted, tying up the strands of her dress, and before she even had time to advance, Milo already had.
And she laughed, giggled, probably startling whatever animal remained, following straight into the damp, soused, sodden earth with little care. She sunk a little, but as a frog appeared before, striving to get the hell out of her range, she launched, hands grasping, tugging.
Bless, Fangorn just shook his head from the bank.
I am the ocean and the battered shore I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury
i have seen what the darkness does say goodbye to who i was
It’s truthfully a half assed plan. Milo doesn’t know anything about witches or how one finds them. He also doesn’t know the first step about being careful around swamps, but they’re in the thick of it now as he bumbles after a frog that charges off in the distance. Melita agrees with him, though, following him into the swamp and takes up the lead as she pounces on the frog.
It’s surprisingly big and it croaks with fury as Melita grabs it, it’s skin slimy and clammy from the swamp as it whines it’s frustration and Milo barks a laugh. He isn’t to be outdone, though, trudging through the thick sludge of mud to try and catch his own – missing completely and nearly falling into the gross muddy abyss. He comes up with a lily pad, empty, and huffs a playfully frustrated sigh. “He tellin’ ya anythin’?” He calls back to Melita as he pinches his brows and waits for the frogs to calm down again before he can plan his next aimed capture.
i ain't ever been away so long don't look back, those days are gone
yes, yes, I am wild I am the wind that makes breathing hard
Well, it was more of a plan than her scattered thoughts of arriving to the swamp, finding a witch, and uncertain of layering whatever in between; since that was all Melita had come up with for this chaotic plot.
The frog in her grasp though delights her, and the youth remained utterly indifferent to the swarm of muck, mire, and mud sticking to her now as she sauntered in deeper amongst lily pads and water far too grimy to see within. It whined and keened and she laughed – enraptured by the moment, and ignoring Fangorn’s sigh from the bank. At Milo’s inquiry, she raised the amphibian towards the fellow smuggler, not even bothering to muffle the ridiculousness of the situation. Fully embracing it for whatever it was worth. “I think it’s telling me to fuck off!” Sure enough, another high pitched wail echoed from its sentiments, desperate to scramble out of her keep. “Which way to your witch, good sir?” echoed in a mockingly deep voice, as if ensuing a command.
I am the ocean and the battered shore I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury
i have seen what the darkness does say goodbye to who i was
He waits for Melita’s response as he stares at the frogs when they begin to calm, determination taking over him surprisingly strong before he’s pursing his lips, distracted only by the croaks and wails from the frog she’s captured. “Ha, wouldn’ doubt it! He sounds mad.“ He can’t help the bubbling laugh that leaves him, that startles the frogs again and he finds himself launching further into the muck of the swamp to try and grab another one.
He’s lucky, this time, and finds himself latching onto a marginally smaller frog from Melita, but one just as pissed and upset as hers. He hoists it up like a trophy, spinning in the swamp water to look back at Melita in all his excited glory. “Oy I got one!” He calls over to her, grinning like a fool with the frog protesting in his hands.
i ain't ever been away so long don't look back, those days are gone
yes, yes, I am wild I am the wind that makes breathing hard
The frogs’ cries echoed off the bulrushes and fronds scattered amidst the world, and Melita muffled her giggle – waiting for Milo to have his opportunity to snag. So while the amphibian wiggled and hissed in her grasp, her eyes flickered and followed as the smuggler latched onto another. A triumphant whoop howled from her at his announcement and proclamation. She raised her own frog over her head in a wild cheer. “What’s yours saying?!”
Fangorn had long since given up on the charade, and had begun to paddle and vine his way along the banks, the swamp bed inclines, and out towards another firmer section. The honeybee didn’t follow suit, far too engrossed and enraptured in the silliness of this bizarre game – and then she put on somewhat of a stage whisper, lowering the frog over the edges of the murky water. “Should we let them go, and see where they take us?” To follow? To wander? To catch more and more?
I am the ocean and the battered shore I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury
i have seen what the darkness does say goodbye to who i was
“’ts sayin’ it’s gotta secret it doesn’ wanna talk about!” Milo calls back toward her with a bright hum of laughter. The frog in his hands wiggles and cries its frustration and upset, screeching out into the abyss alongside Melita’s own frog. He clutches it close to his chest, the dirt and muck that coats the frog now coats his shirt, parts of his neck in the sludge and his attempts to try and capture the frog that had failed the first time before he’d caught it.
Her question reaches him and he turns around to her with the goofiest smile she’s probably ever seen cast on the boy’s face. “Maybe she lives in a frog abode…” He whispers back suddenly, full of glee and amusement before he lowers the frog to a lily pad beside him. “A’ight. Go!” He calls out, and as soon as his frog takes off, Milo’s darting after it like a fool.
i ain't ever been away so long don't look back, those days are gone
yes, yes, I am wild I am the wind that makes breathing hard
“Rude!” She proclaimed over another juncture of laughter; as if they weren’t the overbearing ones coming within the amphibian’s home and terrorizing them with incredibly stupefying antics. Melita didn’t want the frogs to keep their secrets; craving them to be unwound, unfurled, through the haze of ridiculousness, where they could wander and meander behind strokes of fortune and so-called witches. She yearned for the tall tales and the silly fables, for something else other than the bizarre multitudes back home.
Goofy smiles matched and adorned; though hers was likely more faceted into absolute devilry and mischief. At the call, at the signal, she released hers too, and launched after its swift, fast movements, diving headlong into the muck’s fathoms without a second thought. Immersed immediately until it was up to her shoulders, laughing all the way, tracing until she simply couldn’t anymore, winding along the outer banks. “How’d you do?" She called over, ignoring Fangorn’s consistently shaking head.
I am the ocean and the battered shore I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury
i have seen what the darkness does say goodbye to who i was
Melita’s laughter peels through the swamp and Milo’s deeper snickers accompany it as the frogs croak their displeasure, squealing and screeching and generally upset with how the day has turned out so far. At least they’ll let them go, though, and he casts a quick glance over to Melita who stands there, ready to let her frog go at the same time he does. He gives the cue, letting his frog hop to the lily pad, before he’s bumbling after it – drenching himself in muck and dirt and swamp water without a care in the world.
He doesn’t look much different from an absolute idiot as he flails through the drifting bits of wood and avoids the bigger boulders, turning to look near the edge of the swamp that his frog begins to head toward. Perhaps there’s a cave alongside here and they’re taking them to the witch! Or, perhaps, the land just gives the frog more availability to run faster and more quickly away from them.
“I got nothin’!” He calls back to Melita, continuing the chase. “How ‘bout you?”
i ain't ever been away so long don't look back, those days are gone
yes, yes, I am wild I am the wind that makes breathing hard
Fangorn was likely having far more success than either of the two combined. He ambled along, searching and puttering around, vines snaking out to test certain areas and parameters while the two fools bumbled around – fumbling for frogs.
But since neither of them were paying attention to him, it likely didn’t matter.
“Nothing here either,” she muttered, kicking at a few loose stones and ignoring the ridiculous amount of mud clustered to her dress. Everywhere else was a festering mess as well; caked within her hair, notched several times along her forehead, cheeks completely drenched, nose stained. All in all, a look that said she was a creature or monster of the bog, instead of someone who smuggled for a living. “I’m going to try and find another one!” Because that tactic had clearly worked out in their favor.
Regardless, her eyes shifted back to the swampy configurations, narrowing, studying, scrutinizing, over the patchwork proportions they’d yet to disturb. And there, she saw a smaller amphibian, resting on the lily pad without a care. If she could just tiptoe over…
I am the ocean and the battered shore I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury
i have seen what the darkness does say goodbye to who i was
Oh, and fumble they do. Milo gets mud and swamp water basically everywhere. He doesn’t seem to pay much attention to it, giving little into the care of his wildness when it comes to letting go in a place like this, especially with Melita who only added to the fires of stupidity as they bumble around like idiots.
And what idiots they must look like, two fire haired people bounding around in the dirt and mud chasing after frogs who’d rather have nothing to do with them. Ah, but here they were. Trying anyway. So Milo manages to make it back to the bank, ignoring the frogs that seem to go in no seeming direction other than away. He tries to wipe his hands on his pants, but it does little in response to getting his hands clean.
Melita moves to chase after a frog that isn’t paying attention, and even with how slow she goes, it still seems to ignore her. As soon as her hand gets near it, though, it jumps, and jumps onto a strange shaped muzzle of all things that lifts its head out of the water. It’s a deer-like creature that stares back at her before snorting a bubble of swamp water at her, fearless and curious.
i ain't ever been away so long don't look back, those days are gone
yes, yes, I am wild I am the wind that makes breathing hard
Oblivious, impulsive, and impetuous have been the hallmarks of Melita’s character, and they hadn’t managed to disperse or wither away yet. So she lingered, hovering just inches before the frog, a slow, descending hand ghosting lower and lower, intending to cast nothing more than a mere shadow before the beast –
And then she somehow ended up sprawled back into the mud, shocked, stupefied, and stunned, when the amphibian managed to secure a landing upon a rising muzzle. A gasp flickered and floored through her chest, and that was all she had time for, before the creature snorted a wad of water upon her – casting more flecks of material upon her face. “Oh,” was a dim, bewildered utterance – before blinking, waiting, completely in its line of sight, for something else to happen.
When it didn’t – only leaning forward, muzzle coming towards her, the youth managed a series of blinks, brain scrambling to come up with some pattern of behavior. “I think I made a new friend,” she uttered, a bit of a stage whisper, loud enough to coax Milo’s attention, but hopefully not in measure and decibels where the deer (if that was what it was) would hasten off. She reached out, fingers inching towards its nose. "Do you know where we could find a witch?" Was hushed and silly, but there nonetheless.
I am the ocean and the battered shore I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury
i have seen what the darkness does say goodbye to who i was
The muzzle rises and Milo’s still quite distracted from the entire ordeal, his attention drawn to the frog he chases, bumbling along the side of the swamp where the water is just the beginning of a puddle, before his attention is drawn to his fellow redhead and the sight of something much larger moving within the swamp.
There’s a second of an ‘oh shit’ to cross his mind, to stumble and stop his steps as he simply stares. “What is it?” Milo breathes back to Melita, freezing in place as to not spook the deer. The gilled deer simply remains staring at Melita, nostrils flaring a second before it splashes some swamp water onto her hand as it outstretches, but does lean forward to sniff at and inspect the Accepted’s hand.
It doesn’t know what she says, and Milo simply stops to stare at her and the deer, confusion weighing heavily on him.
i ain't ever been away so long don't look back, those days are gone
