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
The altercation didn’t take any other turns except disbelief, wonder, and confusion; so along the same lines as before. Her eyes remained widened, jaw slackened, mouth agape like a surprised fish, only turning her head slightly in Milo’s direction. “I don’t know,” she whispered. Not an empanada, that was for sure, but the moment of humor dulled on her tongue, uncertain if she was in danger or not.
And then it was sniffing and inspecting her hand, and she was doused once more in water; drenched, caked, and everything else adorned upon her features and person. “Should we just keep going?” She inquired towards Milo – one brow lifting – but the rest of her gaze focused entirely on the creature. It didn’t seem to pose a threat, just curiosity, just inquiry, but knowing Melita, she’d undoubtedly do something to anger it by mere existence.
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 a strange looking deer, and Milo’s completely at a loss of whether or not it’s better to avoid the creature and try to back away slowly for fear of frightening it or simply stay still and let it meander off. So he watches, instead, as Melita says she doesn’t know, as the deer splashes and snorts swamp water at the other redhead, Milo’s brows pinching together as he stares after the deer.
And it seems the creature finds Melita rather boring in comparison to the promise of food beneath the surface, shaking its body and sending the frog zipping through the water again, before it lowers its head to continue to eat. Once its head slips under the water, Milo rushes toward the swamp edge. “Think we should keep goin’ ‘n hope we don’ come across anythin’ else?” He suggests, despite it ending in the hint of a question.
Truthfully, Milo doesn’t know what he wants to do.
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
In the end, it didn’t really matter. Melita, lost in her state of confusion, didn’t have anything to occupy the deer. So it disappeared with more splashes of swamp water, the bog sticking to her even further and more than before. She finally relented and crawled her way back towards the banks, a heavy sigh flickering through. Fangorn rushed along the fringes too, shaking his head, either somewhat dismayed or disappointed; it was difficult to tell.
She started to wring out the edges of her dress as Milo spoke up, her eyes watching the brown water drip from her clothes. Those sentiments and notions seemed fair enough, and the honeybee raised her head to glance upward, bringing one dirty hand to slightly above her brow, shielding her gaze from the sun (and leaving a ridiculous, muddy mark on her skin). “I suppose.” She rounded back to her belongings, hefting her bag over her shoulder, mildly disgruntled by incapable of explaining why. “What else do you think is out there?” And she marched forward, undaunted by the unknown particulars.
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 deer abandons the girl and Milo releases a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. At least it hadn’t ended up being dangerous – the smuggler unsure what he’d do if it became such. Sure, he can heal, but he’s quite helpless with everything else. He’s a runner, that’s what he’s good at. But he couldn’t leave Melita behind if shit hit the fan.
So when she asks what he wants to do and his uncertainty overcomes him, he purses his lips and offers his answer, drifting toward her as she grabs her belongings and wrings out the murky water from her dress. “Well… We got witches ‘n water deer ‘n frogs…” Oh my! “Prolly snakes ‘n other creatures.” His head tilts toward his companion and flashes her a grin. “I’m thinkin’ we try this way?” He pokes his elbow out to the left, a slightly different direction they’d originally headed in, unsure where it goes.
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
For once, Fangorn didn’t agree to be held by the youth as she offered, extending out her muck-covered arms. Content to rumble and grumble along the embankments, the vampire gourd hissed, turning along to follow at Milo’s suggestion. Melita shrugged, shouldering her bag once more, eyes taking to the rest of the horizon, the scenery, gazing out and imagining the snakes running rampant amongst and amidst the other named creatures. “Sure.” Any direction seemed plausible; it was just unfortunate they hadn’t run into anything that might herald an actual pinpoint. A location. She probably should’ve pressed and asked Aurelia for more details.
Humming under her breath, the sun beginning to cake and dry the mud along her – now some blatantly sticking and holding fast to her hair, she began to weave and ponder prospects. “What do you think a swamp witch lives in?” The middle of a mire, deep in a bog? In a hollowed out log? In some sunken in cave? A ruin, an old tarnished remnant of years gone by? The speculations went wilder and wilder, until she was laughing at herself. “My mom told me a story once of a witch that lived in a gingerbread house. And some with huts standing on chicken legs.”
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
She agrees to go the direction he’s chosen and both he, Melita, and the vampire gourd begin their trek along the edge of the swamp toward the random space he’d picked. It’s slow going at first, the sun beating down upon them, humidity sticking to their messy, dirty, swamp ridden skin. But Milo finds he doesn’t mind, waiting until the dirt and mud have dried to his skin before he rubs it off into small flakes that drift on a faint breeze that passes them.
“Hm. Maybe she lives ‘n a dam. Like a beaver?” He suggests with a hum of a laugh, before his gaze cuts back toward the Accepted. “Gingerbread house? How’s that work?” He asks, suddenly coming up with all sorts of possibilities of why it wouldn’t work. “I’d prolly eat m’house if it was made outta gingerbread.” His brows pinch as he considers that idea, lips pursing before he’s clicking his tongue. “Chick’n legs don’ seem real strong either.”
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
She made an adequate mess of tying her hair back, since the long crimson locks were stained and caked with mud to begin with, but with the rampant humidity it was better than nothing at all. Wrapped and knotted around, twisted along an old piece of yarn, the youth could correspond to striking movements and motions, rather than contemplating the distinct sticky, muggy atmosphere. “A dam,” she pondered, giggling a little. The honeybee imagined a bramble of sticks contorted in and amongst themselves, some half-falling, some carved off, some shorn too short. “Maybe just a hut? Recessed into…” and then she had to ponder some more, uncertain where one even put a place in a bog. “Creepy, ominous trees?” She pointed to several up ahead, distorted and tangled like knives and fingers.
As for the rest of the tales, the youth had to tilt her head again, listening to Fangorn rumble along Milo’s discernment. Leave it to a Natural to cut through fables they hadn’t heard before. “You get a big oven, and you bake your house, of course!” Like this wasn’t completely stupid. “True. I would too. And what would you do if it rained?” Soggy gingerbread didn’t sound delectable. Or very structurally sound. “But the witch used it to lure children in. To eat them.” A shrug of her shoulders and a Cheshire grin to match settled back along her mud-streaked face.
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
“Oooh.” Milo hums with a laugh, following where she directs his attention – pointing to the gnarled trees in the distance. “Like th’creepin’ vines? Maybe they’ll snatch ya?” A crooked, bright grin is shot the honeybee youth’s way, before he’s chuckling to himself and quieting down for the explanation of how a gingerbread house worked as an actual building to live within.
It still makes little to no sense, but he’d walked into the joke at first – the big oven used to bake the house, and Milo can’t help the snickering that leaves him as he tries to imagine it. He supposes it could be done with… Gingerbread bricks if one couldn’t find a house sized oven…
“Maybe y’coat it with a bunch’ve icin’.” He ponders, lips pursing in thought. “Maybe it keeps th’rain from gettin’ in?” A red brow is raised her way. As for the witch within being a child eater, this gives him a second of pause, before a cackling laugh leaves him. “Ew.”
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
“Yes!” Melita highlighted in a fist pump, where more flakes of mud flickered off of her, falling to the ground, at Milo’s insight. “And trap and snare you! It’s brilliant, really.” Foolproof leagues of swamp witches and the unrelenting course of imagination filled her heart and steps, completely unbothered as they began to roam directly into the path of those same gnarled, old trees and creeping vines. She hopped lightly, and Fangorn would maneuver out of the way, not yearning to be launched upon.
But she’d inspired some snickering and laughing, which made this ridiculous trip worth it. Her brow furrowed slightly at the indication and inclination of icing to coat the gingerbread house from potential rain, pondering it deeper and deeper as they continued to amble along their pace. “Wouldn’t she have an ant problem then? I couldn’t imagine the bug infestation.” The honeybee shrugged her shoulders, wrinkling her nose, forging a grimace; though not over the child-eating aspects, which were a prominent feature in many fables and myths. “Sounds like more trouble than it’s worth, honestly.”
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
Her fist pump is enough to shake some of the mud that’s dried to her skin. It’s also enough to send some birds off in the distance up in the air to hide away, find another place to roost that’s quiet. Milo, meanwhile, snickers and chuckles with the result – as if it isn’t talking about their possible demise. “’n with th’swamp there… ‘spose nobody’s gonna know where t’look for ya?” He suggests, reaching up to rub a muddy hand along his chin as if he’s thinking quite hard about it.
He is, don’t be fooled by that.
He’s also thinking quite hard about the idea of a gingerbread house, and Melita brings up a very good point that has him barking another laugh – sending a few birds of his own off into new spaces of quiet to sleep. “I think she’d have ‘n ant problem either way.” With icing or without, sems like it’s just the name of the game at the end of the day.
“Maybe… Maybe she eats th’bugs when th’kids aren’t ‘round…?” His head tilts toward Melita, a bright grin on his face.
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
“Exactly! Because what fools would travel all the way out here?” Uttered with the brightest, broadest grin, fully aware at what she was calling them. She twirled up ahead, lingering beneath the creepy, crawling vines for a moment, as if gesturing them on an emboldened, stupefying dare. When nothing happened, she barreled onward, arms out akimbo so she could execute several more muddy pirouettes.
She glanced back over her shoulder at him as they continued to mire their way through muck and swampy configuration, pondering over the next round of platitudes and ruminations. “Eats bugs and children…” she murmured to herself; a honeybee lost in thought. “And maybe portions of her house when those aren’t available?” Another hum from the youth, shaking her head, pulling on a few gnarled branches as she maneuvered beneath them. “What a life.”
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
“Yeah!” Milo crows beside her, before it breaks into another fit of laughter. The amusement stemming solely from the fact that they were absolutely the fools – the ones that were traveling all this way on the word of a possible witch in the swamp. And here they were, likely getting lost in the humid bog, talking about witches that eat children.
None of it was deterring, really, not with how they continued their trek and the thought of eating bugs and children were on the forefront of Milo’s mind, shifting his lips into an amused shift of a grimace before he sighs quietly and reaches up to run a mud flecked hand through his red curls. “I’d jus’ eat th’house I think.” Milo offers with a grin, leaning toward Melita to bump his elbow against her side. “Sounds much tastier, don’ ya think?”
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 raw, stupefying laughter hastened a few more birds to flutter out of the ridiculous woodwork. It made Melita jump for a moment, and then start giggling all over again, that she’d flinched and been taken aback by swamp grouse or crows. She probably should’ve been deterred too – but few things really maneuvered her away from the temptation, enticement, or allure of danger. Why would a bog witch, or the potential for them to be lost in this god forsaken hellhole?
She bumped her elbow back at him in return, then hummed underneath her breath again, grabbing at a nearby branch and dragging it along until it snapped under her ministrations. “I think I would too. And build a better shelter.” Her shoulders shrugged, and then the telltale opus of an empty stomach unfurled in a loud gurgle; corresponding another round of mercurial, whimsical giggles. Fangorn might’ve rolled his eyes, if anyone was gauging his reaction. “All this talk of food has made me hungry though. And no gingerbread house in sight.”
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
Laughter and howls and whooping have more birds darting from the trees. And it’s amusing to see it happen, even as Milo does feel a fraction bad about what they’ve done to alert the birds. He hopes there isn’t anything bigger out there that might try to snatch them up, knowing full well they’re heading toward those gnarled vines.
Her elbow bumped back into him has another bark of laughter, bronze gaze cutting toward her with a raise of a red brow. “Make it real intimidatin’.” He ponders, of the home Melita would make. He imagines a moat surrounding it, a moat of fire. A dare, for weary travelers that almost seems to say ‘try me’. But he doesn’t air those thoughts.
“Y’wanna head back? We can get some fish on th’way ‘n I can cook it up for us?” He asks, promptly as his stomach rumbles in agreement with Melita’s thoughts.
i ain't ever been away so long don't look back, those days are gone
