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!
06-13-2021, 05:39 PM (This post was last modified: 06-19-2021, 05:39 PM by Melita.)
but there's chaos brewing
underneath my skin
She swam. She swam and swam and swam until the sand’s granules were no longer under her feet and she could feel her muscles burning; until the echoes of death didn’t sting and sing in her ears, until she could dive down below the fathoms and not reel in its cutting path. Melita might’ve gone until her bones ached and given not a single care in the world – ember extinguished for the moment, relying completely on strength, persistence, and the mettle clinging to her veins.
How had it gone so wrong? Power and fortitude, might and menace, all clustered together in their foothold of monstrous hunting – success and spirits rising, rising, rising –
And then death.
Which she’d seen time and time before, but it’d been a while. And it’d been a long time since she wondered if she’d been partially to blame.
The girl threaded her way through the sea side, listening to Fangorn grumble warnings to her from his favored rock – a jumble of emotions and ruminations, quietly seeking and seething, until she rapidly descended again, clinging to the portals of sun-flecked waves and coral. She broke the surface a moment more, hang clinging to the boulder where her companion and things lingered, her eyes going to the bag containing the new items. What did those matter either – rewards for survival?
06-22-2021, 08:45 AM (This post was last modified: 06-22-2021, 08:47 AM by Aurelia.)
Aurelia
Along the shoreline, Aurelia hesitates to approach her friend. She walks slowly. From afar, she'd immediately recognized the crimson-colored hair and that unmistakeable gourd. She chews nervously on the edge of her bottom lip, finding that it tastes vaguely of the ocean's salt, having caught it on harsh winds.
Eventually, she stops while there is still some considerable distance between them. Her hands cup over her lips and she calls out, "Melita!" Then, she lifts her arm to wave. "It's me! Aurelia..." Her voice cracks and she trails off, no desire to repeat her own cursed name.
Her brows narrow together with concern and uncertainty, lips turning down into a half-grimace. How could a whole season have passed like this? Everything shredded apart from the seams, collapsing inward. That's how it feels, at least. Feels like she's taken strides forward and then bounded back to where she'd first began.
Why it's so painful to look upon Melita here, why her chest tightens painfully and her breaths shrink, she can't explain. Why Melita looks so troubled... she doesn't know. Had something happened? Or had word merely passed to these far-reaching pathways, and was her presence therefore unwanted?
looking in the mirror, drop of rum on my tongue with the warning to help me see myself clearer
Drenched and dripping wet, her hand went to the bone first, clinging to it as if it were a club. She could do something with it later, maybe, but it almost felt wrong. Huffing, she placed it aside while she dug through the rest of her belongings, looking for a towel and a comb, presuming the wet locks would need some brief management. It was almost like routine, like she hadn’t witnessed someone’s death bludgeoned across desert sands, like it hadn’t given way to a thousand other things circumventing her mind. The rock under her feet was solid, but maybe she wasn’t, and the notion swayed her toward another noise echoing across the shoreline.
Brushing the fibers down her face, she only peeked over the towel as the voice called out – and what should’ve been a recognizable figure, seemingly by height and things…but not by face gave her pause. Her eyes narrowed, and she thought about the bone, about her staff, lying beside her, Fangorn grumbling something but it was incoherent at best with the blood and trepidation pounding in her ears. “No, you’re not.” Not a holler, not a scream, not a shout in return, as if discerning the wiles of Ludo (come to punish her, for summoning Safrin instead of its rags?) or some other individual who only had mischief on their mind. Resigned and weary, apprehensive and dismayed, coiled together in the vivid sigh reflecting off the sea. “I’m not up for tricks right now, thanks. Go bother someone else.”
06-22-2021, 10:05 AM (This post was last modified: 06-22-2021, 10:05 AM by Aurelia.)
Aurelia
Aurelia trepidates over the decision that she isn't herself. A sad, bitter smile takes form on her face and she sighs with it. "I wish that were the case," she replies, tone as quiet, as thoughtful. She walks slowly forward. Understanding that not many are going to take her word for it, she takes a few moments to think of how she might convince her friend. "Melita. It's me. We... you made flower crowns for us in the Wilds. We talked about family, about the worlds we came from. Your favorite sea animal.. is an-" she shakes her head and scoffs slightly, "-an empanada. Or a dolphin."
She stops, still several feet away, eyeing the things and weapons that Melita has strewn about. She makes no move to provoke her, knowing that the girl is likely to accompany her bark with her bite. "It's not a trick, I swear... something changed the way I look," she tries once again to drive the truth in. Her shoulders slump downward in defeat and her heels sink deeper into the sand.
Looking away, her fingers thread through her hair. The ocean waves carry over the sands, tumbling across her feet. She doesn't move in reaction, just watches as the foam bubbles away. "Well, I thought you should know..." her voice wavers with a hardened edge, "I'm not sailing with the Ark anymore, so.. it'll just be you and Jack this Leafchange."
looking in the mirror, drop of rum on my tongue with the warning to help me see myself clearer
The honeybee didn’t give away any of her ground, stock still while the supposed-Aurelia rambled forward, her eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. A warning, if anything else, of all the dominion, might, and menace at her disposal, at the way it channeled and funneled through her veins – a pulse of audacious ichor. The words made little sense – yes, they’d made flower crowns, yes, they’d talked about families and empanadas, but wouldn’t any of these feral demons across the world know that? Her chin jutted forward, angled in sedition, age-old, tempestuous claims to her features that always spoke omens. “And why would something do that?” To distort the world further? To trick and deceive? After all Melita had seen, why wouldn’t there be monsters or demons that could shape shift? That could take memories? That could pretend, pretend, pretend, until they could put a knife in someone’s back?
She forgot the comb entirely as it rested in her palm, placing the towel down amongst the other things, crouching down, pondering over which weapon would be best. Bow? Staff? Daggers? The other statements are so bizarre to her that her brows furrowed into another dangerous line – jaw clenching, feathering, every inch a poised, feral, untamed thing, wild and wild, standing against the sea. “Oh? Have something better to do with your time?” Bitterness, a poor taste on her tongue, abandonment crooning even in this make-believe assignation.
Aurelia's jaw slacks and her lips part as a forceful sigh leaves her lungs. She understands that she looks different, but the fact that her experiences with Melita matter so little that it makes no difference... it's wounding. She knows Melita is strong-willed, though, so she makes an effort. Even though it feels almost futile.
"I don't know, Melita," she answers, exhausted, "it just happened. Some kind of spirit did it, I think. Made me lose my knife, too.."
Which might seem like an irrelevant add-on but, to Aurelia, that knife had been everything she had left of her home, her world, her family. Now, it's just... gone, and she doesn't even look like herself anymore on top of it. A glassy sheen builds across her eyes as she averts them.
As for better things to do? "Gods," she scoffs, shaking her head at the ridiculously bitter sentiment. "Torchline needs an Arbiter. Sunjata asked me, and I.."
"Melita..." her voice feels firmer even though she herself doesn't. But she looks directly at the other woman anyway, "the Ark was never meant to be it. Even when I knew I couldn't go back home, I never planned to stay. I've always wanted something better. And so have you. And, well, I'm sorry, but I accepted the offer and I'm not taking it back." Her hands fall down around her sides and she looks at Melita through a mixed expression.
looking in the mirror, drop of rum on my tongue with the warning to help me see myself clearer
They didn’t matter very little – not at all. But Melita also didn’t want her experiences to be preyed upon, if this was a conundrum of specious things, of deceit, of wiles concocted well beyond her means. She’d never heard of such a thing – beyond maybe shapeshifters, or why a spirit would do it, and every part of her screamed some other infernal anarchy.
Fangorn, tired of it all, rolled his eerie eyes and advanced towards Aurelia – emboldened, audacious, much more like his companion then perhaps he’d ever been given credit for. Certainly the most level-headed between the two, he neared the Arbiter’s side, and sniffed at her shoes. A few low grumbles later, as if this secured all identity issues and crises, the gourd turned his head towards the foolish Melita, who could only hang her hands limply at her sides. “Sorry.” For what, she wasn’t sure. Doubting? The pumpkin gave Aurelia a swift nod, before plodding his way over to the rock again, muttering another round of incoherent jumbles and hisses, but they were likely pertaining to some manner of foolishness.
Her jaw still feathered and her fists clenched afterward on the round of other things though, a barely audible sigh twisting and turning through her chest. Sunjata in need of an Arbiter. There was quite an amount of truth to that statement – and so her eyes flickered down to the ground, to the stones, to everything else that seemed to hurt and notch and bleed, and she couldn’t explain why. “So just Jack and I, huh?” Finally ensued, and gods, wasn’t that depressing statement to make. And she could hear in Aurelia’s voice, in the response, in the ruminations that had been burning against her for an entire season now: I’ve always wanted something better and so have you.
Something far bigger than this.
Her voice was quiet, subdued, accepting because there wasn’t much else to do. No fight here or there, not for someone who’d wanted something and grasped it with both hands. “Well, you’ll have your hands full with this lot.”
She watches stiffly as Fangorn plods up to her feet, effectively… sniffing them. Or so she thinks that’s what he’s doing, anyway. His investigating goes undisrupted on her end, letting the companion do as he pleases - as she always has. Melita’s brief apology brings her gaze back up, mixed as it is. “Everything’s been.. a lot lately. I’m just-” she sighs, giving, “...I’m glad you believe me..”
Melita’s gaze wavers away to the stones and waves below, and Aurelia’s does too. Her hand comes up to hug the backside of her neck. “Yeah…” she murmurs in affirmation, silently understanding the reluctance there. Well, it’s not like she made things much better either. “Milo will probably sail with the crew,” she offers, as a means to soften the blow, “I’m sure if you ask..” she trails off, letting the implications tether themselves.
The empty, mirthless laugh that follows Melita’s remark feels rough against her ribs. She shakes her head, letting her hand drop back down to her side. “That I do… seems like Torchline isn’t its own worst enemy though. I uh… I don’t know if you’ve heard everything that happened to the Slagveld?” She lifts her eyes curiously up to Melita, “I thought you would’ve by now.”
looking in the mirror, drop of rum on my tongue with the warning to help me see myself clearer
While Fangorn settled, Melita remained a restless thing. It pooled in her muscles and extended through her fingers, so they itched and pulsed with the need to move. She crouched back towards her bag, listening, head bowed, as she organized the contents instead of leaving them in their haphazard arrangement, puzzling through the conflicting ruminations in her mind.
Poor Milo. The honeybee was fully aware she dragged him all over the place and he merely agreed to it – maybe too easygoing for his own good. “Only if he wants,” she shrugged, tired of this listless vibration rippling through her shoulders – wanting to rip it off like a bandage. Wanting to flee out of her skin. Wanting to surge across boundaries and entangle her way through fire and embers and flames instead of tying herself into these bizarre knots. Knuckles and bones and fragments of cinders; little pieces of coal flung around. What was the point of sailing? Of smuggling? When other things were surging?
She didn’t know. She didn’t have a clue. Never really had.
Melita only rose again when the words came across – something bristled in between her ribs and lungs, and she swallowed down the trace of its filaments as it echoed in her throat. “I did.” And about the companion. What Melita would've done, what she had threatened to do before, if anyone or anything had ever come after Fangorn. About everything else. “I thought I would just stay out of it.” Sunjata’s business again, and Aurelia’s now too apparently, because the former invited so many, and she only knew so much on the latter’s. She’d warred her way through enough; and no one seemed bothered to listen anyway.
With a sigh, she coiled her hair into a braid, striving to get it out of her face. “Do you want to blow off some steam? I need more practice with my knives.” More than death and desecration and other things she didn't want to name or feel.
She nods in agreement, having always been adamant that sailing with the Ark was his own choice. He shouldn't have simply because Aurelia was going, which he had admitted before was part of why. Now that she is no longer sailing with the crew, she wonders if he will continue to. Ultimately, she won't plant the idea in his head of joining them for the voyage this coming season. She'd always prefer to keep him close if she could.
As for everything that happened, and Melita staying out of it, she again nods. "That is probably for the best," she sighs, "it's not for you to fix, anyway. Even we can't." The ones that are supposed to, that are held responsible for everything that happened. No, there's no fixing any of it. There is only a choice to be made; move on or continue fighting.
So when Melita offers up the chance, Aurelia is quick to latch onto what she knows. If only because she needs to blow off that steam.
"Always." Stepping forward, she leans into a preparational stretch of her limbs before curling back toward herself. "But.. do you mind if we... don't use weapons or magic at all?" She'd seen enough of those things lately. "Just a bare knuckle brawl?" She smiles a bit at this, "You can make the first move," she adds, hoping this will make it sound more enticing.
looking in the mirror, drop of rum on my tongue with the warning to help me see myself clearer
Melita didn’t know what or how to fix anything anymore. She’d tried as best she could with what she had, and it hadn’t taken, hadn’t mattered. So she wondered too, in the back of her mind, what was worth the efforts, the time, the expense. She loved them all and would do anything for them; and still, the youth avoided her own family. Her fists clenched and unclenched, a sigh winding its way through her chest, bellows and echoes simply extinguishing back into the air as silent frustrations. A nod for the notions contained; no more to be said.
Regardless, fighting wouldn’t solve it, but it could air away the mounting pressures. With a grin suddenly lingering along her features, she too stepped forward, placing the knives back in the bag. “Sure.” She hadn’t done so in a long while – it’d be good to utilize muscles and upheaval again, rather than weaponry and munitions. Practice made perfect on all angles.
The acceptance would be the only thing Aurelia would receive before motions began – a stance taught by her uncle, and all the wildness curled and coiled within. Fast and swift, keen and bright, eager and incensed by everything and nothing at all, the honeybee surged forward, and then ducked slightly, aiming for Aurelia’s stomach.
Aurelia strikes a defensive posture with the apprehension that Melita will accept her offer. Her feet spread apart at the length of her shoulders and her hands come up, balling into ready fists. Any hint of a smile is gone with her concentration, with the way she takes this seriously, takes Melita seriously.
The anticipation she has doesn't necessarily mean that she plans on dipping and diving out of Melita's way at every opportunity. No. Quite the opposite. Maybe it's unexpected, but Aurelia takes the hit steadily, and rounds back against Melita. Her fist zips forward to jab in return, just between the collarbone and shoulder.
Afterwards, she takes a jolting step back and lifts one heel to send a strong kick toward Melita's abdomen.
looking in the mirror, drop of rum on my tongue with the warning to help me see myself clearer
Aurelia took the hit – which did surprise her, but not without the fanfare of pain or the billows of blows. Her brows furrowed slightly, befuddled and bewildered too in the way that an assault to the abdomen didn’t mar her opponent. Hm.
She ducked, but not quickly enough, Aurelia’s fist coming in the pursuit of her muscle; grinding inwards at the top of her arm. It ached and numbed; and she shook it amidst a hiss, a growl, so the pain radiated downward, so everything fizzled and flurried.
A pivot, a turn, swifter, rapid now, to avoid the kick towards her own stomach, and instead of utilizing her arm, and giving it an opportunity to recover, the honeybee launched her own movement of feet and limbs, aiming at the Arbiter’s knees. There was a strong desire to get her off-balance, sputtering and skittering across the rock surface; proper brawling conjectures.
Aurelia's taken far worse hits to far weaker locations on the body. Her abdomen, Melita will find, is muscular and firm to the touch. Even a touch that is meant to mar and take her breath away. No, Aurelia moves from one motion to another with grace and concentration, in spite of the anticipated hit.
In fact, the hit to the gut is not what makes Aurelia flinch but the way her knuckls are grazed by Melita's collarbone. Hitting it straight on causes a wicked sting of pain to shoot up the back of her hand, though she grits her teeth against it. The adrenaline that begins to course through her heart, flushing through her blood, helps her to ignore the pain.
A pain she feels she deserves anyway.
The kick launched at Melita misses wickedly, lending Aurelia into a far more vulnerable position than desired. She doesn't curse herself, though, perhaps doesn't have time to as a kick is thrown at the back of her own legs.
Down she goes, falling into the rocky sand with her arms flailing out to try and catch the balance taken from her. The landing will surely leave a bruise somewhere, though she doesn't feel it now.
Pouncing upward, Aurelia dives for Melita. She does not dive with a fist or a foot, no; she dives with the full force of her body, aiming to swing her arms around Melita and force them to roll into the oncoming tide.
looking in the mirror, drop of rum on my tongue with the warning to help me see myself clearer
