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!
The amount of time he spends on the beach is truly ridiculous but he has always been and will always be a beach bum. He's currently got his hands in his pockets, it's a colder day than normal but the sun has only just come up. Not being on the Ark is a strange change of pace, really. The ground suddenly too solid and the time of day too unstructured. He never really thought the boat life was for him but hey! Maybe some of it was.
Speaking of the Ark, he spots a familiar set of red flaming locks down the beach. Locke quickens his pace just a bit, making his way over to her. "Melita? " They haven't been back for long but maybe he's a little fond of the girl. Well, as fond of someone as you can be without really knowing them. "Enjoying the morning breeze?" It's a nice day out, why wouldn't she be?
Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins
The letter crumpled into a ball in her hand, smushed between contempt, frustration, and some trace amount of bitterness. There were multitudes of reasons for it; some irrational, some reasonable, all pinpointed and segmented on lives uprooted and tossed haphazardly, as always. Maybe she should’ve always known better.
A few stones were kicked out of her path, and Fangorn knew better with the storm in her brow to march forward – trailing behind her, his residual vines snaking out along the sand. Her head refused to bow now though, and she tilted her cheeks to the autumn breeze along the coast as it whipped and cajoled, the turbulence much the same in her blood, in her bones. Some other hurricane brewing; beseeching, brimming. The weaponry, as always, bounded against her back as her legs took long, sweeping strides, covering over the beach as if she had a mission, when it was only to rush about and figure out what the hell she was going to do next. What to say. What to feel.
Her name tossed along the wind caused her head to tilt over her shoulder; recognizing Locke instantly. That he’d be calling out to her was surprising – most of her crewmates were over her shenanigans in one trip and left her alone for the rest of the season. “Oh, hi Locke,” she waved, ceasing only a moment as he trailed over. “Yeah. It’s nice to be home.” Though that was momentarily stifled by other news. Still, she didn’t remain vastly unpleasant, a little smile tucked in the corner of her mouth that signified nothing of the fire stoking in her mind. “What are you up to?”
She seems alright and he misses whatever frustration or anger is clouding her. "Just walking, looking for a place to do a little working out I suppose. Gotta work off the cake I made yesterday." He's been practicing said cake for a certain god but that's neither here nor there. He gives her a little grin as he scoots a bit closer. "What are you doing? How are you doing? Fangorn handling being home alright?" He's fond of the little pumpkin even if he's pretty sure he'd be bitten for trying to give him a pat.
His head tilts slightly as he looks at her, noting the bow on her back. "Hey.. Do you want to train with me some? Remember when Milo and Jack were throwing those harpoons.. Could give you a target and you'd give me something to dodge? Maybe?" He'll be fine if she hits him too.. Probably.
Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins
“Wait, cake? Why didn’t we get any on the Ark?” Teasing, lighter tones, far more appeasing and appealing than the war brewing behind her eyes – none of which was his fault. Besides the fact that they couldn’t bake on the ship, the youth shrugged it off, jocular precision rather than anything actually pressing or condemning. “I was walking down the beach.” Airing out her frustrations on random rocks, and then figuring she could conquer something else later, while she figured out how to word a certain letter in return. Her eyes lingered on her favored gourd, who tilted his head and made some inscrutable grumble. “He’s fine,” with an encouraging smile in addition to the fact.
She hadn’t expected the next round of inquiries, but given her current mood, it changed and altered things for the better. Gaze rounding, far more ebullient and excited at the prospects of violence and armaments, she clapped her hands together, reaching around to inspect her quiver. “Sure! I have some training ones too,” blunted at the end, so no one would get marred or wounded, holding one up for his inspection. “It’ll be nice to practice on a moving target.” She hadn’t in a while; purposefully anyway.
"Don't think Jack would've appreciated me burning down the ship for cake. That said, if you want some, could use a taste tester soon. Turns out I kinda like cooking for other people. Thinking of opening up a little place here.." He hasn't decided if he just wants to bake or what but he can't spend all his time focusing on the war. It's driving him insane. He needs something stable, something to look forward to after the war. Besides his kind of family, if he even gets to really be part of it.
Ohh, training arrows. He was hoping for something pointier but that's just him. He gives her a little grin. "Don't try not to hit me. I'm a big boy, I can handle a few arrows, okay? Give me a few seconds to get away from ya though." Locke shifts and heads a bit ways down the beach before turning to look at her, tail flicking in anticipation.
Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins
Melita waved her hand at the notion of caring about what Jack thought; she rarely had. As for taste testing? She could easily volunteer herself for that. “Ooh, that would be wonderful! Sure, I can do that,” came with an indulgent, wide grin, much like a child in a candy store.
But then there was the rest, and she immediately began to ready her bow, placing the blunted training dominion upon the string, listening to the taut strand as it snapped into place. “Oh, I wouldn’t,” came along another smile – vicious and frenetic, humming under her breath. And with that, eyes glancing around to ensure no other beach-goers were in line, in sight, or simply in the way, the youth gave him a nod. The chase would be on. “All right, off you go!”
Locke will need a few more test subjects for his food but Melita is a good start he thinks. Maybe he'll just post about it or something. He'll have time to figure it out when he's not playing target. He gives her a little kitty butt wiggle before taking off down the beach. The sand is slippery beneath his paws but its nothing his claws don't help with. Plus, there's something helpful about having four legs when it comes to balancing. He mostly tries to focus on the sound of the arrows, round ears flexing backwards to better hear behind him. The sound of the waves and the crunch of the sand is almost distracting but he tries to will himself to ignore it.
Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins
He set off, and she focused.
A drawn breath, a coiled machination, a process long since instilled in her muscles. Memory and moments, between a strand and strength, muscles pulling at its distinction until she could hear the familiar tug of the string coiled in her hands. Ready it pulsed and presided.
Then she took aim, eyes searching, watching, striving to embark on the patterns of his movement. Not to hurt or maim, but merely to hit. He wasn’t a creature she was hunting. He wasn’t an adversary she was hoping to diminish. This was not embedded in acrimony, hostility, or tempests.
But she strived nonetheless – releasing it to whip through the air, intending to snap and crackle, and hit him in the hip.
The twhip of the bowstring as its loosened catches his attention, ears swiveling back instinctively in a way he's not quite used to. The wind being cut by the feathers, another new sound and he doesn't manage to figure out where it's coming from before he's his squarely in the hip. It stings but nothing worse than an honestly thrown punch. He hisses, wanting to turn and bat the arrow away but it's already on the sand.
He turns, eyes golden, narrowed, as he stares at the woman further down the beach. Raw instinct courses through his veins for a moment. Her skin is pale, soft, bare for his teeth to sink into. But the sight of the arrow on the ground snaps him out of it and he lets out a low rumble. It's just training. He's still got a logical brain behind all of the raw nature.
Locke looks to the side, a few paces down the beach there is a tree. He wonders if he can make it up the tree before she can fire on him again.
Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins
Unaware of carnivore, raptorial inclinations (and perhaps she should’ve been – but Melita believed the Attuned capable of controlling themselves, even if she’d seen Sunjata not at his finest multiple times), the youth persisted. Long limbs snagged across the beach, the sand, accustomed and familiar with its sinking semblances, racing over to where her arrow had hit, and then subsequently fallen, due to its blunted nature.
Then her eyes caught his movement, and she tore after him. Would she be able to beat a jaguar in a footrace? Probably unlikely – but it didn’t mean the fiery youth wouldn’t try. Besides, her weapons could be far faster.
Much the same as before, the girl notched while she ran, only pausing to fire – eyes narrowing, pinpointing, then sending it off, intending for the armament to snag him somewhere along the shoulder.
She's fast, but he's faster. His muscles bunch and he leaps up the tree. Where she means to hit shoulder, she hits hip again instead. It earns something between a growl and a hiss and he quickly abandons the tree idea. But only after a pause. Then he dramatically falls into the sand, rolling onto his back and splaying his paws, as if dead. His head rolls to one side and he winks at the girl before lolling out his tongue.
He's dead Melita. You killed him. How dare you.
When she gets closer, if she chooses to, he will spring up and run away, towards the direction they came. If she doesn't draw closer, he will pause for a moment before running further down the beach, the direction he was going. No point in not playing some, right? Who needs to be serious all the time?
Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins
The honeybee wasn’t even remotely bothered when the arrow failed to meet the place she’d craved – that she hit him at all, and could hear a growl emitted, still made the spark of her smirk and snicker deepen. The dramatic pratfall thereafter, all deceased limbs and patheticness, earned Locke a solid laugh from behind her ribcage, howling along with the rest of the gulls in the vicinity. “Have you had enough then?” She screeched in return – taking a moment to retrieve her arrow, before rolling her eyes as the antics continued and persisted.
But apparently not – the game launching and leading elsewhere, and she shook her head in the nonsense, while taking it for what it was worth. Silliness. Distraction. Stupidity. Maybe they all needed a little more of it from time to time. With the armament clenched in her hand, she notched it once more, giving pursuit in a vicious, vehement sprint – long limbs flying through the sand, supplying her own version of merriment and juvenile antics.
She falls for his trap and he springs away, laughing through a bond she can't hear. How long has it been since he's felt this free? This capable of just not caring? It's no one's fault but his own really and he's glad Melita is there to indulge him. He'll have to bake up something special, just for her. He has no idea what she likes but he'll figure something out.
She nocks another arrow and he manages to hear it this time, even over the sound of the waves and scratchy sand. It takes merely a few paw steps to one side and the arrow is whizzing past him, burying itself in the sand. He simply keeps running, content to see how long she chases him for. He'll wear out eventually but he's having fun.
Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins
The crash and roll of the waves disguised the inevitable curse as her arrow failed to hit its mark – but not the ridiculous bout of laughter. Long limbs continued to carry her after the leopard, feet so used to the dunes, to the sand, muscles hardened from unwinding seasons doing exactly this. She crouched only for a moment to pull her armament out of the surf and swell, giving him enough time to strive and get away.
And for her to not yield. “You need to be faster than that!” By way of a howl and a tease, taunting as they continued the ridiculous game until one of them was the wiser of the duo – and could remember what it was like to rest.
