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!
Trying to figure out the best way to trap a Hel was proving rather difficult. They were deceptively fast and agile. One step towards them and they would scatter. Aidon couldn't pin one down without potentially hurting it and a blunted arrow would surely kill it. Her whip wasn't an option either unless she wanted roasted Hel for dinner. The Nightshade let out a colorful stream of curses as she attempted another grab at a Hel that wandered too close, missing it by an inch and losing any chance of seizing it as it flew away, taking to the overcast sky.
With a heavy sigh, the queen straightened up, sitting in the sand with her arms around her knees as she caught her breath. This was going to be a lot harder than she thought. She just had to be smart about it. That's all.
So come on, give me a taste Of what it's like to be next to you Won't let one drop go to waste
Your metaphorical gin and juice
Along the further stretch of the beach, Melita watched.
She hadn’t meant to – the youth had been collecting some more wood for future bonfires, and the distraction between splashing water and a rampaging Nightshade had done enough to rivet and segment her attention upon the scene. The honeybee wasn’t laughing, but it was hard to withhold the giggles as she watched the Queen clearly trying to catch a Hel. The reason was beyond her at the moment – it was just bemusing to watch the wings take flight, the flock scatter, and then the stream of curses igniting across the sands.
Humming a little to herself, shouldering the weapons at her disposal, she dropped the sticks and logs into their designated pile. “Come on,” she whispered to Fangorn, as if this was a secret and they had to do their best to ensure it remained as such. “Let’s see if we can help.” And then she settled into a wandering pace, venturing in the same direction as Maeve, until she pretended to spot her sulking along the dunes.
“Oh, hello!” Eyes flicking, tracing over the wake of obviously disgruntled Hels nearby, she only slowly inclined her head back in the direction of the monarch. “What are you up to?”
Truthfully, Maeve was too caught up in her own irritations at the lack of success that she didn't even realize that she had an onlooker. Aidon had, of course, but the dragon was much too interested in waiting for Fangorn to come play than informing his bonded of her friend's arrival on the beach. The Nightshade was just about tempted to throw in the towel and think about setting a trap for one of the damned creatures when Melita's voice caught her ear. Head snapping the direction of the Honeybee, Maeve still managed a small smile, huffing out an exasperated laugh. "Hello yourself. I'm trying to catch a Hel."
And surely there would be the question of why so the Nightshade proceeded to add on, "It's for Safrin. To practice getting faster." Maeve pushed herself up from the sand, brushing it from her clothing and shooting a scathing look towards the birds in question, "You ever caught one before?"
So come on, give me a taste Of what it's like to be next to you Won't let one drop go to waste
Your metaphorical gin and juice
Still settling into the pretenses, Melita arched a brow, acting surprised and shocked by the revelation. “Oh?” Safrin kept the Nightshade busy, or perhaps it was the other way around, seemingly always with something to do or orchestrate along Torchline.
As for the Hels? The honeybee put her hands on her hips, glancing upwards, towards the gulls flying high – taunting measures, if she were to hazard a guess. As Fangorn bounded over to Aidon and attempted to instigate some sort of throwing game (with sand? Small rocks? She wasn’t certain), the youth shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve hit quite a few with arrows and set them on fire.” Did that count? An additional pause was taken, considering. She could probably use blunted ends if it necessary. “Do they have to be alive?”
It was a bit of both, truthfully. Maeve had yet to leave the shrine without a quest after visiting Safrin. This wasn't always intentional, but the herald was very generous with the Nightshade, giving her plenty of opportunity to grow stronger and prove herself useful time and time again. "I wanted to get faster and this is what she would have me do to accomplish that." Maeve didn't pretend to always understand the wishes of the heralds that she served, but she took whatever direction was given to her without complaint.
Did they have to be alive? Maeve wasn't sure, but a part of her imagined that they needed to be. Safrin told her to catch one. Not kill one. Her brows drew together for a moment and she finally nodded, "Yes, I believe so." Came the reply just as Aidon came bounding to meet Fangorn half way, trilling and growling playfully, rearing up on his back legs as the gourd tossed a few pebbles his way. This wasn't a game he was really made for playing, but not to be deterred, the dragon delicately grabbed the pebble between his teeth and tossed it like a a cat with a mouse.
So come on, give me a taste Of what it's like to be next to you Won't let one drop go to waste
Your metaphorical gin and juice
Melita shrugged her shoulders, nodding along in compliance with the explanation. It didn’t matter to her, really – there were all kinds of ways one could achieve and expand their dexterity. Instead, she focused her intentions and attention on the Hels – glaring at them in her seditious grandeur, hand raised to shield her eyes from the sun. She studied their movements, their motions, as she’d done so many times before; fully intending for their mocking laughter and derision to cease. “I can probably knock them down with a training arrow.” Blunted at the end, so the gull wouldn’t be pierced, lacerated, or diminished within an instant.
So while Fangorn and Aidon intended to amuse themselves, as per the norm (the gourd had picked up one of the stones and tossed it at the dragon with the notched vines – though the honeybee couldn’t be certain how the other companion was supposed to throw it back), Melita focused on other parameters and possibilities. “Do you have something to put it in? Like a cage, or some netting?” A bag? She didn’t want to send it askew, and to the ground, without those measures in place; notions for the Nightshade while she snagged at her weaponry, readying the armaments.
They were laughing at her. Maeve would wipe out the whole lot of them if she didn't desperately need one alive. Damn birds. Maeve pushed up from the sand, brushing the granules off of her clothes, eyes flicking over to their companions. Fangorn threw his pebble and Aidon caught the damn thing. Almost swallowing it in the process. He managed not too, though. Instead of throwing it, seemingly uncapable of really doing so, the dragon practically spat it back at the gourd instead. It didn't go too far, but it didn't need to. "I thought about that, but I was worried I'd have too much force behind it. Given how irritated I am with the little beasts." Maeve almost snarled, hands on her hips, eyes narrowed in their direction.
She jerked her head back towards the bag and cage she had sitting in the sand off to the side. "Unfortunately I'm going to have to keep the thing alive. Maybe I'll task Paige with feeding it." The Nightshade mused, shifting to grab the bag, readying it as Melita readied her own armaments.
So come on, give me a taste Of what it's like to be next to you Won't let one drop go to waste
Your metaphorical gin and juice
The honeybee snickered slightly at the notion of too much force, derision, or contempt behind the pulse of a string; understood the nature of such belligerence. But since she had no hate or loathing towards the gulls, perhaps she’d be better suited to flinging the armament into the sky. “All right, get ready,” was the only warning Maeve would receive – the girl’s eyes flicking over to the bag and cage. “Paige would probably like that anyway,” she mentioned with a laugh, before applying herself to the task, only shaking her head at Aidon and Fangorn (the gourd seemed to be picking up the spat out stone and throwing it again).
Notching the blunted arrow, she maneuvered and aimed, away from the beams of sunlight in her eyes, away from the other miscreants, pinpointing on a single bird that seemed to be hovering lower than the rest of its flock. Maybe it was weak. Maybe it was distracted in that mocking sort of outcry. Either way, Melita presided in her aim – confident and cool, a breath instilled in her lungs, and then released the strand.
Fangorn and Aidon were plenty distracting on their own and if it wasn’t for Melita’s warning then the Nightshade might not have been prepared for what was coming next. With dexterity that came from years of dance, training, and learning how to properly move her body Maeve sprung into action. The bag she had was poised and ready to strike as soon as the opportunity arose. It didn’t long to happen. Melita drew her arrow back, releasing it with swift precision and hitting the mocking Hel from the sky, making it cry out as it tumbled towards the ground.
Maeve lurched forward, dashing to meet it before it hit the sandy shore, bag extended to catch the flying rat once and for all. The next few seconds happened in a blur, but the Nightshade came out triumphant, the bag clasped tightly in her hands. ”Not so smug now, huh?” She huffed as the Hel continued its struggle inside the bag.
So come on, give me a taste Of what it's like to be next to you Won't let one drop go to waste
Your metaphorical gin and juice
The whole thing had bene relatively effortless; the arrow striking, the Hel falling, and Maeve grabbing. She hadn’t permitted Fangorn and Aidon’s antics to distract or deter her, and it altogether clustered well. She prospered a haughty half-smile as the bird was shoved into the bag, though a semblance of restlessness persevered through her shoulders; as if mildly disappointed that it was over and done with. “There. Seems like you’re all set.” Maybe she hadn’t had enough violence or vehemence, and it left her with the slightest of pouts; limbs constantly ready for some action. “I don’t suppose you need anymore?” Or at least the wild youth appeared far more apt for any excuse to shoot the rest of the flock down into the sand.
Maeve pushes herself out of the sand, tying off the bag with a huff, shaking her head as she looks over at Melita with a grin. "No, I don't need anymore, but I wouldn't be opposed to culling the flock a bit. We get overrun with these little bastards." She says, jerking her head towards her own whip that rests against a nearby log. Maeve shifts towards it, grabbing the coiled weapon in her hand, fingers flexing around the handle of it.
"First one two five has to get the other a drink?" She proposes, a smirk curling on her lips at the idea of a little competition. Maeve trots back towards Melita, uncoiling her weapon and igniting it with a crack.
So come on, give me a taste Of what it's like to be next to you Won't let one drop go to waste
Your metaphorical gin and juice
Competition was probably the only excuse Melita needed (if it was a necessity at all – there was often only the overwhelming semblance of movement, motion, and restlessness coiled in the nettling of her spine to drive her onward). With the depths of her smirk suddenly, infinitely, in place, the Cheshire grin unfurled acceptance. “You’re on.” Fully expecting herself to win, of course.
So the youth snagged at her weaponry, and didn’t bother with the training proportions any longer. Might as well pierce, maul, and devastate – grabbing hold of the lightning portions, snicker never leaving. Listening to the sizzle, to the snap, to the crackling, popping regards as she notched it along the strand, Melita took a long, wayfaring breath. Thereafter, she lifted it upwards, pinpointing, scouting, and then tilting her head a fraction, rejoicing in the whistle as the arrow was released, singing its way through the air – clamoring for a bird.
It pierced with a mighty shock, and the Hel fell moments later.
Maeve didn't care one way or another if Melita won. It was all about practice. A little friendly
competition never hurt anyone. Aidon continued playing his little game with Fangorn, picking up the rock and tossing it to and fro like a dog might do a stick. Too caught up in what they were doing to give much care to the antics of their bonded. Maeve ignited her whip with a crack, lashing out at the closest Hel just as Melita released her arrow, both of which landed their mark and left them tied.
With a smirk the Nightshade took off in a sprint towards the driftwood log that was washed up on the shore, using it as a vault to leap into the air, striking out against her next target. With a loud crack the whip flashed through the air in a trail of fire and embers, igniting its next unfortunate victim in a flash of burning feathers.
So come on, give me a taste Of what it's like to be next to you Won't let one drop go to waste
Your metaphorical gin and juice
Though Melita couldn’t win everything, she certainly never had, when given moments to justify her behavior, she adhered to the competitive angles quickly, decisively. Foolishly too, but perhaps that was beside the point. The wildfire youth clambered for another arrow the moment she saw the Nightshade take down another, arching her brow at the strategy. She might’ve commented on burnt feathers, but glancing at her zapped, still somewhat sparking Hel, she wisely kept her mouth shut.
While Fangorn intermingled with Aidon over silly things (though she could see him going for the felled bird out of the corner of her eye – hoping he didn’t intend to play around with it), she drew her next shot. Picking one a little farther away, placing some modicum of difficulty on the motion, she drew back her strand, listening to the snap, crackle, and pop of the armament again. It sung beside her ear, humming a lull, a tune, of promised demolition. And as it was released, scattering some more of the birds, it found its mark.
The bird only had a moment to squeak, shudder, and distort, unraveling into a tailspin until it hit the sand.
