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
Melita had actually never thought of weaponizing Fangorn – but the notions suddenly connecting everything together made the sentiments very appealing. Perhaps she could train him how to wield more than just his fangs? She laughed out loud at Locke’s declaration, shaking her head, a layer of assurance rippling through even as her dagger found shirt and skin. “He’s just getting it for me,” though there was another devilish, demonic grin to follow.
This time she held her knife steady and certain as he swung for her side. It didn’t go catapulting off into the brightly hued water. It didn’t go lancing along. Instead, it caught against her own armament, and she snickered as it glinted, and she aimed to repel it away from her with a mighty shove – strong, steady, assured.
And if that worked, why she’d simply strive to aim for his chest on the rebound.
I am the ocean and the battered shore I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury
Oh gods, he's given her ideas. Great. He has a feeling their next training session won't go so lightly. Not that this one is. She's not playing like he is. Which is fine, he can take it. Maybe. The swing stretches the cut she's given him and he falters. She's able to block him and he almost looses his grip on his own knife. The shove knocks him wide and she's suddenly too close.
He wears no armor, only a light shirt to protect him from the worst of the sun and the occasional cold rain. Basically, there's little to stop the dagger beyond him trying to step back quickly enough. It grazes him but again, mostly superficial. He retaliates instinctively almost, swinging at her with not a blade but a clawed paw instead.
yes, yes, I am wild I am the wind that makes breathing hard
Melita hadn’t really known the stakes in the game – and though she wasn’t going full throttle, she certainly wasn’t giving him any easy edges, any gestures of light foibles. Perhaps it had been the way she’d been disarmed immediately that galvanized her so. Maybe it was because she rarely did anything by halves. Or it was Melita being Melita; all fire and brimstone.
With ideas and notions, she flickered off – smiling as he stepped back, as he was grazed, expecting she’d be able to dash off and circumspect her next available options. Thereafter though, there was a god damned clawed paw instead, and the slashes came quickly, efficiently, over her arm. Enough to make her hiss, and step back into his threshold immediately – summoning up a demeanor of irritation as blood pooled across the sun-tanned proportions.
From there, she aimed her serrated edges at the aforementioned paw.
I am the ocean and the battered shore I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury
The swipe connects and he growls in response, fangs where there were none moments before. He hisses, a deep rumbling noise as she slashes back at him. But he's not fast enough, the serrated blade meeting his paw. Just as quickly as it formed, it shifted back, a bleeding human hand in it's place. He shoots her a narrowed gaze as he steps back, pressing his hand into his chest, trying to stop the bleeding.
It's actually not that bad, it just caught him off-guard. He looks down, at the hand clutched to his chest, a grin cracks across his face for a moment. Locke schools his expression before looking up, worry on his face. "I thought we were trainin'.." His voice is shaky, like he might cry. (Or laugh)
A beat passes and he flops backwards into the water. He's dead. Good job Melita, you've killed him.
yes, yes, I am wild I am the wind that makes breathing hard
Well, this training certainly needed some parameters and lines drawn – because it was getting bloodier and dumber by the moment. Her eyes narrowed briefly at the spout of blood forming along his hand, and she had half a mind to shrug it all off and away – except then the Attuned was doing some bizarre measure of consternation and worry on his face, and then…
Falling backward into the water.
She blinked once or twice, instantly suspicious (surely he’d lost far more blood than that before). But temptation reared its ugly head, even as Fangorn went closer to sniff and ensure the baker was in fact, not dead, Melita sauntered over, head tilitng in study. Then, she placed one foot on his stomach, hands and dagger upheld in obvious declaration of triumph. “Victory!”
I am the ocean and the battered shore I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury
One hazel eye opens, just a peek, watching her stand there for a moment. He tries not to twitch away from Fangorn's investigation, even if he wants to. Another beat passes and now she's stepping on his stomach. The sudden change in pressure makes him cringe but he tries to school his expression. He knows his charade is up but he flails for good measure, tongue out and all.
One final jerk and he sits up suddenly, trying to grab her leg with a shout. If he can't scare her by being dead, he'll do it the old fashioned way. Screaming.
yes, yes, I am wild I am the wind that makes breathing hard
Her victory, though silly and ridiculous, was shortlived in this instance. If only because he wasn’t actually dead – which she hadn’t believed he was anyway, please – as his hands reached for her leg. With a loud, raucous round of laughter, she sprung backwards, at least alleviating the pressure of her foot, hands centering back over her dagger again, pinpointing it solely towards him with a Cheshire grin. His hands hadn’t entangled, hadn’t wrapped, hadn’t brushed over anything but a sudden kick towards his ribs – likely missing, but tempting all the same.
“All right, all right,” and she handwaved the debacle away. “That’s probably been enough for today. You need to be bandaged up,” and her weapon pointed at the flow of blood along his hand. “And I want cake.”
I am the ocean and the battered shore I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury
She jumps away, kicking at him with a laugh and he can't help but return the sound. He's glad she's willing to play his game. Deep down, he was afraid these moments would be more and more fleeting as time went on. For now, he'd cherish it, bleeding or not. He pushes himself all the way, pausing to steady himself before standing up.
"Alright alright. Remind me not to promise you anymore cakes. If you're going to be this demanding." He presses his bleeding hand into his side, it'll be enough for now until he gets back to his place to bandage it up. "You'll have to let me know what flavors you like. Or you can do some taste testing for me." Either way, he has a feeling he has a long afternoon ahead of him.
