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Post by Mosspath27 on Mar 12, 2020 21:06:41 GMT -5
( ℊℓоω quick, save me from F5'ing the news) |
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ℊℓоω
ɴᴏ ᴀᴅᴍɪᴛᴛᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴇxᴄᴇᴘᴛ ᴏɴ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ ʙᴜsɪɴᴇss
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Post by ℊℓоω on Mar 12, 2020 21:56:28 GMT -5
[ Mosspath27 omg dude I was joking in my last post, but holy crap things have gone down in the last 48 hours. The world is crazy rn. I'm having to move out of my apartment in the next 24 hours plus worry about school. I did not expect things to change this fast. I'll write a post tonight, though, just as a way of getting my mind off things. But yeah, I feel ya about constantly checking the news. Seems like big news breaks every ten minutes or so. ]
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Post by 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 on Mar 12, 2020 22:05:31 GMT -5
[ imma get a post up for Kvasir as well ]
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Post by 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 on Mar 13, 2020 1:59:04 GMT -5
. K v a s i r .
Which came first, the mountain, or the sea?
Not even the eldest could say,
Whether first came wave or tree.
Which came first, the silence, or the song?
Not even the rowan could say,
Had it a voice and lived so long.
The words of the old song echoed in Kvasir’s head with a resounding rhythm, thrumming in time with each beat of his heart. Before him, stretched across the worn wooden table, was countless books and scrolls. Kvasir ran his fingers across the scroll nearest him, which recounted the song currently dancing through his mind. It was an old song, written by someone named Jess E. Owens, who was long dead and buried, bones turned to dust. Like his mother would be, over the next few months. It still didn’t seem real – that the queen was dead, that the kingdom was operating without a ruler. His mother had been so vibrant and healthy one moment, and in the next… she was simply gone. As if someone – or something – had cut whatever tie life had to her. One breath she was there, and the next she’d ceased to be. All that had made her, her… it had vanished. Washed away by the tides. Blown away by the breeze, leaving only the mortal shell behind.
Kvasir took a moment to roll the scroll up and return it to its place on a nearby shelf. The Song of First Light had no place amongst his inner monologue now. It was a song for beginnings and happy times. Not for grief and sorrow and death. There were other songs for that. His eyes danced across the shelf for a moment before he spotted what he was looking for. The Song of the Last Light. Kvasir grabbed the scroll and unrolled it, stormy gaze dancing across the parchment. Its author was the same as the previous song.
Which rises first, the night wind, or the stars?
Not even the owl could say,
Whether first comes the song or the dark.
Which fades last, the birdsong, or the day?
Not even the sky could tell,
Whether last stills the sun or the jay.
Only the long day brings rest
Only the dark of night, dawn.
When the First knew themselves, the wise will say,
They took their names to the Sunlit Land
But their Voice in the wind sings on.
His fingers tightened over the parchment slightly, but he was careful not to damage the fragile surface. Silently he returned the scroll and took another few moments to tidy up his desk, stacking the books and straightening the papers and writing utensils. The castle was no doubt full of people who were there to offer their condolences. As the Crown Prince, it would be Kvasir’s duty – along with his eldest sister, and his twin – to greet them. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to leave the quiet of his study. Not yet.
Not yet.
The prince sat down heavily in his chair, turning to peer out of the window that gave him quite the view of the royal gardens. Although he faced the window, he didn’t really see anything. His gaze was focused inward, to the turmoil within. He hadn’t been particularly close with his mother, considering his interests lay towards the scholarly rather than ruling, much to his mother’s annoyance and frustration, but their strained relationship didn’t mean he loved her any less. She was his mother. Gods, it was odd to think of her in the past tense.
He closed his eyes, turning away from the little sun that filtered in through the window, past the pounding rain that had soaked the city for days. It seemed as though the world itself was mourning, as if the sun couldn’t bring itself to shine after the death of the queen. Kvasir supposed he understood. The kingdom would expect him to rise up, to shine where his mother’s light had once been, but he didn’t know if he could. All his life he’d been raised to be the future king, but it was so far from what he desired. So far from who he truly was, who he wanted to be. Araidne… she was what one imagined when they thought of a true queen. She was kind-hearted, but easily led astray. That was what worried Kvasir. He’d be willing to rescind the crown to her, if he wasn’t almost positive someone would take advantage of her.
Kvasir could handle himself, even if people didn’t believe so. Although he was far more studious than warrior-like, he was an expert at reading people and was blessed with an eidetic memory. He never forgot a face, never forgot a slight. He could play the great game with the best of them.
Kvasir drew in a deep breath from his nose and exhaled through his mouth. He reached deep for his strength, for the mask of a royal. His face smoothed out as he stood, ensured his garb was befitting the future king, and then exited his study. It was time to face the future – time to accept it.
Only in stillness the wind,
Only from ice the flame.
Kvasir’s steps were swift, and within a moment or two he’d arrived at the throne room. His sister had apparently retired, although many of the nobles still loitered about. He murmured an excuse, and departed to find Ariadne.
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ℊℓоω
ɴᴏ ᴀᴅᴍɪᴛᴛᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴇxᴄᴇᴘᴛ ᴏɴ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ ʙᴜsɪɴᴇss
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Post by ℊℓоω on Mar 13, 2020 1:59:36 GMT -5
. A r i a d n e .
The soldier burst into the hallway and Ariadne tried not to look panicked. The truth was, it reminded her of something that had happened when she was a child. Once, when she was playing quietly with her dolls in one of the sitting rooms, a wild goose flew in an open window. Feathers cascaded around the room, the maid screamed, and Ariadne was too stunned to do anything at all. It was an absurd spectacle. One moment she had been in the quiet world inside her head, in the next, she was confronted with something so unexpected that she was unable to react at all. She remembered watching, mouth open, as the bird crashed around the room, breaking anything in its chaotic path.
“I, uh…sorry, m- to disturb you, my lady, I was looking for…well, I didn’t expect you were here, is all, but I was supposed to bring a message to give to somebody to give to you, because Captain Sir Haciulf Rocstune said you wouldn’t say ‘no’ to hungry soldiers, and I guess that means he thinks we’re going to be hungry soon and I don’t know why," floundered the boy.
Was she the goose in this situation? Or was he? She was unable to decide.
Ariadne tightened her jaw in an attempt to remain composed. She had no idea who he was or what he was talking about. But she knew she ought to know, and that made her chest seize with worry. Hungry soldiers?
“I think he said he just wanted to be sure we were still getting paid is all. My lady.”
Ariadne's eyes were wide. She scanned the face of the soldier as if looking for signs of emaciation. A knot was turning in the pit of her stomach. She was unaware which troops he was referencing, though the Captain's name sounded vaguely familiar. "I--" she paused. She knew it would be best to consult Konstanz or one of her advisers before making important decisions, but she also didn't want to sound uneducated on the state of her own kingdom. "Yes of course. Tell Rocstune that his men will be compensated. Thank you for bringing this matter to my attention."
. K o n s t a n z .
"Blackrunner. Rowena Blackrunner." The girl planted her hands on her hips, which reminded Konstanz of a painting he once saw of an explorer surveying a stretch of idyllic land. The girl, thankfully, was willing to participate in his little game. She gave him a quick look over and then added: "You're the Queen's brother."
A pause hung in the air as he waited for her to complete his title. When she failed to do so, a dry smile pulled at the corner of his mouth and he remarked, "In-law." He said it in a dismissive way, as if the identifier was a mere formality. Brother, brother-in-law, it didn't matter. In truth, the Queen had been a sister to him. They had known each other long enough to make it partially true.
The Blackrunner girl bent her head as a sign of respect or condolence. Her expression seemed genuine, and he took her gesture to be a kind one. When she looked back at him, his mouth straightened into a polite smile. "I'm sorry for your loss, I can't imagine how hard it must be to lose a sibling."
He bent his head slightly. "Yes, it's true," he said softly. Indeed it was hard to lose a sibling. The death of his brother, the king, had been one of the darkest times of his life. The passing of Elenara was less so, however. He was taking it rather well--though he had yet to identify why. It wasn't for lack of love. Nor had they parted on bad terms. Perhaps each death of a loved one had a little less sting? Hm. These were thoughts for another time.
"Then, I guessed you right," said Konstanz, as a flash of pride danced across his features. He took another bite of his pastry and looked emphatically around the room, as if he was letting her in on a secret. "There are peasants among us. I've begun to identify the classic tells. I'd tell them to you now, but you never know who's eavesdropping and I don't want to offend." And then he proceeded to let her in on his game. "What do you think of that woman?" he said, gesturing with his pastry to a woman who was examining the curtains on the nearest window. "Distant relative or tourist?"
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Post by Mosspath27 on Mar 13, 2020 10:29:41 GMT -5
(I got a surprise three-day warning to scarper from the campus. How exciting.)
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Post by 𝕊’𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖 on Mar 13, 2020 11:34:02 GMT -5
(Hi everyone! I’ll try to get a reply up today, things have been crazy recently)
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Post by Mosspath27 on Mar 13, 2020 18:47:22 GMT -5
(Forgive the brevity of this post, mainly trying to unshackle Ariadne while I spend the weekend on a train with no wifi.)
Is that it? thought the wayward Martin Wardnar to himself as he examined the intricacies of the floor. Is it just that easy? Awkwardly, he stood for a moment, considering his options, his mind mysteriously blank.
“Is there…anything…” else? That I can do? No, you fool, you have your orders, go back to Sir Haciulf. Wait a minute, why did she hesitate? She shouldn’t—well, she was probably solving whatever it was he was concerned about, they know what they’re doing!
“Er, sorry,” he finally said. “I mean, about that but also the queen, and-.” Salvation! Steps behind him forced his mind into focus. “-I mustn’t keep you longer, I’m sure,” he finished in a most impressive exhibition of speaking all seven words at the same time. In a flourish, he spun quickly counter-clockwise. The lack of weight on his chest compelling him to spin too far and his first step was to what had been his right before he corrected his course back the way he came.
His heart nearly stopped when he came face-to-face with another high noble. His hand flew to his brow, to discover he still had no hat, and he quickly bowed. “M’LORD!” he gabbled before breaking into a half-walk, half-sprint toward the palace exit, his face flushed to resemble a Desan vacationer on a summer’s day on a Nurmery beach, and muttering something about life dreams and milksops.
(Unless I get up to exciting amusement on the train, I think I’ll start conniving with Rocstune. Intrigue characters will probably have an idea he’s up to something already.)
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Post by 𝕊’𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖 on Mar 13, 2020 21:57:20 GMT -5
Okay so she had gotten the exact relation wrong. Rowena would admit that she didn’t exactly pay that close of attention to the royal family, despite knowing that she really should. Especially considering she had a brother that would be marrying into it, thus tying her to the family as a distant in-law. But if Rowena was being honest here, she just couldn’t quite bring herself to care enough to actually learn the exact details of who was who in the royal family. The point was that they were related and that’s what mattered.
Still, not letting the slip up throw her off balance, Rowena responded with a small shrug of her shoulders. “My apologies then, I’m afraid I don’t come out this way all that often,” she admitted. Though if anything, she had still known that he was family to the queen in some way, so she was going to give herself a point for that.
Tilting her head to the side, Rowena brushed some of her long black hair back and followed Konstanz’s pastry until she found who he was pointing at. She seemed to be eyeing the curtains with a sense of amazement that wasn’t commonly found in someone that actually lived with nice curtains on a day to day basis. Plus, despite her attire being better than what most peasants would wear, it still appeared a little worn in her opinion.
“Hmm, I would have to say tourist,” Rowena decided, cupping her chin with her hand. ”I don’t know about you, but I never spend that much time admiring curtains,” she explained. Quite frankly, she was more likely to spend the time complaining about the curtains until they got something better.
(Sorry it’s so short!)
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Post by Mosspath27 on Mar 16, 2020 23:23:03 GMT -5
(Wrote this on the train, so any mistakes are either because the train was rocking on a bad stretch of line in North Dakota or because I did it at 3 AM; also do let me know if my vision of what retinue commanders can do is inconsistent with the original vision of the kingdom.)
"Directly to the princess?"
Wardnar shrugged meekly. "I couldn't find Maximillian and I couldn't just put her off. What does it matter anyway? Wasn't the message for her anyway?"
Rocstune leaned back in his chair and studied the ceiling. "It was, yes. I suppose it matters little at all, and we now know that a claimant to the throne of the kingdom will hold counsel with…well, you, I guess.”
Wardnar frowned, sensing he was being slighted. He feared the clairvoyance of his captain, though, and suddenly wondered if the knight before him knew he’d made a bungling of his presentation.
In the silence, Rocstune had not enough clairvoyance to make an adequately truthful denial. Experience drove him, not supernatural talent. “Do you read your Gray?”
“Gray? Andrew Gray, the gentleman? No, m’lord, I’ve heard he’s a-“
“Gray is a heathen and a traitor to the crown, but he’s the only man writing history without a horse in the race in the merchant wars overseas, and he’s got the only account of my war worth reading.” Faced by nonplussed ignorance, Rocstune sighed. “You have it all wrong, Wardnar. The modern knight can’t just pray anymore. He’s got to know what he’s praying for, and that means being educated.”
Wardnar blinked, stung by the implication that the man with a reputation for being a bumpkin was calling him uneducated. Come to think of it, he didn’t have any idea how Rocstune could have learned to read, and at the present moment, he was far too embarrassed to ask about it. “Is…that all, m’lord?”
“Yes, that is all.” Rocstune listened as Wardnar departed, only drawing his gaze away from the ceiling when he heard the door to his office close. “Office” perhaps was a strong word, for it was a cordoned off section of his quarters with a rectangular table designed to seat four gentlemen diners with their courses and three chairs, his own facing the door and slightly more impressive than the two opposite his behind the table. For a moment, the captain rubbed above his brows with his index fingers, massaging away the threat of a tension headache, and relaxed the muscles that fired his brain. There was a quill pen and several sheets of paper before him, and beside them, long lists and inventories that he had ordered compiled. Then his mind wandered ever so slightly from the tranquility into which he was encouraging himself to immerse, and remembered the sad fate of the average retinue captain in times of succession.
And so, it was back at his furious work. He had, he reckoned, two choices, the two that he had seen before in foreign lands with perfect regularity. The first was to simply sit tight and wait to be replaced. Every captain who waited got replaced. Rocstune’s fortune was made by the queen, his title (empty as it was) granted by the queen, his loyalties secured by the fallen queen, and he was certain every candidate for the throne, should they ascend, would want their personal army to be led by somebody who owed as much to them. There was no shortage of candidates either; each had their own family members to promote, plus the likes of men such as Rodolff, the untested knight who apparently could do no wrong. If war with Sybrun was on the horizon, raising a soldier of fortune with military experience to the post with an eye to later moving him to captain-general was as idea. The poor queen’s idea, as it happened, in bringing Rocstune in, before she had managed to keep relative peace.
So that left the second option: fight for his position. To a man, every example Rocstune could think of who had tried it was killed within five years, either by battle, by hanging, or by intrigue. His good fortune was that he was old enough to despair little about the danger. His children, if he had any and if any were still alive, would already be used to his absence. It was a quick decision to, as a wise man phrased it, “to do what I always do: I’ll stand and fight.” His queen’s corpse had not yet chilled before he had the Ineover town militia called up on his (overextended) authority. His freed retinue now casually occupied every tower (for the safety of nobility!) as if it were wartime. Rocstune didn’t have a clue whether his titular duchy made him eligible to join the feast in the evening, but he didn’t care. Instead of attending, he would use the distraction to replace several the queen’s appointed lieutenants in the Ineover militia with his own choices.
Rumors had swirled about a murder. Rocstune hadn’t seen the corpse, but his opinion was that the queen had been too young and vital to have perished of natural causes. Plus, there was enough talk about knives to suggest the weapon of choice was not in question. The fact that there was somebody in the world ambitious and conniving enough to kill his queen concerned him. That somebody in the world would stand beside her to thrust a knife into her infuriated him. He might even have had the resources to investigate the issue, and he instead played politics. He sighed, realizing guilt was clouding his mind, preventing him from understanding the muster roll in front of him. He could apologize at her grave later; she would surely forgive him. All he really needed was for nobody to get the bright idea to accuse him of the crime.
His choices were made, and he leaned back. The kingdom was sluggish in its response, he felt, although he knew it had to do with its size. A microstate that could be circumnavigated in a day had a far easier time choosing up sides for its dynastic struggles. His message to Ariadne had been, in part, because he had run out of things to do and not yet been challenged, and he had realized the value of having an income flow from anybody with a reasonable claim to the treasury. Of course, he had his doubts that Wardnar had adequately explained the situation, given his tendency to wallow in his own unworthiness in the face of princesses.
The larger state, the longer times, and Rocstune found himself with enough time on his hands to second guess his plans. Perhaps he would try to enter the feast. No, because he needed to personally make the muster roll changes. My duchy for a lieutenant, he grumbled to himself and set to writing memorandums.
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Post by Mosspath27 on Mar 17, 2020 0:16:25 GMT -5
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Post by 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 on Mar 18, 2020 1:20:11 GMT -5
( my computer is being repaired and then I will be back to posting )
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Post by 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 on Mar 18, 2020 19:21:08 GMT -5
( I get it back tomorrow (: )
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Post by Amber on Mar 19, 2020 0:21:44 GMT -5
(I'm not doing anything right now, so plotting would be fun.)
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ℊℓоω
ɴᴏ ᴀᴅᴍɪᴛᴛᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴇxᴄᴇᴘᴛ ᴏɴ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ ʙᴜsɪɴᴇss
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Post by ℊℓоω on Mar 19, 2020 0:21:57 GMT -5
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Post by 𝕊’𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖 on Mar 19, 2020 0:28:00 GMT -5
I’m down to plot, plus I could use the distraction ngl
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Post by ɪɴᴛʀᴀɴꜱɪɢᴇɴᴛ on Mar 19, 2020 18:58:34 GMT -5
[ hey! This looks super interesting and well thought out! Would I be able to possibly please claim the herbalist ? I would love to pick a low commitment character just because right now things are uncertain at my university/work so I don’t want to have too important of a character ] |
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Post by ɪɴᴛʀᴀɴꜱɪɢᴇɴᴛ on Mar 19, 2020 19:24:59 GMT -5
[ I would love to while I work on my character! C: <3 ] |
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Nov 21, 2024 15:09:07 GMT -5
Nov 21, 2024 15:09:07 GMT -5
