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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Nov 12, 2021 4:19:29 GMT -5
Callan was relieved Elena had paused to hear him out, but he could tell even as he spoke that she didn’t believe him. He couldn’t blame her for that; there was really no reason why she should. But the sinking feeling in his chest told him that if she didn’t believe him or find out the truth things wouldn’t end well.
Sure, he’d always been taught that the truth would always come out eventually, but in this case it wouldn’t help him. The truth needed to hurry itself up before Elena got bored of keeping him alive or got angered by his refusal to admit to this thing he didn’t do.
As she grabbed his face, he was struck with surprise that he hadn’t recognised her at first. The eyes that searched his expression were exactly the same, though they’d lost something they’d had the last time the pair had met. Lost something and gained something else.
When she mentioned drowning, his eyes widened in shock. That was what they’d done to her? He couldn’t imagine how awful that was.
He wanted to tell her again that he’d had nothing to do with it. That he couldn’t be sorrier that it had happened, but she had the wrong man. If he’d been there he wouldn’t have stood and watched on in silence while it happened. But he knew that would be be a waste of breath.
She’d already deemed him guilty, anything he said would only make matters worse.
He stayed silent when she insulted Tia. She was not spoiled, and he would defend her on that forever. And he wasn’t her bitch. Not that he expected Elena to know the details of his friendship with Tia and Carlo. Still, he said nothing. He usually had a problem with knowing when to hold his tongue, but this was not one of those times. This time it was more than clear.
Done, Elena moved past him, already heading back to her camp. In theory he could run right then, but if he did get away, where would he go? He didn’t know this forest, and he also didn’t know how to find Lilith’s camp. Even if he could find his way back to the road, there was no way he could face returning without Carlo. Certainly no way he could abandon him in these woods.
Sure, Elena might decide to go back on her deal and kill him, and then Carlo would be without him either way. But at least Callan would have tried. At least he would have, as much like his father as it made him sound, done his duty.
So he’d risen to his feet and followed her back, even managing to swallow the anger when she threatened Carlo. He couldn’t let her push his buttons if he was going to survive here.
Besides, he didn’t actually think she’d do that. He believed she might change her mind about the deal and kill him, but Carlo? No. Carlo was too valuable to kill out of spite. Elena knew that. Besides, if Crius was any indication, she had a soft spot for kids. Not to mention that he didn’t think the other woman, Lilith, would take kindly to Elena killing her prisoner. No, he felt sure that Carlo was safe.
All he had to do was keep himself alive for just a little longer. That didn’t have to be so hard, did it? Just until he could figure out how to get him and Carlo away from here.
But he knew as he headed back with Elena that she wasn’t going to make that easy for him.
The thing was, if she had no doubt that it was really him who’d done this, why hadn’t she killed him yet? Maybe she wanted him to admit it, wanted to see him beg and plead first. Maybe the deal she’d made was holding her back, though that seemed less likely.
Maybe, just maybe, some part of her wasn’t actually sure.
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inky
I'm a free woman again! At least until the semester starts up :D
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Post by inky on Nov 13, 2021 2:33:01 GMT -5
»Eden Mullinax With ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ 𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕨
The woman watched her leader's reaction to the boy. There wasn't too much of a reaction to see though, the usual stone cold stare. Her mind had been racing was she getting yelled at? Of course the first big task she'd been given she'd almost slipped up on, that just made perfect sense. So she simply stood there spinning the flower as it was pinched between her thumb and index finger. This kid was interesting to say the least. It was almost like the words of a ganger leader were of no concern for him.
Well they weren't she knew that and Lilith knew that. But he didn't right? Then again he could be smarter than he was letting off, this whole never felt grass thing could be an act. Even so, it didn't seem like that. He had the chance to run but instead he'd dropped to the ground just to touch the grass. Strange boy.
As the other woman's eyes fell on her she nodded once confirming she understood. Eden was going to be stuck to this kids side like glue. She was not about to mess this up, again. At least that was her goal, to not mess up. Seemed simple enough. When Lilith left she just kind of stared at him for a moment, unsure of what to do with him, he seemed content just running his fingers through the grass. For what felt like an eternity of awkward staring she cleared her throat.
"So...Uh, how old are you?" She asked, a stupid question but she couldn't think of anything else to ask. What was she going to say how was your trip here? Yeah cause it was clearly the most memorable trip he'd been unconscious for. "You...like plants?" The woman said still playing with the little weed blossom he'd handed to her.
There was no way she was this socially awkward. Maybe, well, she never really was one for talking she preferred to sit and watch. Listening was what she did best. Never much of a people person, had been never been since she'd left home. The only person she needed close was herself and that was how she kept it. Beneficial relationships like the ones that she'd form in this gang, perfect but outside of needing protecting and easy money, friends weren't really her forte. In fact she was doing a great job of proving that point to herself. She didn't even know how to make friends at this point. Play nice sure if she tried but this was weird. Maybe it was that he was a prisoner, what did you ask someone you were making a bargaining piece?
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Nov 18, 2021 18:35:59 GMT -5
Briseis Lenore had been a terrible princess.
She hated all the things that were supposed to be most fun about being a princess. The expensive clothes, the jewellery, the balls. And quite frankly when she was young she’d been mediocre at best when it came to diplomacy. There’d been a hope she’d be Alexandria’s secret weapon; charming, polished, poised. Able to negotiate the complex political climate Oikoumene found itself in.
Luckily, her mother hadn’t cared so much about all that. All she’d cared about was raising a strong woman who was confident and centred in herself. A woman who could in turn be a good queen.
Aside from the ‘queen’ part, on the whole she’d been more successful when it came to this latter point.
But none of the Queen of Alexandria’s efforts in raising her daughters had been enough to protect them from the onslaught against their kingdom. Briseis had seen things she didn’t think anyone would believe if she tried to explain them.
Her escape brought no relief or comfort, because she feared for her sisters and was brimming with a boiling, spitting anger for the loss of her kingdom and her family. Everything had been taken from her and there wasn’t even a logical reason for it with which she could try to make sense of what had happened. Just slaughter.
The words of an old prophecy she’d once heard that she had dared to think could apply to her and her sisters taunted her from time to time, echoing painfully in her head.
It was a lie. They were gone, everything was gone, and Briseis had been forced to leave behind everything she had ever known. The ashes of her kingdom on her boots.
She hated that she’d survived when those she loved had not, but she knew that it meant she couldn’t give up. She would fight for what she once had even though she knew it might kill her. In fact, it probably would, because she of all people knew what she’d be facing.
And she’d do it without meaningless words at her back. Because there were lies, damn lies, and prophecies.
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Demisexual
Leo
Surviving off Thai tea and Miguel O'hara
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Post by Leo on Nov 23, 2021 21:52:01 GMT -5
Athena had one of her knives in her hand, carving wood off the small palm sized piece of tree bark in her hand. The skirts of her dress were dirtied, probably from her failed attempts to climb out of the palace grounds without eventually being spotted. Her hair was down and a mess, tangled in with twigs and leaves. Dirt covered her hands and arms and there were a few minor scratches.
A princess fit for a throne.
Athena glanced up briefly when Alex approached her, but never stopped in her carving. "High strung is the nice way of putting it," she muttered bitterly. There was nothing nice she could say for Dante. He was a stuck up noble who always had it out for Alex and now suddenly was sticking his neck out for him. She didn't like nor did she trust him. Plus he was rude to her when he had no reason to be. She was nothing short of damn delight.
And knowing that he was acting like this all for the benefit of her younger sister, actually made her angrier. He has no connection to her. What could that royal advisor get out of helping a suspected criminal? A girl that two kings are after like dogs hunting rabbits? One of the kings that he personally advises and tattles on Alex to?
And then there was her friend. She certainly trusted him and his sincerity for wanting to help. But, he also knew nothing about Minke. She was a stranger to him, no matter how much she told him about herself. So, hearing him say she was worried for her worsened her anger. Had her looking sharply back down at the wood bark in her hand and letting him finish his sentiments. He was too sweet. Too trusting.
"I've always appreciated our friendship, Alex. You've always been accepting without prying too much into who I am or what I feel..." She began a tight smile on her lips as she swiped the blade across the wood again. A few silent seconds passed as she let every nasty word that she could say next pass through her mind before speaking again. "Let's keep it that way. For your safety,:
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Nov 24, 2021 5:49:59 GMT -5
Alex could feel the anger pouring from Athena. Sometimes it seems to physically hit him like a wall as the two of them conversed. And he couldn't exactly blame her. Dante had been rude, frankly. Though to be fair the two of them seemed to have a tendency to rile one another up. Still, she was clearly going through something that she wasn't willing to share, far deeper than what Alex knew, and she very effectively warned him off when he tried to pursue it.
He held up his hands in surrender, sighing lightly as he returned his hands to his knees.
"I know." he returned "Sorry, we don't have to talk about that."
Feelings weren't the kind of thing the two of them ever talked about. He'd just thought it seemed like the kind of exceptional circumstance where she might need to talk to someone. After all, he didn't know who she talked to in her daily life, but she only had Alex here in the palace. Not only that, but unfortunately Alex's secret about his magic had been revealed to both Athena and Dante, and that wasn't something he would have ever shared with her otherwise. Not only was it not safe to burden her with that knowledge, but it simply wasn't how their friendship worked.
"Look," the young man continued "all I'm trying to say is that I want to help, and I swear Dante does as well. He just has an abrasive way of showing it. We both wanted to help Minke get out of here, but as usual, she was a step ahead of us. All I want is to make sure she's okay, and while I don't trust Dante on a lot of things, I genuinely think he wants the same."
Dante was taking a massive risk here, and that wasn't the kind of thing he did. He could've washed his hands of the whole thing for his own safety, and if he'd wanted to be rid of Alex and Athena he could have tattled to the king a long time ago. The only remaining explanation in Alex's eyes was that he was sticking his neck out because he cared. Well, either that or Dante was working with the king and it didn't feel like a risk because he knew he was safe, but if that was the case, why hadn't they made their move yet?
"He's afraid you can't be trusted," Alex explained "he just sees that you're a criminal. He doesn't see what I've seen. Maybe I'm naive because I know how stupid I was to trust you in the first place, but I don't think I made a mistake. Not with you."
Sure, Athena was a criminal, but he genuinely didn't think she'd ever hurt him. Maybe he'd read her wrong, but he didn't believe so. When he'd first met her, he'd needed someone he could trust; he'd had enough people in his life that he couldn't trust. People who'd betrayed him before he was old enough to know what it meant. Athena had been that person, someone who would have his back. He didn't think Athena knew how often, when things had been bad, he'd been cheered up just hanging out with her. How many times she'd helped him when she didn't even know he was hurting.
"I don't think I'm making a mistake with Dante, either. I might be wrong, but the way I see it right now it's our best chance of helping Minke and getting you out of here safe. I'm not asking you to trust Dante, I'm asking you to trust me. If I'm wrong, my life's on the line too."
And he meant that. Him being a prince wouldn't save him; not from his father, not from his kingdom. His mother's execution had set that precedent. He knew the kingdom would be baying for his blood if they knew he was a Factioneer, if they knew he'd been trying to help Minke, a Telekine, and his father would give into them. After all, it was a matter of reputation for the family and the kingdom, and his father had made clear to him all too often when he was younger that if the secret slipped out about him being an Electrix, he wouldn't save him.
"I know you hate him; believe me, I did too. But we don't have a chance if we don't at least try to get along. I've had exactly the same conversation with him." he pleaded.
He didn't even want to think about what would happen if his father got to Minke before they did.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Dec 9, 2021 18:29:56 GMT -5
FLASHBACK Lilith had been in her tent, back to the entrance as she leaned over a table. Illuminated by the flickering candlelight from a lantern was a map of her territory and the surrounding area. It was small yet, but she had plans to make it grow.
One day nobody would move through this forest or do business in the neighbouring towns without her knowing about it.
“Miss Killoran.”
The dark-haired women turned at the sound of the voice, fixing a cold gaze on the entrant. A young man, one of her people. He scouted the territory often; he was young, and fast, and stealthy.
“What is it?” questioned the woman harshly “I’d choose your next words carefully; I specifically asked not to be disturbed and I’ll be displeased if this matter isn’t extremely urgent.”
She didn’t need to clarify what her being displeased meant. Her people knew all too well the kind of things Lilith did when she was ‘displeased’.
He nodded hurriedly, clearing his throat.
“Yes, ma’am.” he responded “you see, there’s… a woman.”
Lilith simply raised an eyebrow, folding her arms.
“There’s also a woman standing right in front of you.” Lilith responded “We’re everywhere, hardly newsworthy. What about this woman?”
God, trying to get people to get to the point sometimes was like pulling teeth. The young man before her, though, shifted his feet. He got that look across his face that told Lilith he had bad news and he was scared to tell her. Which already made her angry about whatever news she was going to get before she’d even gotten it.
“She’s made something of a name for herself, and she’s close to encroaching on your territory. She just took the area southwest of the river.” the man explained, not making eye-contact with his employer.
Lilith felt a rush of hot anger. That territory had been the one she’d been planning to make a move on next. It was a strategic spot to control the river and any trade or travel down it, and the group who’d previously done business there had been weakened of late.
This was an annoying inconvenience, and Lilith liked neither annoyances nor inconveniences.
Her mouth twitched for a second into something one could almost mistake for a brief smile if one didn’t know Lilith, or didn’t see the hardness that had come into her gaze. She took a step closer.
“She’s made a name for herself, has she? And what, pray tell, is that name?” Lilith questioned deliberately, slowly, voice dropping with venom.
The young man shifted once again as if he wanted to step back, but chose not to. Good. Lilith couldn’t deal with people too cowardly to stand toe-to-toe with her. She liked her people to fear her but not too much. Too much and they were weak.
“Mendoza.” the man began, before hurriedly adding “Elena Mendoza.”
Lilith nodded approvingly, stepping back a little.
“Well, I suggest we contact our new neighbour and arrange to meet. I’d like to get to know her, and clear up any confusion about how exactly things work around here. I’d hate for us to get off on the wrong foot.” Lilith replied.
She stepped toward the map once more, turning her back to the man as she looked at the area southwest of the river. This was just one new part of Elena’s territory, but how far did it extend?
“I’d also like to know the extent of her territory, and anything you can find out about her and how she runs her operation. See to it that it’s done.” the woman instructed firmly.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Those words were accompanied by retreating footsteps, leaving Lilith alone once again with her thoughts. But this time new thoughts.
Who was this interloper? And what did Lilith have to do to neutralise this potential threat?
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Dec 19, 2021 10:38:12 GMT -5
"Your Highness"
A teenage Briseis had been outside, looking up at a deep navy sky glittering with silvery stars. The light of the full moon illuminated bathed everything outside, the cool tone contrasting against the warm golden light from inside. Out here she could hear the rustling of the leaves from the trees in the palace grounds, the sounds of music and conversation from inside blissfully muffled.
Out here she could breathe. Sure, the brisk cold air burned her throat and nipped her skin, but she preferred it much to feeling stifled inside.
The voice was familiar; she turned to see the young duke she'd made conversation with on a number of occasions before at events like these. Favian Corin.
"Your Grace," she responded, mimicking the slight teasing tone Favian had employed.
He had to have been referencing their first meeting, where they'd had a little exchange about their proper titles. After all, they were well enough acquainted now that they didn't care so much about the proper way to address one another when they were in private.
Favian stood with his back to the doors that led back inside, the golden light from the scene within silhouetting him a little as it spilled out of the windows.
He approached to stand beside her, movements fluid and confident. Nothing ever seemed to faze him the way they did Brizzy. She tried her hardest not to show when she was rattled, despite the fact that she'd left the event inside so she could escape for a moment.
"One of these days, princess, you're going to have to actually partake in one of these parties." Favian began with a smile as he followed Briseis' eyes to look up at the stars "You know, talk to someone, maybe even dance a little."
Briseis wrinkled her nose a little in distaste but did not turn her gaze to Favian.
"I am afraid you're sorely mistaken. I don't have to do anything, and I certainly do not wish to talk to any of the gossipy, vapid people in there," Brizzy responded sharply "and if you ever see me dancing with any of them I give you leave to end my life that very instant."
She was a willful kind of girl, especially as a teenager. She always had known what she wanted and was generally willing to go to any lengths to get it. She also knew what she did not like and would go to any lengths to avoid it, the kind of stubbornness that irritated her mother sometimes.
And she was indisputably not interested in dancing, never had been.
"You have my word," Favian replied with some amusement "But don't you think it might be good as the future queen to have a good relationship with the nobility of Oikoumene?"
Briseis snorted lightly.
"In Taraneh, maybe. We Alexandrians aren't the social sort." Briseis pointed out
Favian, perhaps understandably, did not seem convinced.
"As evidenced by this party?" he questioned
Briseis chose to ignore that. She wasn't going to pretend that her mother didn't see the importance of diplomacy. Brizzy saw it too, she just didn't much like it. She'd do what she needed to for the future, for her kingdom, as much as she hated it. And though she wouldn't admit it, Favian was right; it was necessary.
"Come on, Briseis. You're smart, you could talk circles around these people if you wanted to. They're nothing to fear." the boy pointed out.
He seemed to have struck a nerve there, because Briseis whirled to face him properly, eyes narrowing.
"I'm not scared." she protested.
Favian just smiled that mischevious smile, unfazed.
"Fine, stay out here and be not scared," he shrugged, but after a moment's pause he leaned closer to Briseis and lowered his voice as if he were whispering a secret to her, "But it would be a shame to waste a beautiful dress like that on standing in the cold and dark."
He moved back again, making as if to reenter the building. Briseis thought for a moment before letting out a frustrated huff and hurrying to catch up with the duke.
"I hate you," she muttered as she fell into step beside him.
"Oh, come now," Favian chuckled lightly "I'll be there, it's not like everyone will be... how did you put it?"
He seemed to pretend to search for the words in his head for a moment before lighting up in feigned recollection.
"Gossipy and vapid."
Briseis rolled her eyes, looking at Favian and even allowing the corners of her mouth to lift in a small smile.
"Oh, you are the most gossipy and vapid," Briseis replied, going so far as to laugh a little when Favian nudged her with his elbow in response, before adding "by far."
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jan 1, 2022 20:20:15 GMT -5
It had been a long journey from Wisteria’s palace, but finally the eighteen year-old Callan Verndari had arrived at the military camp to which he’d been assigned duty. It was about what one would expect; a noisy place filled with the smells of a million different foods and smoke coming from somewhere, and a sea of tents.
As soon as the young Verndari had arrived, he had made a beeline for the biggest tent he could see. It simply had to be the commander’s tent. Callan had been told to report straight to him, though as a fresh recruit there’d be several superiors between Callan and this commander when it came to the chain of command.
He hated the whole thing. He’d never wanted to be a soldier, or a royal guard. Not necessarily because it was something he didn’t think he could enjoy or be good at, but more because it was a life that had been chosen for him. How could he know that there wasn’t something else out there, a life he’d love more, the life he was supposed to be living? How could he know he wasn’t just living the life his father wanted for him?
But he was there now, and he had little choice but to make the best of it.
With that in mind, he entered the tent to see an older man standing with his back to him. Tall, broad-shouldered, with short dark hair showing signs of grey. Apparently hearing Callan’s entry, the man turned to examine him. He was just as intimidating looking from the front. Features so hard that he looked as if he could have been carved from stone, scars marring his skin. His eyes flicked to take in this new entrant to his tent, and Callan felt as if he shouldn’t dare move or even breathe under that evaluating gaze.
Leaving Callan unsure if the man was satisfied or unsatisfied with that he’d seen in the boy, the commander looked expectantly at him. Demanding of an explanation for who he was and why he’d entered.
“Commander Arne,” Callan greeted with as great an attempt as possible to keep the nerves out of his voice as he fumbled to produce a letter to present to the older man, “I’m a new recruit, Callan Verndari. I believe you were expecting me.”
Commander Arne’s expression was unreadable, but he gave some sort of grunt which Callan had to assume was a grunt of assent as he took the letter. His eyes scanned it for a few tense moments, before he finally put it on the table behind him and stepped to approach Callan again.
“I don’t like Verndaris,” he said with disdain, growling out the words with what would seem to be considerable displeasure.
“Your family might have been something generations ago, but now you’re laughably soft. Ironblood, indeed.” he scoffed harshly.
Callan actually would on the whole be inclined to agree. Most of the Verndari were good fighters, but they were nothing so supernaturally special that it warranted their reputation. They’d simply just allowed rumours to fly and the favour of the Wisterian court to give them the opportunity to build their strength. They were an ancient and respected house, but they weren’t the only old name in Wisteria.
The surname Arne, though, Callan was familiar with. A far newer family that had risen to some prominence in Wisteria. Very dynamic, had every reason to dislike the traditional and intractable Verndari house.
“If I do the job I’ve been sent here to do, sir, I’m sure you’ll get to see my blood for yourself before too long.” was Callan’s smooth answer. Both a disarming retort, but also with an element of challenge to what the commander had just implied about the Verndari not being tough.
He was a soldier after all. It was his job to spill blood for his kingdom, whether it be his or somebody else’s. Ideally the latter, even though he didn’t exactly feel good about killing people.
Of course, Callan’s blood was not any different to anyone else’s. The Ironblood thing was just yet another story about the warrior Verndaris, that their very blood was iron. Nobody actually believed that one; it was rather easily disproven given that the Verndari family spent a not insignificant amount of time bleeding, as warriors do.
The commander looked at him with something like surprise, and perhaps even a little bit of respect. He sincerely hoped so, because if the commander continued to have a negative opinion on Verndaris his time in this camp might be difficult. Even neutral would have been better.
“Good,” Arne conceded, as if a little disappointed that Callan’s answer had been satisfactory “because your name means nothing here to me. No special treatment, no rules that don’t apply to you.”
When he said that he couldn’t help but wonder if he somehow knew about Callan’s attempt to run away before his father sent him here. He and the princess had both agreed to escape their respective lives together, ditch the restrictions and responsibilities, before they got caught. But surely the commander couldn’t have known. Callan didn’t think there was any reason his father would have chosen to tell anyone, given how bad what Callan had done looked, and the king would never have mentioned it to anyone either because it looked equally bad for him and his family:
“I promise, I’m just here to do my job. I know you think I’m soft but I don’t want to be. Or I don’t intend to be.” came the boy’s earnest reply.
Once again, Arne seemed satisfied, nodding. The frown on his face hadn’t shifted much but otherwise he seemed almost pleased,
“Go to the supply tent and get your things, they’ll assign you your unit. Do not set up your things yet, report to your superior immediately first. Am I understood, Verndari?”
Callan nodded quickly to show his understanding.
“Yes, sir,” came his answer as he quickly left Arne’s tent.
The conversation with Arne, though intimidating, left Callan feeling rather reassured in actuality. It was somewhat comforting to know that here, at least when it came to his commanders, he could get away from his family name and the expectations that came with it. Even the rumours could be disregarded. To them he could just be another soldier. But his fellow soldiers, he knew, had the potential to be a different story.
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Post by 𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕨 on Jan 10, 2022 14:58:32 GMT -5
Dante Jules Thorsten was not of noble-blood, and he had only ever been to the castle when his father requested his assistance with trades. Goods to share with castle, sometimes through demand, but usually with some profit. Even if it was a rip-off, as royals could have whatever they wanted.
It had gotten worse in the recent years. His father had sustained a grumpy mood, and his mother had become more sharp and angered. Dante did what he could to help, he tried to help his mother sew fabrics to sell, but she had swatted him away, glaring.
“This is a girl’s job,” she had hissed, glaring at him, “do you want everyone to perceive you as a girl? Would you like a dress?”
He always disliked it. She was so thin on supplies, running on stress. Before they had issues with selling their materials, his parents had been much more supportive of his studies, of his helping with the fabrics, of him doing whatever he pleased. Then again, he had been younger.
“You were just a boy,” they’d excuse, anytime he pondered about it out loud, “it wasn’t an issue. Things are different now.”
Dante didn’t quite understand it too much, while they had suffered due to the taxes imposed on the kingdom by Queen Adira, it wasn’t as if Dante’s family was running particularly low on funds.
Then again, business was tricky, and Dante could never pretend to understand it. Dante understood quite a bit too, he was smart, sharp, and quick-witted. All of this he knew, and sometimes he would sneak to the library to find books, since his family had started to dislike his continued interest in literature and the sciences.
Dante had always thought that they’d want him to take over the family business, so he was glad when he found that they didn’t. If they did, he’d be learning all about how to strike up deals with nearby merchants, and how to make the best trade offers with the castle.
That was what he had presumed, anyways.
One could imagine his surprise when, in the early hours, right before sunrise, his father woke him and demanded he get ready for the day, dressed in his finest clothes.
“Why?” He had questioned.
“Pack your things,” his father had answered instead, “it’ll be a long trip, and I don’t want you slowing us down because you forgot to pack clothes or whatnot.”
Dante, confused, had done as he’d been told. Finding a white chemise shirt, and a pair of cleaned black pants, he had dressed and ruffled his sleeves while thinking through whatever would happen.
He had packed his things accordingly. His father gave no details of where they were going, but it wasn’t hard to figure out. If they were packing to go anywhere, it would be the castle. He’d seen his father go on trips before. When trading with other merchants in nearby villages, his father tended to only bring whatever he was trading. When heading to the castle, which was a larger trip, he tended to pack items in case he got stuck on the path. Telling Dante to pack was enough clue that they were heading to the castle.
Which was unsettling, very unsettling. Dante knew a trade with the Capitol was fast approaching, but he thought there was a while yet. Plus, his father asking for his presence was concerning as well. His father had been on bad terms with Dante for a while.
Which mostly came from the fact that Dante was nearing the age to marry, and he kept turning down every suitor his father brought in. He had no interest in any of this girls who’d bat their eyelashes at him and coo at his blond hair or his quiet disposition.
He had offended some of them too. Some got too close, so he’d make backhanded compliments. “You’re hair is very thick, it reminds me of a bush of leaves, twigs and all,” or things like “you’re eyes are the color of horse’s dung.”
It wouldn’t be hard to believe that Dante was still happily single and had no plans on courting any lovely lady that passed by him. He didn’t really have plans to court anyone, given that men were off limits, and that he didn’t even know anyone he could learn to love like that.
The idea of marriage was terrifying as it was, to be carted off to someone random. Even courting sounded terrifying. So Dante ignored it, and did everything in his power to avoid marriage. It annoyed his family to no end, how the teen would trick his way out of marriage, how he’d outsmart them and use their own words against them. Dante had accepted a lot in his life, had done things they had asked without batting an eye. He had helped them for years with the business, but he put his foot down on this one. Dante Jules Thorsten was not of noble-blood, and he wasn’t about to be carted off like he was.
By the time Dante had packed enough for a few days, he had peeked his head out to scan the house before making a move to join his father. However, his father had been waiting for him at the door, and had grabbed Dante’s collar as soon as the boy made an appearance, practically dragging him towards the carriage.
“Father?” Dante had asked, curious by why his father’s mood seemed worse than usual, and why everything seemed so thrown together. Usually, these trips would take a lot of preparation, and they’d eat before leaving. Usually Dante didn’t go.
Usually his mom didn’t either. But there she was, dressed in a cream colored dress.
“The queen’s guard made their rounds through the village today,” his mother filled in as his father tended to the carriage and horse, “even less payment than last month. He’s going to seek council. Since it’s a matter of family business, it’s best if we all go.”
Dante mulled over the words, but it still didn’t make sense. “We never go, we’ve never went when he’s went to speak to the Queen’s council before. Why now?”
“We cannot continue as we are now, Jules,” his mother commented, softly, “maybe seeing the family will bring some sympathy. When they see how worn thin we are, and how skinny you’ve become.”
“As if Queen Adira cares,” he scoffed, though he went quiet at her glare.
Dante was smart enough to recognize this wasn’t some grab at Adira’s heart strings. Something more was going on.
He had a feeling they wouldn’t be coming back.
—————
For as much of a nuisance Dante’s family may believe Dante to be, he wasn’t an idiot, and he wasn’t wrong. He, in his opinion, was rarely wrong.
When they had reached the castle, Halstein’s fortress like stature looming against the cliff-face it climbed up, they had received a cold welcome.
His father demanded to talk to a council member, or an advisor. Never the queen, though. To demand to see a queen would be a death sentence, especially with Queen Adira. A cruel queen whose older brothers untimely deaths seemed much too convenient. But then again, the old king, from what Dante’s father said, didn’t do much good for Halstein anyways. None of them did, but then again, at least under the old rulers, things had been easier.
In the end, they did get to speak with one of the advisors, but they’d been blown off. Which was a kind way of saying that there was a threat given to the Thorsten family about disrespect. “Be happy with the coin you have, ‘less you want none. There’s plenty of merchants we can trade with.”
That hadn’t been good enough, and his father had argued that the family couldn’t survive on such little funds. His father, practically on the verge of a break down, insisting on how loyal the family had been, how much they’d sacrificed. Dante watched as the advisor’s features went from passively irritated to frustrated and downright annoyed.
“Then leave,” the advisor hissed, “before we chase you out like the pests you are.”
His father had blanched, and his mother tugged insistently at her husband’s arm. Dante was sure his father had some words he wanted to say, about how he gave years of his life to serve Halstein, about how he fought for Halstein, about how he sacrificed coin and gold to be loyal. Not that his father sacrificed much of anything, he was a merchant.
But his father could do none of that. If the queen who killed her brother was willing to kill family and tax the ever loving-buttocks out of the villages in her kingdom, she’d have the Thorsten family killed if they dare question one of her trusted advisors orders.
His parents turned to leave, and Dante looked over the advisor, frowning, “Queen Adira’s throne is heavy,” he commented, softly, almost under his breath, “soon, she’ll run out of backs to break with it.”
His mother pulled him from the castle, and truly Dante didn’t know if a single one of those words were heard or understood or even given the delight to be listened to. The advisor had remained looking impassive, and Dante didn’t dare to repeat it. His mother’s stern glare and look were warning enough that if Adira didn’t kill him for uttering such words, she wouldn’t hesitate to herself. Or at least, make him wish he was dead. She had a way with glares like that.
So it fell into silence. No one talked. Not a word was uttered. It was a silent resolution, and they all understood what it meant.
Like Dante had predicted, they wouldn’t be going home.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jan 23, 2022 6:57:25 GMT -5
Adira had been taught from a very young age what was expected of her, and she did not have any illusions about the kind of family she had been born into.
"Power is not something you are given, Adira. It is taken, and must be grown. Like a living creature that must be carefully nurtured." her mother had always told her.
She had never quite agreed with her mother on that one. Adira did, of course, agree on the fact that power needed to be taken and not given, but she disagreed on the way her mother saw it as a living creature. No, in her eyes power was a finite resource. To gain power, it had to be taken from somebody else. The scales would tip, but the amount of power would ultimately remain the same. Balance, balance always.
"It is our duty to do whatever is required to protect our family's claim on this throne. That means that you must not be afraid to do to others what they would do to you if you offered mercy or hesitation." her father had said many a time.
That she had believed wholeheartedly. After all, she would not be the generation of her family that watched the dynasty crumble. Adira would not be the one to see her family overthrown like the Aaltonian royals had been when she was ten years old. And indeed there were many who would see the Ginemoux family fall.
Her family had always been about strength and power, at any expense. Being bloodthirsty and ruthless was a requirement of that, though they simply saw it more as ambition. Or at least her parents had; Adira had always seen her brothers as different.
The eldest, Casimir, was calm. He was measured, thoughtful, responsible and patient. But he did not seem to have that spark that was necessary for a king. Any ruler had to be made of strong stuff, because power was a burden and kingdoms never thrived under the spineless. A ruler of Halstein had to be all the stronger. The people were as hard and unforgiving as the rocky cliffs on which their castle lay. Casimir, though wise and sensible, was not that sort of man. He was too ruminative, too slow to act. He would strangle the kingdom with his patience, and he did not have the spirit needed to rule and protect it. He inspired neither fear, nor love like his brother.
Adira's second brother, Tristan, was not like Casimir. The Bull of Halstein was a warrior, a fighter. A chaser of fame, glory and the adoration of the people. Entirely superficial, of course. The desire to be liked and seek glory for himself was the very reason he would not make a good king. That, and the fact that he was arrogant and brainless. He lacked that of which his brother had too much, though he possessed that spark Casimir was missing. Adira had always been a little jealous of Tristan, as much as she hated to admit it. He enjoyed freedom as the secondborn son that the eldest (as future king) did not and his little sister was refused.
Neither of them would serve Halstein well.
______
Adira was not far from her sixteenth birthday when it happened. Her parents had not yet left their chambers yet that morning and they'd had some event or other to go to. She couldn't remember what it was now, for it seemed so inconsequential.
She'd stood in her silvery dress, hair painstakingly pinned into place, outside the door to their chambers. Nervously, she'd raised a fist to knock on the door. A few seconds of no response, and a heavy feeling of dread began to gather in her stomach.
She knocked once again, only to hear silence in return.
With that feeling of dread growing more and more, for her parents were never late and always answered when she knocked on their door, she decided, at last, to simply enter.
The teenager had pushed the door open, and what she saw on the other side made her feel as if she'd suddenly been doused in freezing water. For a long time, she could not catch her breath.
There her parents lay, unmoving, on the floor. She rushed to kneel at her mother's side, but her skin was waxy and cold. Looking at them they must have been killed sometime in the night. Her brothers were both away; Tristan away fighting, Casimir on some very vague trip. It wasn't unusual for Tristan to be away, but Casimir rarely left. It seemed like more than just a coincidence that they'd both left shortly before all of this.
Adira knew she must have wept, screamed. Pleaded for her parents not to leave her like this. But she didn't remember any of that. All she remembered was the blood staining her parents' skin. Her dress as she knelt by their sides. Staining the walls, the floors, seeming to permeate everything in the room.
The room into which her eldest brother moved just weeks later upon his coronation.
____
Adira would never regret what she did next. What she had done, she did to protect her family's claim on the kingdom's throne. Neither Casimir nor Tristan could have been trusted to run it. She'd later found out that neither brother had been responsible for her parents' deaths, which meant that there was a threat external to the family. Someone who wanted the Ginemoux family dead. Neither of her brothers was prepared to deal with power struggles, rebellions, or bloody civil wars.
And with tensions so high, Adira felt fairly sure that if she did not strike first, even the equanimous Casimir would make a move against her eventually. Her brother was not stupid, and he'd been taught the very same things as her about what to do when someone was a threat.
So the sixteen-year-old sat in her chambers, in a chair by the window. She had always enjoyed looking out over the kingdom at night, seeing the moonlight play against the leaves in the forest and halo the trees in a whitish silver. It was one of the few things that brought her peace, especially since the deaths of her parents.
The girl didn't flicker as she heard rushing footsteps approaching outside, did not turn as her door burst open to admit one of the palace's staff.
"Your Highness, I have grave news." the man blurted agitatedly, voice urgent and rushed.
Adira didn't take her eyes away from the scene outside, but simply tilted her head a little.
"I shall be the judge of that. Speak." the girl said calmly in response.
The man hesitated a little, seeming lost for words. Not knowing how to break the news to Adira. He didn't need to worry so much.
"It is the King, Your Highness." he answered "He...well...he is dead."
Adira just smiled serenely, giving no sign of shock or anguish at the news she'd just been given. She could almost feel the realisation hitting the man even without seeing him.
"Your Majesty." was Adira's calm response, and in the reflection in the window she swore she could see the man blanch a little.
"I beg your pardon, madam?" he asked in confusion, though she knew he knew exactly what she meant. Did he really mean to make her say it? How tedious.
She sighed, as if a little disappointed at having to explain it.
"My brother is dead, and I have the strongest claim to the throne. You will therefore address me as you would a queen."
Tristan had been dead for a few months already. He'd been far easier to get rid of. After all, his love of war and fighting did some with certain hazards. Casimir had been harder, but she had succeeded without being detected and now it was too late for anyone to do anything about it. Nobody would ever be able to prove what she had done.
And thus the girl-queen was born.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Feb 2, 2022 18:10:14 GMT -5
FLASHBACK - NOT NECESSARILY CANON Alex still remembered the day of his return to Oralee after his time in Levina.
He’d been eight years old, and he’d returned back to his home kingdom with so much hope. After all, his father had finally done what was required to get him back. The fighting was over, and he could return home to his family. That was all he’d wanted ever since he had been taken.
But the family he returned to was nothing like the family he had left behind.
His father was cold and distant, and everyone in the palace treated him differently. Like he was dirty or tainted. Like it was shameful to be associated with him. Like he’d done something utterly terrible. Even his brother, with whom he hadn’t been exceptionally close before, had matured even in the time Alex was gone and there seemed a greater distance between them than ever. His mother was locked up.
Alex didn’t understand any of this upon his return. It hurt but he couldn’t make sense of it. Soon enough, though, the understanding hit him with all its gravity.
He would never forget standing with a cool breeze burning, searing the tears into his skin, as his father stood behind him, hands forcing Alex to watch as his mother took her final desperate breaths.
His father had told him that he needed to watch, for he needed to learn what happened to traitors. He needed to understand that mercy was a privilege not granted to those who turned against their kingdom.
That was the day Alex truly began to understand. He understood that he’d always be his mother’s son to the people of Oralee and most importantly, his father. He was the reason the kingdom had been unable to launch a swift attack to end the war and save Oraleean lives, because his life had been at stake. He had his mother’s traitorous blood, and her ties to Levina and its crown. He was no longer the sweet youngest Oraleean prince, adored for his cheeky smile and the joyful laugh he gave when waving at crowds.
All they saw him as, all they’d ever see him as, was at best a threat and at worst damaged. Ruined by his captivity in Levina. Even his father thought him a traitor like his mother, as he’d taken such great pains to force his son to see the fate that would befall him were he to follow in his mother’s footsteps.
“You’re Adreana’s boy,” he remembered his uncle saying on his first day in Levina. There it had been said lovingly, to reassure him that he was home. He wouldn’t hurt Alex, for the boy was his sister’s son. The kingdom still loved its daughter, and Alex was her blood.
Indeed, he was Adreana’s boy. Here in Oralee that was far from a compliment. Here, “too much like his mother for his own good, that one,” was muttered by the staff with disdain when they thought Alex could not hear.
“Wouldn’t be surprised if he ends the same too, though I’d never speak treason.” or something similar would often be the reply.
But Alex never wiped the memories of his mother from his mind, and the memories of her kingdom. Yes, he was his mother’s son, and that could not be helped.
Still, he decided, he would much rather be his mother’s son than his father’s.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Feb 11, 2022 18:36:03 GMT -5
Briseis had never intended any of this.
After the fall of her kingdom and her separation from her sisters, she had travelled out on her own. She had little control over where her travels took her; her family’s secretiveness kept her from being recognised, but given how dangerous it was these days to be a Factioneer the former princess had feared staying in one place too long.
Unfortunate fate had led her to Aaltonen. It was not safe there, the very place magic had first been outlawed when she was young. On a more positive note, it was the largest kingdom in Oikoumene. Easier for her to hide in, and a more obvious location to head to. Her intention had always been to find a place to survive until she hopefully found her sisters if they had managed to survive. That hope would eventually leave her when despite her later power and influence even her best contacts could turn up no information about her sisters.
The then-29-year-old had wandered unwittingly into the territory of a group of bandits and criminals in Aaltonen. She still bore her sword, Scourge, but against the large group with which she’d been confronted she would have been a fool to risk drawing it against them.
She might not be a diplomat, but she was a strategist. And she’d do anything to stay alive.
They’d asked her name, and she knew better than to give her real name. If she did, they could know who she was. God only knew what kind of price they could fetch for the lost crown princess of Alexandria. Sure, to some it might be preferable to immediate murder but Briseis would rather die than do anything to damage the family name, which was all she had left. No, she would hold that close and protect it. She could never let anyone make her regret being a Lenore, the only thing she had left of her mother and her sisters.
Instead, she’d given them a name which she remembered seeing on a gravestone that she’d noticed in a village not far away.
She never knew how Lilith Killoran had died. Still, she felt nothing about taking the dead woman’s name for her own. She did what she needed to in order to survive, and to keep alive the hope of seeing her sisters alive again. Besides, the dead had no use for names. It was of no consequence. Especially since she could no longer afford the luxury of moral scruples.
Somehow she’d been taken in by the group and at first everything seemed to go well. They trained her in the things no knight could have trained her in, and Lilith soon became more hardened and ruthless than she had before. The loss of everything she loved had hardened her heart, and it would never soften until the day she saw her sisters again. She’d vowed that to herself.
But the true straw that broke the camel’s back, the thing that would make her into what some would see as a merciless monster, would not come until she’d been with the group for several months.
One night it was just her and the leader of the bandit group. The others were asleep, and the two of them sat around the fire. Lilith could still smell the smoke, could still see the golden and amber light against the velvety black of the night. She could remember that she had been sitting twisting cordage to make a trap for hunting, rolling the fibres carefully. She’d picked the skill up quickly since she’d left Alexandria.
And she’d never forget his words, sounding far too loud in the darkness.
”Did you really think we wouldn’t eventually figure it out?” he’d said, far too calmly, far too conversational ”You’re a long way from home, Your Highness.”
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Feb 19, 2022 18:04:18 GMT -5
He had only recently sworn his life in service to Tia and her family as Head Guard, and he had already failed her. But the promise he’d made to her in front of the entire country was nothing.
For Callan, they weren’t nearly important as the promises he’d made to her when they were children.
They were bittersweet memories, because the children they had been were so long gone as they’d been forced to grow up so quickly. And because he had failed to keep his word. A Verndari’s word should mean everything to them, Callan’s father had always taught him, but that didn’t matter as much as the fact they it was Tia he’d given his word to.
As children they’d spent their days exploring the palace. Their names could still be read carved into wooden posts dotted about the palace, in messy scrawl. Just to leave a mark on the place, which seemed so impossibly big. Callan had always felt that everything about his life had felt too big, far bigger than him. His family were bigger than him, his duties, the kingdom. For them he had to put himself aside. And he suspected Tia must have felt the same about the future that had lain before her. So for the two of them, letting the world know that two individuals had existed was far more important.
He remembered sitting with her one night, looking up at the stars and talking about big things, as looking at the stars tended to make one do.
“Cal, you won’t leave, will you?” he remembered Tia asking, the girl he saw as a little sister looking at him with eyes silvery with starlight and so full of trust.
He supposed that she must have been worried because at that age, the teenage Callan had been talking more than ever about how much he hated the responsibilities and duties placed on him, the pressure and expectations of which he could not rid himself. He had felt shackled to a future that wasn’t his, no matter how much he loved Tia and Carlo. Though he ended up loving the way his life turned out, back then he never could have imagined enjoying it.
He’d turned his head more so he could look her in the eye.
“Adrestia,” he began in mock seriousness “I would leave for half a slice of cake. Maybe a quarter if it’s good cake.”
Tia elbowed him, causing the boy to laugh.
”Callan!” she protested, before looking at him expectantly.
Realising that she wasn’t going to settle until she got a serious answer, Callan gave her a soft smile.
“I promise I’m not going anywhere. At least not without you.” Callan assured the young princess earnestly “I will always be here when you need me.”
He’d tried his best to keep that promise, but he’d failed far too many times. He had thought he was being there for her when they tried to run away, but really he’d irresponsibly put ger I’m more danger and placed his own selfish goals to get away from the palace above Tia’s safety. He hadn’t been there with her when her parents had passed, he’d been with the army, and even though that wasn’t his fault he still felt bad about that.
Worst of all, he’d failed to save the prince and he’d let them both get captured. Tia needed him; she was strong enough to handle anything on her own, he was sure of that, but she didn’t deserve to handle it all alone. If there was a time she needed to have someone on her side, it was now. She was a new queen who was dealing with a threat to her family.
He’d promised he would always be there when she needed him and there he was, a prisoner far away due to his own less-than-intelligent decisions back at the palace, while Tia was desperately searching for her brother and her head guard.
He’d been trained so much better than this, but when the time came he’d panicked because it was Carlo. It hadn’t been a training scenario, it had been real, and the pressure had been on. And Callan had crumbled and been unable to help either Carlo or Tia.
He blamed himself heavily for the whole situation. Not as much as he blamed Ernestine and her lackeys, but since Ernestine wasn’t there at that moment he only really had himself to be mad at.
Perhaps it all kind of worked out that Elena was punishing him for something he hadn’t actually done. At least he could still come up with a reason why he deserved it, even if it was nothing to do with Elena.
It was better than thinking about what Tia had to be going through back at the palace.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Feb 25, 2022 18:23:04 GMT -5
FLASHBACK Eldred had been only young when he had been taken in by the Valdera family. Only a boy really, in his twenties. They’d taken him in, without fear of his magic, and he’d been in awe from the start. Having read the lore of the kingdom extensively, to work for the family that had ruled Aaltonen for so many generations felt like living and breathing the very history of the land. The entire palace felt like it was steeped within it, the generations of Valdera rule.
He had never dreamed that he would live to see the dynasty fall.
But there he was, watching from his chambers as the attacks raged outside. The air reeked of smoke and the night sky was stained with flame licking at the palace walls. He’d known this attack was coming but he had been able to do little to avoid it. Vladimyr Nightingale had hit the kingdom hard and fast, in the wake of the rebellion against magic.
When Eldred had begun working in the service of the Valdera family, he’d been careful to keep his magic hidden. It was only a matter of time before the family discovered it, of course, but they had been accepting provided that he kept his magic a secret. Magic was distrusted. He had watched the freedom of magic users begin to wane as the hatred grew and rebellion broke out. Nothing he could do as an advisor, and he had tried everything, could curb it.
And now he watched helplessly as, taking advantage of the instability and capitalising on the hatred of magic, war raged against the kingdom.
He stood on his balcony as the cold air pulled at his skin, carrying the acrid scent of the smoke. His eyes drifted over the men attacking the palace gates, and that was when he saw familiar banners, colours dull against the low light but the sigils unmistakable.
He had originally stayed in his chambers as this attack was a military matter, not something in which Eldred was learned. They were well past his political expertise being of use. But those banners changed things.
The old man turned, throwing the doors open to his chambers and hurrying out into the corridors, footsteps striking against the stone floor. It wasn’t long before a young page crossed his path; the boy was obviously on an errand, weapons in hand to bring to the men protecting the place walls. But Eldred’s task was more vital.
The boy regarded him, startled and afraid. This was a child really, he had certainly never seen a battle before. That much Eldred could tell. He, on the other hand, had seen far too many.
“I need you to listen carefully, boy.” Eldred said firmly, ”I need you to find the King and Queen and tell them that I need to meet with them urgently. Nightingale has reinforcements. Big reinforcements.”
The boy nodded and ran, and Eldred rushed on. He needed to find someone to get a message out to the representatives of the reinforcements he had seen out there. The opportunity for diplomacy had long passed with Vladimyr, but perhaps he had a chance with the other ruling families he had seen out there.
The Ginemoux sigil had been prominent, and most specifically that of the Bull of Halstein. The young Tristan Ginemoux. The second oldest of the Ginemoux children; the oldest, Casimir, was 20 and the youngest, Adira, was around thirteen. Tristan was only eighteen and he had already proven himself fearsome on the battlefield, earning his name. His sigil out there meant that the Ginemoux family were on Vladimyr’s side in a major way if they were willing to risk their prince in battle.
And judging by the banners outside the walls, they weren’t the only ruling family in Oikoumene who were supporting Vladimyr and his siege of the castle.
He might not be able to use his magic, but he was capable of so much more than that. Enough that maybe, just maybe, he still stood a chance of being able to help protect the kingdom.
(Spoiler alert; it doesn’t work)
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Mar 5, 2022 19:45:01 GMT -5
NOT NECESSARILY CANON ‘My darling Alexiares.
I have written this letter to be held for you by my family in Levina. They will get it to you when you are old enough, but I cannot risk letting your father find this letter before the time comes for you to read it.
After what I have done, I do not expect you shall want much to do with a letter from me. All I can do is apologise, and perhaps offer some sort of an explanation.
You are special, Alexiares. You have Oraleean blood, but Levinian also; and do not let your father try to make you forget that. You are the very culmination of a promise between our two nations; a promise of peace and cooperation. You represent a hope for the future. Your brother will one day take the throne, and you will take your place in the background, doing good works for Oralee and for Levina. Believe me when I tell you that that is a far more valuable place to be than on the throne. You must use the power you will have to work alongside Caspian wisely, and protect the peace you represent.
I had to act when that peace was threatened. I know you shall probably never forgive me for sending you to Levina, but I do not regret it. I did my duty to Levina, and you did your duty to help bring peace. And I know you will. I have every faith that you will bring about the end of this war. In fact, I believe it so much that I have sacrificed my life to make it so.
I am sorry for what I have done, but I would do it again ten times over. I hope now that you are older that you can understand that.
There are other things that you need to know. There is magic in your blood. I do not know yet whether you possess that gift or not but now you are older you will likely know already should you be a Factioneer. These are dangerous times, Alexiares. Keep your head low. A gift too soon revealed is wasted, and can become dangerous.
If there is one lesson I can impart to you it is that you ought never to reveal anything before its time. You must keep your cards close to your chest in this world, and particularly when your father is involved. You must keep your abilities, should you have them, secret until it benefits you to reveal them.
You must keep yourself safe. The walls have eyes in this palace and the kingdom has taken against me after I sent you to Levina. You do not have to be the person they will most likely make you out to be. Remember that.
I’m not afraid of your father’s decision to have me executed, because I know that you are here. I trust you to finish what I started. I betrayed Oralee for you, because I knew you had to be the one to end this war. It had to be you.
I hope that you will keep my memory with you, and I know that you will be the promise of peace that your father and I intended you to be. That both kingdoms need you to be.
Please do not forget that I love you.
All my love, your mother’
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Mar 12, 2022 18:55:22 GMT -5
FLASHBACK Callan wasn’t embarrassed to say he’d felt a flood of panic when he received Tia’s letter. He’d immediately realised something was wrong. He and Tia had grown up together; he knew her and her brother better than he knew anyone. This letter didn’t sound like her.
She needed him, and if there was one thing Callan had never had any problem with when it came to his duties it was being there when she needed him. They’d always supported one another, and never once for Callan had that been out of duty. Duty ruled his life, without doubt, but with Tia it was about more than that. He saw her as a little sister, and his loyalty to her was his own. Not the loyalty his father had taught him.
He’d barely had to explain the situation to his commander before he was sent back to the palace. Orders were orders, after all, and Tia had recalled him to the palace.
He knew even more clearly that something was wrong when he arrived at the palace.
It was dark when he arrived back home, so dark that the silhouettes of the tree branches slashing across the sky that he had noted in the dusk earlier had faded into indistinguishable black against the night. The air had taken on a chill, too, he noted.
A familiar figure, face illuminated by a lantern in his hand, was the unusual sight that confirmed to Callan that something was truly off.
“Father?” Callan greeted, surprised and a little unnerved, as he approached the older man.
Callan’s father always greeted him when he returned on leave, but he was never awaiting Callan’s arrival. For him to be there just within the gates was most unusual.
“Callan,” Tybalt returned, before approaching his son rapidly and lowering his voice, suddenly seeming urgent ”did many people see you on your approach to the gates?”
Callan frowned, bewildered.
“No-” Callan began, confused “Father, what’s going on?”
Tybalt gave Callan one of his disapproving looks, the kind Callan best knew from when he was a child. Usually given if he had missed something obvious while training or made a stupid mistake.
“Come on, boy,” chided Tybalt “did you really think you were called back so urgently because all was as it should be?”
Callan felt a rise of frustration at that. He was tired, he was cold, and his normally straight-talking, no-nonsense father was refusing to give a simple answer to his question. Not only that, but he was growing agitated wondering what was so wrong.
“Father, I’ve ridden a long way to get here.” he answered “Why was I called back?”
Something came over Tybalt’s face in that moment that Callan had never seen before, and it made the young man’s stomach twist.
“We did not wish for the people to know yet so as to avoid panic until we can discover who was responsible.” Tybalt began, voice hushed as he stepped closer to his son.
Callan had a horrible sickening feeling that he knew what his father was going to say before the words left his mouth.
“The King and Queen are dead.”
Callan wasn’t sure in that moment if he stumbled a little, as if physically hit by the shock. How had that been allowed to happen? It had to be murder, but right in their own palace? With guards to defend them? It didn’t seem real, but his father’s strange behaviour and Tia’s letter suddenly made sense.
Not to mention his father’s question about his return to the gates; Callan’s sudden return would be a sign that something was wrong to anyone who saw.
The young man was first hit with disbelief, but his thoughts quickly turned to…
”Tia? Carlo?”
Those two words were all he seemed able to say. It was like he couldn’t breathe.
”Their Highnesses are safe but shaken. Prince Carlisle is under extra protection for his peace of mind, as is Princess Adrestia. But we come now to the reason for your return.”
As Tybalt spoke, he grabbed his son’s arm with his free hand, walking alongside the younger man as he explained.
“Adrestia has refused a regent, which is something we had rather not predicted.” Tybalt continued.
Callan could have predicted it. He knew Tia far too well. She would never have accepted a regent; she was smart enough not to let the power she held leave her hands. After all, all too often regents took advantage of the rightful ruler to manipulate them and seize power for themselves. Not to mention the fact that he had no doubt that in the wake of the murder of her parents, Tia would not know who to trust.
By now the pair was inside, Tybalt’s lantern discarded as the pair walked through torchlit hallways, flickering flame illuminating the tapestries on the walls as they passed.
“Because she’s not a fool, father, nor a child. Go on.” the young man responded.
She might not be a child, but that didn’t mean Callan didn’t think Tia was too young to have this burden on her shoulders. But it didn’t matter what he believed, it mattered what Tia believed. Besides, if she wanted any kind of control over her kingdom she didn’t have much choice but to take the throne.
“She needs someone she can trust at her side now, and she does not trust a soul more than you. Adrestia would like you to take your rightful place as Head Guard when she takes the throne.”
Callan swallowed. He had known this day would come eventually, but he had always assumed that by then he would be older and more experienced. This was a big responsibility and at only twenty-three he had only his name to recommend him to the role, not the accomplishments of a veteran soldier.
“I am really not sure I am the right person-“ he began, only to be cut off by his father.
Tybalt stopped abruptly, turning to face his son.
“I have spent your entire life raising you to be the right person.” he began.
The older man exhaled a little, shaking his head, before continuing. His voice became more earnest as he continued, attempting to reason with his son.
”Adrestia is afraid, Callan. She needs somebody she can trust with her life. If you will not do this for our family name or our oath, please do it for her.”
Oaths made on family blood were not easily shaken, Tybalt had always taught Callan, especially oaths to kings. A Verndari’s word meant everything.
But honestly, Callan was a pretty terrible Verndari if he really thought about it. The oath meant nothing to him, and he’d broken his promise to always be there for Tia. She’d lost her parents while he had been far away unable to be there for her. Clearly he did not always keep his word as a Verndari should.
The one thing he’d got right was his desire to protect Tia and Carlo.
So he sighed, but nodded.
”What’s one more oath?”
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Mar 17, 2022 6:47:09 GMT -5
PART 2 OF PREVIOUS FLASHBACK
”Did you really think we wouldn’t eventually figure it out? You’re a long way from home, Your Highness.”
Lilith considered her options here. She could call his bluff and feign ignorance, tell him she didn't know what he was talking about, but she knew better than that. The leader of the group, Darvyn, would not have said anything unless he was certain and they both knew that. The cards were on the table and Lilith would be putting herself on the back foot if she tried to mislead him.
"You found the gravestone, then?" she questioned calmly in response, as if this were just a normal conversation.
The real Lilith Killoran was dead. It was a gravestone she'd seen in a village not far from when she had first crossed paths with Darvyn and the rest of the group. A stupid idea, really. She should have made a name up, it would have been less traceable.
"A week ago." was Darvyn's equally casual reply "From there it did not take long for my informants to find out who you truly are."
He stared into the flames of the fire that was doing little to ease the sudden chill Lilith felt. It was a moment before he spoke up again, the flickering light casting shadows on his face. Then he turned his head to meet her eyes.
"Do you know how much some people would pay for one of Alexandria's princesses?
That question brought a fresh wave of fear, but she did what she had always been taught to do. When you felt fear, you showed confidence. She was already in a dangerous position now and she would not show any weakness. Darvyn could not have more to exploit.
"I'm a princess of nothing. My land is taken from me and my people are dead. I hold no influence. I'm no more valuable than any other wanderer." responded Lilith, choosing to challenge him. He could be lying to frighten her and extort something from her, after all. Who could she possibly be of value to, after all?
But she knew she was wrong when Darvyn began to laugh. Just a chuckle as reached to place another log on the fire.
"You are a bright girl, but you are far more naive than you believe yourself to be. As long as you are alive, you are a threat to every ruler in Oikoumene. You are a dethroned princess wandering unchecked. That is the kind of thing that can make a ruler uneasy, particularly in these times." Darvyn replied.
She knew what he was referring to. It wasn't so very long ago that the rulers of Aaltonen had been overthrown by a new family. Every royal family in Oikoumene would be wary of any threat to their rule. She was a danger, and that was even without anyone knowing about her magical abilities.
Lilith could sense how deeply she was in trouble now, and she rapidly rose to her feet, grabbing her sword in her hand as she stepped back. Back, towards the treeline and escape. Darvyn raised an eyebrow, but rose to his feet himself.
"You don't want to run, princess." Darvyn smiled.
Lilith raised her sword, pointing it at him.
"And why not?" she challenged.
"You won't get out of this forest."
"I've gotten out of worse scrapes before, Darvyn." Lilith snarled
"And if you do my informants are instructed to tell every noble within a hundred miles that there's a price on your head." replied Darvyn simply "I'm sure they would love to gain favour with the royals by presenting to them the would-be Queen of Alexandria."
Lilith looked behind her, the direction in which she felt such a strong urge to bolt. But did she want to take that risk? Darvyn could be lying, but if he was right and she was caught she could only imagine what might happen to her. She owed it to her sisters to survive, to do whatever she could to get closer to one day retaking Alexandria. If she died now, the deaths of her sisters and her mother were for nothing.
She looked back to Darvyn, fresh fury in her eyes. She could not give in yet.
"I don't like threats." she said angrily.
"And I don't like liars." Darvyn answered, stepping closer to her.
Lilith shifted as he stepped closer and closer, feeling rooted to the spot. If she ran, she risked his informants telling people about her. Every part of her body screamed at her to move, to run, but she could not. Eventually he got close enough that he could almost whisper. She could have killed him there and then, but she knew if she did the rest of the group would hunt her down. She didn't have the kind of power to overthrow Darvyn yet.
"But perhaps I can be persuaded to overlook what I know."
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Mar 26, 2022 13:50:53 GMT -5
FLASHBACK - NOT NECESSARILY CANON Alex had never wanted to be caught up in the fight of his parents, but because of their mistakes the boy had little choice in the matter.
He remembered that one night, in the weeks before his mother deceived him and handed him over to the Levinians, that he had been unable to fall asleep. Partly because of the uneasy atmosphere around the palace (though he had been too young to truly understand what was happening, the eight-year-old could still sense the tension) and partly because of a burst of exciteable childish energy.
So he had done what he usually did when he had too much energy (nervous, excited or otherwise) to sleep, and snuck out of his bed to explore the palace. It was through similar explorations that he came to learn the secret passageways with which he would later be so familiar.
The child had just been sneaking down a corridor when he heard his mother’s voice ringing down the next passage. Alex pressed himself against the wall in order to hear their conversation.
“Our marriage was a gross misalliance.” that was his mother’s voice “and now my father has paid the price.”
“Your father’s political ambitions placed us in this marriage, and in this war.” Alex heard his father counter “It is too late for us to withdraw from either, and so we must bear it.”
“And you will not do a thing to protect my country? A country to which you, as my husband, should also hold a responsibility?” Alex swallowed, nothing that his mother’s voice now sounded truly distressed. He’d never heard her sound like that before.
His father, however, sounded perfectly calm.
“Adreana, my responsibility is to Oralee, as should be yours. I am sorry about your father, but he chose to put his own life and Levina’s safety at risk and he has suffered the consequences of his choice.” the man answered
Alex held his breath for a moment of silence.
You are either with Oralee or with Levina, and I must stress to you that our son’s future depends upon which kingdom you ally yourself to. He holds no realistic prospects in Levina, but he is second in line in Oralee. Do not throw away the boy’s chances so easily because of a foolish misjudgement.” Chadwick added.
”A foolish misjudgement? To stand by my country — for it is my country, just as much as this? I think not. I will not let you bring Alexiares into this to try to frighten me into standing by while my home falls.” the distress in his mother’s voice had given way to anger now, something Alexiares was equally unused to hearing from her.
“If Levina falls, it falls!” Alex started at the sudden roar of his father’s voice “I do not pretend to try to uphold the alliance we once represented. If I must accomplish what those before me could not and see that nation destroyed, I shall do it happily. It is for you to decide where your loyalties lie.”
There was another moment of silence, longer this time. The very air seemed to grow thick and acrid, filling with a bitter anticipation.
“If you mean to cause more harm to Levina, I have to do what my conscience tells me,” Adreana threatened, her tone dangerous and blade-like.
“As must I, my dear.” came the king’s response, the pet name holding no warmth.
At that point the pair just have went their separate ways, for Alexiares heard only one set of footsteps approaching him. He recognised the gait instantly as his father’s, and the fearful child darted into the nearest doorway.
Blissfully it was an empty room, and the boy had only to hold his breath and listen at the doorway until it seemed that his father had passed by. From there he could ran back to his bed, new anxieties about things he did not entirely understand working in his head and churning in his stomach.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Apr 2, 2022 5:40:28 GMT -5
Callan was tired.
He didn’t know how much longer he’d have the strength to keep denying his involvement in what had happened to Elena. Based on their previous interactions, he thought it a strong possibility that the longer she went without a confession from him, the angrier she would get.
His word was all he had. His father had always taught him never to break his word, that the Verndari kept their oaths and did not lie. He hadn’t put as much stock in the stuff about duty and honour as his father had, but in this case he had nothing else. All he had was the truth, and he would not sacrifice that so easily.
Well, the truth — and Carlo and Tia. He would not let Carlo come to any harm.
He didn’t know what to do. He knew that if he lied and confessed then it would probably not help him. He didn’t think Elena would be more likely to be merciful if he gave a free confession. She wanted revenge, he could see that plainly, and he didn’t think it would make a lot of difference to her how she got the answers she was seeking.
Callan also knew that she deserved the truth. Putting aside their interactions and the bad feeling between them, he knew that she had been hurt. Not by him, but by someone. If he lied then justice wouldn’t be served for her. That person who had hurt her would be walking out there free and unpunished. She had a true enemy somewhere who might mean her harm. Elena deserved the truth about what had happened, not a self-serving lie from him on the off-chance that it might save his skin. That was not who he was, or at least not who he wanted to be.
But he was exhausted from it all. He’d always been taught that the truth would out eventually and everything would come right in the end, but it was becoming harder to believe. Besides, how could he ever get her to believe him? If she had made her judgement already, he didn’t see how he could change her mind; he didn’t know if the truth could change years of belief.
If it couldn’t, part of him wondered if it would not be better just to give Elena the false confession and let it be. Perhaps he could prevent any harm that might come to Carlo if he continued to deny everything, though he did seriously doubt that Elena would hurt him. There was a chance she’d stick to her deal with Ress and Atlas and keep him alive, or that she’d for whatever reason appreciate him telling the ‘truth’ and look on him more kindly than she might if he kept on denying.
And he didn’t know how much longer he could keep sticking to a truth she would not believe and waiting for some revelation of what had truly happened to save him. If he had known who had truly hurt her, he could have told her and had a better chance of saving himself. If he had any kind of bargaining chip aside from the increasingly tenuous-looking deal between Elena and Ress and Atlas, he might have had a chance.
But he didn’t.
Talking to Crius kept his spirits up somewhat. He could tell him stories sometimes about the palace and growing up there, or about Tia and Carlo. It was nice, and sometimes he felt a glimmer of the big-brotherly feelings he had towards Tia and Carlo.
Still, he knew things couldn’t go on as they were forever. He could sense that things would reach their boiling point, and he wondered continually if he should try to avert things getting to that stage.
He didn’t know what to do. All he could hope was for something new to help his situation.
Sometimes, when the bustle of Elena’s camp was quietest, if he closed his eyes he could imagine himself being in the woodland surrounding the palace back home. The sounds and smells were much the same.
He could be transported back to those woods where he had spent so many happy hours when he was younger, sometimes with Tia and Carlo. He could recall what it was like to be there even now. Golden sunlight glowing pink through his eyelids. Calm air sheltered by the trees and heavy with the scent of wild garlic. Birdsong echoing above them, insistent but melodic nonetheless. The soft whispering rush of some nearby stream, and when the sunlight played on the water it was like the brightest burnished silver. The gentle soughing of the tree canopy and the waters of the stream. The feel of a golden and warm dappled sunlight on his skin.
It sometimes helped to clear his head, to put himself back there. An easy feat with the peaceful woods surrounding Elena’s camp. Usually it gave him some peace and some clarity. But this time it was not helping.
This time, he didn’t have the answer.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Apr 3, 2022 15:11:14 GMT -5
(Hey! I was wondering if you could tell me about the process you use to select who can join your RP forum? I'd love to start that process if I'm able Will delete reply if not meant to go on here) Hello there! I don’t know if we’re currently open to new joiners especially as we haven’t been properly active in a while because so many of our members have been so busy recently. However I’ll tag our owner 𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕨 since she has final say on all of that kind of thing of course and can give you proper information.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Apr 12, 2022 13:01:12 GMT -5
FLASHBACK The young Briseis found that every time she met with Favian, she grew fonder of him. Like some addiction, the more she spent time with him the more eagerly she looked forward to the time they would next meet. Never before had she found herself looking forward to balls or formal engagements.
He was witty, and funny, and exciting, and had a similar sense of humour to her. He was confident. He breathed life into her that she’d never realised she had been lacking. Their exchanges were lively. He was neither intimidated by her title nor enchanted by it, but able to see the person beneath.
Briseis had always been independent, and part of her detested the hold he seemed to have on her. Yet she would not sever ties with him.
She did not spurn his company when they sought one another out at dance after dance.
One night, the two had been at the side of the room (the space they usually inhabited together) when Favian suddenly seemed distracted, something catching his eye. Without moving his gaze from the object of his attentions, he began grabbing blindly at Briseis' arm.
"Brizzy, who is that girl?" he asked in an urgent whisper.
The young woman followed his gaze, landing on a girl who had just entered the room. She was beautiful. She carried herself with elegance, and she was adorned everywhere with crystals. Her dress was like the water of some clear rushing spring catching the sunlight, her hair falling softly about her. She smiled an easy, confident smile and her eyes were bright. Her whole figure was illuminated with the soft, golden light of the room. She simply seemed to sparkle.
Briseis was dressed no less grandly, but this woman seemed to exude an effortless grace and beauty that Brizzy could never achieve. Brizzy was awkward, particularly in a ballgown. She was far from the woman she would become when she was older; a beauty altogether more cold and harsh, as if something hewn from stone. Still, even before she became that imposing figure she didn't think she could look more different than the graceful young lady who had just entered.
A woman Briseis knew well.
"Lady Annalie Sena, she's the daughter of some duke or other. My father was her godfather. A vacuous, insipid little thing by all accounts. She's pretty and dresses well so she's a bit of a society darling, but she's two-a-penny. She's harmless enough, and actually quite sweet, which gets on my nerves because I'd sorely like to hate her." Briseis explained
Favian seemed to have barely taken in anything but her name, eyes still locked on the young woman as she chatted to some noble Briseis didn't recognise, animated as she listened with interest. Her very face seemed to glow, and in that very moment she had never irritated Briseis more.
"Please introduce me to her," Favian begged quietly "I'll be ever so much in your debt."
In all her time knowing Favian, Briseis had never known the young duke seem so...flustered. He was unsettled. She had always seen him with an effortless kind of confidence, flirting and teasing with a casual wit. He always seemed to have the words, he always seemed to be in control.
"Why? I could introduce you to a hundred vapid ingenues exactly like Annalie Sena." Briseis protested. She was a little taken aback by Favian's sudden interest in this girl, though she couldn't quite put her finger on why it got under her skin so much. She'd never talked so harshly of Annalie before.
She had always been a little jealous of Annalie's apparently effortless ability to fit in with the nobility, something Briseis had never mastered, but she had never hated her. So why was she feeling the cruel urge to put down this girl? What was she trying to achieve by trying to pitch herself as different from all the 'other' girls? She knew better than that, her mother had taught her better than to talk badly of other women to make herself sound better. And was this for Favian's benefit? Why?
And yet she couldn't stop herself.
"Because I should like to know her, and you already do. Please, Briseis. If you were a friend to me you would do it without question." Favian responded.
Why did being called his friend hurt so much?
Trying to cover up this hurt she couldn't understand, she offered Favian a teasing smile.
"You say you shall be in my debt. What will you give me?"
Favian was growing impatient, but seemed relieved that Briseis was relenting.
"Anything," he responded, voice growing eager.
Briseis rolled her eyes but nodded, looping her arm gently through Favian and leading her apparently lovestruck friend across the ballroom. Luckily, Annalie turned to face the pair just as they approached, and dipped into a small curtsy out of respect for Briseis. She returned the greeting with a respectful dip of the head.
"Cousin Briseis, to what do I owe the pleasure?" asked Annalie in that annoyingly melodious voice.
Now, they weren't really cousins. But because of her father being Annalie's godfather, they sort of considered one another family. Even after the former king's death. Besides, it was rather more comfortable; Briseis hated being called 'Your Highness' all the time.
"It is more of a pleasure than you realise, Lady Annalie," Briseis responded "For I am here to present my dear friend Favian Corin, the Duke of Eryn, from Taraneh. Eryn, the Lady Annalie Sena."
She curtsied, he bowed, all the typical things to be expected.
"It is a pleasure, Your Grace."
"The pleasure is mine, My Lady,"
Suddenly feeling that she could no longer bear to be next to the two of them, and knowing that she should not impose on their conversation, Briseis offered them both a tight smile.
"I shall leave you to it." she said politely, making some excuse and leaving the pair to talk.
And she felt her heart break.
_________
She barely saw Favian again all night, and had spent most of her evening alone on the edge of the dance floor. When he did come over, she rejected his company. She was not social and hated such events, but the company of Favian had made them more bearable. This time, though, she could tell he was only going to see her as a courtesy. She'd seen the way he'd kept glancing back towards Annalie. She would not keep him from her if that was where he wished to be.
At the end of the night, undoubtedly once the ever-respectable Lady Annalie had left before the night grew too late, Favian sought her out again. He approached her with a smile, but Briseis fixed a stony gaze on him.
"So I am in your favour once again?" she asked harshly.
"What?" Favian asked, with such an expression of confusion and hurt than Briseis almost felt bad.
Almost. But she wasn't thinking.
"You've barely danced with me all night." Brizzy accused, barrelling on despite the apparent upset she was causing Favian.
"I tried to, but you've been in a foul mood like you always are at one of these things!" Favian snapped, his confusion giving way to a defensive anger.
Briseis felt her cheeks flushing, taking an angry stride closer to the young duke.
"Because you've been at the beck and call of Annalie Sena all night!" Briseis shouted back.
Favian was stunned, and blinked. He was clearly unable to formulate a response to that. That was what made Brizzy realise all the more strongly that she was right.
She wasn't usually an emotional person, and in fact she never cried. But she could feel angry tears pricking at her eyes at that point, stinging as she stubbornly tried everything in her power to keep them from spilling onto her cheeks.
"You have made it very clear to me that you prefer her company." Briseis continued bitterly, voice thick.
"Brizzy, please-" Favian cut in
But Briseis cut him off, shaking her head and taking a step back.
"I don't wish to talk about it now. Please just go." Briseis said with all the finality she could muster, trying to master control of herself again and keep her voice even despite how much it wanted to shake.
"Brizzy-" Favian was becoming more desperate now, brows drawing together as he stepped closer to the girl.
But Brizzy merely took a step back, raising her hands as if to keep him at bay.
"GO!" she had been unable to avoid raising her voice there; as desperate as he was to stay, she was just as desperate for him to go. This was causing her so much pain.
He seemed to finally take that as an answer; he looked at her for a moment, considering, before letting out a sigh and turning.
As he retreated, the reality set in. This was Briseis' fault. She'd been so blind to her own feelings, so unable to acknowledge them, that she'd lost Favian. If she'd just told him then things might have been different, and surely she couldn't tell him now after they'd had such a row. She hadn't even truly realised how she'd felt until that night. He had been stupid and blind, but so had she. She was angry at herself, but she was angry at him too.
Or maybe she was just angry that he didn't seem to feel the same way.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Apr 16, 2022 16:39:51 GMT -5
ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ ahhhh right okay. Thanks for trying to help out anyway, hopefully there are spaces Hi Dark! so I can confirm that sadly we’re not taking new members at the moment. Thank you so much for your interest though!)
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Apr 17, 2022 14:11:56 GMT -5
FLASHBACK - NOT NECESSARILY CANON Alex could generally get through events hosted by his father without major issue. He usually gravitated to the sidelines, not wishing to be involved in the festivities; he wasn't a particularly social person. He tended to avoid people and in turn, they also avoided him. He would engage in the occasional bit of dutiful conversation or talk related to his responsibilities in his royal role but mostly he was left alone. That suited him just fine; events like this usually consisted of music, food and conversation, which sounded wonderful but often wasn't nearly as pleasant as it sounded. Still, as a rule, he could survive without being bothered too often at most of his father's gatherings.
A rule that Adira Ginemoux appeared to be ignoring.
She approached him casually, moving to stand at his side. Jewels glittered from her hair and skin, including insignia of her role as Queen of Halstein, as the woman nonchalantly surveyed the chattering crowd before them.
"So, Your Highness, I gather that you have recently returned from a journey to Levina?" was the queen's greeting -- and question.
She was talking to him as if he was an old friend, aside from the customary use of his title in greeting. The two were relatively familiar with one another, being that they were around the same age. Though Alex would have never said that they were particularly good friends.
"Your sources are swift with their news, Your Majesty." Alex replied "I returned only this afternoon."
He wasn't going to let it pass by that he was aware that she must have gotten that information very promptly. He wouldn't be surprised if she had eyes everywhere, and he intended clearly to make sure Adira knew he'd taken note of what she had said there and what it suggested.
Adira seemed unruffled, or if she was she did not react at all. As cool as the gemstones which glittered around her neck. Looking out over the ballroom and the crowd with the air of someone inhabiting their own space. It was as if the palace were her home.
"I am responsible for much that is to do with relations between Oralee and Levina. I understand Levina better than anyone in the palace." the prince added
He did not handle everything to do with Oralee and Levina's relationship, and he did report (and sometimes defer, particularly on the most important matters) to his father and his advisors. Those reports had to be painstaking and scrupulous, for Alex was not well-trusted when it came to the matter of Levina. His father had simply decided that Alex's knowledge of Levina was valuable enough to outweigh his complex ties with the nation. Still, Alex had much to do with matters of trade, diplomacy and more.
Adira hummed in response to his words.
"I bet you do." answered the woman meaningfully "It is a relief when you return safely after you visit."
Alex looked sidelong at her then, feeling a flash of anger. He knew exactly what she was bringing up, and he didn't appreciate it at all. It was something Alex did not talk about, and he could only imagine what his father would think if he knew that topic had come up at a formal event like this.
"What do you want?" Alex asked, a little sharply to let his irritation be known.
"I want for us to be friends, Alexiares." Adira stated simply "Not everybody is blind to the way your father treats you, and trust me when I say I understand what it is to be envious of an older brother."
As she said that, her eyes were trained on someone. Alex followed her gaze to see his brother mingling with the crowd. He was talking to some group of nobles or officials, and he seemed to speak so easily to them. As if it came naturally. As if he had been born to do it and it was the easiest thing in the world.
"It must vex you so, what a perfect model of a future king he is."
Alex clamped his lips together. He did envy Caspian, but not because he was next in line for the throne. Just because of how easily it all seemed to come for him. Because he seemed to fit into this life and he never seemed to have an obstacle in his way. Because he was the golden child.
"I do wish you would skip the preamble, for both our sakes."
Adira's mouth quirked into a ghost of a smile, and Alex suspected she had been hoping he would say that. Which unsettled him immensely, because he did not like playing into Adira's hands. Even in this small way.
"As you wish." said the queen "You are lacking in support here in Oralee, but I would be willing to give you my support. Lend you troops, resources, help you build up an army so you can depose your father and brother and take power for yourself."
Her words were spoken more urgently, and for good reason; that kind of conspiracy and treason would get her killed if the wrong ears heard it, queen or not.
"You seem to have a low opinion of me, to think me so underhanded." Alex replied lowly.
That was a subtle insult to her, because he knew as well as everybody else did that she had deposed her two brothers. Murdered them to take power for herself. Nobody had proof, though.
Adira's quiet words in response chilled him.
"You of all people know that wars are not fought on the battlefield. Would it not be nice to not be the pawn for once?"
Again with the references to his mother's betrayal and his time in Levina. Adira truly knew how to get under Alex's skin, and she was trying to do so with ferocity.
"And what would you want in return?" Alexiares questioned.
He had no intention of accepting, of course. He had no desire to harm his father and especially not his brother. Caspian was innocent in all of this. His father was not, but Alex did not think this was the way to get revenge, if such a thing he even wanted.
"You lend me your support in return. You guide me when it comes to dealings with Oralee and with your cousin in Levina, and when you become king of Oralee you swear fealty to me."
Alex should have known that was coming. Of course he'd have to pledge his allegiance to her.
"I thought I was taking power for myself, not for you." Alex answered
Adira had a ready answer for that too, because of course she did.
"I don't believe the two goals must be opposed. If we ally, power for one is also power for the other."
"And what if I do not want power?"
"Then you are either a coward, in denial, or a liar."
Alex did not think that was true. He did not want the throne, could not want it less. Though he supposed that perhaps he did want power, but just of a different kind. The power to get rid of the things that were trapping him, he supposed. Adira, though, was talking about a much different kind of power.
"Then I am afraid you will find me disappointing. I will not betray my father and brother for my own gain, or yours. And I will certainly never be your puppet." Alex replied, allowing a firm warning tone to seep into his voice. What Adira had done here would not stand.
He knew what she saw him as. The disaffected, rebellious younger son. Someone she could easily manipulate and use in her little games. He would not do that. He did not trust Adira, for one thing; to make a deal like that with her would most certainly be the end of him. But most importantly, he did not wish to cause harm to Caspian or his father like this.
"I am disappointed, Alex. I thought you were more courageous and ambitious than that." Adira answered, though if she did truly feel disappointment not a note of it reached her voice. No note of genuine emotion seemed to do so most of the time with Adira.
"Well, you do not know me. We were children together, but we were never friends."
Athena seemed largely undeterred by that, or by Alex's very firm rejection. Instead, she just stepped away from him, saying one last thing.
"Just think about what I said. You know how to contact me."
And with that, she disappeared into the crowd as if she had never been anywhere else.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Apr 26, 2022 15:46:19 GMT -5
FLASHBACK Briseis had weighed much of her options for the future based on what was best for her sisters and for her kingdom, but particularly the former.
She was the trailblazer, the leader, or she was expected to be. She was expected to be the forger of the path along which her sisters would follow. After all, Briseis’ prospects were clear; she was the future Queen of Alexandria. Her sisters would have expectations on them but were rather more free without the crown looking over then.
They would need to find their way in Alexandrian high society, no matter how private the royals were, if they were to create independent lives and prospects for themselves not defined by their sister or parents. That meant that Briseis had to do the same; make their transition into society easier by being the first to navigate those waters. Map out the route ahead of them and perhaps calm the raging waters so their crossing might be easier.
Briseis was acutely aware of all of this. Her sisters depended on her; their reputations and futures lived and died by how Brizzy conducted herself. Her kingdom looked to her as their future leader, knowing their lives and livelihoods would depend on her.
She was going to have to fit moulds that might not have been made for her, because her role demanded it and she would not force her sisters to shoulder her burden.
She did it all for May and Bee.
But now everything by which she had defined her entire life was crumbling. The things with which she had built up her self-image and her future gone.
Who was she if not made of the very walls of that palace? Where did she belong if not the lands of that kingdom? Who would she become if not the Queen of Alexandria?
Who was she if not the person her sisters needed her to be?
But now her kingdom was a blur of ash and flame, the ruins of all that was familiar to her struck bu the galloping hooves of her horse.
She had tried to get Minke to leave for safety first but had realised Maylea was still inside in the midst of the attack and had rushed to try to find their middle sister.
Now as she left her kingdom behind she has no clue where her sisters were, or indeed if they’d survived the attack and escaped in safety.
She feared desperately for them and their safety. She would never forgive herself if they were hurt or worse and she could have done something to help. They were everything to her.
And now her future was uncertain, her identity wiped away. Everything she’d known and relied upon gone in the blink of an eye.
Alexandria had fallen.
But as she rode away, the ashes of her kingdom coating her boots and dusting her hair, she made a promise to herself.
One day she would return. Fight for her kingdom and take it back or die trying. Find her sisters or avenge them. She didn’t care if that promise would be the end of her, because the way she saw it there was no alternative.
She would rebuild what she had lost.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on May 4, 2022 19:03:23 GMT -5
Adira was at a disadvantage.
She had begun her plans for Wisteria with her orders to poison Adrestia’s parents. But now another ruler - either Ernestine or Drake, doubtless - had begun to make their own moves in that country with the kidnapping of the prince and that Verndari whelp. Adira knew of him; he was a couple of years younger than she, and she’d often seen him at the sidelines of royal events growing up. All brotherly with Tia, a loyal guard dog from the moment he could hold a sword. He’d become a valued member of Tia’s retinue, as she understood. Had grown up almost as a brother to Tia and Carlo, though as he grew older the status difference between them came more to the fore.
She’d never respected the Verndaris, who had noble blood but had not held land or influence in their own right for more generations than Adira cared to count. In substitute for any real authority, they maintained relevancy and power from their association with the Wisterian royals. Adira’s father had always told her that the Verndaris had essentially made themselves glorified servants - she was inclined to agree with his assessment. The newest Head Guard was no different from any other Verndari.
Adira cared little for Callan; she was far more interested in Carlisle. The Crown Prince being kidnapped was far bigger news, even if Tia would undoubtedly be devastated at the loss of both boys. How on earth had Ernestine and Drake managed to do this?
What infuriated her was that she was one step behind. She suspected Ernestine or Drake but did not yet know which of them was even responsible, which severely hindered her plans. She was already unhappy enough with the knowledge that she now had competition from one of the other two rulers for Wisteria.
Adira had to move quickly if she was doing to have any chance of not losing Wisteria to Ernestine or Drake.
So she had sent letters to Ernestine and Drake, suggesting that they meet in private because she believed they could turn recent events in Wisteria to their mutual advantage. Her plan? To ally with them both so she could eventually double-cross them and take Wisteria for herself. She’d also sent a letter to Adrestia, letting her know that she was on her way.
She would express her sympathy to Adrestia, which had always been her plan. She’d intended to get close to Tia following the loss of her parents. Offer, as a queen who’d ascended the throne in similar circumstances, to offer Tia support and guidance. Now, with Tia more vulnerable than ever and under threat, not to without the people she trusted most in the world, it was even more perfect.
Adira had to strike while the iron was hot, and before Ernestine or Drake could do so.
From there she could make Tia her puppet and Wisteria was essentially hers without having to risk a single soldier.
She was at a disadvantage, but she would not be for long if she could help it. And certainly she would never let herself seem vulnerable or even perturbed by anything.
Never let them see fear. That was what she’d been taught.
And so the young queen felt a rise of quiet confidence as her carriage drew up to Wisteria’s palace. Her alliance with Ernestine and Drake was already in the making, her letters having been sent, and she had no doubt she could make good progress with Tia. She simply had to befriend the young queen, which she suspected would be easy given what they had in common and the girl’s vulnerable state.
From there she simply had to use Ernestine and Drake’s help to make Tia even more vulnerable without her realising Adira was working against her. When the time was right and Ernestine and Drake served no purpose for her, she’d double cross them. Hopefully by then she’d know which of them had orchestrated the kidnapping and she’d hand them over to Tia. Maybe even pin Tia’s parents on them for good measure. And the other, she’d figure out. If she could prove the two were allies without implicating herself she could imply they were both responsible for the wrongs done to Tia and those she cared about. That would kill two birds with one stone.
Either way, her plans were underway. A wrench had been thrown in the works of her original plan, but she was nothing if not adaptable.
You had to be, or you would die.
But she’d judged her next moves right, she was sure as she stepped out of her carriage outside the palace. It was a big risk, but the reward was high. If she played both sides carefully, it would all be fine.
So as she approached the building, she felt assured that she was one step closer to her plan to rule all of Oikoumene.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on May 16, 2022 14:05:50 GMT -5
FLASHBACK - NOT NECESSARILY CANON It was the night after Alexiares had discovered Minke in the dungeons, but perhaps most importantly had discovered one of the most abominable of his father's lies.
He sat in his chambers before a lowly flickering candle, eyes fixed on the bracelet in his grip as he turned it in his hands, the gold catching the warm light as he did. The coolness of the metal and the slight warmth of the candle's flame played across Alex's skin.
He remembered well his sixteenth birthday when he'd been given them by his father. Told to always wear them as a symbol of his dedication to the kingdom and insignia of his role within the royal family. Made with materials from all across Oralee. And he'd trusted his father, even though he knew he probably shouldn't have, because he never could have dreamed of the truth of why he'd been given those things.
They were the first pieces of royal jewelery he'd ever received. He had jewelery, but it wasn't of any import. These bracelets were pieces that were significant to his role. He had dared to believe, for even a second, that it meant his father respected him or his role within the family. That his father did not want him to feel like an outsider in his own family, in his own kingdom.
But he had been lied to and used as a pawn, as he had been so many times in his life.
What he had been given was not a gift, they were shackles. Things designed to suppress the things that made him unique, that made him powerful. That gave him a connection to his history or to his mother. The things that made him a threat.
He'd spent his life being betrayed by the people he was supposed to be able to trust the most. Imprisoned so subtly, so civilly, so that they could control him without having to lock him behind bars, which would simply not do in terms of keeping up appearances. This was probably the most insidious, the most underhanded of those betrayals.
Why could not even a gift just be a gift when it came to his father?
And the worst part was that they became almost part of his identity, part of who he was. He always wore the bracelets and so he could be identified by them. He'd come to accept them as part of himself, even appreciated the meaning they supposedly had behind them.
He'd been such a fool and he hated himself for it.
Why did everyone lie to him? Why did everybody want to control him or tell him who he should be?
And why was it that even after knowing about the lie, he still was afraid to not wear those bracelets? Because he was afraid of who he might be without them? Because, deep down, he was still just a kid who wanted to pretend he could trust his father?
That day had been so much to deal with. The thing with Minke, Dante discovering Alex had magic, Alex learning the truth about the bracelets.
It felt like everything around him was crumbling. And if the walls around him crumbled, what would be left in the rubble?
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Demisexual
Leo
Surviving off Thai tea and Miguel O'hara
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Post by Leo on May 19, 2022 21:34:54 GMT -5
Day after day that man insisted he was telling the truth. Night after night Elena had the urge to kill him anyway. Get rid of her deal with the others and off the bastard anyway. She’d at least have satisfaction ignoring the supposed wrath of monarchs coming her way. But she held off if only for the sanity of her second. And the fact that he was making too much sense when it came to literally everything. That's why she appointed him as her second. Hour by hour, Elena watched her prisoner and how he interacted not only with her but with her young ward. How kind he was to him and patient. She never let herself be known that she was watching or listening in on them. Why do that? When she could use Crius to learn information that the Verndari wasn’t willing to tell her in the first place. And to find out if he was planning to try and escape anytime soon. But, the more she listened to them talk, the more doubt clouded her thoughts. She was scared that this guard dog was actually telling the truth about himself. That he didn’t know she had almost died at the hands of cruelty. That she had been betrayed so severely. She was scared that she may be wrong about him. And she was never wrong. A week had passed since she received the letter from Crius. Still, it sat unopened on her desk in her tent. She had avoided it for several days, merely glancing at it and fidgeting with her fingers before grabbing her coat and sweeping out of her quarters. And she did this over and over again until finally, she mustered up the courage to read the letter. Opening the letter, something immediately fluttered down to her table from it. It landed with a gentle crunch and sat still until the siren picked up the item. A partially crushed orange flower twirled between her fingertips. Still smelling sweet despite some of the petals being dried and crumbling away the more she moved it. Elena smiled and raised the flower to her nose as she began to read the letter. My dearest princess,
I hope that you are well and continue to prosper in your “adventures”. I’ve remembered to call them that this time see? No more scoldings about using proper word use or names in letters now!
You don’t know how happy I am to have received your letter. I know how busy and especially how careful you are about leaving a trail back to either one of us.
Speaking of which I heard about your recent escapade in Wisteria. Stealing directly from a noble during a crowded festival? How bold of you. But, did you actually get into a huge battle with the guardsmen or did they fabricate that to appear more competent than they actually are? Doesn’t matter much I suppose, you would have found a way to bested them either way.
I wish you would come visit. It’s been years since I’ve last seen you. I wonder how much you might have changed since then. If you cut your hair again or heavens forbid lost a limb in a fight. I also know that you’re being safe for both of us in staying away. But, can you blame an old man for hoping?
I miss you little pearl,
Your loving and impatient father
P.S. I hope you enjoy this little piece of home. They bloomed right on time like always.Elena grinned at the send-off. And she keep grinning as she pressed the letter to her chest, a lump forming in her throat and tears beginning to cloud her vision. It took everything in her to hold it together. To keep from crying in her tent. Every day she worried that he had been found and taken. Every day she worried that she was going to receive a ransom note instead of a letter back from her father. It’s why she didn’t tell anyone about him. Why she took so long to open those letters and focus on something else. She just didn’t want him to be gone from her life again. " Yo también te extraño, papá." ~~~~ Crius had snuck away from the tent he shared with the other members of the crew once things had settled down into an almost silence over the camp. Mostly everyone wsa asleep except for the men watching the camp borders but… they were at the border of the camp so what where they gonna do to stop him? Sneaking away towards Callan’s tent, Crius was careful not to knock anything over or step on a twig to wake his brothers. He was especially careful of Elena and Reed’s tents respectfully. They usually caught him in the middle of doing something. However, one simply couldn’t stop a curious boy from talking to the most interesting person in the camp since he’d been living with the gang. He wanted to know all about the stranger that held his mistress’s wrath but was useful enough to be kept alive. They never kept anyone around this long. And Crius was going to take advantage of this once-in-a-lifetime chance. Entering the tent that they kept Callan in, Crius closed the flaps gently behind him and quietly and gingerly felt his way forward in the dark toward the man until he was right in front of him. He sat down and began poking the man in the arm. Trying to wake him in case he was in fact asleep. “Are you awake?”
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