Edge of Oblivion v3 [Open - FULL]

[BR4SH fawn]

_________________________________________________________________________

➽LOCATION: Marvelle's gardenxxxxx➽COMPANY: Kalilee, Orindaxxxxx➽MOOD: Very, very drunk xxxxx➽OOC:

Zayd was perhaps a little too intoxicated to realize the implications of Melilora's speech and actions. He missed the way her calm veneer cracked just a little to reveal a storm brewing underneath, and he didn't notice the bite in her words as she dismissed himself. Instead, he looked after her momentarily, thinking about how nice her dress looked when it swayed back and forth like that. His brow furrowed in confusion after some time had passed, though. Where was she going? Had she said? She'd said something, he was sure. What it was though he could not recall. And now there was someone else standing before him, a vaguely familiar face. Zayd blinked a couple of times while a blank expression spread itself across his face. Where did he know this elegant-looking female from? Gray eyes traced a thin, chiseled face and noted high cheek bones and vibrant eyes before he was distracted once more by Orinda. Hmm, he had those high cheek bones and prominent features too, didn't he? The dark-haired prince stared for what could have seemed like a moment too long at the Incendian's handsome face before he registered the words spoken and let out a hearty laugh.

"I'm a wonderful dancer!" he insisted to Orinda, giving the older man a crooked smirk. "I can show you sometime if you want." His tone made it clear that it was not only an offer to show him his dancing abilities, but to partner up and dance together. He even reached out a hand and rested it on Orinda's upper arm, letting his own arm hang limp except for where his fingers gripped the king's arm. Lean, built muscle greeted his fingers, making Zayd feel mysteriously a bit warmer. Making an odd, strangled noise, he promptly dropped his hand from the other man's arm and turned his attention to the ground, where he was mildly distracted by various tidbits of thoughts running wild in his brain. Anything to distract him from the thoughts he'd just had about the king were good, though. Unlike a lot of the other royals, Orinda didn't brush him off. He entertained him, he smiled at him, he seemed amused by his antics rather than disgusted. Right?

His gaze trailed up the gown and form of the woman now, and when he heard the name, it clicked. Kalilee! From horse-back riding! "Ah, actually we have met," he informed Orinda, giving a knowing smile to Kalilee. "I s'pose we weren't actually introduced per say, though..." The prince gave a drunken chuckle, leaving his sentences vague, though not entirely on purpose. Details seemed to slip through the cracks when he was this drunk. There was something he wanted to say, though. "You both! ********, yer both gorgeous." One finger pointed back and forth between the two of them before Zayd allowed himself to stumble sideways a bit to lean and elbow on Orinda's shoulder, maybe a little on purpose. He leaned his head on the king's shoulder as well, nuzzling his hair a bit against his neck. Then, dizziness. A lot of dizziness. He attempted to stand up straight again, gripping Orinda's shoulder tightly. "Oh, I don't..."--his sentence was interrupted by a soft belch and a pained facial expression--"I don't feel so good... What's in that stuff?" Zayd's last words were horrendously slurred, almost incomprehensibly, and he swayed violently back and forth, his eyes drooping.

[Meareign]

res for ember, dice roll applies to next post

[Meareign]

Is he okay? Orinda wondered for the first time. The way the b*****d prince was swaying and squinting at them with difficulty, starting to look like a line had been crossed from drunk to ill. He was about to worry, but Zayd promptly remarked about the overall attractiveness of the Magnus siblings and Orinda’s concern ebbed off. He still suspected the boy had over-done it, but it was enough to reassure the king that Zayd wasn’t about to die of poisoning or anything. ”Thank you, Your Highness,” Orinda said politely. Not that Zayd would remember his compliment in the morning.

One of the king’s knights flinched when Zayd so freely grasped onto Orinda, but Orinda himself mostly managed to resist the urge to flinch. A stray electric spark flickered around the arch of Orinda’s ear, but it was nothing of any major note. He had reason to think Prince Zayd wasn’t about to stab him in the back.

As if by reflex, Orinda turned to look at his sister. With her red hair and fair face, it was so easy to see their mother in her. Admiring her was calming and he brotherishly patted his hand against her shoulder where it rested. Allard was incredibly useful, of course, but looking at the boy had never done favors for Orinda the way looking at Kalilee could. Examining his little brother mostly just reminded Orinda of how sickly Allard had always been and of their distinct differences. Allard...

Orinda froze. Imagery flashed through his mind like cracks of lightning. He saw visions of Sera the head seer, the knife to Allard’s flesh, the prophecy sputtering through the air. That haunting chamber beneath the palace. Every hair on his body stood on end and his breath caught shallowly in his throat. “Valar morghulis…” he whispered, lips moving but words practically inaudible.

“I have to go,” he interjected suddenly. He stayed frozen in place for several heartbeats before turning away and jumping into urgent action. He flagged down one of the many Terraloran guards around the garden and gave a speedy request. ”Please make certain Prince Zayd is alright.” To the prince, ”Excuse me, Your Highness. It was pleasant speaking with you.” To his sister, ”I’m sorry for rushing off, I wanted to see you.” With that, he hurried away in the quickest stride as he could maintain without breaking into a jog. Although they all wore varying expressions of confusion and concern, his six knights turned and followed with the same vigor.

Entering the tunnel that would eventually lead them back into the city, Orinda dug nervously into his robes and pulled out the parchment he had shoved inside hours earlier. His eyes tore over its surface, looking to find something again that he was sure he had seen before. His heart raced as fast as his eyes flickered over the writing.

“What exactly is going on, Orinda?” asked Sir Dravi. He had long ago been given permission to address the king in this way while out of the public eye.

“Are you alright, Sire?” asked Dame Faia. Despite her subtlety, they all knew what she was really asking. It was a justified question. Shekhrv was still being tended by physicians.

Orinda didn’t stop walking to give his answer, or even slow down. “I’m not certain,” he admitted, still trying to read the page of foreign nonsense. It wasn’t made any simpler by the added difficulty of vigorous walking. “But no, Faia, it’s not that. This paper is from the fire today, you know the one.”

“Yes, Sire,” answered Faia, as if for all of them. Most well-ranking Incendian knights were, at the very least, aware that there had been a fire in an Incendian study and that it was being guarded from civilians. Not all were aware of why it was being guarded or what was inside, but they knew that it was.

“It’s not in any language I’ve ever heard of, it may as well be Murkkhish for all anyone can read it, but I think…” he trailed off, as if feeling reluctant to fully explain an idea that he wasn’t even sure of himself. “I believe that I have realized something, but... if I am indeed correct, the implications are very, very troubling.”

“Exactly how troubling?” Dravi’s question sounded reluctant with apprehension.

“I don’t feel comfortable discussing it here,” Orinda answered, feeling very aware of how public they were in the open darkness of a long cave tunnel. There could be ears anywhere that belonged to anyone.

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯
Location: Tunnels leading to Sanctimonia | Feeling: Alarmed, unsafe | Company: security detail | Opinions: Questlog

OOC: dice roll for this post is on previous post. Rolled a 5.

[Meareign]

“I have come to visit with the Prince,” said the Incendian King again, standing with flawless, towering posture before the chamber that housed his sleeping sibling. Two burly nursemaids were standing guard at the door in addition to several actual guards, stationed around the room for the defenseless prince’s safety. It wasn’t the soldiers who had any objections. One of the women was a Terraloran, the other was an Incendian nurse who Orinda recognized from her long-standing employment in the aid of Pyrandon’s court physician. It was she who spoke back to the king. No doubt her own concerns were reflected equally by the Terraloran maid.

“Sire, with all due respect, the His Highness is ill and sleeping! Your Majesty will do no good going in there and fussing about. It’s best to let him sleep all he can. Nevermind that you run the risk of catching if he has a plague! We can’t have that.”

“Thank you for your concerns,” Orinda said in response, a pleasant and diplomatic smile presented to the workers. “I have taken note of them. I still intend to step inside and visit the Prince, however. I am afraid there is no warning you can give me that will end otherwise. You may take my word that I will do as little as I can that disturbs his ability to rest.”

With only modest indignation about the King’s insistence, the nursemaids cooperated and dismissed themselves from the scene. Leaving his personal detail of guards watching over the door with the other soldiers, Orinda passed inside and set his eyes on the figure asleep in bed. He pulled a chair over from the wall, set himself down in the seat and, for a time, just looked at his brother. He looked younger and more frail than ever, sleeping there. Allard’s skin was translucently pale, his eyelids red, his lips dry and chapped, and his hair was uncharacteristically disheveled. The image bore a morbid resemblance to Queen Fiai in the worse fits of her chronic condition.

“Wake up, Hal,” said Orinda quietly. “I want to talk to you.” He wasn’t sure what exactly he was expecting, but he wasn’t surprised when his command wasn’t obeyed. No sensible part of him thought Allard would rouse. In fact, now that he was here, Orinda wasn’t sure what he expected to accomplish at all. Allard was undoubtedly the person to see under the circumstances, but not while he was in this condition. Once again, silence filled the room. Orinda sat bedside and allowed himself to think.

“Do you remember your suspicion about The Ancients on our first day in this godforsaken cave?” he asked, recalling the way the blonde had spoken ill of the sages’ commandments inside the Grand Council chamber. Orinda recalled the way he had criticized Allard’s baseless cynicism. He also knew that hadn’t been the last of Allard’s investigation on the topic. “Did you ever find anything? Any real grounds for your worry?” The King sighed, disappointed and troubled in the knowledge that no answer would come. His questions were mostly rhetorical at this point, but they were still expressions of his own real disquiet.

“I don’t know how to proceed,” he admitted to his sleeping audience. “They look guilty, but the only clues I truly have are so weak. The whole thing is resting atop a powderkeg.

“...And what if the Seers aren’t at fault? What if this is some sort of elaborate scheme planted by another kingdom? Or by rebels? How could I know?” There was no answer, obviously. “It’s completely within the ability of a Marisian hate group to orchestrate a series of signs like this. Find a few common words from the language of the Seers, plant a mysterious purse somewhere that Davro would find it, show up at the right time trying to steal it back from him and leave no survivor… They could have dropped just enough clues that the Seers look guilty to Magnus Incendia, and then all they would have to do is sit back and watch as the we spit in the face of our gracious hosts and implode.” But that wasn’t the only suspicious thing going on.

“They could kidnap a few people in just the right places, remove a few here and there. Get rid of Lord Adlaw because he’s the only one who could tell us what’s really on those papers, get rid of a few more just to confuse the issue…” Orinda combed a hand back through his hair and took a deep breath. “Aurelia’s maid could be in on it. Go missing just at the right time, they know I’ll hear about it, suddenly it doesn’t make sense for Marisia to be at fault? That’s convenient.

“But... that’s almost too easy. It’s so natural to blame Marisia for these things, anyone at all could take advantage of it. It could be Terralora. It could be both of them together, even. It wouldn’t be the first time they joined forces. How do I even know your condition wasn’t inflicted upon you? How do I know it wasn’t orchestrated by Marvelle herself? I’ve thought the best of her so far, but do I really know if her facade is genuine? Do you? We’ve barely known these people for a week. That’s not much time at all to maintain a deceptively friendly face.”

Orinda’s countenance shifted, his shoulders slumping. “I can’t think that way,” he reminded himself. He could just hear Allard’s voice in his mind saying that suspicion was founded, that he shouldn’t trust these strangers so quickly. That it made him vulnerable. Orinda felt the need to defend his perspective. “What would there be to do even if it were true? Leave Sanctimonia? That’s practically a death sentence on its own. Challenge them to war? In here?” He scoffed at the inanity of the suggestion. “Collect my people and run off deeper into the mysteries of this demon pit? I can’t imagine how we would survive likely.” No, it was better if he looked for the clearest, most unbiased truth here. To hang forever on his deep-set grudges would do him no good.

“Why is it that I expect you to have the answers?” He didn’t really wonder. He had a few good guesses why his instincts had led him here.

Orinda stood up. He took the few steps that separated him from Allard’s bedside and he reached down, gingerly brushing a few locks of hair off of the sickly prince’s forehead. It was damp from cold-sweat. Orinda’s heart wrenched all of a sudden, his mind snapping back to a memory. He was reminded of the day when, barely eleven, he waited at Prince Brande’s bedside with Queen Fiai and his oldest siblings. They were watching the eight-year-old boy take his last breaths. It had been horrible and disillusioning, confusing to lose a sibling who was once so plucky and alive. An echo of the anguished cry his mother made that night rang through Orinda’s ears. He could only imagine his mother’s horror at the state this son, watching her quiet little fighter losing his latest battle. Orinda could almost feel her horror himself.

His brow knit tighter and a lump caught in his throat. “Is this my fault?”

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯
Location: Palace | Feeling: Alarmed, Anxious | Company: Sleeping Allard | Opinions: Questlog

OOC: no dice roll because that's a pretty secure scene. Closed room, speaking quietly, trusted guards at the door.

[Meareign]

“Knights. I think I would like privacy,” he said, stopping momentarily and turning to address his security detail. They had left Allard with his nursemaids and were traversing the last stretch through the palace towards Orinda’s bedchamber. “You have been excellent all evening, thank you. I’m going to go up ahead a ways and I’m going to take my time on the route. Four of you have my blessing to head away to meet with the night shift and send them to meet me at my door. You can decide among yourselves who stays. The remaining two, if you would please give me space, I would be grateful. Thank you again.” The guards nodded and started to look between each other, determining who would stay. It quickly became apparent that one of them owed a favor and would be remaining behind, but by then Orinda had already turned away and started to wander down the quiet palace passageway.

Soon, Orinda felt as if the two remaining guards were in the distance and he slowed to a stop. Just standing there, he leaned and allowed his weight to push against the cold, dark stone wall. His brow furrowed and he pressed his eyes shut. The level of cortisol pumping through his veins was emotionally agonizing and he didn’t anticipate it going away any time soon. He just wanted to stand in the silence and breathe for a while.

What was he going to do? He couldn’t accuse the Seers. That was ridiculous. His suspicions were founded on a hazy memory, a damaged piece of parchment full of gibberish, and a lump of intuition. On top of that, the thought alone was a brazen insult to their hosts! The Seer people had been nothing but kind and helpful to them, to everyone! They had aided in a dozen great acts of diplomacy in Orinda’s memory alone, they had introduced the elementals to their great sages for dearly needed wisdom, and - greater than all else - they had welcomed all hordes of the Elementals into their home in time of dire need. Many lives were owed to the quiet people of Sanctimonia. What could he do?

If I were a Seer, what would I want from me? he asked himself, thinking that he should treat the Sanctimonians in the way that he would wish to be treated as the subject of suspicion. I would want to be asked directly. I would want my accuser to bring his suspicions to me so that I could address them. I wouldn’t want him to boil in his mistrust when I would happily show him the truth. But there were obvious problems with that option. Obvious, and very critical. On one hand, if he were wrong, he ran the risk of wildly insulting the Seers. But if my suspicions are not unfounded… That would be dangerous. There could be lies, shrouds pulled over his eyes that explained away what he should still be wary about. Worse, it would expose his suspicion to a potentially malicious antagonist.

“Father,” he muttered quietly. I miss you. No doubt the fearless King Kojin would know what to do and would make it happen without hesitation. If Kojin had a greatest strength, it must have been his ability to rule. Now Orinda had to live up to that legacy.

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯
Location: Palace Halls | Feeling: Stressed, incompetent | Company: Alone, two guards in distance | Opinions: Questlog

[Meareign]

"Your Majesty..." came a voice. Orinda stopped, his reaction yet unprocessed. A few moments before, no one had been near. Or, so he had thought. "...you look troubled, O King." He might have reacted more quickly, but his instincts didn't demand it of him. The speaker's identity felt familiar and he knew his visitor was no threat before he even realized who was present. Plus, his guards wouldn’t have allowed anyone unidentified approach him.

She was a woman. The sound of her voice was warm and soft, full of breath. Her pitch was resting low. Now that he was aware of it, he could feel the electricity of her presence in the air like an indiscernible shift in pressure. Orinda lifted his eyes.

She stood there framed by the arching hallway, faintly silhouetted by the weak illumination of a wall torch in the distance. He could make out most of her figure despite the poor lighting. She was slim and moderately petite, standing several inches shorter than he. Her hair was long and shone golden even in the dark, full blond waves cascading over her shoulders and down her form. Furthermore, she was dressed in a gown that betrayed her wealth; it was made of a gauzy silk that draped effortlessly over her shoulders and rested against the curves of her body. The gown was held around her only by a row of delicate buttons that lined down the front from her bust to her thighs. The skirt cascaded open around her legs. He could see hints of her form underneath the barely-sheer fabric, translucent from the light of the torch; only a few minimal undergarments were beneath it. Orinda couldn't help but to let his eyes fix on the woman's sumptuous curves, the swelling of her hips from her slender waist. He felt a fluttering inside his chest.

When his eyes met hers, she knew she was not unwelcome. He had a longing for her company that he didn't dare to speak about and, too easily, she saw it within him. She started to move again, the quiet scuffing of her bare feet on stone echoed by the gentle tinkling of golden jewelry. Orinda could only watch, too uncertain to act. She came close to him, the distance between them small, and she reached for his hands. Her plush lips were full and painted red. When they parted slightly he could feel his eyes drawn to them, distracted by her sensual presence. His blood ran hot and he could feel his own pulse throbbing in his chest.

"Orinda..." she said now, breath heavy on the word. Her beautifully manicured hand rested against his chest. "I know. I know. I'm so sorry." It was like she could see into his soul, and she probably could do just that the way his was cast all over the walls this evening. She knew him. She knew his life and no doubt she knew what he was going through now. Most of it, anyway. She knew that he was still crushed by the absence of his father and that he had to feel powerless against his brother's resurgent illness. She knew that he had made painful sacrifices for his duty to Incendia. She knew that he often felt like there wasn't a soul at his side while he desperately scrambled to make the whole world right. "This is no place for you right now. Come with me, Your Majesty."

Gently, she led the king down the hallway. His mind felt frozen, paralyzed. It wanted to tell him that this was no good, that he should dismiss himself and save everyone from the complications, but even his better sense couldn't refuse her. The blessed feeling of relief that was washing over him from the presence of someone beloved, someone who believed in him and understood... he needed it too desperately to send it away now. His siblings cared, true, but it wasn't the same; they were too busy being wrapped up in their own problems. He couldn't blame them; they had important roles to play, too.

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯
Location: Palace Halls | Feeling: Stressed, incompetent | Company: Seraphina, two guards in distance | Opinions: Questlog

[Meareign]

There was a sitting room just nearby, at the mouth of the hallway that led to Orinda’s own bedchamber. They entered it. By her guidance, Orinda allowed himself to sit down on a padded bench. His head rested against the stone wall. "Seraphina, what are you doing here?" he finally asked, finding her eyes again. They were big and longing, fixated on him. She came close and knelt down, sitting on her heels just beside the bench. From there, she looked up.

"I... I was walking back from the funeral when I saw you ahead. My curiosity got the better of me and I dared to follow. I didn't mean to ever come near, but then I... saw how you looked outside of your brother's doorway. And later, when you were standing there alone..." Her chest swelled, taking in breath as she tried to apologize for herself. A knot formed in Orinda's throat and he found his instincts betraying his will. Her tantalizing form tugged at his attention and his gaze trailed down the shape of her bust. She lifted herself up slowly, rising to sit next to him. She perched on the edge of the bench and the skirt of her gown fell away from one of her legs, baring it as it pressed against his own.

"I've missed you so badly, Orinda. It's like ice in my heart to see you like this." She brushed her hand forward to rest on his knee and squeezed yearningly. "I lust to serve you and yet I watch you suffer."

Orinda rested his hand over Seraphina's and again found her face. He wanted to tell her how deeply he missed her in return and how perilously he needed her support. How madly he wanted more than that. But those words would do no one any good and instead he found himself acting. Tenderly, his free hand found its way to slide around her tiny waist. He could feel the heat from her skin through the thin fabric. She searched his facade for a moment, studying for answers.

"Rin..." she trailed off. Her free hand floated up to a gemstone that rested against her skin on a golden necklace, feeling it for a moment with her fingertips. He had given it to her one day several years ago. She released it and her hand fluttered to the buttons that fastened her gown. Orinda's breath caught in his throat as he watched her effortlessly slip the top several buttons open with a gentle pull, clearly exposing the flimsy bralette underneath the sheer fabric of her gown. "Do you want me?"

He did. If he had been trying to maintain a measure of subtlety before, it all abandoned him now. He drank in every inch of her on display, curve yielding to curve with the same sweetness as art, skin a faded bronze, her complexion flushed and her shoulders heaving with nervously quickened breath. Oh sun above, he did. Lust crackled under his skin like a shock, dimming the room and hiding away the whole world except for what he had in front of him. His heart beat against his chest and he felt his body turn hot.

"You know I do," he said weakly, as if there was subtext addended. But you know I can't. She leaned in closer, her lips coming near to the sensitive skin on his face.

Lustily, she whispered, “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear, say it again.” Several more of her buttons came open and she guided his hand from her waist to the same skin, bare inside of her half-open dress. He couldn’t help but to cooperate, his touch thrilled by the feel of her soft flesh. It had been longer than he realized since he shared an evening with a woman, and even longer since a woman he was really interested in. He ran his fingers over the curve of her back. She pressed her lips to his cheek and another intoxicating rush pulsed over him.

“Seraphina,” he said weakly, “we can’t.”

“Of course we can, Rin,” she answered, her hand sliding up the inside of his leg. He grasped her arm to stop her, but only barely. “I’ll be good to you. I’ll make it amazing.”

“Please,” he begged, not even sure whether he was asking her to stop or to definitely keep going. His mind was bleary and his body felt like it was acting on its own, pulsing. He pulled her closer and she lifted herself up, bringing one of her shapely legs across his lap so that she straddled him. “My wife,” he managed to say.

“She doesn’t need to know. You’re not doing anything wrong,” she countered. It was perfectly within his right to have a lover, at least according to the ways of Magnus Incendia. “Touch me, Orinda. Please, I want to feel your hands all over.” More urgently, she started trying to undress him.

Feeling tortured, he weakly tried to stop Seraphina. Aurelia wasn’t Incendian, she didn’t believe in degrees of polyamory or open relationships the way so many Incendians did. At least not as far as Orinda knew. “This would not have her blessing, we can’t,” he said again, hating himself for it. No matter how desperately he wanted to throw caution to the wind, he wasn’t capable of totally turning off his better judgment. No matter how desperately he wanted Seraphina, he could not justify taking her at the expense of the consequences. No lust was worth throwing away people’s lives, and that could very well be what came of this mistake.

She persisted. “Just kiss me, Rin,” she said passionately, her fingers still trying to work carefully on his clothes. “You know you want to.”

“Stop,” he said more firmly now, his voice laced with something like heartbreak. He forced himself by great power of will to withdraw his hands from her, instead gripping the back of the bench tightly with his fingers.

She felt differently, that much was clear as she continued to grasp at him. She was beginning to expose his body from under his garments and place her lips along his neck. If she was half as enthralled as he had been moments before, it was likely that she hadn’t even really heard him. “Please,” she begged again, her voice tugging on his heartstrings.

He felt his grip loosen from the bench and start to reach for her again, practically against his will. Feeling suddenly so out of control, he grew acutely alarmed and a shock of panic arced up his spine. “STOP!” he shouted this time and all at once pushed her off of him. She looked astonished and stricken by the sudden change, stood there helplessly confused. He wanted like mad to take her back into his arms and apologize, to tell her she had done nothing wrong, but he knew now that he couldn’t. “Leave me,” was all he managed to order, casting his eyes painfully away from her. She stood in silence for a moment as if contemplating what next she should do and then, obediently, she followed his demands.

Slowly, inevitably, an awareness of just how profoundly alone he was settled down upon Orinda. He sat there in the silence of the empty room, dust on all the old furniture that hadn't been touched since gods only knew. There wasn't a soul to whom he could turn, not one who was really there. Orinda's face lowered into his hands with anguish. There had been one, and he had just stricken her away like an error on parchment. Guilt crawled over his nerves like spiders and, finally, he shook with despair and sobbed.

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯
Location: empty sitting room | Feeling: Isolated, heartbroken | Company: alone | Opinions: Questlog

[QueenArasene]

It was only the first of many dances. Few enough people had noticed Marvelle skirting through the crowds with Melilora, but when Riccarda and her sister matched up to twirl over the dance floor, people noticed. And as was the true formula of folk dancing, one dance led into another, which led to a third and into a ring dance with different partners and confusing steps. The newly crowned queen almost lost track of time- which, of course, was the point of the exercise- until the long gong rang. That was also part of the tradition: Farmers know very well the need to get up early in the morning without missing too much sleep, and someone was always assigned to give clear note of such a time when the general merriment should slowly begin to dissolve into a good night's sleep. One by one, pairs and smaller groups started drawing out of the garden, back toward their homes in the central cavern. The way had been brightly lit for them, and the general cheer of the party failed to dissipate entirely as salves of laughter could be heard a long way through the tunnels.

Marvelle stayed behind. She was wandering through the remainder of the crowd- mostly stragglers and guards, by now-, looking for the familiar face of Aurelia. Had her friend forgotten their appointment? Hopefully not. Perhaps she'd gone back to the palace earlier, for whatever reason. Nobody she asked knew, that was certain- not that she found herself asking a multitude of people. No, with the lights slowly extinguishing and casting a comforting half-light on the garden, she grew more silent and thoughtful. The evening had gone well enough- merriment and joy were the prime goals, and they had been achieved in a great fashion. Somewhere, she'd even heard that Orinda was supposed to have danced in front of a great crowd- possibly exaggerated, but not unlikely. It seemed that the Incendians were willing to party whenever there was a chance, and that they didn't do it half bad, either. Perhaps she'd get to see that too, some day.

Wooed by the dying lights and a lingering smell of wood smoke- there had been a bonfire, of course-, Marvelle trailed to a place that she knew very little of and others even less. It was at the center of the garden and had, during the feast, been securely protected against the visitors. Built in marble and carved ornately into flowering shapes stood the small shrine. The crystals glittering from above made it appear almost moonlit as she carefully stepped inside, bare feet meeting cold stone. She wasn't cold- not even close, but the silence that reigned here made her thoughtful. It was what she'd come for, in any case. Finding a small bench off to the side of the entrance, she sat down on it and wrapped her arms around her knees, pondering on the events that had led her to this place, to this time, to this situation. Father and mother, dead. Not buried, but united in the eternal afterlife. Marvelle sent, silently, a wish to the Goddess that she allow the two to visit her in a dream soon so she could see them again, radiating their wisdom and kindness. Joining them was out of the question, of course- every religious text held very stern, strict words about taking your own life to join your loved ones. Usually, it ended very badly for you and, if you were really unlucky, for them as well. Nobody wanted that.

At least, Marvelle told herself quietly, she still had a very real piece of her parents with her- always with her now that she had been crowned their successor. Unwrapping her arms from around her knees, she candidly removed the crystal crown from her head and held it in front of her. The gems sparkled mysteriously in the dim light, seemingly winking at her from a thousand different facets and shades of green. Every gem, so she had learned during its creation, was a heartstone of a regent passed away. In the beginning, there had been a simple gold band decorated with a single stone on the forehead- and then, as time went on, more and more jewels had accumulated until the silver skeleton of the crown itself was no longer visible. Her hand gently stroked over the smooth, glinting surface. According to her advisers, there were people who worked their entire lives on studying the crown, people who could tell you exactly which gem belonged to which monarch in the line. Marvelle was not one of those people- her life had been filled with other things, more important things. Only four gems had been thoroughly explained to her- well, shown to her. This one, at the tip here, was her grandmother's. She couldn't remember ever meeting her grandmother, but it seemed important enough to know. On the opposite side, her grandfather. Not uncommon: heartstones of ruling pairs were usually placed symmetrically on the headpiece.

Circling further over the sparkling crown, her hand finally found the gem she was looking for. It seemed to be glowing just a little bit more than the others- but perhaps that was her own wistful thinking. Her mother's death had been a blow to all of them, sure enough, and here was an eternal reminder of that loss- more eternal, possibly, than the statue made from her earthen remains. And there, diagonally... the searching finger moved across fifty more shades of green.... her father's heartstone. It was, of course, the most recent addition to the crown- being added only the day before the funeral itself. Marvelle tapped the stone gently. Then she did it again. Her face turned confusion, then took on a shade of ghastly, horrified white as she tapped the stone for the third time and came to the same terrible conclusion that she had felt the first. Gem, yes. Heartstone? ..... No. Something was wrong- terribly wrong, at that. Swallowing apprehensively, she rose from her bench- swayed uncertainly for a second- and then set out. Someone, someone had to be able to explain this to her.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Location: Mother's Shrine | Feeling: Upset | Company: No-one

[Meareign]

__________________________________________ t i m e s k i p ♕ _______________

ℋenceforth, the roleplay has reached an advancement in its timeline. Events occurring now fall chronologically after the turn of the seventh day underground beginning in the late morning. All characters of importance have, in all likelihood, been awake for several hours attending to the responsibilities of leading their kingdoms.

The new time of day is late morning, although it can be hard to tell the passage of time within Sanctimonia's walls.

Also, this roleplay has officially been moved to a new thread, marking the beginning of version 4. Please navigate to the new thread here:

Edge of Oblivion v4

Brief summaries or collaborative posts addressing any important events that happened during the skipped time are permitted on this thread. Regardless of any retroactive material, all players are expected to introduce their characters into day seven on the new thread within the week unless he or she has given notice otherwise.

• • • • •

[lady ben-kenobi]

”Gentlemen, I bid you to leave us, I would like to share a few words with my son although I must say I thank you for your contributions, Sir Caiyo and I will send for you in the morning." She nodded at the man once his lead lowered before taking his exit along with the guards. The Queen walked towards the door without a single slight. She opened and her eyes drifted to the empty hallway, her head moving from side to side. After closing and locking the door, she then pulled on it to make sure it was locked. Arabelle made a turn so as to face opposite direction, her small footsteps making sounds through the piercing silence with an erect poise. The Queen rubbed her hands together before she clutched her silk veil loosely. When turning to face him, she removed the veil calmly. Arabelle gazed upwards at her grown son, her expression still. ”It seems that you've failed to follow my instructions.” She looked at him in a dissapproving manner. ”But for once, I can appreciate the gesture since we have crucial matters to discuss, matters of discretion, I suppose the lecture can wait.” Her tone adding a clear emphasis to the word "discretion".

”The first is of course your wife, and while I assure you that I will not meddle in trivial matters that do not concern me, I expect you to treat her with personal respect for you are bound by Anahi and the muses, which means I also expect you to grant her the one she deserves with her place as your wife. I urge you to always remind yourself that she is an extension of the Terralorian monarchy, this also implies that you will be the most constant representation of Caelian values to not just her, but the monarchy itself." Arabelle spoke in a modulated tone while her unblinking eyes met his.

Zee watched calmly as Arabelle ensured their privacy, his brow seemingly permanently furrowed. He'd grown accustomed to the way she moved gracefully and gave long pauses when she was preparing herself to speak with authority. The way she spoke to the Scholar's Association and to servants, with dignity and pride; like a Queen. He disliked it when she spoke to him this way, as a Queen rather than his Mother.

”Mother, you and Father have taught me kindness and respect for all peoples. As far as I'm concerned, Riccarda is family now, and you know how devoted to family I am." He could feel his fists beginning to ball up involuntarily, but he kept his gaze fixed on Arabelle's and filled with purpose. He knew why he'd been summoned and would wait patiently for it.

”I beg you to always remember that kindness and foolishness are not born from the same mother. While it would please me if you made the best out of your situation, as the Queen of Caelum, I find it appropriate that I warn you against extravagant expectations with someone who does not hold the land of our forefathers dear.” The Queen wagged her finger as she spoke. For her, he had come home from war grown, but sometimes when he spoke, she felt the back pains of a small blonde boy in her arms as she paced back and forth through the castle hallways and the sounds of ten insisting wet nurses following her. Oh how she loathed it, but there was no greater consolation in the world than Zephyriah. When she could not hold him, her hands could reach the fatherland.

”I find it unlikely that any of the royals forced into matrimony these past few days are in revel over the matter." Zee gave a heaved sigh and crossed his arms, taking a more relaxed but defensive stance and turning his gaze to the floor. ”Nevertheless, what's done is done and the most of the situation is all that's left to be made." Her waggling finger caused the corner of his mouth to tug almost to a smile. It reminded him of better days when he would run around the gardens with Melilora playing games and practicing.

”Families are never of equals, and they will never be. Nonetheless, she will be the mother of your children. The very least I would expect from a son of mine is to build a friendship with the mother of his children, regardless of the mistresses you may take or if it means holding your tongue when she chooses to speak.” It was she who had lived both quarrel and love in a home as a young girl, even those homes of love made her tremble. ”Children do not need to see matters they are not to blame for.”

Snapping back to reality, his gaze reaquainted itself with hers, reflecting a measure of warmth to match her icy gaze. He hesitated to speak, his thoughts briefly turning to the indiscretion that almost was back in the main gardens of the castle with Kali. But he couldn't think of that right now, there were more important matters to attend to. ”This is of course my intention, Mother. We've already had a few discussions about our future together. Besides, we may be unequal in background, but I will not deny her the respect she deserves.”

There was an odd silence between them for a moment, the consistency of the conversation at hand had changed so abruptly that it made her wonder what could he have possibly been thinking of that had clouded his train of thought, her tone turned sharp and she made sure to maintain her eye contact. "Zephyriah." She paused briefly and her tone turned honeyed. ”Tell me, is there something particular you wish to share with me?”

”No mother." His response was brief, but earnest. The last thing he wanted was to tell her what was truly at the back of his mind at the moment.

Arabelle circled around him gracefully and crossed her arms. She glanced sideways and raised an eyebrow. ”Very well.” The Queen made a mental note to speak to Melilora regarding it.

But he knew that if he said nothing, she would investigate. He chewed the inside of his lip, breaking eye contact and allowing his shoulders to sag slightly. ”Well... It's just... I heard a disturbing rumor earlier today." He straightened back up, hoping she'd press the matter.

Instantly, The Queen's head tilted towards him. She finally remained still once in front of him. Her shoulders were pressed back, her expression remained to its usual however. Yes, there were rumours, but which one of them was he speaking of? She stood on her tiptoes to reach him and with a careful hand, she tilted his chin up. ”Zeph, what have I always taught you about rumours?"

”Gossip is the language of fools and the rumor is the dialect of such.” She'd said it so many times it had been permanently etched into his mind.

He wanted to be a king, but was disturbed by some ridiculous gossip; she nearly rolled her eyes at him. ”I suppose that if it bothered you so much, we should discuss it. So tell me,” The Queen placed a hand on his shoulder carefully, ”What did you hear?” He should know by now that if she intended to discuss the matter, she would make it into a lesson.

He inhaled through his nose, giving her an uncharacteristically intense stare. He needed to hear it from her before jumping headfirst into anything rash. ”I heard Father came home.”

Arabelle blinked twice and remained still. The Queen leaned forward and removed her hand from his shoulder. There was a sigh from her part and she placed her hands on her back, clasping the opposite wrist. ”Zeph,” she paused briefly, ”your father returned after the Incendian coronation ceremony to us.” Arabelle lowered her head and then spoke in a soft tone as if recalling an old friend. ”He was very tired when we spoke, he is still fairly tired.” The Queen played with her hands and then looked up at him. ”I had sent for you and your sister before, but it seemed to no avail through the havoc of the past few days since the days of carrying you around as I bid to my business are long gone.” To think the latter of the sentence was once a scandal, she had said it while raising her palms upward in front of him.

It took all his strength not to cry out in frustration. His hands were clenched tightly, that he could feel his nails digging into his palms. His teeth were clenched behind tight lips and he could feel his whole body trembling. Father had come home... He had been home for hours...

For the first time since he'd stepped into that room he moved from the spot where he'd stood. He slowly strode over to her desk where he laid both palms flat and stared at the intricate cracks in the wood. He'd realized the implications of the King's return when Daen had told him in the garden, but only now did the repercussions truly strike home.

plink

A small stain at the corner of a parchment was all that remained of the first bead to drip from the end of his nose. ”When can I see him?”

”Whenever you'd like.” She said in her softest hues, although it wasn't an honest remark. Arabelle observed him carefully, she had predicted shock, even fear somewhat, but surely sparks of happiness. What worried her more was that it seemed that his reaction was on par with what hers had been. She couldn't deny him the rights to see his father, and she never would. ”If I were to judge by the color of your feathers, I would suggest you take your time before you approach him. There are also other important matters I'd like to discuss with you, but if you do not wish to take my suggestion...” She paused for a moment and took a few steps towards him. A familiar sense of helplessness ran through her veins, the kind that would make grown women turn mad. It was a sentiment she did not miss, for the Queen did not know if to hold him, if to smile, or if to speak, a mother was presumed to know of such matters and instead, she took three steps backwards from the boy instead. ”I will both understand and also fare the matters myself." Arabelle nearly frowned at herself, yet rapidly reverted to her usual expression. She wrapped her arms around herself and lowered her head.


Zee swallowed hard and shut his eyes tight, which forced what beads that remained at the edge of them to fall. He wiped them away quickly and took a shaky breath. The dull ringing in his ears had drowned out her words as he struggled to reconcile the reality of his life. In what seemed like an instant he had, with head still hanging, spun himself towards her, closed the gap between them, and drawn her close in a tight embrace. For a moment, he didn't care that she was a Queen and he was a Prince, or how the two of them looked. He didn't care that he was bawling into her shoulder like a newborn.

All that mattered was that he had his family whole again.

The walk was shorter than expected. Of course it was - she was fretting over her husband making an incredible fool of himself and on how to curb it. In turn, she began to worry about the missing Guardsman, her mentor in the Imperial Guard, and the implication of what it would mean if the Guard was being targeted. Were they? Were they not? Melilora sighed, letting her expression drop into one of exasperated annoyance - too many questions! With the summons from her mother, she only expected more to be announced. Perhaps they had discovered something more to throw things in disarray. Her thoughts scattered to the many Faces and she paused in her stride to smooth her dress. She wanted to curse - just a little bit - but restrained herself and instead produced a new veil to drape across her face and obscure her somewhat. Good that she had not forgotten, hah..

Her Guard approached the door first, placing his hand on the portal and nodding after a moment's concentration. Melilora simply knocked - barging in would hardly be prudent, especially if her mother was meeting with someone else.

Her son was crying in her arms, yet Arabelle felt as if she had been blessed with a great victory, it was the work of Auria, she thought. In the silence of the room, she wrapped her arms around the boy, tension noticeable in her arms and a noticeable darkness dripping off her shoulders. Hands of great burden reserved for her sister, and a bit of her husband too. She placed a hand on his cheek and then rose her slippers in tip-toes to reach his height. Arabelle kissed his cheeks, and then placed both of her hands around his cheeks, she lifted his face for a moment, her mouth opened and closed repeatedly. For once, she had no voice; unable to speak, unsure of what to say, her thoughts drifting back and forth.

When she heard a knock in the door, Arabelle flinched as she held Zephyriah with her. Almost instinctively, her back straightened and she lowered her footing. The Queen removed her hands from the boy with grace and her expression turned cold. She signaled at her son through gestures to wipe his tears. "Yes?" Arabelle called out. "Is this important?!"