Viva la Test

[jumbrello]

Damon Vorbote
King of Fergal

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Familiar Names:

Your Majesty, Your Highness, Sire

Sun Cycles:

Forty-two Years

Cameo:

Damon Vorbote is a tall, imposing man. He certainly uses his height as an asset to claim desired attention, but it has never hurt that his arms, legs and chest are thick and hard from years upon years of training. He doesn't look like the sort of noble who has spent his year lounging around at feasts. He stands at just around 6'1" and what he has in height, he doesn't lose in breadth.

He has never wanted for attention from the fairer sex, and this wasn't simply due to his position. He's always been handsome, sporting a strong jaw, square chin, and nose chiseled like Adonis himself. His long, dark hair stretched down to the mid-point of his back. He only pulls it back when riding into battle. Normally, it stretched out sleek and straight of its own accord. He has a poor habit of always looking bored. More often than not, it's because he is bored. Nearly the only time one might catch him with a glint in his startlingly blue eyes would be while fighting.

He wears dark unassuming clothes of fine quality. He does not waste money on trinkets and jewels, as many Alaulan nobles might, nor would he waste his time to put them on if he had them. He is Fergalian, and, as such, he fancies himself above such trivialities. He doesn't need to display wealth, but strength, and he feels that covering himself in glittering jewels detracts from the impressiveness of his broad chest.

Comrades at Arms:

Damon finds personal relationships to be more of a hassle than anything else. People are always petitioning for his favor. As much as he might enjoy their seemingly unwavering loyalty, having one's ring kissed becomes tiresome after a while. He prefers to keep his subjects at arm's length and at the edge of their seats.

His wife, he prefers to keep somewhere else entirely - out of the way. They have had a strained relationship for as long as he has known her. Of course, he doesn't come across as loving and attentive by any stretch, so one could rightly blame it on his coldness. She was a good match, but that has never dictated he remain absolutely faithful in his mind.

Humors:

Damon Vorbote is above all things, cruel. He doesn't care for others, only for power for himself and his kingdom. He does not hesitate in battle and isn't above stripping women and children of their homes and livelihoods if he thinks it will bring his armies a step closer to victory. The vile deeds that he seldom takes part in personally, he turns a blind eye to when committed. If anything, the stories that run ahead of his armies only serve to strike fear into those he would subdue.

Luckily, he's not cruel and stupid. He has a very particular understanding of the way the world works - one that requires he not alienate everyone he comes across. He keeps his short temper in check much of the time, but it is best not to approach him with petty problems, as he has very little tolerance for them. He's relatively quiet, having learned to choose his words carefully a long time ago. As such, it is often difficult to tell exactly what he'll do before he does it. He has been known to sit silently for a few minutes after hearing a proposition only to eloquently threaten the unfortunate bearer's life when finally he speaks.

What he would admit to no man or woman is that he is tired. Everything that crosses his path feels like yet another strain or burden that he is expected to shoulder. He would not lament retirement were it not so shameful, but he would not give up his throne to those who might seek to take it from him for anything. Still, he is exhausted and has found his propensity for coming up with new tactics nearly gone from a complete lack of motivation. It is one of the few things that kept him from acting immediately upon hearing of the Alaulan king's death.

Codex:

Damon was the second eldest of his brothers. It was an unfortunate condition of the times that being second meant he had a decent likelihood of becoming king. In times of war, the Vorbote family has been known for taking precautions to ensure their interests, therefore, when his brother was killed in the line of battle, Damon wasn't entirely unprepared for his ascension. At the time, he was sixteen, engaged, and had already taken part in more battles than he could count on his fingers and toes. Such was the Fergalian way; their nobles didn't hide at the back of the line mounted and hidden behind shields. As a child, he had not played with wooden horses, but wooden swords. The Vorbotes had not held onto the throne for so long because they were well liked, but because they were strong. Fortunately enough, his father was still alive when Damon became heir, saving him from having to defend his title at the tender age of sixteen. He had a few years yet to rush into a marriage with a beautiful noblewoman, shape his image into one that invoked fear in the hearts of his enemies, and find a way to sit in the Fergalian throne without squirming.

It didn't take long for his father to follow his brother; true Fergalians don't die of old age. He took the throne on his eighteenth birthday and wasted no expense on the ceremony. Being so young, it seemed like a poor time to come across as weak or hesitant - qualities that aren't exactly admired in a man of his station.

Since taking the throne, there have been few peace efforts, and those requests that have come before him have gone largely ignored. He's not interested in peace, but he is interested in victory. He has ruled in the way of his father before him, and his grandfather before that. He is heavy handed and stern.

In recent years, he's grown increasingly testy. It is beyond his comprehension why his vast armies are incapable of subduing a bunch of jelly-armed waving fairy-kin. He had always expected to be the man to bring victory to Fergal, but it eludes him. On top of that utter annoyance, he hears whispers of growing powers within his own kingdom. More nervous than he'd ever admit, he is desperate for a quick victory to reassert his dominance of the kingdom of Fergal and assure his throne for his own heirs.

Trinkets:

His sorcerer, Edgar Finn, has devised a method of communication that allows the king to travel where he likes without leaving his castle. He seldom uses it, for only a very weak man would hesitate to show his true form, but it is useful on occasion. It leaves his body entirely defenseless and is not often worth the risk.

Controlled By:

Jumbrello


Art by Heise

[jumbrello]

Edgar Finn
Fergalian Sorcerer

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Familiar Names:

He'd really prefer you just called him Edgar, if you wouldn't mind. Finn is also all right, but don't try Ed or Eddie. That's simply too informal for his tastes.

Sun Cycles:

Twenty-three Years

Cameo:

Being a Fergalian, Edgar has spent a great deal of his life training. He fulfilled his military obligations as quickly as he possibly could, but as a result of his experience, he knows how to fight. He is strong, though not especially broad, and well built with lithe, graceful muscles encasing his tall frame. Edgar has always stood slightly above his peers at just over six feet tall. He, at least, has never had cause to lament his exceedingly long reach, though men at the other end of his sword might feel differently.

Edgar has thick, dark hair that he rarely takes care of properly. As a result, it falls in wavy locks all around his face, though he always remembers to get it trimmed once it begins to fall in his eyes. Overall, Edgar looks very similar to other Fergalians - he's fit, a fighter, his dark hair certainly doesn't stand out at the Fergalian court. When called upon, Edgar can summon the cold, calm mask that any soldier would don in any trying circumstance. His eyes mark him distinctly as they are such a light brown they are nearly the shade of honey. His father always told him he has his mother's eyes, though Edgar never met the woman to prove it.

Comrades at Arms:

Edgar is fiercely loyal to the Fergalian crown, or at least, it seems that way. It must seem that way, for to seem otherwise would be to tie the noose around one's own neck. He is close to the king but this, either because of his family's past doings or mere jealousy, has brought him under doubt from many other Fergalian nobles. Nevertheless, he has never given anyone reason to question his intentions, always acting swiftly in accordance with the desires of the King.

He is, as of the current moment, entirely unsure how he feels about one Miss Fiametta Surana. She has helped him, but... well, to be frank, she frightens him. She seems far more inclined to hurt him than to give him the benefit of the doubt. While he understands that as a Fergalian noble, he could perhaps be a little threatening in demeanor, he has yet to really hurt anyone in her presence and simply doesn't understand her erratic mood swings. Nevertheless, he... um... he enjoys her presence a great deal and would prefer you refrain from commenting, thank you.

Humors:

If anyone has ever searched for a true stick-in-the-mud, they'd find one in Edgar Finn. The poor sod always seems to find himself waist deep in muck. The tension that he practically exudes like a thick perfume is entirely the result of an unfair amount of responsibility being put on his shoulders. It's made him frigid and serious, despite his age. He certainly hasn't ever indulged in any of the pleasures of youth. He holds his title in great esteem and is the sort of man that you would ask a favor from simply because you know he'll do it, no matter what. Honestly, there are few people who need a holiday more, and few less likely to get one.

Codex:

The Finn family is as purely Fergalian as any family can be, at least so far as Joseph Finn, a court historian and Edgar's father, can trace. In his time, Joseph had reason enough to want to verify his family's standing in Fergal. The Finns have always lacked the propensity for violence exhibited by many of their peers and this has thrown their loyalty into question. The Finn family was never outspoken against the war, though they were never clamoring to fight either. They tried to remain neutral and keep their thoughts to themselves. This protected their positions and their lives.

In the end, it hardly mattered how much prepping and public relations work that Joseph Finn took part in; his entire family would not make it out unscathed, though this death had nothing to do with loyalty or the honor of Fergal. It had to do with Edgar himself and his young mother. Joseph had never been a particularly cruel man - a fact which often worked against him - and when a noble family, teetering on the brink of losing everything, whose man had been killed in war approached him seeking aid, he gladly offered his services by taking their daughter as his ward. At the time, he'd had no particular intent towards her at the time, but the spritely girl was not the sort of creature a man could leave ignored for such a stretch of time. He was a decent man, and unwed despite the fact that he was nearing thirty. He went about seeking her hand in all the appropriate ways and they were wed soon after.

It would be folly of you to assume this was a marriage of convenience. Joseph was delighted to dote on his new bride and she was all too eager to let him, but she was young, too young, and she did not survive the birth of their first child.

Joseph took this loss hard, throwing himself into his previous work with renewed fervor, leaving his newborn son in the care of the maids while he began to gather a network of informants.

As a child, Edgar spent much of his time alone. He preferred the company of books to that of other children. When he felt lonely, he only had to ask Fiona to play with him. The maids all assumed Fiona was an imaginary playmate, but Edgar knew differently - she was a fairy and she was his very best friend. She taught him things he couldn't have learned on his own and he began to practice magic, though only little things. During those first years, the maids who looked after him could have made grand bouquets from the paper flowers that fluttered inexplicably their way.

It wasn't until he was thirteen that he finally figured out what his father was about. The man had always been quiet and obscure, even for one that spent so much of his time with books. Later, Edgar would surmise that all this was because he spent so much time looking through Fergalian history and finding nothing but bloodshed and strife. Joseph ushered him into court life, thrusting Edgar towards his peers with a stubbornness that didn't make sense to the young man. Why should his father care whom he befriended? It took one particularly loud fight for Edgar to understand - his father cared because he was laying a foundation. Essentially, his father was working towards peace under the Vorbotes' very noses which was inadvisable at best. Edgar, finally old enough to be useful, was drawn into his father's plotting with little hope of escape. It was a lucky thing that Edgar, naturally disinclined towards violence, didn't entirely disagree with his father's methods. Together, they became strongly involved in a covert organizations whose mission it was to bring peace to the warring kingdoms.

Finally, Edgar Finn understood why the lords and ladies of the Fergalian court so often put is father's allegiances into question. Though they were forced to work quietly, there was something that distinguished Edgar and his father from the others. Keen on keeping his head, Edgar was hesitant when his father pressured him to offer his skills to the Fergalian king. He'd have preferred to remain under the radar, as it were.

Since he's come of age, he's been very much involved with Fergalian politics and is not above serving as errand boy to Damon Vorbote himself. Between that and his duties to his father's cause, Edgar is stretched frightfully thin. At least one creature has taken pity on him though. Fiona, it just so happened, was very much real. Edgar has asked her to accompany the youngest Alaulan princess, seeing that it is far more likely that she would persuade the young and impressionable than the old and staunch.

Trinkets:

Edgar, having spent the majority of his childhood alone, has a keen interest in books. That, along with Fiona's help, has cultivated a strong understanding of magical principles in the young man. While he is able to manipulate things that surround him, his skill is not so great as those with a naturally born inclination for the craft. Nevertheless, for a Fergalian, he makes an impressive sorcerer.

Controlled By:

Jumbrello

[jumbrello]

xxxxxxxxxx

EDGARFINNxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

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it is important to our friends
〖〖 to believe that ✖ ✖ we
xxxxare unreservedly frank with them xxxxxB U T
important


✖ ✖ to our friendship and our livesxxxxxx⇍
that we are ( ☀ ) not

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Edgar was at his wit’s end by the time that he felt the air around them start to shift. It was a subtle change at first, like a chill air prickling the hair at the back of one’s neck, but he knew what was coming and without a doubt, wanted to get Fiam far away before they had company. He had never regretted serving his king but for that very moment, he was loath to find any sense of decency in making that godforsaken brew that allowed him to be so intrusive. Edgar, for one, was not yet willing to risk letting Damon Vorbote set hands upon any other weapon, living or otherwise, that would give him and advantage in war.

”You must go,” he commanded shortly, gripping Fiam’s arm and leading her away swiftly. He had no time to explain himself. She would simply have to trust him and he wasn’t entirely certain that he’d earned that right. ”Please, I’ll find you if I can, but you must leave.” He’d just guided her towards the corner when he felt the unnatural breeze behind him. ”Go.”

That was the last thing he said before he turned around to greet his King, mustering up the whole of his natural exterior calmness despite the fact that he could feel his pulse pounding in the hollow below his ear. ”Sire,” Edgar greeted him with an inclination of his dark head before crossing the length of the hall towards the Fergalian king.

”What news have you from the Dragon Riders?” If there was anything the two men had in common, other than their dark hair, it was their stoicism.

”The Alaulans secured the treaty. It would not be wise to be seen here, my lord.”

”While your concern is… endearing, Finn, I don’t think it necessary to hide my face from a bunch of hut-living women who let beasts do their fighting for them. My lord, Edgar, what is this on your tunic?” Edgar watched as one of the King’s rare smiles grew on his pale, pointed features. It did nothing to still Edgar’s frantic pulse when he reached towards his shoulder to indicate a long, white strand of hair. Edgar knew just where it had come from but had no great desire to disclose that information.

“I-I’m not sure what you mean, Sire,” Edgar said, in a rare moment allowing his anxiety trip up his words. He cleared his throat, having every intention to turn the conversation back to something more practical. He didn’t get that far. Apparently, the king was hard set upon indulging his humor.

“Is this… Is this a hair? A long, white hair? Who does this fine white hair belong to Edgar? Have you been with somebody?” He paused just long enough to gasp dramtically. ”Edgar, have you made a lady friend?” Sweet lord in heaven… He had not made a lady friend. Edgar Finn didn’t make lady friends, at least in the way that the king was talking about it. He’d… met a lady. And somehow, he felt certain that, if he tried to explain that, it would only result in more taunting.

“I might have helped somebody up who had …fallen.” That was close enough to the truth that Edgar didn’t feel the slightest twinge of guilt for lying.

“Was she pretty?”

“I- I do not know sire.” That wasn’t entirely true. She was quite beautiful and even Edgar wasn’t impervious to that. He shifted uncomfortable. He was not the sort of man who enjoyed engaging in such personal discussion with anyone, particularly a superior.

“I’m intrigued Edgar, I must meet her someday.”

”Sire, if I may, I hardly think that will be necessary. I only helped a lady, that is hardly the stuff of gossip.” The way the king raised one dark eyebrow told Edgar that the man didn’t entirely believe him, but the sorcerer had had quite enough of these ridiculous conjectures. ”I’ll return to Farsala on the next boat out, but there is nothing else of interest here. Might I advise, given our new enemies, you warn the archers?” Damon chuckled.

”Fair advice, Finn. I expect a full report when you return.” With that, the king disappeared and the tension leaked out of Edgar’s shoulders. His palm rubbed over his eyes. That exchange hadn’t… hadn’t been ideal, but he trusted in the growing dissention in Fergal to distract the king. Edgar would need to return, but there was something he had to do first…

It wasn’t the easiest thing in the world to track down Fiametta, but Edgar managed. Magic like hers - untrained and uncontrolled - left its mark. By following the trail, he found her hut, assured that it was hers by the huge black Pegasus outside. ”Fiam?” he called, realizing as soon as the creature’s head snapped towards him that calling attention to himself was perhaps a mistake. When the steed started towards him, Edgar threw up his hands and backed into a tree. It was only then that he saw the white-haired girl coming out of her hut. ”Fiam… Would you mind?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the Pegasus in front of him. He didn’t notice, just then, that Fiametta wasn’t the best person to seek aid from at the moment.

[jumbrello]

DAMONVORBOTExxxxxx
k i n gx o fx f e r g a l

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my thoughts are the cold kind
xxI’ve got storm clouds
〖〖 that are brewing✖ ✖ behind my eyes
xxxxand my xxxxxheart will be


✖ ✖ B L A C K E R than your eyesxxxxxx⇍
when I’m done ( ☀ ) with you



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Damon Vorbote couldn’t have been more pleased. As frustrated as he’d been of late, he could find some solace in making his stuffy sorcerer squirm. It was a condition of the Finn family that they all seemed to constantly be on the edge of losing their cool. Mind, Damon had found little reason to distrust the family, whose loyalty had often been put into question by other leading Fergalian families. He took the rumors as conjectures of the jealous, but rather than assure the Finn family of its safety, he preferred to keep them on the edge of their seats. There was no point in giving them the chance to relax and slip up. He’d found, in his time as king, that a nervous subject was more useful than a lazy and self-assured one. So, despite the sour news of Alaula gaining yet another ally (for if they’d had none, they surely would have already been subdued) when Damon opened his eyes, it was with a chuckle.

He was not fond of the after-effects of the potion Edgar had concocted for him. Though it allowed him to leave his body for a time – a far more efficient method of communication than waiting for a missive – it left his head swimming in a most unpleasant manner. There was a reason Damon did not indulge heavily in drink; he preferred to be clear-minded and alert. This was Fergal and there were more than enough threats to his throne to justify a certain amount of cautiousness. Damon hadn’t held the throne by luck alone.

The King sat up in his large bed and took a few deep, steadying breaths. It would not do to sway when he stood, even if there was no one there to see it. Only when his head felt solid once more did he stand up and leave his private chambers. Prior to taking the potion, he’d instructed a guard to stand outside his locked door – a necessary precaution as the draught left him entirely defenseless. When he stepped into the hall, the guard fell into step behind him. He immediately began to spout out orders. ”Bring me the captain of the archers. We have things to discuss.” The heels of his dark boots clicked against the stone floor of the hall as they made their way towards the throne room.

”I want you to go to Sieg. This Viera character is trying my patience. I believe it’s high time someone was made an example of. Our nooses have hung empty for far too long. I trust you’ll be able to procure a criminal whose neck I can give a good stretch?”

”Of course, Sire.”

”Good,” Damon marched into the throne room, pushing the huge doors away with his broad hands. He did not see reason to wait for someone to open it for him and announce his presence. If someone happened to miss the huge brute of a king, it would take an astounding level of inattentiveness. ”And have you seen my daughter?”

”No, my Liege. Shall I find her?”

”No. Make your arrangements. We’ll make an event out of it when you return. A festival in honor of the Alaulan king’s passing, perhaps. Shall we extend an invitation to the Skylighters?” A bemused smile passed his pale lips at the very thought. If only it were that easy to lure the women into his hall, this would all be over very quickly. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the guard and crossed the room to drop heavily into the huge throne. He slumped back in the chair and twitched his fingers lazily. ”Let them in…” he said with a heavy sigh. There was nothing he hated more than hearing the petitions of his subjects.

[jumbrello]

Kaye Alliana Skylighter
Eldest Princess of Alaula

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Familiar Names:

Your Highness, Kaye

Sun Cycles:

Twenty-two

Cameo:

Kaye looks far too much like her mother and it has driven her mad since she realized she was a good few inches taller than other girls her age and thin as a rail. Given her tense relationship with the elder woman, Kaye has always been loathe to admit any similarities they might have. Unfortunately, when they stand side by side, it is impossible to mistake Kaye for anything but the woman's daughter. She has the same pale, thin features and light hair, though Kaye keeps hers long and loose. It falls straight down her back. At least she inherited her father's relatively manageable locks. She had wide, dark, blue eyes. Her fingers, like the rest of her, are lithe. She doesn't exactly strike the most mature feminine form to have ever crossed Alaula. Nevertheless, she is pretty in her light, ethereal way and has never suffered for a lack of beauty.

Comrades at Arms:

Kaye has a trying relationship with her family. She doesn't want her life and has a great deal of conflicted feelings for the woman who trained her for it - her mother. They do not often get along, at least in the way that a mother and daughter should. While they might stand on the same side of an issue, Kaye has never been particularly warm towards the Queen.

Her sisters, on the other hand, Kaye is exceptionally fond of. They come from the same strain and face many of the same challenges. As the eldest, Kaye thinks it falls on her shoulders to save them from many of the more difficult ones. This might easily become annoying to her poor siblings, but she does it out of genuine love. If it weren't for them, she would despair far too often.

Humors:

Kaye prefers to think of herself as calm and collected, though there are many who would rightly claim that she's chilly. She certainly doesn't go out of her way to make friends. She prefers to keep people at arm's length - not just her subordinates, either. In fact, she'd prefer to converse with them than her peers. There are distinct lines between the princess and the lower classes that she knows could not be breached, even by being friendly with them. She doesn't want those closer to her status getting any ideas. She's only become more detached since her father's death and is slow to trust anyone. No Fergalian she's ever heard of could have made it that far into the castle unaided, after all.

Despite her icy demeanor, Kaye isn't cruel. She'd take peace, if she could have it. She is well aware of her people's suffering and would end it all if she thought for a second that she could, regardless of what she might have to sacrifice. People who mistake her stuffiness for despondency would be entirely wrong.

Codex:

The world would have been a lot better off if she'd been born a boy, at least that's what Kaye thinks. It certainly would have made things easier on her family, particularly with her father gone. Well, she was difinitively a girl from the very start and, as her parents failed to produce a male heir, she was all they had. Kaye wouldn't say that she had a normal childhood, or even a childhood at all. What she did have was a barrage of lessons, activities, and recitations. She never had many friends and, even as a child, was frightfully serious.

Her stoicism only grew as she aged. She certainly isn't unattractive, and that, paired with the power that such a match would give a man, made her to object of many suitor's attentions. She was never particularly interested in marriage, though. Or rather, she felt she simply didn't have time for it. While it wasn't entirely in her power to deny all of them, she did go out of her way to make herself unapproachable and wasn't above setting up false and embarrassing situations for her suitors to get caught in that would bar her from having to take their hand. Honestly, if she thought there was a man in Alaula worthy of taking the throne, she'd have been wed long ago. Now, it looks certain to her that she'll end up an old maid and the more she gets to know men and their vices, the more she is sure that is just fine by her.

She continued to train for her position. She is no warrior and has no mind for taking a direct role in bloodshed, but she learns what she can in preparation for what is to come.

Mind, nothing could have prepared her for the death of her father. Not only was it premature, but it was unnatural. She is positively horrified at the concept that someone could even manage it. The position of her entire family has been put in danger, but more than that, Kaye was close to the King. She misses him greatly and has only become more withdrawn since his death.

Trinkets:

Kaye spends and exceptional amount of time in the library with her head shoved in books. In addition to her studies, she has taken up trying to teach herself some spells and seems to have a propensity for the practice. It's a good thing, too, as she couldn't wield a sword to save her life.

[jumbrello]

KAYEALLIANASKYLIGHTERxxxxxx
p r i n c e s sx o fx a l a u l a

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there once was a time when I was a girl
xxthat darkness hung in my sky
〖〖 I was old ✖ ✖ before I learned to bex y o u n g
xxxxstone cold xxtill I learned how to cry



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Kaye’s hands clenched and unclenched by her sides. She did not cry in public or in private, but that did not mean she could keep her eyes from stinging. Kaye was utterly distraught for all of Alaula. Not since the time of Levi Skylighter had they been in such dire straits. There would not be another Skylighter – at least not a legitimate one. She and her sisters would make sure of that. Even Kaye could admit the disadvantage of being trapped with nothing but women to take the throne, not because she felt any significant hindrance to her own ability, but because she knew their enemy. They all did. One could not fight a kingdom for centuries without learning the way they behaved in war and, no doubt, Damon Vorbote would see this as a weakness. It would make him prone to attack and Alaula simply wasn’t up to a constant barrage. Honestly, Kaye was surprised it was taking the vile man so very long.

That, though, wasn’t why she was crying. Kaye was outfitted all in black. She wore a modest dress that covered down to her wrists and had her hair twisted at the nape of her neck. More often than not, she avoided the color, as her skin and hair were exceedingly pale and it made her face seem to glow in a most unnatural way, but her father was dead and she had no choice. Her father was dead, and that’s why she was waging a silent war of her own with her tear ducts. Her father was dead, and at that very moment, Kaye felt certain they were all doomed.

Especially her mother, to whom Kaye was half-listening as she addressed her people. Kaye knew there was no indefinite mourning for her; it would last forever. She flinched at her mother’s overtly blunt exultation, but it lasted only a second before her features resumed their stoniness. Kaye was not so far lost in her own pity that she was unable to feel any for their people. They could not hope to put everything on hold for so very, very long. Personally, Kaye did not think this was a time to board up in your home and put life on hold. Why make it any easier for the Fergalians? Morale would be low and… and it didn’t really matter, did it? Convention demanded a period of mourning and she was wasting her thoughts when they should have been focused on her poor, dear father.

Kaye was not surprised that she was not stepping up to take the throne. She was young, untried, and a woman – take into account that she was unwed and you’d have the perfect concoction of princess, not a queen. It was good then, that she did not want the throne. She’d never wanted it, or any of the responsibilities that came with it. More than that, she didn’t want it to fall to her sisters. The very idea of Celestina… No, no, she would not stand for it. So a few more years were a gift. It was what her mother could give her and she would take it.

When the queen was done, Kaye didn’t need to voice her assent – it was a given. She also did not need to stand there any longer behind her mother’s shoulder once the people were done giving their approval as if they had any choice in the matter. She stepped away from her mother. She was not yet queen and felt as such, that if she needed a moment to collect herself, she could take it. She had reason enough to step away without seeming rude as just then, a messenger approached the door. After the knock, a servant opened the door and the messenger stated his purpose.

”I’ve a message concerning the King’s brother,” he said loudly enough for everyone in the room to hear. Kaye’s long, thin hand shot up before he could continue and she plastered on a small smile before turning back to the council.

”Your Highness, please allow me to handle this while you deal with these important matters.” Kaye wasn’t really giving anyone any choice. She needed to get out of there before she cried or, heaven forbid, voiced her opinion on anything. She nodded and followed the messanger.

”Your Highness, there’s a boy…” Apparently, the information he carried was uncomfortable, as he hesitated there. Kaye waited for him to continue, but when he did not, prompted him forward herself.

”There are many boys, sir. Why do you come to us about this one?” By this time, they were nearing the waiting chamber. The messenger hesitated with his hand on the door, barring her entrance as much as he was moving to push it aside for her.

”Milady… It would… It would seem that your uncle had a…” He fumbled over his words. It was lucky for him that Kaye wasn’t particularly dense. She nodded, relieving him of the necessity of finishing his awkward and potentially threatening statement.

”Then, by all means, I must meet this boy,” she agreed, the only sign of her shock a slight raise to her light, arched brows. When the messenger opened the door, Kaye stepped through it and settled eyes on the spritely young thing. He was pretty… Pretty, and so very young. Given the castle’s current state, Kaye thought he may have been better leaving this particular quandary alone, but this soft-faced little boy posed a threat to her ascension to the throne. As a b*****d, it was a minimal one, but would their people chose a b*****d over a woman when it came down to it? Hard to know.

At the best of times, Kaye was a little chilly. Now, her father was dead and she was confronted by a new and not-entirely-welcome relative. It took all of her kindness to unclench her jaw and give the young man a forced and awkward smile. He looked like her father, or rather, her father’s brother – they’d never really been that dissimilar to begin with.

”Hello,” she began, deciding to take this delicate matter one step at a time. That necessitated at least greeting him before she began to make judgments. ”I am Princess Kaye, and I understand I am to believe that you are special.” Gods in the sky! She sounded just like her mother when she got bent out of shape. ”I do not, unfortunately, understand what I am to call you. What is your name? Do you know why you are here?”

[jumbrello]

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"I'm talking at choo." So I know what it looks like. Since this is a sample thread. I'm so good at complete sentences. It's a life skill I possess. I have many. For example, I have pants on. I can use the potty. I know where the store is and haven't starved yet. These, my friend, are life skills. Make sure you find some. So I know what it looks like. Since this is a sample thread. I'm so good at complete sentences. It's a life skill I possess. I have many. For example, I have pants on. I can use the potty. I know where the store is and haven't starved yet. These, my friend, are life skills. Make sure you find some. So I know what it looks like. Since this is a sample thread. I'm so good at complete sentences. It's a life skill I possess. I have many. For example, I have pants on. I can use the potty. I know where the store is and haven't starved yet. These, my friend, are life skills. Make sure you find some.

"I'm talking at choo." So I know what it looks like. Since this is a sample thread. I'm so good at complete sentences. It's a life skill I possess. I have many. For example, I have pants on. I can use the potty. I know where the store is and haven't starved yet. These, my friend, are life skills. Make sure you find some. So I know what it looks like. Since this is a sample thread. I'm so good at complete sentences. It's a life skill I possess. I have many. For example, I have pants on. I can use the potty. I know where the store is and haven't starved yet. These, my friend, are life skills. Make sure you find some. So I know what it looks like. Since this is a sample thread. I'm so good at complete sentences. It's a life skill I possess. I have many. For example, I have pants on.

Since this is a sample thread. I'm so good at complete sentences. It's a life skill I possess. I have many. For example, I have pants on. I can use the potty. I know where the store is and haven't starved yet. These, my friend, are life skills. Make sure you find some. So I know what it looks like. Since this is a sample thread. I'm so good at complete sentences. It's a life skill I possess. I have many. For example, I have pants on. I can use the potty. I know where the store is and haven't starved yet. These, my friend, are life skills. Make sure you find some. So I know what it looks like. Since this is a sample thread. I'm so good at complete sentences. It's a life skill I possess. I have many. For example, I have pants on.Since this is a sample thread. I'm so good at complete sentences. It's a life skill I possess. I have many. For example, I have pants on. I can use the potty. I know where the store is and haven't starved yet. These, my friend, are life skills. Make sure you find some. So I know what it looks like. Since this is a sample thread. I'm so good at complete sentences. It's a life skill I possess. I have many. For example, I have pants on. I can use the potty. I know where the store is and haven't starved yet. These, my friend, are life skills. Make sure you find some. So I know what it looks like. Since this is a sample thread. I'm so good at complete sentences. It's a life skill I possess. I have many. For example, I have pants on.

"I'm talking at choo. wootwoot. Good for me! Sampletime. I love you!"

[jumbrello]

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”I’m not going back.” Aberforth’s stubbornness was about as unwelcome in that moment as it was possible to be. In Albus’ opinion, it was entirely inappropriate, but Albus was often taken to form opinions about his brother’s behavior. He was very rarely in favor of it. Then again, this really was over the line.

Kendra Dumbledore was slowly but surely taking her place in the earth, effectively sealing Albus’ fate, with the help of a few wands. While he was plenty old enough, this wasn’t something Albus could take part in and left others with the task of lowering his mother’s casket. Kendra’s three children sat in a row on the edge of the grave, watching their mother’s final descent. Aberforth was sandwiched in the middle, holding Ariana’s hand. Albus, per usual, was sporting perfectly straight posture and was very much detached from his younger siblings. None of them were crying. Albus knew his mother well enough to know that she wouldn’t have wanted them to make a scene and so, they didn’t. Or, he didn’t. He thought he may have heard Ariana sniff once or twice.

Albus didn’t need his brother to try and explain what he meant. As far as he could tell, Aberforth had been looking for a way to get himself kicked out of Hogwarts since he’d gotten there. This was just the perfect excuse to amount to nothing, wasn’t it? Well, that wasn’t how it was happening. ”We’ll talk about this later,” Albus breathed, hardly moving his lips. Aberforth fell silent and then, a few moments later, there was the deep, dull knock of the casket settling in the bottom of the grave. It carried with it a note of finality – the last bell toll of Albus’ auspicious future.

”Albus…” A kind, male voice prompted him to look up. Albus turned his tight, sky blue eyes on the man. It was Honoria’s fiancé, Tibalt. Albus rather liked him, though he seemed just a hair shy of completely normal. Perhaps that’s why Albus liked him. He needed no further goading. He stood from the chair set up, stepping forward and leaving his siblings in his wake. He slid his wand out of his pocket and raised it in his long, graceful fingers. The pile of dirt off to the side rose to attention at his gentle prompting. The soil carved a winding arch through the air to fall gracefully in a soft rain on the top of the casket. It said something to either his unflinching calmness or the impassable grace of his magic that even in this saddest of occasions, Albus managed to do this beautifully.

”May she rest in peace,” murmured his mother’s only true friend – Bathilda Bagshot. She sat across from the Dumbledore brood on the other side of the gaping hole in the ground. Albus was glad she’d said it as it relieved him from the responsibility of saying anything whatsoever. He lowered his wand, the deed done, and stared at perhaps the only person left living to have actually known Kendra Dumbledore. He certainly couldn’t have claimed the honor. There was something behind her eyes that made him immensely uncomfortable and Albus was quick to look away lest he risk letting any cumbersome feelings in at that particular moment. When he did, however, he was forced to notice the young man that stood just behind her shoulder. Albus didn’t recognize him, and while the Dumbledores hadn’t ever spent much time amongst their neighbors, that was saying something. Godric’s Hollow was not exactly the up-and-coming place that drew in young and exceedingly attractive wizards. Albus, for one, felt like being dragged back to this place was comparable to a life sentence in Azkaban. He felt that he was being exiled from all that he loved and stripped of all the promise he’d spent so many years cultivating. In rather his darker moods, he wasn’t above wondering just what he’d done to deserve this verdict. Why anyone would willingly come here was beyond him. This stranger was novel. Albus took a passing notice of him. His keen eyes flicked over him once, top to bottom, and he moved on. To be fair, that was more attention than he’d given anyone else since the start of the sordid ceremony, but the moment passed. He tucked his wand in his pocket and turned away. There were people to greet and condolences to accept – it simply wasn’t the sort of responsibility that Albus could leave to his brother, much less his sister, who’d have been better off going home as soon as possible.

Unfortunately, the matter on Aberforth’s mind had not quite passed and once Albus had dispelled with around three-quarters of the necessary handshakes and sad, resigned smiles, Aberforth once again deemed it necessary to make a grab for his attention.

”I’m not going back, Albus,” he asserted once more. This was not the place. Albus grabbed his arm and dragged him through the people who continued to file about. He was not going to engage his somewhat fiery brother in front of witnesses. It wasn’t his way, so Aberforth took the moment of Albus’ stubborn silence to try and justify himself. ”Someone’s got to take care of her.”

Finally, they were far enough away and Albus released Aberforth’s arm from his vice grip. When he rounded on the younger boy, it was with a slow and appeasing, but slightly dangerous smile – one of the few that didn’t quite reach his eyes. ”I’ll take care of her.”

”But-“ Albus cut him off, his tone still unduly bright, as if he weren’t at his wit’s end and didn’t desperately want to find Elphias Doge in his tour of Europe, join him, and leave his brother to deal with the never ending hell that was being a Dumbledore – as if he weren’t thoroughly stuck in the mud.

”But you think I’m incapable?” Albus watched as the slow, creeping red began to snake its way up Aberforth’s neck. His brother’s eyes narrowed and it took him a minute before he was able to speak. Aberforth never was the best at working through problems with his words.

”Is there anything you’re incapable of, Albus?” Aberforth challenged. Albus had to give it to him – that was a better retort than he’d expected from the boy. He dived in head first.

”Very little. You’re going back to school.” Despite the calmness of his own tone, Aberforth began to raise his voice. Albus passed a slightly furtive glance over the crowd to see if they were being watched. They were. He tried to ignore it. It was best to disengage. He moved to turn.

”You cannot tell me what to do! I’ll go where I like. You’re not my father. Our parents are dead!” It was a rare moment when Albus allowed his usually perfect reserve to falter. When he turned to face Aberforth once more, he’d summoned up his full height. A dark look passed his normally kind features. It was enough to get most men to back down, despite his age, given the rarity of this particular expression. Aberforth, on the other hand, just stuck out his jaw. When it came down to it, though, Albus was just taller – one of the many more desirable traits he held over his younger sibling.

”According to wizarding law, I can. You’re underage. It’ll be two more years before you can decide for yourself, and when you’re seventeen and graduated, you can go wherever you want. Until then, make sure your trunk is packed for the start of term.” Aberforth blistered. A low growl rose in his throat. His mouth opened, closed, and opened again to no avail. He stomped off towards Ariana, leaving Albus feeling a slight more violent than he was really capable of controlling.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut, throwing his head back so his auburn mane swept back over his shoulders. This was going to be fine. He could resign himself to this, at least, he was trying to convince himself that he could. It wasn’t quite going his way. The very thought of spending his entire summer with only his sullen brother and addled sister for company was misery. He sucked in a deep breath, using the rush of air to squelch anything hotter that was seeping up into his chest from his stomach, pressed his palms to his eyes, and finally, dropped his hands and turned back to the guests. He couldn’t help noticing many of them avoiding looking his way. In fact, some of them had milled off of their own accord – all the better. Perhaps he could get away with leaving before every singly person cleared off.

[jumbrello]

Avery might have been slightly deterred by the slow start of things, but it wasn’t a [i[complete disaster, so she was holding out on passing any judgment. That was, at least, until the guard from the Mistari lands approached them and things took a swift turn for the worse.

How dare he seek to make this any more difficult for them? Cayden especially. Avery did not yet know Dinah well enough to be properly indignant on her account, but she thought he was being unacceptably rude. Had not the Avians been, if not friendly, at least polite to Dinah? Avery had an impressive amount of tolerance and empathy for most things, but the guard was engaging in needless mudslinging in the most unconstructive way. And why? Because he was jealous? He’d put them all in danger because Cayden, or Dinah rather, had stepped on his manhood, figuratively speaking, of course.

Selfish, ignorant, loathsome, horrid b*****d… Oh dear…

Avery had spent the brunt of her youth amongst the detached. People who saw things, but did not care. Despite her patience, despite her empathy and general concern for people, or rather, because of it, she did care. That’s what had always distinguished her from her kind, and sometimes, when one cares too much, it takes a very negative form. Like Cayden, she was glaring daggers at the guard. It was the kind of stare that, while given, concentrated all the power one felt one had into a steady stream of distain; the kind of stare that was meant to see if you could set someone aflame just by looking at them; the kind of stare that might make a person think that she was trying to steal his soul, if one believed Avians were capable of that sort of thing anyway. Most importantly, it was the kind of stare that compromised her nearly unflinching control.

When she realized what she was doing (and luckily, the majority of people hadn’t, as they were too busy watching Cayden and Deccan’s minor standoff), she averted her eyes. She looked at the ground, not because she was ashamed, but because she was not entirely sure what she’d just done. She had no mirror and couldn’t know for sure, but hoped that they hadn’t changed. She took one… two… three deep breaths before she felt entirely herself again. Assured that everything was normal, she glanced at Bastion out of the corners of her eyes to make sure he hadn't been watching her silent battle. Her lips twitched into a small, resigned smile as if to say, ‘What can you do? The guard's obviously an idiot,’ and she let it go.

------------------------

Waiting quietly was something that Cayden was exceptionally good at, but he was beginning to get the impression that Cecil just wasn’t going to say anything at all. He watched her garnet gaze turn from him to his escorts behind him. Even with his reserve, it was completely beyond his ability to refrain from a small, amused smile. It wasn’t as if it was a source of pride that he’d been able to frighten a small child. In fact, that in itself was a shame. Cayden had never thought of himself as particularly frightening. That wasn’t to say that he had a lack of confidence in his military prowess, he simply did not have the natural weapons at his disposal to really make himself a threat. He could merely imagine that, if he frightened her, Bastion would seem quite monstrous.

It would take time for these encounters to become normal, or even tolerable to most, but Cayden was patient, so when Dinah offered him a small smile, his own was resigned.

That smile tightened perceptibly when Deccan approached them. Cayden was of the mind that, given his generally precarious position, he should work to make himself amenable, if only for the moment. He hadn’t, of course, expected the guard to make it entirely possible. His efforts and intentions were wasted from the very moment the t**t opened his mouth.

However darling Cecil may have been, Cayden’s eyes were locked on Deccan for the entirety of his languid, dangerous approach. His molten eyes tightened when the snake glared at Dinah. He sucked in a slow, agitated breath, a fruitless attempt to calm the bubbling, vile hatred that was working its way up from the pit of his stomach. When their eyes met, it overwhelmed his better senses. Suddenly, it seemed like a much better idea to reach out and bash the man’s nose in with the heel of his palm than it had before.

Cayden had never before envied a Serpiente’s ability to hiss. It has always seemed banal and crass to him, a kind of immature spitting contest for children and the uncontrolled. Now, he longed for some unquestionable, physical expression of his absolute disdain; a command of sorts, a warning to back down lest matters get out of hand. As it were, he was limited both by his own biology and his proper manners, which required him to bear the insult with a steely, untouchable demeanor, just as he’d born everything else the fates had thrown his way. Somehow, standing where he was now in a place of relative political peace, he found the prospect of a battlefield less bothersome than the forced company of this man, at least, if it were only himself he had to worry about.

Not only was he limited by his civil sentiments, but he was also held back by love and the fact that, though he could claim Dinah as his wife, he could not claim that he loved her. This made him feel somewhat less justified in his reaction. It was just his luck that Deccan gave him the excuse of insulting the entirety of his people to explain his anger.

To his credit, Cayden was not afraid of Deccan. No amount of chest puffing or jewel-eyed glaring would get him to cower from him, especially behind his mate. Cayden stepped forward, all but bristling with indignation. His palm settled on the center of Dinah’s back. As much as he didn’t mean to play the possessive male, it was a role he was falling into quite easily. The gesture was meant to accentuate the point that they were partners. Meaning, of course, that Dinah was his partner and, at the moment, this allegiance would put her at odds with her hotheaded guard. He did have to account for Cecil. A firm propagator of personal space, he did try not to invade the little girl’s.

He had to be careful. He was always having to be careful. It was infuriating. Then again, it wouldn’t do to go insulting the whole of the Serpiente people when he was surrounded by them. He edged forward, his eyes locked on Deccans, speaking directly to him, as it seemed the guard lacked the spine to do.

”I can only imagine that she found her former company lacking.” Yes, obviously this was going quite well. Cayden honestly didn’t know whether it would look worse for him to insult Deccan or to take the insult lying down, so, for once, he went with what he wanted to do, or some version of it. Again, he couldn’t just go bashing people’s noses in whenever he got miffed, and Deccan was sure to try his patience quiet often.

”Now, now, Deccan. Rats it a touch unfair,” Nara chimed in as she bounced towards them. She was much more at ease now that they were back on familiar territory and just the sight of the dancer’s nest had calmed her nerves. Not to mention, now was just about the time things started to get really funny and she was excited to see how they played out.

Per Dinah’s command, she’d gone to the Nest to retrieve Eve. She could have stayed there, really, having fulfilled her duty, but where was the fun in that? You see, when she’d told Eve that Dinah wanted to see her, she’d left out the important matter of why and where she’d been. It wasn’t kind, but it also wasn’t her business to go about trying to explain Dinah’s actions to anyone else. All right, she could have been a little more helpful, but she deserved a good laugh after the last couple of days. As such, she’d escorted Eve, following the trail of concerned murmurs to the center, where they found their monarch.

That was not to say that she didn’t want to be helpful. She wasn’t entirely above putting herself to good use. She stopped at Deccan’s side and, to all parties, it might seem like that’s where she aligned herself. It only seemed that way, though, as she’d taken their newfound closeness as an excuse to curl her arm through his. Such closeness was not unheard of, but he could not mistake the sharp squeeze she gave his bicep. It was a preemptive measure, as it didn’t seem entirely ridiculous to go ahead and start holding him back. ”Rats might make one think that they’re unclean.” She spoke to him, just him, and ignored the Avians and Dinah entirely. This was due in large part to the fact that Dinah was holding Cecil and Nara never had figured out just how to behave around the child. To be frank, she found the girl almost as toilsome as Deccan did. ”From where I’m sitting, they look perhaps a little too clean,” she said, indicating not only Cayden’s smooth jaw, but also the stiff way the small group was standing. ”Gerbils would be a better analogy.”

And, though Cayden was no more pleased to be called a gerbil than a rat, he let it slide. Loathe be it for him to admit that he’d grown fond of Nara, but she was less of an ignorant cad than Deccan.

”Look who I brought,” Nara sang merrily – perhaps the only person in their cluster still capable of good humor – indicating Eve just beside her to Dinah, who she finally surveyed with an irreverently brilliant grin.

[jumbrello]

►►► WHERE: Mongrel Ranch ▌WITH: Aspen ▌MOOD: Friendly ▌JOURNAL ▌OUTFITxxxxxxx
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Lynden had been up for hours, but that didn’t mean he’d accomplished very much by the typical way of thinking. Here it was, the sun was already up, and he hadn’t made a dime. It wasn’t like he needed much to live on, but his peculiar aversion to living comfortably was becoming a bit much. This was accentuated by the fact that his stomach had, just then, begun to growl. He reached into the soft leather sack that was slung over his shoulder in case he found anything interesting to bring back with him to the Woodworks. He pulled out a cracker – a large, creamy white thing about the size of his hand – and took a bite off the corner. It was hard, dry, and nearly tasteless, but at least it took the edge off the painful emptiness in his stomach. He’d have to go by the café later and get something a little more sustaining. At least he didn’t have any large project to worry about just then. There was a cabinet back in the shop that he was working on. It was an intricate piece that, true to form, Lynden was making more complicated than absolutely necessary, but it would be worth it in the end.

Creation was a trying process for the Mer, who took his work far too seriously. While he worked on a project, he could be irritable, sometimes even hostile, depending on just how poorly he thought it was going. Most of the time, he was wrong. It was very seldom that he came out at the other end of a project and was less than satisfied with his handiwork. It was just the process of getting there that was painful. Honestly, it was a relief that his workload was so light at the moment.

It gave him the leisure for early morning walks through the forest. He knew well enough that it was dangerous. The beasts that lived in the forest were hardly friendly, and Lyden had very little means with which to protect himself. He was probably due a trip to the smithy, but he was hesitant to walk around armed, no matter how practical it might be. At least he limited himself to the daylight hours for scouting. Lynden didn’t do much of the logging himself. He was not fond of cutting the trees, even if he did use their wood. It was something he used to do more frequently, but now it wasn’t necessary. He would, on the other hand, make sure his logger knew where to take from.

It took a while, but Lynden was finally satisfied with his survey. He turned back towards the village. While many people might get turned around, the forest was more his home than the town had ever been. He knew just where he was and just hot to get where he wanted to be.

After stopping by the Woodworks to drop off his bag and put away the herbs he’d found, he left for the village proper. Lynden didn’t have any strong reason for going other than the simple understanding that he could not sit around in his shop all day every day. He needed some kind of interaction, even if it was limited to just watching other people. If he was going to people watch, the square seemed like a fair place to start.

In the end, it seemed he wasn’t destined to be quite so reclusive. As he was walking past Mongrel Ranch, he saw Aspen walking outside. He slowed as he considered saying hi. He’d never really spoken to her much. She was quiet and he wasn’t all that verbose himself, but she seemed nice. Right, he needed to be normal, or at least try to be a little less reclusive. For the amount of time he’d lived here, he knew frightfully few people. That decided it.

”Aspen!” he called out, raising his voice to get her attention. ”Good morning.” He approached her and her feline friend by walking just a little faster than normal. She seemed to be speaking to the creature. ”I, um… Hope I’m not interrupting?” It was a little difficult to tell when you were jumping in mid-conversation when you couldn’t hear half of it. He scratched his head just behind his pointed ear, already marginally uncomfortable.

At that point, he had two options – stand there like an idiot who’d just gotten in her way for no good reason or come up with something to talk about. He chose the latter. ”I heard one of your dogs is expecting, yeah? I’ve always thought my shop could use a dog around… Nice, quiet sort of company.” And that, he felt, was a perfectly reasonable, tolerable thing to bother her about at this early hour. ”Need any help with those?” he asked, nodding towards her tools. ”I do have two empty hands just waiting to be directed.” He held them out, palms up, lifting his eyebrows. Just because he wasn't often taken to being particularly helpful to his neighbors didn't mean he was incapable. He just wasn't in town much.