Name: Frances Balfour Nicknames: N/A Sex: Female Age: Early 20s Class: Nobility Occupation: None Residence: The family estate, set between Palisade and the Wardwood.
_✘_Appearance________________
Hair: Honey Brown Eyes: Light Blue Height: 5'7" Build: Slight. Hers is a life of comfort and little physical exertion, and it shows in her soft curves and smooth, uncalloused skin.
_✘_Family____________________
Father: William Balfour Mother: Marie Balfour (Deceased) Siblings: None
_✘_Personality_________________
Frances seems at first affectionate and sociable, always ready with a kind word and an open ear. However, she remains distant from most she meets, and is capable of dropping acquaintances as easily as she finds them. It takes a determined sort to win her confidence, but those that do receive her trust and loyalty in their entirety.
Her isolation has made her accepting to new concepts and ideas, but this openness is due to naivety rather than choice. She’s just as likely to treat a farmer with respect as she is a nobleman, not because of some strange notion of fairness, but because she’s yet to be socialized to behave differently based on company. The distinction has been made known to her to be sure, but hearing about how one ought to act is much different than actually performing them.
It wouldn’t be far-fetched to say she’s been sheltered for much of her life. On one hand, it’s made it so that nothing seems truly dangerous in her eyes; on the other, she’s easily daunted. The thought of being chosen frightens her, and though she appreciates her guardian’s company, there’s many a time when she wishes she’d never been called to the ward-tree in the first place.
_✘_Biography__________________
William and Marie, Frances’ parents, wed against the wishes of William’s family and peers. He was nobility and she a commoner, but class mattered little to these enamored lovers. They claimed they were but one soul in two bodies, and perhaps that was true, for when Marie passed, a part of Will died with her. By then, the Balfour family had moved to an estate away from the bustle of Palisade. The decision had been made to escape criticism; after Marie’s death, it only served to isolate the remaining Balfours. William withdrew into his study, leaving Frances to be raised by what servants remained. As a result, she was given more freedom than other women of her class and age. She neither loved nor resented these arrangements, for, growing up far from any peers, she was not aware such events were abnormal.
The anniversary of her mother’s death was the day she was chosen. Instead of spending the evening mourning for a woman she never really knew, she found herself drawn to the Wardwood. The pull was irresistible, and in a few day’s ride she found the source of it, hanging off the boughs of a great tree: a totem in the shape of a deer, backed with silver and lined in gold. It was nothing more than an object, but it looked to be smiling only at her, and for the first time in a long while, she did not feel so alone.
Ryuukishin
Man-Hungry Fatcat
Offline
Ryuukishin
Man-Hungry Fatcat
Offline
Posted: Sun Nov 10, 2013 5:02 pm
The Guardian
_✘_Basics____________________
Name: Caspian Nicknames: Cas, Casper Sex: Male Age: Two Years Obtained:May Day Maypole Flatsale, colored by Rejam
_✘_Appearance________________
Eyes: Gold Coat: White, fringed with a fading silver along his spine. Lightly peppered with a darker grey. Height: Average Build: Lean and supple; built more for speed and agility than strength.
_✘_Family____________________
Parents: ??? Offspring: None
_✘_Personality_________________
Once amicable and playful, Caspian is now a solemn individual notable for his detachment, even towards his chosen. With silent steps and a tendency to appear unbidden at another’s side, his presence leans towards the incorporeal rather than the tangible. He seems attached to nothing and no one, save for the maypole headdress upon his ear which he guards with fierce jealously.
However, a quick pry beneath his layers will show he is far from the untouchable individual he wants himself to be. There is a timidity there, concealed behind recklessness; a clumsy awkwardness that belies his youth; and a desperate loneliness that longs to be filled.
_✘_Biography__________________
The days of Caspian’s youth were the best of his life, for it was then that he and his chosen were closest. Perhaps it was because he’d formed so suddenly, the novelty of the entire situation, or even his complete dependency – whatever it was, Frances held no reservation with him. When he felt joy, so did she; and when one was saddened, the other was likewise. The connection between them was open and fluid, and he thought it would always be that way. He was wrong.
The shift was imperceptible at first; if asked to point to the exact moment of the change, neither he nor Frances would be able to. But what did that matter? The rift that had formed could only expand, and that was a certainty in which timing held no relevance. It was never overt, of course. It expressed itself quietly, in moments of concealed thought and the growing space between them as they strolled across the hills, in the aversion of their eyes and the catch in her breath when he came too close. Beneath it all was fear, but fear of what? Of being chosen, and the implications that came with it? Of the unknown ways of Old, and the shroud of skepticism and unease it carried? The killings during the masquerade? The rumors of war? These were not things he could understand – not fully. All he knew was that the relationship between them now was tenuous at best. No longer did they dance together, as they did around the maypole.
Now when she comes, he goes. She is happiest when he is not around, he believes, and he does what he can to mitigate his presence. Much of his time is spent where she can neither see nor hear him, in the hopes that this, at least, will appease her. But he cannot help his love, and though his desolation sours into bitterness, he will look after her always.
