Fantasy The Empire of Alstasia - S U C C E S S I O N - M A I N

[TYPE]

♕ The Empire of Alstasia ♕
S U C C E S S I O N
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Emperor Lucius, Fourth of His Name, Lord Protector of the Realm, Scion of the House Breckenridge. His life had been filled with titles. With names. Names claimed in birth. Names claimed in History. Names claimed in deeds. Now he sat here, in the darkened room which held his throne, where fate has given him a new name. Now he was all the things that came before, and the only thing that remains. Now he was, The Last. The end of an era. The final breath of a dynasty spent.

For the last few months he had been gripped by his past. His crown anchoring him to his quiet throne. His empty heart having him send all kind words and sympathies away. Drawing curtains and casting his frame in black. The Emperor was in mourning. The world had allowed him such a thing. Allowed him his grief. One thing was not willing to concede him some relief. Time, that most diligent of task masters now came for him. His blood felt thin, as spent as his lineage. His bones, once strong - noble birth and a proud history raising his brow and squaring his shoulders - now felt brittle. His step as unstable as the peace which had befallen his beloved Alstasia as of late.
The sound of the great doors, small and far away from where he was sat, slowly groaned open, a single man entering. His silver and gold armor cast in shades of grey, the shadows of the room reflecting nothing beyond the dark brooding which had invaded the mind of Lucius as of late. With a quick, but still respectful march, he made his way past the tall columns keeping the arched roof of the throne room up. As he walked past them, his eyes were drawn to the hundreds of carved bodies within them. Heroes of old. Many… nay, most of them - the product of his Emperor’s Line.

The guard, sent by the head of house, suddenly felt a lump within his own throat. His eyes becoming unfocused, as he turned his gaze back onto his Beloved Emperor. The man now sat, surrounded by gold and history, his shoulders bent forward and down, his proud brow brought low by a crown that suddenly looked too heavy for his head. Emperor Lucius did not move. Did not recognise him for many moments. The Guard, his back straight, his chin up, and his knee bent - waited. He would wait forever. If need be.

Slowly, as if it took more will than strength, Lucius looked up, his eyes taking in his visitor. The first person he had seen in what felt like days. He nodded down, once. His mouth in a low grimace, his dark eyes intense.

“My Imperial Majesty, I pray you forgive this intrusion on your time. I come now to fulfill a task set two weeks prior. A task set by the word of the Emperor. The Electorate have been called. They come now. The sentries have sent word that the first of the carriages will arrive within the next few hours.” Having spoken, his throat suddenly dry - not daring to moisten his lips - he looked down respectfully, waiting for any further instruction.

Lucius looked at the man. He was strong. Clearly. He was trained. Clearly. Even with the uncomfortable pose he kept, his arms were steady. His back straight. Could he be an Emperor? What would Lucius need to add to him, so that he would be? The thoughts slowly trudged over his mind, as though a horse stuck in a bog. Would any of them be good enough? Could he trust them? Did he have a choice? He looked back towards the guard. No. He did not. Just as this young man was bound by vows, so too was he. He would need to see this done.

Calling apon a history of more than one and a half millennia. Calling upon a will forged in war. Calling upon the sheer stubbornness of a dying dragon, Lucius felt his hands clench upon the armrests of his throne. He felt his arched back straighten, his shoulders square. His brow rise. His chest inflating with the first proper breath he had taken in what felt like years.

From his position, knelt at the foot of the throne, the guard’s eyes widened. As if seeing a phoenix being set alight by its own will, his Emperor resurrected himself. Suddenly the man was wearing the crown once more. Suddenly the throne was a chair for a Lord once more. Suddenly the room felt bright. Lucius raised his hand, his fingers snapping loudly, as the curtains opened, bright light streaming past the stained glass. The golden marble that made up the floors, the roof, the pillars, lit up with glorious golden light, his crown glinting once more.

His hand, from it’s raised position, extended over the room, the dust that had settled over the course of the last few days evaporated, as the large doors - still mostly closed swung open entirely. Then, rising from his seat, Lucius cleared his throat, the sound reverberating over the room. Over the guard, power, majesty, control radiating off his Emperor. Then he spoke. His voice louder and stronger than any mortal man should be able to speak. Each syllable sending shivers of awe down the guard’s spine.

“Ready the house. Tonight be host the future of Alstasia. We shall meet them with open arms. This house has mourned its last. Now, work is to be done.” As his voice cut off, the braziers set along the walls ignited in unnatural golden fire. The fires of his house. They will burn one last time.

The guard, bowed low, lower than most would, his forehead nearly meeting the floor, before he rose, his armor suddenly bright, alive, casting shards of white light along the walls, along the throne, reflecting in the crown. One more nod towards his Emperor, before he turned, marching out of the throne room, not to inform the house, for he knew they would know. They would know that Emperor Lucius had returned. The Breckenridge have returned. And as always, Alstasia remained willing to serve.

-----

Robespierre, and his family had served the crown for nearly as long as the Wright. While they were not the warriors, or the horse-masters, or the builders of the world - his family lived for something else entirely. A life of service and dedication. It had them ascending from poor earth tillers to servants in homes of unimaginable wealth and power. Here he now stood, at the doorways of the greatest home on the continent. Perhaps the world.

As the master of the household, Robespierre was to welcome those whom would be replacing… no. Occupying the house in place of the Breckenridge. His family had long since insisted that they would serve the Breckenridge first and foremost. Dutifully they had followed the family wherever they went. If that meant they were not on the throne, it would mean that his family would not serve the throne. Now however such a luxurious choice could no longer be entertained. Soon there would be no more Breckenridge to serve. Loyalties will need to shift, and it would fall to him to find his new charges. A task that weighed on his soul more than his starched, pitch black formal-wear, or the responsibilities that came with it.

Next to him, to his right, stood his secretary. To his left stood the Deputy Master. They all knew their roles. They all knew what they had to do. Soon the gates at the edge of the grounds would open, and carriages will appear. From there, they will direct the servants to take any luggage into the home, while directing the guests towards the formal waiting room, where the Emperor will greet them. Then lunch. Before they will be left to their devices until that evening, where the opening ceremonial ball is to be held. There was still so much to be done. But for now, they had to wait. Wait for the future to arrive.

 

[Church418]

Marquess Aedan Hacaster​

"Arrival in Ancebury"
​

It is for but rare and extraordinary circumstances that a Hacaster is called to Ancebury. My father made the journey only twice in his life, once when he became Marquess and again when the Red Dot plague threatened the country. I was but a child, but I recall it being an exciting time for our Apothecaries as they spent days and nights in their labs observing subjects, testing hypothesis', concocting experimental cures, and discussing ideas over lunch and dinner. I was drawn to the energy of those men, the excitement, the possibilities, venturing into the realms of unknown knowledge to discover something new. It was exhilarating.

Ah, but I find myself drifting off-topic once again. Ancebury. The skies have darkened over House Breckenridge. A somber reminder to every man that no name will last forever. I feel an unusual sense of empathy for the Emperor, spending his days knowing that he is the final amalgamation of a legendary name that pioneered the very land we walk on. The sense of totality, possible regret, it must be overbearing...



"What are you writing that's got you so worked up?" The sudden break in silence ripped him from his thoughts. Aedan's eyes broke from the journal and rose to see

an unusually overdressed Aurora Lancaster studying him from across the ornamented covered wagon. "You've a very animated face, you know? Toward the end it

looked as if your very eyes would scorch a hole through the pages." Aedan looked down at his journal once again, then closed and stowed it away, chuckling softly.

"Apologies," he said, averting his gaze through the open window instead. "I once thought it a foolish habit, but the practice of recording my thoughts and

experiences has started to grow on me, I believe." With a mischievous grin, Aedan looked back to Aurora. "For example, I now have empirical evidence that you are

in fact capable of wearing something other than sleeveless tops and swamp leathers." Aedan joked, waving the journal in front of her. She laughed and made a grab

for the journal, which Aedan quickly stowed away again. She laid back down and closed her eyes. "As if any amount of paper would be up to the task of recording

your often incoherent rambling."



As his caravan entered Ancebury, Aedan gazed out the window with thoughts of the Emperor returning to his mind. The world was experiencing an odd form of

peace after war and plague had consumed enough resources and lives that leaders surrendered not to each other, but to circumstance. This means that after a

period of recovery, no matter how long that may be, unresolved conflicts and old hatreds would eventually flare up again. It was unlikely, however, that war would

return during the remaining days of Lucius' reign. He had lost his entire family to war and illness, as did the other Emperors. The world was tired of conflict and

death, now craving life and healing. The Emperor would likely address these subjects as well as a variety of proposals to jump start the economy and reinforce

Alstasia's infrastructure. There was also the uncomfortable matter of which family would take the crown upon Lucius' death, a conversation no one is looking

forward to. Well, perhaps some are looking forward to it, but Aedan had no desire to make a bid for the crown. He had other aspirations that the infinite power of

the crown would, ironically, hinder. No. Instead he would use the significant influence of his houses' support to back another family's bid in exchange for other

favors.



The sound of children and trade became louder as his caravan moved through the streets of Ancebury. Through the open window Aedan saw a woman in tattered

clothes grab her child and point at

his wagon to the Hacaster sigil draped over the side. "Now you look there girl." The woman said in a heavy northern accent. "That be the Hacasters. Made yer

stomach aching disappear they did. Tell 'em yer grateful. Go on." The small girl, dust on her face, waved at Aedan. "Thank you m'lord! Thanks for making me

stomach better." Aedan opened the small door to the front and instructed the driver to stop. The caravan came to a halt, Aedan's knights surrounding him on either

side as he dismounted and approached the woman and girl. The woman, obviously shaken by a noble stopping his caravan to approach and talk to her, tried to

kneel but was slowed by the pain in her aging joints. "No." Aedan said softly, helping the woman back up and kneeling before them instead. Aedan looked at the girl

who gazed at his robe in wonder. "What is your name, my sweet?" The girl looked into his eyes and smiled. "Alba, m'lord. Alba Baker. I bake bread!" At this point,

many had stopped what they were doing and gathered around to watch the exchange. "But of course!" Aedan exclaimed, offering a friendly smile. "Everyone in the

southern borderlands has heard of Alba's fine bread. It is a luxury amongst my people, and we wanted to thank you personally." The girl looked up at the woman

and smiled in elation. Her teeth yellowed from obvious neglect, likely a symptom of her poverty. Aedan stood, placed a hand on the woman's shoulder. "Are you this

girl's mother?" The woman, shaking from nervousness, nodded. "Aye, m'lord. Alba, she had the worst stomach crampings she did. She was fer death we thought. A

healer, from yer college, gave us a mixture we could afford. Healed her right up it did." She grasped Aedan's hand with both of hers. To his right, Aedan saw Tribius

shift uneasily as the woman placed her hands on him. "Thank you m'lord. Thank you deep down." Aedan returned his gaze to the girl, hair weighted down with dirt

and dust. He lived among some of the lower class in the tent city, so poverty didn't phase him like it did other members of high-class society. Oddly, the girl's

condition troubled him. He reached into his pockets and revealed two shiny Alstasian gold coins, along with a colorful necklace made by the gypsies, and offered

them to the girl. She cupped the items in her hands and excitedly clipped the necklace around her neck. The color of the necklace standing in stark contrast to her

brown, tattered clothes. "Is it just the two of you?" Aedan asked the mother. "Aye, m'lord," she responded. "Lost to the plague, my husband was." Aedan nodded and

pondered for a moment. "I want you and little Alba here to return with me to the tent city after my business here is done. Conditions will be better for both of you."

Aedan looked down and smiled at Alba. "And we could always use more of Alba's fine bread. Perhaps even start her own bakery." Alba gasped. "Can we mama!?" she

pleaded. The woman simply stood in disbelief. "Think about it, I'll call for both of you before I depart."





Aedan turned and made his way back to the wagon, securing himself inside. Aurora sat looking at him, smiling in wonder. He took a wire brush and dusted off his

robes as the caravan began moving towards the palace grounds. After a few moments, he heard his driver identify his passengers to a guard and the gates to the

palace grounds were opened. It was acts like the one he just displayed that cemented the Hacaster's strong social capital. Such an act cost nothing but time on his

end, but tales of the selfless act would eventually reverberate across the land to generate even more good will towards his name and that of the college. It was a

strategy employed even before the Hacaster's were nobles. A timeless tradition traced back to before the First Age when his ancestor's carved their thoughts and

feelings on stone surfaces. Aedan felt this in his blood, and it is a philosophy that all professors and graduates of the College of White live by, lest they be

excommunicated. Through these acts, Aedan also was able to remind himself that he did have a heart and it wasn't corrupt, regardless of his Father's final words to

him.



The caravan stopped and the door to his wagon swung open. His Knight Captain, Tribius, bowed and offered his hand to Aurora to help her down the steps. Aedan

followed behind. The palace servants swarmed his caravan like locusts grabbing his luggage and those of his traveling companions, taking them to the area of the

palace reserved for House Hacaster. From the other wagons emerged Lady Elaine Lancaster, High Professor of Potions and Healing. Sir Joachim Bennett, High

Professor of Medicine and Surgery. And last but not least, Sir Benedict Cumberbach, High Professor of Research and Development. Aedan took a moment to

appreciate the awesomeness of his surroundings. Lush green gardens, marble statues, and a towering palace truly meant for an emperor. He felt a pang of

insecurity, feeling out of place and already a bit homesick. He glanced over at Aurora who was clearly having a completely different experience, twirling around the

roses and soaking in the scenery. She was the definition of a free spirit, never troubled by what others thought of her and always willing to go somewhere new.

"Marquess Hacaster." An older male voice interrupted his thoughts. The much older gentleman bowed and continued. "The Emperor has requested all members of

the electorate and their guests be placed in the waiting room. The others will be attended to and refreshments made available to you." Aedan nodded and looked

back to Aurora. "Go." She said, waving him away playfully. "I'll see you at lunch." She smiled back at him then turned to continue her exploration of the gardens.

With the High Professors close behind, Aedan was escorted to a room that seemed more ornament than utility. Fine carpet and multiple depictions of Breckenridge

history, each engraved with text beneath it. Aedan would spend his time reading these texts while he waited for the others.

 

[Elise Ebele]

Forest Abraham Nalha’na Hacaster
​

​

“Ah! Have I really received a message?” the general chuckled to her self. This would be the first time in a long time... or nearly in forever that she had received such a thing. She held loosely to the papers the king’s servant had broughter her, fidgeting with them as if they were just random sheets. How dare they send her this. Perhaps it was a joke, but she surely wasnt laughing.

She didn’t take much time to really read the papers. At the top, it had the seal of the king, and that was all she needed. A name was printed at the begining of the letter: Forest Abraham Hacaster. That had to be a joke. “Forest Abraham Nalha’na,” she whispered to her self. Until that day, she didn’t even realize the crown knew about her, or where she was, and who she was being. And now she was even wanted. Didn’t those pompous castle folk know she could take this country by force if she wanted to. She had an unstoppable army and a small fleet of massive ships. Her platoon was the like the ninja of the sea, and the snake of the land. No tarrin could hinder her: she could easily take this country if she wanted to.

“Especially now that the emperor is dying,” she suddenly smiled. She pulled armored feet down from the desk on which they sat and marched out her chambers in silence. The high and heavy, solid knock her boots make on the floor was the only thing your heard from her. In return, she could hear the shuffling of near useless feet down below, scrambling to apear presentable.

As she emerged from her quarters and on to the deck, soldiers stood in complete attention to greet her. Her feet continued to knock as she kept steadfastidly forward. There was a single soldier still moving when her eyes touched him, and death rose up against him in his soul as he locked eyes with his captain. Her chains ans armor sang as she turned in his direction and he instantly fell to his knees. “Have mercy, My Lord! I beg Nalha’na’s mercy!” he pleaded. The general instantly drew her sword, and his head was her target. She unleashed her strength on the man and he fell to the deck, trembling at the fact that he still had his life.

The general wiped the sweat off the blunt of her sword as she returned to her trek. “It’s a special day,” she smirked as she leaned against the bow. “Set sail for the Capital.”


((I really didn’t want to have her land til I work out her relationship to Aedan.))

 

[Arcanist]

Albrecht Beaumont Wright
​

Seventy-seven. Seventy-eight. Seventy-nine…

Trees. One of the few things that the Duke sought appeasement from on this journey, to cause the time to wither away as he counted them. His leg jittered as the number rose higher, his heaving sighs grew heavier the longer he stared out the window. He had been made aware of the five-day journey it would take to reach Ancebury, including the occasional rest stops in between. He had accepted it, albeit with a grumble and a scowl. The only con he could think of in association with being summoned by Emperor Lucius IV to the capital was the actual getting down from the hills the Duke had called home for over thirty years.

Much unlike his sister, Fleur, who could so probably so easily distract herself with a book, or sewing, or whatever hobbies women had, Albrecht’s impatience refused to thaw like the snow blanketing the hills in Winter. The Duke could have counted numbers, trade imports and exports, rehearsed his lines to flatter and play the part of a perfect noble, yet, his eyes always shifted with a heavy disgust over the interior of the carriage. Of course, it was large enough for the two of them, four of them at the most. But stuffing a man who constantly walked as he worked, who could only find his backside on a chair for so long before he rose again to read the accounts that had come in for the month, made way for an unsettled Albrecht.

The sun had begun to filter through the trees, reaching through the window like a warm hand upon Albrecht’s right cheek. For a moment, his expression had relaxed somewhat from the usual furrowed brow and permanent scowl that sat upon his lips. Yet, as he relaxed, his shoulders tensed once more, and he grimaced. The sun’s gentle warmth had been accompanied by a harsh light, burning into his eye, or at least, it had become so sensitive that it couldn’t handle the burning beams.

The Duke was not to be deterred, however. He sat there, grimacing, showing momentary weakness in his face as he wished to feel that warmth just a little longer. Just a little more…but the sun proved fiercer and far more formidable than he would have cared to admit. He squinted as he struggled to find the tassel to pull the blind down. After his hand groped around for it, it seized it, and he yanked on it, sending the blind crashing down like the blade of a guillotine. The sun’s rays vanished behind the shield Albrecht had put up.

The man swallowed back, leaning back in his seat, a few beads of sweat trickling along the base of his hairline. He blinked several times before the dots behind his eyes disappeared. It was then he caught the gaze of his sister, in which the blinking had been directed at. Albrecht forgot the difficulty hiding in such an enclosed space.

“Sorry. You know how much I hate the blasted sun in my eyes,” the eldest of the siblings grumbled an excuse, casting his gaze to one of the blue, swirling floral patterns of the interior. If Albrecht believed he had gotten away without showing weakness to his own sister, he would have been as foolish as he was as a young man. He scrambled his brain for something to turn the attention away from his weakness, the shame he felt rising to his cheeks. He cleared his throat, turning his gaze back to his sister.

“It won’t be long until we arrive,” Albrecht announced the plainly obvious. He paused for a few moments, before he stared at her firmly. “I suppose I don’t need to tell you how important this is. Not just for me, but for our name. From the moment we step foot out of this carriage, the reputation of our house will be heavy on our shoulders.” For a moment, something flashed across his eyes. A flicker of determination. The reminder of the promise he made to their father. “I only ask you carry it well, Fleur, as will I. Not just for our father’s sake, or our mother’s, or the rest of the family’s sake. But for Alstasia’s sake too.” Albrecht stared longer at his sister. His expression had loosened and relaxed again. He opened his mouth to say something more but stopped as the other window presented a new picture of scenery. The gates to the court they would learn to traverse. The softness in him melted, the garb of the stern Duke Wright thrown upon him once more.

By the time the carriage came to a halt, Albrecht couldn’t wait to get out and stretch his legs. He restrained himself from flinging open the door. Once the door was opened for him, he stepped out and down onto the ground, before he had turned back to the carriage to help Fleur out. His good eye had wandered to their new home. After all this time, he still found himself ogling at it as if he had never witnessed such an architectural masterpiece before. Though, this was coming from the man who watched over the City of Stables, with its humble but lovingly crafted wooden hold and thatch roofs. It made for a refreshing change.

Albrecht led his sister to the steps and up, and soon found a trio welcoming them and expressing their well wishes and their hopes that their journey was pleasant. The Duke bit his tongue on his grievances of the trip, and simply told them their steeds had done their job and transported them safely – as they could well see. With the rather formal, yet stiff air his parents drilled into him as a child, he thanked them for welcoming them and setting them up with a place to stay during the election. All the while, the Duke wondered if Robespierre would ever be as loyal to House Wright as Breckenridge should they gain the seat of the Empire, seeing as the two both served for as long as the other under the same name.

Albrecht tried not to ponder over such things for too long. As servants were directed to haul their belongings to their designated rooms, they were led into a waiting room, soon provided with refreshments (which were necessary after a long journey such as theirs). The room was adorned with rich tapestries, lit by several candles. Albrecht tried not to eye the luxuries so much as he sipped at a light wine he was given. He was still in a dreamlike state, that he didn’t really believe he had arrived here again for the purpose he was summoned for; so much so, that it took several moments for him to notice the man, sitting with his nose in a book nearby...

 

[FireMaiden]

Lady Fleur Wright
Interaction: Arcanist
Mentioned: Church418
The idea of being outside of her family's territories, finally leaving to see a little more of the world always seemed just out of grasp for Fleur. I'll health as a child kept her trapped in her room, and then her obligations as a daughter kept her bound by her parents will. Even after her father's death. Her brother of course didn't share her odd awe, as she expected, but that was fine. His restlessness however, had been getting on her nerves. Fleur was aware the trip was going to be long, nearly a week, and that Albricht was not a man use to being cooped up like a chicken for too long. Though, at this point, chickens may be a little more free than the pair of them. Her attention, unlike his, was constantly shifting between new scenery, the small book in her hand, and her brother. For the moment, she would ignore him and his staring contest with the sun.

Instead, she would focus on the book in her hand. The old solider from her childhood had given it to her years ago, tales about hero's slaying dragons, demons, old gods, and saving the world with a small witty man wielding a bow. It was one of her favorites, one of the few that allowed to actually escape the world around her an-her thoughts were yet again intrupted by her brother. Fleur withheld a sigh, giving him a small smile. "You could have put the blind down a little sooner you know," she said. Her voice was soft, clear, as elegant as silver bells. Had been for years. Her mother said it was a miracle inspire of her illness. Her father said it was because of his good genes. "Staring at the sun, which as far as I know, dose not submit to the will of one mighty warrior, may not be the greatest idea. Try not to make it habit?" Fleur would giggle, slender fingers pulling a thin piece of velet down to mark her place as she closed her book to look out the window once more.

"I can see that," she replied. Their carriage had made it into a bustling city when Albricht commented on the fact that would be arriving soon. Fleur shifted in her seat. She was nervous, and in her mind, she was justified to be nervous. Not only was it her first time outside of The Grasslands, it was maybe going to be the most important trip of her entire life. Looking back to her brother, she smiled, nodding slightly to his words to show she was paying attentiom, but while Albricht didn't seem to know, Fleur was already aware of just how important this entire situation was. Plans were no doubt brewing within the other houses already, and she and her brother already held an advantage just holding the Wright name, but plans needed to be made and executed, and while her brother was talented, he was not...well, the shadowy work was best left to her.

Sooner than she had hoped, they came upon the Emperor's estate. It was not what Fleur was prepared for, but her awe, shock perhaps, was well hidden as Albricht helped her out of the carriage. It was odd to be somewhere for official business without mother nearby, trying to tell her What to do and how to grab something. A breath of fresh air, but a suffocating one. Fleur, for once in her life time, allowed herself be escorted by her brother without a smartass comment under her breath, or a play comment at his expense. And like she was taught, she let him speak, standing to the side go look pretty, waiting for him to finish. She didn't like the part she had to play, but immdeiatly breaking free would only shock her brother to much. He might keel over nobody wants that. Anyway, once more, she allowed herself to be lead by him to a room with refreshments and extravagant decoration. "I have to admit," She muttered, "I might be a little jealous I didn't get to see any of this a child." The tapestries showed history, history Fleur could almost feel, but she soon noticed she and her brother were not the first in the room.

 

[Rose of Versailles]

Meredith Locklow​

Sunbeams highlighting her perfectly powdered face shined down on her, bringing to light her many freckles that kissed her cheeks and shoulders. Her lips were stained a color of crushed roses with her cheeks a bashful shade of pink, and her lashes parted reveal a pair of ocean colored eyes that looked onto this new land she had only ever read about. Her slender hand reached out and brushed against the railing of the ramp leading her onto the dock and she began her descent. It almost seemed like she was floating, with the skirt of her pastel yellow skirt shifting only slightly with each steady, graceful step. The air of this alluring kingdom welcomed her with a sea salt breeze that danced in her fiery ginger curls, tickling her face to bring a soft smile across her lips. This young woman approached this exquisite new experience in her life with a heavenly aura, stunning and enchanting the dock hands that gazed upon her.

She was absolutely beguiling… or at least this is how she imagined her entrance to the Ancebury.

Instead she arrived huffing over the edge of the damned ship she arrived in, gasping for air as her chest heaved. Her hair covered her face, her curls growing damp from the sweat on her brow and she moaned in agony at the pungent smell of fish and piss mixed with the sea salt breeze. The boat rocked again, being pushed by the waves that were very tame compared to those she had to be tortured with during their journey. However, every slight thrust and nudge of the ship increased her nausea.

Damn this fucking boat, she thought to herself. With shaking arms, she strove to prop herself back up to actually look at this land she was so thrilled to see, but her strength was nowhere to be found. She heaved again, gagging at the smells and the sea sickness that twisted within her stomach. Do not throw up! Do not throw up!

The last thing she wanted was to smell of fish and vomit. She even rose early to have her hair perfectly set upon her head with curls bouncing and fluffed, but now she looked like a mangy ship rat. She was sweating, she smelled of the disgusting bodies she was forced to live with for far too long, and now she wanted to throw what tea she had this morning out onto display for her welcoming carpet.

“What’s wrong, lass? Not much of a sea siren, aye?” She heard a pesky sailor call, choking through his laughter of her as he fumbled with some ropes to do God knows what. “You have to flow with the motion o’ the ocean, lass. You can’t be prim and proper with her. Yew know how to dance, aye? Same thing!”

Was it the same thing? Dancing at a ball that didn’t smell of piss and filth and a proper gentleman was quite the opposite of rolling around with the true scum of the sea. She dared look up even more a moment just to see the face of whatever dared speak to her in such a tone. There, at the bottom of the ramp stood a man with teeth the color of rust and skin drier than desert sand. Disgusting. Filth. Nothing but filth!

Oh no. Oh no, that did it.

“Huh-unnn!”

Her insides became her outsides, splashing into the water below her, causing her eyes to water. She felt like crying, but rushed to reach for her handkerchief while the deck hands roared in laughter at her. Covering her mouth, she used the other hand to quickly dry her face before smearing any of her makeup.

“I though the Locklows were practically born on the sea! Are ye sure this red headed lass is one of them?” The same bold, brick-headed peasant barked out loudly. She listened to the echoes of him slapping his leg in laughter and joy at her dismay. Filth.

“Some handle the sea,” Meredith began with a deep breath to ease her quivering chest. “And some handle the wallet of this family. Knowing one done me a great deal more than the other, I’m afraid... unlike for some that choose the sea, as I can see.” Her eyes shot to the deck hand and his chapped lips snapped together, his eyebrows furrowing in a brief moment of confusion before realizing what she had just declared to him. He huffed like a hushed dog, murmuring to himself as he began to fiddle with his rope again as some shared shy chuckles at his embarrassment. Meredith smirked to herself, gaining her ground and blotting some of her sweat off of her neck as she descended past him and his odor.

“Next time you want to speak to a lady about dancing, know exactly what kind of dance you are signing up for,” she whispered to him with a scowl. He avoided all eye contact with her, causing her grin to grow across her face before she released her parasol to shield her from the sun that had not been as kind to her newfound friend. She let out a soft giggle to herself before walking to the carriage that awaited to whisk her and her family away further to their journey forward -- further towards her journey to change her fate.

 

[Archon]

"Full sails! Taste that wind, lads!" Elspeth barked out whilst hanging from the mast, sharp eyes turned to the horizon with an infectious joy irradiating First Coin. Glittering in the sun's rays with the majesty of a Queen, her thoughts pause don the beauty of the unending ocean, great streaks of blue stretching on, enveloping the world in a cerulean embrace. She felt true serenity, a sense of immense peace, nodding as they carved through the waves like a bull's charge, the ocean itself paving them a path to the Empire's esteemed Capital. Elspeth's hair whipped in the wind as she spied the platform hanging overhead, a mischievous grin split across her face as strong arms pulled her closer to the object of her current desires.

"Spy that pearl, boys?" She cried again, booming voice washing over the inspired deck hands like an unstoppable tidal wave, "Acnebury!" The sailors gazed at the looming city for several long moments, before one stepped forward with a menial shrug. "That's all?" He responded, his taunt earning a tirade of laughter from the rest of the crew. Elspeth's grinning visage only intensified, facing the city she squinted, hand shielding her eyes as if searching for some hidden truth. The crew boomed anew at their Captain's mocking display of humour, "Aye, that's all. She's barely bigger than home!" Elspeth boasted with a stroke of intense pride, a unanimous bark of celebration followed her comedy, the men bursting into cheers and shanty song.

Admiring the scenery, Elspeth climbed aboard the platform overlooking the ship. The joyous echoes of singing and jeering dulled and became mute, the patience of a panther stalking it's prey settled on her form with cat-like arrogance. She crouched low, perched on the edge as her eyes roamed the deck for her opportunity to strike. Marching with a commanding presence did her brother come pacing towards the bow of the ship, another second - two seconds - a steady hand and sharp breath, the Captain grabbed the bucket of cleaning water from it's resting place, "All hands, on deck!" She warned, launching the contents of the bucket upon her brother's well-polished form. Her own outbreak of hilarity almost causing her to slip from the platform.

As Elspeth descended the mast, she shot Cullan a light smirk, jabbing the larger man on the arm as the ship barreled towards the unimposing harbor that guarded Acnebury from the sea. "So," Elspeth began, gazing off at the vague outline of the Imperial Palace, "How shiny do you think the Emperor's boots are?" She quizzed whilst appearing to be in thought, a not-so-subtle joke at the expense of the long line of Breckenridge boot lickers.

Without input from Elspeth, the expert crew already drifted First Coin seamlessly into the harbor, the ship hands on the dock working tirelessly to rope the oversized ship down, in case its impending size should float away. Walking alongside Cullan, the woman approached the bridge only to witness dear sister picking imposing her superiority over some poverty-ridden deck-hand. A frown settled on her face as she marched down the wooden path, cape fluttering in the wind. "Meredith thinks being born to wealth makes her better than honest men who toil, bleed and die to scrounge enough crowns to feed their families?"

Shaking her head, she beckoned to Horace, First Coin's esteemed quartermaster, before unclipping the stray coin purse that clutched her belt senselessly. "See to it that this is split between the dock hands, will you? Courtesy of Cullan Locklow." She finished, slapping her brother on the back again. Even the Quartermaster, an addled and rough elder bearing the scars of life cracked a smile at the gesture, nodding to the young Admiral as she departed to the carriage in pursuit of Meredith's unholy trail.

The Carriage stood proudly amidst the bustle of Acnebury's harbor market, ornate gold gleaming in the midday sun, the intricacies of the design advertised to all in the City the importance of those within. "Crude little thing, isn't it?" The eldest spoke, stepping into the carriage with a whimsical huff, dusting the dust from her informal garb. "So," she raised an eyebrow at Meredith, glancing briefly at Cullan with a knowing smile, "Is the little Locklow looking for love?" Elspeth teased with a piercing stare, despite their distance this was still a Royal Summon to the Imperial Palace. With all signs of the highest tier of nobility present, she surmised ballroom dances, extravagant feasts and backroom plotting. If they were truly blessed, perhaps a tournament or two. Like all young girls seeking a Bachelor Meredith was truly in her element, out of the two she was always the more proper sister; she was forged from birth to play the role and Elspeth suspected she'd play it to perfection - for better or worse.

 

[Elise Ebele]

Forest Abraham Nalha’na Hacaster
​

​

It was not a long jurney to the capital. The Father’s Whisper had already been in the vicinity of the country, and the capital was less than a day’s trip. Abraham was holding on tightly to the wheel as she guided her pride and joy along the shore. She knew this shore all too well, and could bring her babe in to port with her eyes shut, but for what ever reason, the weight of the Father’s Whisper felt heavy. She even fidgeted with her mask, something she had not done in many years.

“Is my Lord troubled?” a voice from her left shoulder asked. Abraham knew the voice all too well, as she had lived with him for the last 17 years or so. “You haven’t been yourself; you cant even take a joke these days,” he chuckled, hoping he would not meet the same fate as yesterday’s sailor. “I am who I am, Tobias,” the Lord Captain Commander smiled, though it would be hard to tell through the mask.

She walked away from the wheel and the bearded man and pointed to a spot on the shoreline. “Park’er yonder!” she shouted to the crew, clapping her hands. She descended briskly from her post and walked among her sailors. She strutted across the deck and her boots knocked on the deck below. The Whisper’s crew worked hard and flawlessly to bring the ship in to the exact spot which the Captain had ordained, not even questioning the fact that it was not a port.

Abraham sat at the bow and leaned her head over to get a good look at the capital building. She had been to these parts many times, but this was her first time going there. This was the first time she was not on military business.

When the Father’s Whisper cam to a halt, her Captain turned to her crew and even gave a soft smile. “We may make history today, or we may go back the way we came. If I come back the Queen, you may all have spots on my court...” she couldn’t even keep a straight face through that comment, and her crew laughed with her. “Now stay sharp, or all kill you all,” she called out with a tone more than serious. “In the case that this is a trap, Armstrong will take command.” She handed Tobias a small ring to where. It was the one she gave to who ever was in charge when she left the ship.

With that, Lord Nalha’na grabbed a rope, and jumped from the bow of the ship. Her boots didn’t even make the slightest knock against the sand.

((She is going to make the trek by foot. should I have her run in to some one or just time skip to her getting to the castle?))

 

[Rose of Versailles]

Meredith Locklow​

Meredith pressed her lips together, fighting the urge to bite down at her frazzled nerves. Her eyes ached for any distraction outside of the carriage window as the horses began to trot forward. She felt the twist and turns within her stomach, haunting her from their voyage on the damned First Coin, or whatever her sister called it. Finally she could sleep in a proper bed and not spend sleepless nights listening to the roaring sound of the waves crashing into the ship of her nightmares. Her chest heaved and her corset seemed to suffocate her more than usual, causing her to whisk out her fan and flutter it towards her face. She had dreamt of this day and planned every second in the sanctuary of her imagination, but now this day was turning out to continue on as a feverish night terror. What made this bitter reality even worse was the fact that she was within the awkward presence of her siblings -- siblings she barely even knew enough to call her own.


Elspeth and Meredith were like sugar and spice, or perhaps night and day. Where Elspeth was as wild and threatening as the sea, built like the sturdy ship that she rode on, Meredith was as delicate and frail. Honestly, the two had absolutely nothing in common. Meredith studied piano and conversation while Elspeth wrestled with her brother and sailed the ocean, surrounded by men. Elspeth was practically her brother, more than her sister. Looking at her made Meredith really fully notice exactly how different they were. The deck-hand was correct: was Meredith even a Locklow? Sometimes she even doubted if she was slightly related to them.


Meredith’s skin was as pale as the color of milk and Elspeth and Cullen were kissed by the sun from their many days outside of their home. Their hair was dark, where as Meredith’s hair was a ginger blaze, and their eyes grey like an unwelcoming sea, while hers were green like a meadow. She was nothing like the Locklows and every moment around her reminded how honestly unwelcomed she was within the family, despite how knowledgeable they were of this fact. Did it make her angry? Depressed? She couldn’t quite tell, but every waking moment around them just made her feel even more on edge.


As a child, she would attempt to chase after them and be able to do exactly as her siblings would, but each time, she was hurried back inside and left on her own. This was truthfully the only time the three had actually spent more than an hour together, at most. It felt like she was sitting in a carriage of strangers. Had Meredith even seen Elspeth since she was a knobby-kneed teenager?


Without realizing it, Meredith found herself staring at her sister, lost in her mind as she searched her thoughts. Then, a gripping gaze shot Meredith back down to reality. When her sister spoke to her and made herself so upfront, Meredith found herself sitting in silence as a response. Her face flushed, sending a scarlet color across her freckled cheeks. Her fan seemed to flitter faster in agitation and embarrassment. Little Locklow.


“For someone my age,” she finally spoke, attempting to find words within her speechless body. “I suppose this would be the time for me to do so.”

Words. Words. Find your words, Meredith.

Why did her sister make her so nervous? What was there to even be nervous about? She could barely make eye contact with her. She stared at her arms, her lips, her nose -- anything to keep away from her direct study of Meredith’s face. How did she even know? As paranoia rose within her, she searched for any means of derailing the conversation in a rushed hurry.


“However,” she breathed, finding confidence once again to meet with Elspeth’s leer. “If being here by your side means I can finally get to know my sister, then yes, I am looking for love... in a way.” Meredith smiled kindly at Elspeth, a slight bit of laughter being released from her.


“We’ve spent too many years apart, Elspeth. It’s time we changed that,” she continued, reaching out her hand to prop onto Elspeth’s much larger hand. Even their skin was different and the heat of her touch made her even more nervous. It was like touching a stranger’s hand. It was almost perplexing.

 

[NUSKI]

CULLEN LOCKLOW
interactions: Rose of Versailles [Meredith] || Archon [Elspeth]
​

"Please wake up General. We're nearly there."

Cullen's eyes slowly opened as he sighed with annoyance. He was not that eager to attend the event but it was in Elspeth's (and his) best interests to represent their noble house. With the death of Emperor Lucius's son, it was clear that the four largest houses of Alstasia would be readying their charges. Elspeth may have not realized or even cared, but people would soon start to doubt the strength that their house possessed if they just stayed by the sidelines. It wasn't like he had a choice though; if the Emperor calls, you answer.

Cullen had placed himself below the Main Deck, hoping he could get some sleep before reaching their destination. He knew Meredith and Elspeth were around somewhere but at the moment he was too tired to care. He hadn't got any sleep the previous night due to odd recurring nightmares he had been having about a three-headed beast. He hadn't told anyone about it and didn't see the need to, as it was something he thought would go away in a day or two. Cullen slowly stood up, another sigh escaping from his lips as he looked around him. He had fallen asleep on the hard wood of the First Coin rather than going to a bed and to his left was an opened book that he did not remember reading. Standing before him was a crew member of the ship whose name he had forgotten. Cullen's hands ran through his hair as he finally remembered where he was headed.

"Where is El- where are my sisters?" Cullen asked as he sluggishly walked past the young man.

"I believe they are both upstairs" he quickly responded. "...Sir, are you alright?"

Cullen paused as he gripped the railing of the staircase that would lead him to the main deck of the ship. A booming chuckle erupted from his mouth as he continued up the stairs, leaving the man behind him with a confused expression on his face. Cullen's steps increased with speed the higher he got, unusually excited to see the capital. His eyes narrowed as he felt the familiar heat of the sun on his head and smiled as he heard his eldest sister. The thought of his latest nightmare vanished when Elspeth punched him in the arm. Her remark about the Emperor's boots made him laugh but he had a feeling the time for jokes and laughter would go away by the time they reached Acnebury. He continued to walk alongside his sister, his mind out of focus as he was still trying to fully wake up from his nap. The mention of Meredith only made him lift up his head but nothing more. Before he realized it, his eldest sister had given a purse full of coin to Horace, adding that it was from him. A small frown appeared on his face as Horace smiled towards Elspeth, making a mental note that he would have to get Elspeth back for that soon.

Cullen followed closely behind his sister, entering the carriage and taking a seat beside her. Unlike him, Meredith was probably excited about going to see the Emperor. She had never been as... adventurous as him or Elspeth and preferred to stay home and read. He never understood it, but that could just have been because he didn't talk to Meredith as much as he should have. At the mention of love, Cullen's mind immediately thought of Beatrice. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as Elspeth and Meredith continued to speak. He hadn't thought about the woman in a while, but always hoped he would see her again. Most men would be upset if a woman they were seeing broke off with them by leaving a note, but he always figured she was in some kind of trouble. Then again, he had never told her who he really was so maybe it'd be best if they didn't see each other again. Cullen's attention had returned back to reality as Meredith placed her hand on Elspeth's. Cullen tilted his head slightly as his eyes were fixed on his youngest sister. He had heard the rumors but never spoke upon them, but Meredith's odd behavior towards Elspeth always made him suspicious. He wasn't sure if Elspeth thought the same, but it was something he would have to think about later.

"Why are you so formal?" Cullen asked bluntly. A large grin appeared on his face as if he was making fun of his youngest sister. "...and stop putting those thoughts into her head, Elspeth. No man would want a woman so frail, huh Meredith?" he continued, laughter booming throughout the interior of the carriage. "I am only joking but if we can be serious for a moment... this is not a regular social call. The Emperor will fall soon and you need to take this opportunity to show the other houses how strong we are. We can't have them thinking we're all like Meredith, huh Elspeth?" the man ended, a small grin still on his face. He slapped Meredith on her leg to imply he was joking, not realizing that he may have hit her too hard.

 

[Church418]

Marquess Aedan Hacaster​

"The Duke and the Sister"
Arcanist FireMaiden
​

"Aedan." Lady Lancaster placed her hand on his shoulder. She was a bold, wise woman on her her 60th year. She had educated Aedan in almost everything he knew since he was a boy and was an insufferable proponent that he wed her daughter, Aurora, despite the fact that they had been best friends since childhood. She spoke to him as a mother would a son, a right no one else in Aedan's life had earned. He averted his attention from the sculpture of Lucius the First to the Lady, who directed his attention to two individuals who had entered the waiting room. They were already drinking of wine and refreshments, which caused Aedan to ponder how he had not heard them enter. Aedan nodded to the Lady in thanks and ran his hand over his hair to ensure it was still lying back and presentable.

Aedan casually approached the pair and identified the man as Albrecht Beaumont Wright, Duke of the Wright family. The southern borderlands benefited greatly from their fine leather. He was taller than the Duke, but his large build made Aedan feel somewhat smaller. From Aedan's observation the Hacasters and the Wrights have enjoyed a peaceful, ambiguous relationship throughout time. Trading for equipment and medicine when one required it. The young lady with him, however, escaped his recognition. Aedan greeted them with a warm smile and extended his hand to both of them. "Duke Wright, it is a pleasure to finally put a face to the name. I've learned much of your family throughout the years and my father spoke very highly of you and your father." Aedan's demeanor changed to something more serious. "It saddened me to learn about what happened to him, your Father I mean, the country truly lost a man of tradition and a visionary. One and the same." Aedan turned his attention to woman, hair black as night and strikingly attractive. "I find myself quite red-faced, I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage." Aedan said to her, hoping to learn her name.

 

[Arcanist]

Albrecht Beaumont Wright
​

Albrecht paused in his own musings, sensing movement on his right. Even if the vision in his right eye gave up long ago, he could still gauge the shadows of people and things among him. That, and he could hear the muffled footsteps along the vibrantly designed carpet. He had at least tried to improve his hearing to make up for the lack of one of his most useful organs. From that time he had lost it, he learned that what he heard revealed more than what he could see with the naked eye.

It was only on inclining his head further right that he was met by a man, his hair smoothed back, dark robes fitted finely to the arm which was held out to him. He stared at the man's form for several moments, not out of disgust or impoliteness, rather, stuck in his own thoughts again. He could have sworn he had come upon such robes before, or at least, those similar to the robes in front of him. It was then he had glanced up at him, his eyes glittering with realisation, recalling a distant memory. Albrecht had seen robes like his around his home, only on a few rare occasions. A man, much older than this one, carrying an air of assurance, and presenting as someone with his mind as sharp as a knight's spur. He remembered the previous Duke, his father, introducing him briefly to Marquess Hacaster of the Red South, the one he had been in consistent contact over medicines and other medicinal items. For the common ills of his people, injuries of his soldiers...much of the medicine provided to his sister.

Albrecht couldn't help but reach out and grip onto his hand, his usual stern demeanour relaxing just a little. "Forgive me, Marquess, but I would argue the pleasure of meeting you myself is much greater." Though his expression remained neutral, a muscle barely twitching out of place, there was something genuine in his tone when he had proclaimed that. "I met your father briefly on one of his visits to the Grasslands. The work of the Hacasters has not gone unnoticed among our family and Oskari. That work has prevented many tragedies and helped but even the smallest trifle." He had nodded along in reply to the compliments he gave him, working through every word of the Marquess. From the smile on his face and the respect he seemed to have in his voice, he could tell they were genuine. At least he hoped it wasn't an attempt to butter him up already.

His expression, however, sobered, upon mention of his father. Even five years after the accident, the horror of the event, remained a vivid memory in his mind. With that, the suddenness of it was still fresh. But as he was taught, he maintained the mask of neutral expression in his eyes, but nodded in appreciation towards Aedan. "I thank you for your condolences. I ensure his endeavours are not forgotten to this day." Even then, at that moment, he could remember his father's last declaration, his last hope for his son echoing in his head. It took a moment to snap him out of that though, before he turned to Aedan, and his brow furrowed. "I hope your father rests easy. I have no doubt he does, knowing that he has a son equally as gifted and innovative as he was."

Soon enough, the Marquess had turned to Fleur, wishing to be introduced. By then, Albrecht had learned to sew his mouth shut for a few moments, allowing his sister to introduce herself. She had every right to, after all, and especially with meeting those of other royal houses.

Interacting with: Church418
Mention: FireMaiden

 

[Elise Ebele]

Forest Abraham Nalha’na Hacaster
​

​

​

The Ship Captain walked somewhat cheerful through the the trees and greenery of the capital. She was definitely in her element out here, surrounded by dirt and creatures. She almost felt comfortable enough to take her mask off, but that was a tall ‘almost.’ She was not taking any particular path. She could see the Castle in front of her, though, and headed in its direction.

She didn’t spend too much time in the brush. It was only a twenty minute’s walk before she emerged on to a bustling street. There was an abundance of people walking around, getting their daily things done. Old people and kids, poor people and rich. It was a warming sight to behold, as she has spent most of her time on a boat. She always loved going back to the cities. There were people on foot and people on horses, and even people in carriages. Such a carriage passed right by her that was beautiful, and headed the same was as she was. “Must be a lord,” she thought to her self. She started back on her steadfast trek, but felt a slight pull on her clothes.

When she looked down, there was a young boy holding on to her. She had a moment of frustration, before stooping down to meet the kid’s gaze. “Is you a murrderer, Mar’am?” he asked. The question caught the usually perceptive Captain off guard, but she chuckled a bit before answering. “I promise, I’m a good guy,” she answered, taking the kid’s hand off her clothes and walking away. “I suppose I do stand out...” she thought, as she made her way to the castle.

Upon arriving, the Captain Commander saw many fancy lords and ladies stepping off of carriages and being greeted by castle men. It appeared she was the only one with out a ride. Good. Maybe that meant she could go in without all the hubbub. She waited until there was no one outside before walking up to the castle gates. She began to march in before briskly being stopped at the gates. She looked at the young fellow who had stopped her and her rage began to boil. “Don’t you know who you are touching!?” she requested. However, the guards did not seem amused. Shame, not every one had heard of the Queen of the Sea.

Another guard, who was older and evidently more seasoned, stepped forward. “Does the lady think she can just walk in to this party? Just what are you the lord of?” he asked. Abraham could tell he was trying to be silly.

With her patience gone the Captain Commander pulled out the papers she had received, and showed them to the castlemen. She held it, though, so that the part with her name was covered. Only the King’s seal was needed. Upon seeing it, the young guard imidiately let go of her. “M-many apologies, my Lady!” he shuddered.

The Captain pushed the lab away. “Foolish boy.” She walked past them, and past the man who was getting ready to greet her. “I am a Lord.”

The Captain Commander only needed her ears to find where the rest of the guest had gathered. This was the part she was glad to have a mask for. She didn’t want the others to sense how much she hated parties. She was going to walk in there like she belonged, and like it was her castle. She busted in, parting the doors as wide as they could go. As she started to strut in, a smiles spread across her face. Her shoes knocked against this floor. Her chains and weapons clanked and tinkled as her stride grew confident. Her hips swung like a woman with a purpose, and she knew she looked the part. She had paraded her self down the center of the whole room before she found a chair, and planted her ass in it like she owned it. “Ten points for me,” she thought. “That was a fabulous entrance.”

 

[Rose of Versailles]

Meredith Locklow​

The smack to Meredith’s leg caused her to flinch in retaliation, feeling a possible bruise coming to form on her skin… as well as her ego. She retracted her hand in hesitation, pressing her lips back together to grit her teeth in silence. Perhaps she was frail and puny compared to her hulking siblings, but at least her brain wasn’t carved out of stone, like her brother. Just as she had reached out to attempt to open a gateway of communication with her sister, she was back to sinking into her shell. Of course, this was all thanks to her brother, whom she now avoided locking a gaze with. She could not even find the patience to respond to his teasing. He obviously did not know how to talk to a proper lady and only knew the rough handling of Elspeth. How charming.

However, he did have a point. This was indeed the time to show the houses the strength of the Locklows, but honestly, what was the point? It wasn’t as if Elspeth had any intention of indulging in any political affairs. She was not one for noble gatherings and never had been. It was always Meredith at their father’s side during events such as these. It was Meredith whom took the time to educate herself in affairs of the state and study the art of social etiquette. If it wasn’t for their wealth to bring them a sense of respect, they would make utter fools of themselves among the court. Meredith was sure to be mortified at least multiple times a day… but at least she would do her best to glitter like fine gold among the fish guts.

Meredith pushed back a curl that bounced in front of her face, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth to prepare herself to dare speak again. “This will possibly be the fiercest tide you’ve come to face. Nobles can be as vicious as sharks, but can also be your most powerful allies. Regardless of what you plan to do here, Elspeth, tread carefully. You carry more than just the Locklow name on your shoulders- ah!”

She gasped, seeing a large stretch of beautiful land coming to their view. How long had she lost herself in a daydream? The captivating architecture of the palace began to greet her eyes and her face beamed. She found herself practically leaning out the window and suddenly all sense of nausea had left her. The landscaping bared open roads that welcomed her with flower beds that intoxicated her senses. The mere smell of this palace was such a relief to her, taking her away from the lingering fragrance of fish and sailor sweat. There was no scent of sea salt anywhere to be smelled and the rich colors of the castle overwhelmed her excitement.

“We’re here, you two! We’ve arrived!” She exclaimed, her hands dashing to her head to check her hair being set perfectly before searching for a hand mirror for even further primping.

 

[TYPE]

⚙ Izen van Schaik ⚙
- Earl of The Fjords, Master of Newanholm -
​

The sound of hooves meeting compacted dirt provided an interesting alternative to the ambiance of Newanholm. Rhythmic. Consistent for the most part, replacing the soft ticking of his gear-work clocks, the perfection of a metronome, or even the sound of the mechanical press that filled his ears since he could remember remembering. Not one to normally allow for such things as nostalgic rumination, Izen admonished himself internally as his eyes glazed over, memories flooding his mind. The sounds of the hooves faded, replaced by the ticking of a clock. Once more he was a small young boy in his bed, eyes closed, listening intently. Counting down the moments before the clock would strike five, and he would need to wake up. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock... slowly the ticking faded again, now forming into a more insistent, faster pace. Four beats a second. He felt older now. He could feel his fingers moving over fast-strung cord, pressing down into wood as he moved a bow of horsehair to-and-fro - his knuckles aching as thin red lines criss-crossed the pale skin. The soft ticking of the metronome fell away once more, leaving behind the metallic clanging that made up most of his life now. The memory felt old though... around eight beats per second. The metal-press he now furnished his factories with could do double that. This was at least ten years old. The series 4 hammer his father had designed worked at this speed. The one he used to oversee while studying at the College of Blue. Even now, with the heat across his face but a memory, did he feel his lips go dry, and his breathing quicken with a fragment of panic.

As he thought, his posture did not change. His breathing changed in no perceivable manner, and his eyes, seemingly unfocused only for a moment. The hand hovering above the page stopped only a moment, before continuing. His carriage moved smoothly across the countryside. A marvel of engineering within itself, large enough from the outside for six people. Now there was space for only two, the middle area filled with a desk stabilized on a gyroscope. On it there lay requisition forms, stock-taking results, finance reports, and a list of everyone to be expected at the Palace of the Emperor. Work would have to come with him. He did not have the time for playing politics, essential as it may be. He would need to go about this entire affair with a sense of urgency and efficiency. Get the votes. Get the throne. Assemble a Privy Council to deal with majority matters of state while he has his work moved over to Ancebury.

There was nothing for it. He needed to get the crown. The Wrights - loyal as they were, only default to the responsibility because they feel they have to. Whatever passion they have for it, is based in a sense of duty - not actual ambition. Not exactly problematic, but they are not driven enough. They don't have the know-how of the Breckenridge. They are best when they are serving a greater house. This change would be unnatural for them. They would not sustain a new dynasty.

Then you had the Locklow's - too ambitious. To eager to prove themselves. None of the loyalty - all of the drive. Between them and the Wright's, the Wright was preferable.

Then the Hacaster - too unknown. No matter how well their public persona may be crafted, they only have popularity. Their crafts have served the nation greatly, but again - they are at their best when serving. Not leading. They don't control vast swathes of complex systems. Books. Notes. Research. Science. Those are the traits. Traits they share with the Van Schaik... but they lack the rest of what is needed. The Drive. The Skill. The Politics. The Strategy. Still, over the Locklows, but behind the Wright.

Then the Kirklands. They build. They build well. They have the skills to lead, they have the skills to improve. The problem comes from the fact that they are the only ones that can do what they currently are doing. Keeping the north-east borders safe. A feat of heroism on par with the Breckenridge - but unsustainable in the long run. Especially if they were to lose their proudest son to the clutches of the political sphere, which would drown all of that military brilliance.

That left only the Van Schaiks. They had the minds. The drive. The loyalty. Not really the ambition, but they made up for it in their discipline. If two groups were to be considered for the crown - the Wright's and the Van Schaiks - then the one who actually could do the job should have it. At least... if there was any logic to be had in the world.

Izen frowned, placing down his pen, hearing the whip lash outside, the footman calling that they had less than an hour before they would arrive. The six black horses near the front complained at the harsh pace they were asked to set, before re-emphasizing their effort. Izen sat back in his seat, looking out the carriage. Yes. He may have to become Emperor soon. Which means that his Cousin, the frightful girl would need to take over. Could he do that? Have her take his place? Have her do his work? Could she do it? Distracted as she was? Under-educated as she was? There was a lot of work to do. And he needed to do it. Which meant there was to be done of these frivolous distractions. Only focus. Only work. As the thoughts crossed his mind, he sat forward again - picking up his pen, his writing recommencing.

 

[Archon]

~Elspeth Locklaw~​

Elspeth blinked in surprise, her body inching away subtly at the abrupt surprise of Meredith's sentimental gesture. The elder sister, bereft of words and addled by an intense confusion could only stare at the hand. The connection was born from a place long dormant, a deep yearning for a bond born of love between sisters. It was a strange thing, to stare at that sculpted smooth skin, her hand felt soft and delicate to the touch, wide eyes casting an enchanting beauty that would put any artist to shame. Her hair, blazing with the furious fires of defiance - a metaphor to the sheltered life the woman was condemned to, a stark contrast to the activity Cullan and Elspeth endured. They were polar opposites in everyday possible, their only bond one of blood. Even blood was a thing contested by that same fiery mane that defined her as different.

Beguiled, but enthusiastic to it's purpose, Elspeth's confusion melted into gratitude and sympathy, her own hand moving to return the affectionate gesture, intent broke by the booming interjection from her brother, a taunting jest to reaffirm the casual aura that lingered about the carriage. Absent-mindedly, Elspeth withdrew her hand, the intensity of the situation faded away, her arms folding in synchronization with that familiar care-free smirk. She merely shook her head at her brother's block-headed fixation on flaunting their might, the machinations of Alstasia's prized crown, it's purpose lost to the many denizens of the world. She wasn't a fan of politics, where Cullan wished to establish House Locklaw as a dynasty to be feared and respected, Elspeth desired her own freedom, snobbish nobles and shady plots be damned. "Oh please, if they want a Lion, why don't you roar for them?" Elspeth hit back, waving her hand dismissively, her gaze averted to the bustling city-street outside.

"You can sing that song yourself little sister," Elspeth sighed, turning back to face Meredith with a smile. "Any self-respecting Captain knows if they see a tide coming, the first thing to do is get out of its way. You only face the tide if there's no other option." Elspeth ruminated on her words for a moment, scanning the floor for some enlightenment. "I've never liked being hit by a tide." She stated formally, looking back up to Meredith with a shrug. Though one of the three was all too eager to be anywhere but the Imperial Palace, Elspeth questioned if her younger sister heard a word she said; obvious elation boiling over into a display of infectious giddiness. Her own reluctance aside, the sight was enough to warm even Elspeth's tempered heart.

"Well," an uncertain comment, Elspeth set to task her entrance into the realm of nobles. Climbing from the carriage, she lingered a moment as her siblings did the same, pacing to and from idly, admonishing the Keep's immensity with a burning look that lingered in limbo between loathing and admiration. "Let's get this over with," She spoke, voice deflated, "If dear old Breckenridge keels over sooner, rather than later, the quicker I can leave this mess." The imposing castle doors loomed in the shadows of the towering bulwark of concrete, casting a blanket of inspiration over the rolling grey fields around it.

"Name, My Lady ?" An inquisitive guard asked, the trio setting forth for the Breckenridge homestead.

"Elspeth Locklaw, Meredith Locklaw, and the Lion of Locklaw." Quick words spoken with the same disinterested that emanated from the guard, his sharp eyes staring hard at the King's Seal brought forth within Elspeth's grip.

"Very good, My Lady. You can enter." He responded with a clear lack of enthusiasm, a mutual feeling among the doorstop and Countess.

She stepped forward, in an instant, the Locklaw trio were enveloped in an oppressive atmosphere of judgment and snide. Deep banners clung to the walls with clarifying authority, the walls were littered with a small militia put to violent purpose, lesser nobles gathered in abundance, hushed whispers and audacious laughter filled echoed in equal measure. Each new arrival, each pair of feet to step through those gilded doors, the next object of the room's interest. Politics and schemes, speculation was abound, the stench of falseness made Elspeth want to gag.

She remained idle in the oversized doorway for several moments, pacing renewed, side-to-side, left to right, her feet slow with deliberation. Ayes locked onto the crowd, a harsh glare, fierce, proud. She halted in her steps below a grandiose painting of the esteemed Emperor, a small table held a vibrant candle glittered in gold. Elspeth squinted at the object, lifting it with both arms, the incandescent glow reflecting a brilliant sunlight onto her face. Then, with a snap she slammed it back down, her manner changing instantly. A possessive stride filled with informality followed her march to the closest corner. There, she sat with an audible sigh, legs extended over the chair's arm as she played idly with the contents of the table beside that.

Ain impressive - if not tiresome - spectacle, one that already felt long overdone. Meredith and Cullan were hardly bound to their sister, Meredith was much to excited to wile away in Elspeth's corner, Cullan could try his luck persuading the Countess of the necessity of mingling, Elspeth expected it almost, but he'd have greater prospects moving the Ocean. Besides, even the Lion of Locklaw could indulge in some mingling on her behalf, if for no other reason than for her own amusement at the clambering of young woman pining for his attention.

 

[FireMaiden]

Lady Fleur Wright
Interaction: Arcanist Church418
Mentioned:
While the decor surely was breathtaking, Fleur's attention was shamelessly quickly taken by the refreshmentments. They had been in that carriage for so long, and while of course they had water and some food, they certainly couldn't take many of the things they wanted to simply because they couldn't store them correctly. There were wines, water, small sandwiches and a wide assortment of sweets and other things, Fluer stepped away from her brothers side to pick up a glass of white wine. Her mother tried convincing her red was better, for no other reason than that's what her mother drank. Fleur though red wine as too dry, white was more bearable. Albricht might say something to her, but she would either way home off or blame it one nerves; that was always believable. Riasing the glass to her lips, she stepped back to her brothers side, letting her eyes wander until they came upon the other man in the room again. Slicked back hair and dark robes, he certainly had a slight sucspcious aura about him, something mysterious. But, he began talking to her brother like he knew him. Fleur made it seem like she wasn't paying the most attention, like her mother had taught, because she hadn't been adressed, but her ears were not closed.

From the very breifly conversation between the two men, she picked up that the man in robes was Marquess Hacaster. The Hacasters, if she remembered correctly, were the family behind most of her medicines as a child, which caused her to cast a glance at the Marquess, then to her brother. He hasn't introduced her yet? That was odd, someone normally did that. Well, if she was standing with someone at least. It didn't matter much, the Marquess turned and addressed her. She smiled, bowing her head slightly, "I'm Fleur Wright, Albricht's younger sister, it's a pleasure to meet you Marquess." When she straightened up again, she took another sip of her wine, keeping a sweet smile on her face. "I understand that you're a Hacaster? Your family is the leader I'm medial developments and pharmaceuticals, and I've heard wonderful things about your academics. I'll admit to a bit of curiosity about...hmmm, it's the college of White, isn't it?" Striking up some conversation to pass the time can't hurt, especially about something has going to be asked about quite often if anybody has any sense.

 

[Braddington]

Marquis Beauford Kirkland
Marquis of Montillier

The Great Siege of the Third Fort by Jean Reburt




The convoy had been riding for many a day, the sounds of horses hooves pounding on the solid ground below. A group of elite riders from the Corps having come with their Lord as a safety measure in these uncertain times. Though he was transported by carriage for the sake of appearances, he wanted nothing more than to jump from it and onto his Madavian stallion, a fine specimen who would have gotten him to the capital half a day earlier at the minimum. But needs must when you are summoned to the home of the most powerful man on the continent - no - the world. So he sat, his sword in his hand as he sharpened it methodically as he did every day, mostly out of habit. It did nothing to the blade, after all, it never blunted, but the scrapes and the sheen always provided a sense of security and normality to him. A method of calming his nerves before the storm proceeded with its natural plan, as it was always want to do.


A knock came to the carriage window, clumsy and brutish, a true soldiers knock.


“My Lord, we are approaching the capital. Do your orders still stand?”


He recognised the voice. Commander Drumont. His second in all things, whether it be personal or political. Did his orders still stand? Was he truly going to act in such a manner?

“They do. I want it official, I want it known. Marchioness Adelaide is no longer in her position. I should have had it written up long ago, but it's time to act. Her incapacitation just provides a basis for succession.”

He was. And proudly. The tyrant had killed possibly hundreds with her arbitrary justice, not to mention the thousands taken by the plague because of her refusal to treat them. It was even now rumoured she had his grandfather strangled in his sleep, his cremation simply a cover up. Now he had an official confirmation via letter not three weeks past by the Emperor himself? There was nothing stopping him.


Now all that he could was mend the wounds she inflicted, and mend the nation from a war that inflicted many more. Was it not his duty? Was it not his responsibility? He had lost uncles, cousins, grandparents, great grandparents and even a father for the nation. No more would he allow others to do the same in the name of false glory. Emperor. A foreign title, a strange title, but these were strange times.


Deep in thought he had not even noticed the carriage pull up to the Royal Palace, Drumont riding off to inform the various entities of his ascension with the proof necessary. This was not his first time in the place, he had been many times before, the Emperor’s assistant in the creation of Loland and negotiation with Madavia. It had taken great pains for the nation his family once called home to even let him cross their borders, but those quickly faded when he saw the true face of desperation behind the stern exterior. They wanted no more, just as much as he did. From that basis, the first treaties signed in centuries were written into law between the two. But this was no diplomatic mission, no tea party. He had seen it in the man’s face during his last visit. He was dying. He was suffering. He would not endure it long.


The usual man opened the door to his carriage, stepping out with upright zeal, a smile on his face. Courteous to the man as always.


“Welcome my Lord. It is an honour to welcome you back to this esteemed Palace. Many of the other guests have already arrived, please do join them in the waiting room. Shall I have you shown the way?”

He considered the mans offer, smiling and laughing in a familiar tone.


“I know it well enough by now, my friend. I could navigate this place like the back of my hand. Go attend to the important people.”

An exaggeration, but not by a long stretch. Almost ironic, considering he was now considering his ascension to Imperial Monarch and by extension ownership of this very Palace. The one place in Ancebury without a touch of Kirkland craftsmanship. Breckenridge through and through.


He made his way to the waiting room, peering in to see the current residents. Noting his cousin almost immediately, and what was no doubt the Duke Wright with his sister. His feet moved themselves forward, his stomach not ready for the social scene he had been out of for so long. Still, it had to be done, at least it was good company. For now.


“My Lord,” He bowed his head, the smile his face performed growing in size, “Dear cousin.” A tilt towards Hacaster. “It has been far too long. I wish my ventures allowed for more time to converse. I trust everything is well in your households?” He turned to the Lady, he had never met her before but her looks were truly striking. He took hold of her hand, kissing it with yet another bow, “My Lady, it is a pleasure. Marquis Beauford Kirkland at your service.”

Church418 FireMaiden Arcanist​

 

[Church418]

Marquess Aedan Hacaster​

"The Duke and the Sister"
Arcanist FireMaiden Braddington
​

"Please" Aedan replied to both, with a modest wave of his hand. "Call me Aedan. There's no need for such formalities here." That bit of insecurity he felt when he first arrived never left him, but the natural flow of this conversation began to put Aedan at ease. He had always been overly outgoing to compensate for his introverted nature. He had a natural fear of public speaking, but had probably spoken in front of larger crowds than most people in the entire country. Large social gatherings gave him a large deal of stress, yet he would always be the one to offer a toast or lighthearted comment to provide just the right amount of contribution so as not to be awkward. He considered himself extremely self-aware.

Aedan offered an elated reaction to Albrecht's words regarding his family's work. "It is truly a delight to hear such praise from the Duke himself, and motivation to never become complacent. Tragedy has a way of evolving as we do. War, Famine, Plague. Constantly mutating and taking on new forms, requiring a comprehensive and complex response each time. Our work will never end in that regard, and I intend to ensure the College remains readily prepared." Internally, Aedan winced as he realized he might have dredged up a painful subject in mentioning Albrecht's father. They had both experienced this type of loss, so it seemed the natural ice-breaker. At the mention of his father resting easy, Aedan smiled and nodded, deciding to end that conversation with a fond memory. "Now that you mention his trip to the grasslands, I do recall a story my father relayed at the dinner table regarding Ulrich. He attempted to convince Danior to climb atop a dark stallion with a wild fire in his eye. After a single glance into the eyes of that beast Danior looked right at Ulrich and said that he would 'Sooner have four more children. With a farmers wife. And Oktavian!" Aedan's bemused expression fell back to normal as the memory faded.

The lady had introduced herself as Fleur Wright, younger sister to Albrecht. Aedan offered a bright smile and lighthearted chuckle as she struggled to recall the exact name of the college, or perhaps she was being coy? "Well, I am honored that you have even heard the name at all. The building itself being tucked away in one of the most inaccessible places on earth." Aedan briefly glanced off in thought and lowered his volume to an inconspicuous volume. Returning his gaze to Fleur. "Deep within the college are some secrets we keep only to ourselves and a very privileged few." To the left, Aedan noticed several chalices filled with wine upon a table. He decided he would take one and join them for a drink. "Consider this an open invitation, Duke, Lady, to make the trek through the swamps and to look upon knowledge no man or woman has ever laid eyes on. A gift of friendship, to both of you." Aedan raised his chalice in toast to Fleur before taking a large swig of soft, rather weak wine. Aedan crinkled his nose a bit after allowing the wine's scent to rise to his nostrils. "You know, we have a saying in the tent city. If the scent doesn't make the man next to you wince, it is not strong enough." Aedan took another swig and looked off in thought, judging the wine before looking back at Fleur with a grin. "I am not wincing."

It was then that a man he had not laid eyes on in years approached the group, tall and lean. Beauford Kirkland, son to his Aunt Dawn Hacaster. As cousins they were almost less acquainted than the rest of the nobles, though they had always seemed to keep in touch through the occasional letter. Nonetheless, the insecurity had now fully drifted away from Aedan and he felt much more at ease. Aedan's eyes widened in shock, placing a hand on Beauford's back and offering him a chalice of wine. "Beauford! I'll be damned. Please, have some of this fine water. It is referred to as wine in these northern parts." Aedan took a step back and observed the cousin he had not seen for many years. "I was beginning to believe the Kirklands would never leave their blessed fort in Montellier, not that leaving would be easy. How goes the tensions on your border?"

 

[D U H]

Audrey Monet
House van Schaik​

Audrey gritted her teeth as she stared fixated on her cousins every movement. At his point, she had given up trying to start a conversation. She hated how calm he was about the situation, the ride itself up to this point was pretty tedious. Yet her relative didn't complain or look diseased, which was a common trait she noticed in her father as well. But on the other hand, it might have been because he had something to distract himself with. Audrey's eye's glistened in wonder as her cousin furiously began writing. She leaned in over the table to get a peak yet gave up quickly when she realized it was his work. Which didn't surprise her Izen was a workaholic, her teen years...her most exciting years were spent with his guy. She cringed as she glanced over to see that he was still writing.

Audrey gnashed her teeth and ground them together, uttering a groan banging her head on the table. She couldn't stand being caged in such a small area, a normal person wouldn' t think this was small. The carriage was the largest she's ever seen it was extraordinarily big and there was enough room to even stand. At first, it was a relief but after moving from seat to seat it slowly became like a prison. Lifting her head off the table she dragged a random paper towards her lifting a roof...interesting. Audrey lifted a brow amused...she had no clue what she was reading. Sighing she waved the paper around in the face of her relative, "Cousin..." she paused hoping to get his attention,

"Are you really going to attempt to be emperor?" Audrey admired her cousin but he was how you say...dull. Yes, he was smart, wise and a kind man but he wasn't popular or likable. "Don't get me wrong Izen..." she shifted putting the paper down, "But you're a bit...boring." she was being kind at this point her cousin wasn't just boring he was thick. He was thick blooded, unlike most people who have the personality that's like water. He probably couldn't make a joke.

Putting her head in her palm mushing her right cheek she tried to show a face of concern but she looked like a wrinkly old man. "You seem egotistic...but your not. How are you supposed to seize the hearts of the people and the king?"
It was such a shame that Izen was like this he had everything from brains to looks. Leaning back in her seat she slides down, "I wish I could listen to music." she mumbled underneath her voice.
Tags: TYPE

 

[Arcanist]

Albrecht Beaumont Wright
​

Albrecht had learned to nod along to most conversations, and if anything, it became an automatic gesture in most exchanges. But genuinely, he had been listening, still intrigued by the man’s similar aura to his father. Still to this day, he couldn’t pinpoint what it was about the Hacasters and the mysteriousness surrounding them… “It is a constant struggle, it seems, with those new malevolent forms. It is a great comfort to many to know you have the strong minds and the capable hands to combat it.”

As painful as the mention of his father was, it seemed a comfort to reminisce about him. From what it seemed for Aedan, it was much the same with his own father, clearly amused by the story he relayed to Albrecht. And afterwards, his lip twitched a little to show his own bemusement, and he let out some sort of sound representing something of a chuckle. “I believe my father returned that night, telling me he thought him foolish; most Octavians would prefer the horse over an Octavian woman. The fire in a woman’s tongue burns much more than the stare of our large beasts. The Duchess was sure to make her anger known to him through her scathing hisses later.”

A gift of friendship, looking upon the knowledge the Hacasters built up for so many years? Surely it couldn’t have been that easy. The Duke always had the impression that that knowledge was kept under lock and key. Or maybe that was just his presumptions again. Soon enough, Albrecht watched the exchange between both the Hacaster and his sister for several moments, as always, his expression neutral. Though, there was a sense of pride in him watching his sister converse in such a manner. Clearly she had taken in all the lessons from their dear mother, who could charm any noble she pleased, play the game of flattery. Fleur used the right words, but whether she’d use them for any particular advantage, Albrecht wasn’t so sure.

His attention was caught by a certain noble, adorned in crimson colours, greeting him. His eye scanned him for a moment. Kirkland. He hadn’t expected one to be brought here, it was clear in his raised brow. Not that he was disappointed at that, just surprised. Albrecht nodded back to him, his and before long, he was embroiled in conversation with Aedan, and of course, Fleur. Of course, attentions wouldn’t just be on the Imperial Throne. Should the worse come to pass…

Albrecht shook his head. No, of course not. He shouldn’t have been thinking of such lengths early on. He muttered something about being back in a moment, walking out of the little group that had formed so early on, finding himself eyeing the refreshments up once more. Though, in his wanderings, more people walk into the room. One, in particular, caught his eye. How couldn’t have it? Albrecht had never witnessed such bright, red hair before, and especially not on a woman as polished and stunning. Oskaria, at the rarest moment, had a few blondes running around, but it was always filled with those of dark-haired complexion. Though, he had spent so long thinking on it that he hadn’t noticed himself staring at her, quite obviously.
Interacting with:

FireMaiden Braddington Church418 Rose of Versailles
[/QUOTE]

 

[Rose of Versailles]

Meredith Locklow​

Heavenly. Everything was just so exquisite, from the beautiful golden carvings in the walls and the milk white paint, to the golden furniture that stood on the handsome flooring. It was as if they had stepped into a fantasy, or at least a scene from Meredith’s dreams. The chandelier that hung above them and illuminated the room sparkled in Meredith’s eyes. The lighting in the room complimented her attire perfectly, bringing out the pale yellows and creams to bring so much delight to her heart for picking such a gown for the evening. Her arms moved back in a stretch of confidence, attempting to hide her overly excited smirk behind her laced fan. Everything she had yearned for was here at her fingertips and she could run her hands across the walls she dreamed to one day touch. For years she would dive into her books, imagining herself running through these halls and in a world she belonged, a world where she was praised to be present. Everything was perfect.

Her eyes danced around the room, absorbing all she could see and taking in all the faces of the people around her. Proper etiquette suggested that she was to be introduced to one higher than her standing, or be approached first before she could speak to them. Her eyes looked for her opportunity into a decent conversation that wasn’t about the roughness of the tides or the challenges of sailing. To her surprise, there were far more people present than she assumed there would be and searched their faces to recognize them from her research of the surrounding noble households. However doubtful, she wondered if perhaps her sister knew and glanced back to see where Elspeth had wandered off to. Suddenly, when she saw her, she wished she hadn’t even looked. There she was, sprawled like a savage and fiddled with the objects placed upon the table nearest to her. Her stomach sank, watching as one of her methods of having herself introduced walked away and seemed to have no interest in rising.

“Elly,” she whispered, trying to get her attention from behind her fan. “Elly, what are you doing?”

“Elly” was a silly nickname she called her sister when she was a child that somehow stuck for her, despite how little of time the two actually spent together. Sometimes it would slip out without Meredith even noticing -- normally during times of her being frustrated with her sister or whining at her. It started as just a child that simply did not know how to pronounce her sister’s name properly to this.

Giving up hope on her sister, she looked for Cullen. Despite being just as a lower rank as she was, he was also a man, so naturally this gave him higher ability chance of being acknowledged. At least, this was what she was normally used to during the art of socialization. But as she desperately searched for her gateway, she saw a dark haired young girl across the way, talking freely among some other men. She was a stunning beauty and jealousy stung at Meredith in a sense of slight intimidation, but she attempted to keep her wit. Before finding herself gazing too long, she searched the room again but this time was startled by meeting eyes with someone staring at her.

Finding a gaze that met hers caused Meredith to jump slightly and flutter her fan from her nerves, but then she glanced back. He was also just as dark haired as her sister and carried a darker toned skin than most nobles of a court do, but what really caught her attention was a marking on his eye. Wait a second… Dark hair, scar on his eye, and long hair. Could this be Albrecht Beaumont? He was the Duke of the Wrights and a high named nobleman, and from what she had heard from chatter, he was quite fond of horses and blind in one eye. So perhaps the girl accompanying him was his sister?

Don’t stare, Meredith, she thought to herself, batting her eyelashes away from him. Or… maybe you should. She glimpsed back at him, looking at his chiseled face and his mouth stuck in a slight grimace. Why was he staring at her? He didn’t look quite fond of her, if she was to take his expression seriously. Was it because he knew she was a Locklow? She wasn’t aware of any disagreements between the families. Suddenly, Meredith brought her fan down and let her lips form a small smile. Perhaps he fancied her? This was certainly a gateway in more ways than one, if so. Be charming.

 

[Arcanist]

Albrecht Beaumont Wright​

Albrecht was hardly aware of his staring until the young woman's pale eyes had rose to meet his. She had flinched, tearing her gaze away, yet bringing his gaze back to him again. By that stage he had averted his own stare, as if something else had caught his attention. Unfortunately, he was too far out of any social circle to focus his attention on to carry out the ruse successfully. His brow hung low as he took another sip of his wine. It wasn’t the first time he found himself distracted, what with his father having constantly scolded him for his lack of attention in his work in the past. After all, he couldn’t settle during that carriage ride. Albrecht shook his head. Perhaps he was just restless still.

All the while the Duke could feel the woman's eyes watching him, almost like dissecting who he was. He had gotten used to the stares, the way their eyes always drifted to the right…this wasn't different from any other time. Sometimes he felt a tad uncomfortable, and even now he shifted slightly, his feet scuffing against the carpet. But he had finalised long ago it was only natural for someone to stare.

When he had plucked up any courage to look back at her, her eyes had flickered in another direction. It seemed to be a constant game between the two; who would look where, when, at what. Albrecht had resolved to keep his eyes on her, trying to place where he had recognised the young woman in the few moments her eyes were averted. His brow had then raised in realisation of who the woman was. Meredith Locklow. The red cascading locks and the pale eyes had thrown him off. Locklows from his knowledge were more weather-beaten, sea-battered folks…like the muscled woman who had been eyeing up certain trinkets in the room and lurking in one of its corners. There was a refinement here, a knowledge of how such social circles worked…not that he put it past other Locklows, but they did spend most of their time among the sea.

It was then he had noticed a small smile lurking on Meredith’s lips. Somehow, they looked fuller when she smiled. Albrecht tried to reprimand himself for focusing on such a detail…but he supposed it was true, after all. Reaching over to the refreshments, he grabbed another glass of wine. Anyone just clueing in would have thought the man was a tad parched, but he had other ideas for the wine. They were all supposed to mingle, weren’t they? And ignoring a lady after some clear acknowledgement between the two was simply impolite. He had to make a good first impression if he was to get anywhere in the running for the title.

Albrecht strolled over to Meredith, his back straight and a quiet confidence in his gait. He eventually stopped in front of her and wasted no time with striking up a conversation. He held out the glass for her to take as he began to her, though in a quiet tone, “My Lady, surely you wouldn't stand in this room without at least taking some wine, especially if it’s being so freely handed to us. I can imagine seafaring and travelling on land would leave you rather parched.”

Interacting with:
Rose of Versailles

Mention:
Archon

 

[jones573]

If Beatrice was hoping her morning errands might settle her nerves, she found that was not the case. Even on a single horse, the traffic in the sight seemed to have double overnight- And after she had visited with her scribes, she had needed to undertake yet another errand. That the man who owned the boarding house had allowed her people to be served porridge with ash in it was infuriating enough, but she’d been even angrier by his surprise when she’d confronted him about it.



Did he really think her own people were so scared of her they would hesitate to tell her when they were being mistreated? Or that she would allow it to continue? The influx of people into the city meant alternative lodging would be difficult to find on such short notice, but Beatrice had at least gotten the man to sheepishly agree to investigate the incident and hire the individual responsible. Over a shared bowl of the offending porridge, which Beatrice had found very satisfying indeed. The taste in her own mouth was well worth seeing the grimace of his.



By the time she’d returned to the estate, she’d barely recognized it. Even the stables gleamed and though one of the younger stablehands insisted on helping her off her horse as usual, he’d apologized profusely that he could not help her put Mort away.



“Sorry, milady- We’ve just got word Earl van Schaik is bringing six horses for just the one carriage! Six,” he exclaimed again over the hustle and bustle of everyone around them. She assured him it was just fine and that she knew where the tack brushes were, and gotten out of the way before someone handed her a pitchfork and asked her to start clearing a stall.



The interior of the estate was even more transformed she found, once she had cooled and brushed her horse and taken him to one of the most far-removed stalls she could find. “I think they used magic,” Yisha told her with hushed excitement as she’d combed through Beatrice’s long black hair. She was wearing it pulled off her face but down in the back, with a gentle wave from having been braided that morning. “Imagine!”



It must have been magic, Beatrice agreed, even if it wasn’t- To coordinate the arrival of so many additional servants and pull off such a complete revival of the place in such a short time was a miracle feat, and her respect for Robespierre and his staff grew.



For the initial introductions, Beatrice chose an outfit that was distinctly Loland in fashion. A relatively simple but well made dress in dark green with a high neck, and embroidery on the collar, cuffs and hem in the traditional Loland style. Most of the attendees were coming straight from their carriages, often from long journeys- First impressions were always important, of course, but from what Beatrice had gathered this first gathering was about the Emperor showcasing his own might and dignity while welcoming the Electorates and other public figures to his home. The jostling for power began somewhat later, and Beatrice needed to establish herself first.



She did not want to have to keep repeating that she was from Loland, so it was in her best interest to emphasize her identity early in the game while introduction were still being made. Later, she would have to prove she could keep up with their politics but for now she needed mostly to demonstrate who she was.



Sir Lawrence had been an indispensible ally in that goal. She had met him the week earlier while perusing the portraits gallery in an attempt to identify as many faces as possible before she actually met them- Most of the family portraits were outdated, of course, and several featured nobility who were no longer alive. But she might at least be able to recognize familial resemblance, as well as the crests and flags of the various nobles she hadn’t already learned.



Sir Lawrence was responsible for recording the family histories of the Alstasian nobility- Their births and deaths and marriages, and he was clearly quite enthusiastic about his role. She couldn’t be sure how old he was exactly, though he had at one point implied he had recorded Emperor Lucius’ birth, which Beatrice was sure could not be right.



Despite his somewhat loud personality and penchant for rambling conversation, Sir Lawrence seemed to be well liked. He had eagerly introduced her to everyone who might listen, and most had smiled at them while he asked after their relatives and country people. Beatrice prided herself on remembering faces and names, but if she could someday be half as good as Sir Lawrence was- He seemed to know everyone and what birthday their grandchild had most recently celebrated, and minutiae details as well.



He seemed particularly fond of astronomy and liked to tell Beatrice about the position of the moon for so-and-so’s wedding and how it indicated good fortune. Beatrice noted that nearly everything he gleaned from the sky indicated good fortune of some kind or another, and she suspected that was perhaps the reason he had kept both his job and the favorable opinion of the people he worked with.



Beatrice was able to add to the conversation as well, mostly with questions from the other guests- How were things in Loland, was she enjoying her visit to Ancebury? What everyone really wanted to know was how the Emperor was- Did he look well, did he seem sick, had he mentioned anything about their family, how was he spending his time?



Beatrice disappointed them all. She’d been living in the Imperial home for over a month now, and her exchanges with the Emperor barely totaled five minutes. She had been invited to dine with him at first, as a guest from a foreign government, but their conversation across the large and empty table had been stilted and mostly silent.



Was she finding everything to her liking?



Yes, very much so. The staff was very attentive.



She’d brought her own (much smaller) stack of papers to look through on the third such invitation and they’d both worked as they ate. Towards the end, she’d hesitantly suggested that they were both quite busy and she very much hoped he knew how grateful she was to be here and that she had no expectation to be entertained, and perhaps they could save themselves the trouble of carrying their reports across the estate when it might be easier to just each eat on their own schedule…? She’d been worried she might offend, but he had seemed relieved, and they had seen even less of each other since then.



“He has been a most excellent and gracious host,” Beatrice told anyone who inquired. “And I am grateful for his kindness,” she continued, before politely but firmly redirecting the conversation.



As the greater nobility began to arrive, the novelty of a guest from Loland held less appeal and Sir Lawrence began to wax about the artwork on the walls and the fine construction of the estate, in no way deterred that his audience had shrunk down to only Beatrice and the occasional joiner. Eventually she convinced him that they should perhaps take a seat and admire the make of the room from a single viewpoint, instead of crossing all about the traffic pattern, which lasted for awhile until he insisted they needed something to eat.



Beatrice assured him she would be delighted to sample whatever he thought was best, and took the moment of quiet to go through all the people she had just met and try to commit them to memory. Her spot did not afford her a good view of the door and she missed a few introductions, but she was not overly concerned. The Electorate were here for the Emperor and not for her, and she did not plan to bother them before they’d even had their lunch. She supposed Beauford of Kirkland might expect a report of her travels in Madavia, but she had already spoken with her uncle about what would be appropriate to share with him.



She was startled from her internal repetition of names and titles when a woman landed in a nearby chair with such distaste that Beatrice might have thought the chair had offended the woman, if her expression did not make clear that she had little patience for the spectacle in front of her.



“I should warn you,” Beatrice told her softly. “Once Sir Lawrence has decided which Alstasian delicacies are most important for me to try,” she said with a nod towards Sir Lawrence on the far side of the room, who was looking at the spread of food like a general planning a war strategy. “He is likely to turn to you to make conversation in the ensuing silence- I suspect he has many thoughts about the star alignment you were born under that he would enjoy sharing with you.”



She paused. Sir Lawrence seemed undeterable in his friendly disposition, and would certainly try to talk with this woman regardless of the hostility she seemed to emit.



“If you would prefer, I could ask him about the detailing on the ceiling before I give in to his demands to try every single item he returns with- He indicated such a level of enthusiasm about the carving style earlier, I do not think he would have much need for anyone to respond for some time.”



At least until she could politely decline sampling any more of the food, and could then return to discussing with Sir Lawrence matters more pertaining to her own interests.

 

[Elise Ebele]

(( jones573 I am going to assumes your character is talking to mine.))

Forest Abraham Nalha’na Hacaster

​

The sea captain was a bit surprised when she looked up to see another woman was talking to her. She had parted her lips for just a moment to request how dare the lady speak to her with out permission, but she was quick to catch her self. She had to remember, she was not here to conquer a ship and assert her authority. She was here because his majesty invited her. She was so used to speaking to people as a war lord, that she had forgotten how to not do that.

She decided she would keep quiet and let the woman speak to her. She was also paying close attention to her, not necessarily to what she was saying, but how. She would match her tone to convince her she was used to normal conversation. “It’s very kind of him to want to pick out the finest pieces for your tasting. Perhaps that says he secretly cares about you,” she shrugged, looking at the man that the woman was referring to. She cracked a small grin, but one couldn’t tell through the red-lipped mask she was wearing.

The Lord Commander stood up to meet the woman’s gaze. The Sea Queen was not very tall, so she stepped back just a bit so she wouln’t have to look up at this woman. If it was a conversation this woman was fishing for, whether to get away from her escort, or to actually meet the guest, Abraham figured she could fill the role. “I have to warn you; I have never been in this room and might actually find your friend’s lecture on this ceiling quite interesting.”