Fantasy // The Other Side // Open/Accepting

[tityanya]

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𝖁𝖊𝖗𝖔𝖓𝖎𝖈𝖆 𝕽𝖔𝖘𝖓𝖔𝖎𝖗𝖊​

I am here: The Drunken Crow
With: Morgan

"What beautiful music the children of the night make" ☽

There was no surprise on the man's face when she told him about what her intentions were. Only an expression that Veronica thought could best be described as "understanding." No doubt he knew that this bar was one of the best places to get information from. That's why she had chosen it, after all. She offered her hand, and he took it in his chilly ones. Veronica was surprised she noticed--being undead, she always ran a little cold. How long had he been out in the cold that his fingers were chilled like that? He gave her hand a gentle shake, introducing himself as Morgan Bandera. Huh, that name was a little familiar for some reason...but Veronica brushed the thought aside. "It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Morgan," she said with a beaming smile, wondering why he hadn't let go of her hand yet.

That question was answered fairly quickly, with Morgan asking her if she was married or single. Her free hand flew to cove her mouth as she let out a little giggle, impressed by how quickly he had resorted to flirting. But she didn't even get a chance to answer before another voice cut in. “Missus, surely. I hope I’m wrong though!” It took all of Veronica's willpower for her lip not to curl into a sneer. Morgan looked equally annoyed at the intrusion, his hand still gripping onto Veronica's as he looked at the intruder. Veronica glanced over at him for a second, her gaze cool and frosty. Some unremarkable soldier, on the short side.

Morgan knew him by name, though. Matthew. Veronica noted that down in her head, but still didn't bother with acknowledging the man. The man didn't take too kindly to being shooed away, calling Morgan ponyboy and asking why he wasn't looking after some horses. Veronica sighed, loud and intentional, as a warning that her patience was wearing thin. She was surprised to find that Morgan was the one who broke it. She pulled her hand out of his, before turning to Matthew with a sickly sweet smile on her face. "As much as I would love to listen to the two of you trade insults and barbs, I was quite looking forward to drinking my glass of wine in peace. Maybe you should listen to Morgan's advice and return to your friends for now?" It was more forward than a woman should have been, but Veronica wasn't scared of this man.

He probably would have been a good one to easily get information from, but Veronica hated when people were pushy and couldn't take a hint. And if he was stupid enough to interrupt their conversation to try and flirt with her, and then refuse to back off, he probably didn't have any good information to begin with.

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((ooc: I imagine since Veronica's known Vyrik since he came to Mirim, he must've complained about Morgan at least once lol))
((Dress))
((Mediate))​

 

[tityanya]

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Ⲋⲧⲉ⳨ⲇⲛ Ⲃⲉⳑⳑⲥⲟⲙⲃ​

I am here: The streets of Vardi Hill
With: Kimberly

Accosted. Affronted. An assault on his person. Those were all the thoughts running through Stefan's head as he felt someone bump into him from behind. His balance already precarious, Stefan flailed and managed to catch onto the arm of his assaulter, saving his precious face from eating pavement. For a moment Stefan clung onto the arm, his breathing heavy and his eyes wide as his heart raced in his ears. Once the initial fright began to wear off, he snatched his hands away, taking a step back and a deep breath before facing his opponent head on.

A rather cute red-head, a little younger than he was, and so much smaller too. How drunk was he that such a tiny thing could knock him over? Stefan was slow to recognize the words being spoken to him--an apology? Wait, was this...an accident? Stefan's eyes narrowed with suspicion as he took in the man and his little halo clones. Oh man, he was drunker than he had realized. He probably shouldn't have had several shots before he left...but that was neither here nor there. "I'm terribly frightened, I think! Shouldn't you be watching where you're going?" he chastised, though any grit to the words was marred by his swaying stance and slurred words.

The man then pointed out the obvious. Stefan's face grew beet-red and his ears burned as he looked away with a dramatic huff. "Keeps you warm in the cold!" he justified, trying his best to further assess the man in front of him. It was hard when you were seeing double. His clothes were covered in dirt, and he had no shoes on. Stefan's brain got stuck on that fact, refused to let it go. It was so cold out. Where were his shoes? Already any aggression and fear Stefan had was fading away--really, had started fading away the moment he decided his assailant was cute. "Who stole your shoes? Do you need new ones?" Stefan asked, his voice full of genuine concern. In the morning, when his brain was working probably, he would probably feel mortified that he has asked such a question. But propriety was not on his mind on the streets of Vardi Hill that evening.​

((ooc: Davian is still welcome to join, Savi!))
((outfit))
((I don't Care))​

Talk Think

 

[TaperedNightjar]

​

Taavi Jokela
​

Location: Hallways (Castle)
With: Yetzirah, Hector, Princess Corline.
Wearing: Idk.
General status: Tired.

● "Ah, that is good to hear," Taavi replied to Hector.

The door to Princess Corline's room opened and out stepped the young woman. Taavi gave her a small bow. "Goo evening, Your Highness," he greeted. The Princess was dressed in a walking gown and this caused him to wonder where the two of them were headed off to. He would not pry, although his curiosity was certainly peeked. "I just wished to check in and make sure our honored guests are well accommodated. I am pleased to hear that all is well." There was no doubt in Taavi's mind that a skilled guard like Hector could keep Corline safe. However, something weighed on his mind.

"The weather is nice tonight. If you should venture beyond the castle grounds this evening please be aware that the Balta and Mud Bay neighborhoods are particularly unsavory. They are at their worst once the sun sets."


The last thing Taavi needed was for them to wander into Balta or Mud Bay and get themselves into a situation. Hector was a capable guard, there was no doubt about that. Even so, the crime rates in those particular neighborhoods were high. There were plenty of otherfolk and humans evading the law within the rundown, mold infested buildings. Hmmm, it was about time they tore down a good number of them. Taavi brushed the brief distraction from his mind. The demolition of such buildings was a battle for another day.

"I trust that you will have a pleasant evening. Yetzirah and I are headed for a ride ourselves. You may call upon any of the soldiers or guards if you require any assistance."

Taavi was planning to ride out into the farmlands and do a quick scan. The farmlands were not the worst area of Mirim by any means. They did border the Garwood Forest though, which often made them a landing spot for new Otherfolk arrivals. There was usually something happening in the area. The soldiers and guards had recently reported that the farmlands were quieter than usual. Taavi was planning to take a look for himself. Even if he was unable to sense anything, Yetrzirah would be able to pick up on anything out of the ordinary. Blue eyes glanced to the metallic figure. He was standing next to Taavi in a way that mirrored one of the Captain's loyal hounds.

 

[Gazimon X]

Sherry
Vyrik Talho | Farmlands | Worried

No? Her hope deflated quickly and her small shoulders slumped, hands wrapping around her arms although they did little against the chill she felt seeping into her. She was so tired of worrying, but some part of her just couldn’t accept the possibility that her foster father was gone. Just like that. It infuriated her even more that Vyrik had heard his last words. If he could contact Vyrik, why hadn’t he — her Papa — said anything to her. Anything at all? Something inside her teetered on the edge of a fear and of a truth she didn’t want to believe. She had been bought after all; purchased from the underground trade of otherfolk. Maybe that was all she was to him — a whimsy. A distraction from his work. His work was so much more important to him, and Vyrik had been a part of that.

She nodded numbly as Vyrik stepped up to the front door. A soreness twisted in the back of her throat and she felt the keening sob twisting her strained vocals taut. She was so tied of crying… but she couldn’t help it. The grief suffocated her and she sat down before it took over her senses and sent her plummeting. Curling her knees to her chest, she rubbed her palms against her eyes and her face as hot wetness spilled over like a messy wound. Vyrik had tried comforting her before — but she couldn’t forgive him even though it was not his fault for anything at all — she rejected his efforts and nursed her throbbing heart alone.

She didn’t know how long she had been crying, but when she heard her name again she was finally sniffling into her clothes. After a few more breaths to calm her hiccups, she peeked over the edge of the window and squinted at the light of the lamps. She couldn’t understand what she was looking at. A root?

“I’m not hungry.” She announced in a defiant tone. She could smell the freshly cooked food and she felt weak; but she just didn’t feel like eating. She resented that every time he went out, she too worried for him. If something happened to him, she didn’t want to feel guilty. She knew it was wrong to feel this way, being so selfish, which only made her question herself even more.

It was dark now. She would go out when it was brighter and continue looking for him. Perhaps at the exterior of the castle grounds first. She was still afraid of the soldiers.

 

[TaperedNightjar]

Vyrik Tal’Ho
Artwork by Keydo Burakai​

• Location: His cabin (Farmlands)
• With: Sherry.
• Current eye color: Brown.
• Wearing: Mud, cream shirt with long sleeves, brown pants, brown cloak, boots, and a pack.
• General status: Stressed. Anxious. Guilty.

➤ A gentle breath escaped his nose. Just the reply he had been expecting. He rested his chin in his hand and stared at the nearby root. His mind wandered from Sherry. His stomach ached with hunger but it also felt nauseated. How could he focus on anything at a time like this? His partner was missing, Sherry was distressed and rightfully so, and a young Otherfolk had been executed just that morning. He felt his gut tighten. Why hadn't he saved her? Where was Nova when he was needed most? Vyrik felt disgusted. Surely the head of the Otherfolk Protection could have saved the girl, but he hadn't. Some Head of the organization he was. Nova needed the root so that he could deliver it to an Otherfolk household. Vyrik would deal with that whole situation later.

Vyrik stood from the chair and made his way into the kitchen. After grabbing a bowl and spoon he returned to the living room. He scooped some stew from the clay pot and into the bowl and then proceeded back up the stairs and into the loft. Messy black hair appeared from the skylight as Vyrik popped his head out of the open window. He skillfully climbed out and onto the roof where he then took a seat next to Sherry. The Moonwing crossed his legs and said nothing as he sat next to her in a shared silence for a few quiet minutes. The sounds of the night were all around them. Vyrik heard a barred owl screech nearby.

Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you all?

"A barred owl."

Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you all?

He looked down at the bowl in his hands then over to Sherry. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. She had been crying again. Sherry had been crying a lot lately, but he understood. He had been too.

"I made stew. I know I don't cook as well as your Papa, but this is what I ate in my homeland." Vyrik was a decent cook and the stew smelled great. There were veggies and a generous helping of trout in it.

Grief-stricken children were not something new to Vyrik. He came from a land that was torn apart by war. The Hawkfolk who helped raise him were proud warriors. Death was a common occurrence. The Hawk children grieved in different ways. Some felt better when they ate a hot meal. Others only felt closure upon releasing the cremains of loved ones over the cliffside and into the wind.

"When my mother passed away I had a hard time eating too. My stomach hurt all the time and no matter how much everyone told me I needed to eat I just couldn't. My stomach didn't feel hungry. It's ok if you don't want to eat dinner, but it would make me happy if you'd have just one single bite. Do you think you could do that for me?"

 

[Malacina]

• Post
• Profile

• 
  Zayleigh Hellswater
  How wonderful is it that we laugh because our bodies simply cannot contain the joy?
  
  Zayleigh walked quietly behind Princess Corline and Captain Darius after the last court obligation for the day towards the wing that King Jero had assigned to the Eastwind party. Zayleigh could only admire the composure Corline displayed throughout the day and the commitment Captain Darius had for his role as nothing more than muscle. She didn't particularly like playing pretend and was sure she'd give herself away if she was in his position. Then again, she thought, secrets weren't uncommon for her. At the very least, Zayleigh seemed to have better luck than Captain Darius with the few people who spoke to them. Most of them were at the very least not boring and she only cut one conversation with a man short by walking away back to the princess' side where he wouldn't follow when the man refused to speak about anything other than the execution of the otherfolk that took place earlier in the day.
  
  In all honesty, Zayleigh had expected more people to be talking about it - the otherfolk had been rather young after all. She supposed part of it was wanting to earn the favor of the princess by speaking about more 'refined' things or perhaps it was because they weren't sure how those from Eastwind would take the conversation given the contrasting otherfolk policy Eastwind had from Mirim. Or rather, perhaps it was simply the commonality of the event that allowed some people to continue on like it was just another day because, for them, it was. How many otherfolk executions had there been just this season? Whether people spoke about it or not though, there was a tenseness that settled in the air - at least the wind spoke of its concern - especially here in the hallway with bustling servants.
  
  When the princess told the pair that she wanted to go out and finally explore part of the city other than the castle, Zayleigh nodded along as Hector verbally agreed, his face scrunching up for a moment as he found displeasure from the memory of previous smells. It had been explained to her that scents were particularly powerful for the man and she could only imagine the headache the man must get from all the people in the court wearing various perfumes. The teasing between the two made Zayleigh smile, it was always nice seeing the princess more at ease.
  
  Deciding that her own attire needed changing after Corline expressed wanting to get into something more comfortable, Zayleigh left the two to enter her own room just a short walk down the hall. A last glance back showed her Hector standing guard at the door of Corline's suite. Changing clothes was easiest enough and she took the opportunity to sit down while she buttoned her vest. Being on her feet all day was tiring enough on its own, but the strap of her prosthetic was particularly biting by the evening. Hiking up her skirt and undoing the straps on her thigh, she left them loose as she untied her hair running her fingers through the curls, humming. However, she didn't want the others to wait too long so she quickly redid the straps and fixed the skirt of her dress as she moved back toward the door. At the last moment, she grabbed a hat and coat laying both over her arms.
  
  She was surprised to find her companions no longer alone in the hallway. King Jero's security captain Taavi Jokela and his metal knight stood in the hallway, speaking as friendly as one could be while still being formal with Hector and Corline. Zayleigh paused taking in the two a second more before resting her shoulders and walking only part of the way down the hall so that she could hear but not be part of the conversation, ready to join her party if needed and offering a small wave of her fingers to note her presence. Her eyes drawing from the man in metal to the security captain and then back to Corline.
  
  Location: Castle Hallway near Princess Corline's suite.
  Company: Princess Corline, Captain Hector, Yetzirah
  Wearing: A high-collared white-ivory blouse with half sleeves, a long belted dark skirt with her hair tied up >> A collared, bishop-sleeved dress that's an inch too long in the hem, and a double-breasted vest with a heavy frock coat and a hat over loose hair.
  
  OCC: N/A
  
  
• 
  The Basics
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  • Real name: Zayleigh Hellswater
  • Nickname: Leia
  • Age: Thirty-seven (37)
  • Gender: Female
  • Height: 6'3"
  • Romantic preferences: Heterosexual
  • Race/Species: Human
  • Role: Gifted
  • Time in Mirim: A few days.
  • Neighborhood: The Castle
  Appearance, hobbies, and abilities
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  • Hair color: Bright orange bordering on red.
  • Eye color: Blue dominated Hazel
  • Scars and body markings: The most prominent alteration to Zayleigh's body is also probably the one she keeps out of the public eye. Zayleigh lost her right leg just below the knee some time ago and has had a prosthetic replacement for just as long. The prosthetic has been carved and painted to replicate her own skin. Over the years, the prosthetic has gotten better - the craftsman working in cables, gears, and sockets to aid in jointed movement. The prosthetic is attached with straps and laced around her thigh. There is some scarring on the same leg, and then she has stretch marks and a C-section scar on her abdomen.
  • Occupation: Medical Woman, Doctor
  • Hobbies:
    • Reading Poetry, Sewing/Cross-Stitching, Playing Chess/Checkers, Collecting Animal Figurines.
  • Abilities:
    • Mending: What makes Zayleigh considered a gifted human is her ability to Mend. This allows her to fix tears in clothing, repair broken pottery, and even heal minor wounds. It is very helpful in her line of work, however, it takes a lot of her energy to use the ability. In addition, to successfully Mend something there has to be two sides of what needs to be repaired and the sides have to be able to touch. She cannot create new matter or substance, only connect whats already there. The two sides also must be of the same material.
    • Field Medic: Zayleigh originally learned how to tend to wounds in field tents and in armor, allowing her to do more with less and find ways to tend to wounds that aren't the most ideal, but that work. It also means she understands just how likely someone is to truly survive specific wounds.
    • Medical Doctor: Zayleigh is a skilled surgeon with extensive medical knowledge and logs of how to use different medicines, salves, and iccours.
  The Personal Things
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  • Personality: Zayleigh is the type of Kind that only comes from suffering, something that is noticed the most with her Gothic humor, Idealist outlook, and almost Ominous Positivity. Something that one might not guess based on her more Whimiscal appearance - dressing in more fluid clothing often in whites, creams, and florals. Despite the Mysterious air that surrounds her, there is something Welcoming about her. Perhaps, it is because she presents as very Caring and overly Motherly to those around her or perhaps it's how Fearless and Calm she appears to be in even the most chaotic of times. And yet, this soft strength can be overshadowed by a sort of Aimlessness about her that leaves conversations with her Flowery and even disconnected.
  The Fun Things
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  • Likes: Flowers and their meanings. Being able to help alleviate someone's pain. Icy and cold weather. The sun, stars, and moon. Poetry. Drawing. Tea. Music. Winter.
  • Dislikes: Anger. The idea that respect has to be earned. Card games. Gambling. Flies. Cloudy days. Liquor. Talking about her family.
  • Fears: The dark, including the night. Having to return to Ostello. Simultaneously seeing and never seeing her family again.
  Other
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  • Zayleigh occasionally suffers from phantom pains in her right leg.
  • Zayleigh takes a lot of notes on anything and everything. Because of this she normally carries around a graphite stick or ink and is willing to write on anything, including her own skin.
  • All of her books are heavily annotated with notes and drawings.
  • Her favorite color is a bright shade of deep purple despite wearing and owning anything in the color.
  • She cannot carry a tune but is a very good dancer.
  • Zayleigh learned how to wield a sword when she was in the Ostello military. However, over the last decade, she hasn't needed to nor wanted to hold a blade in such a manner.
  • She can read tarot and tea leaves.
  • She still wears her wedding ring.
  Relationships
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  • Princess Corline Faulkner: XXXX
  • Captain Hector Darius: XXX
  • King Elliot: Out of the majority of nobles and royalty, Zayleigh has met, she finds King Elliot to be one of the better ones. She is also not blind to the love he has for his daughter, something that Zayleigh is sympathetic to.

Taavi​

Yetzirah​

Hector & Corline​

 

[Gazimon X]

Yetzirah
Taavi Jokela + Hector Darius + Princess Corline + Zayleigh Hellswater | Vexed + Wary

As Sol, he would have delighted in the meeting — not so much the pleasantries, rather the chance to observe and interact with unique specimens of a different provenance. Sol, a collector at heart, would have found the confluence of the two parties a veritable chance for gathering and verifying information. There would be so much to learn and catalogue, of their culture, their histories, their experiences and perceptions — every creature was exquisite in its own way. But as Yetzirah, his formerly zealous life-loving precepts had been overwritten by a malicious code.

Now Yetzirah looked on impassively like a figurine cut from a bland monolith. Disinterested would be an understatement, his apathy only overshadowed by his greater desire to perform with his utmost efficiency. He listened to the short exchange with the stern judgemental silence more befitting a clerical administrator. That the foreign guests were satisfied with their needs met; mattered as much as a checkbox ticked off in an annex of notes.

The armoured soldier tilted his head in a manner that suggested query or doubt. “Captain, I advise you to accompany them. They may be afforded some diplomatic immunities, but danger and incident does not abide such laws.” Yetzirah was as blunt as a mace; his voice a deep reverberation that carried a neutral tone with no breath. He honestly did not care if their two nations came to blows (perhaps he even welcomed it to sate his growing bloodlust) should the princess suffer an ill fate behind Mirim’s borders. What he did care about was gratifying his master — He who sat on the throne. So by association that this was his master’s land, he had to prioritise its security and remind them that they were not offered free rein to explore Mirim by themselves, and certainly not to traipse out into the darkness without an accompaniment of hosts.

 

[TaperedNightjar]

Morgan Bandera
Artwork by Cytomoss​

• Location: The Drunken Crow (Florien).
• With: Veronica and Matthew (NPC).
• Wearing: Fancy.
• General status: Stressed. Anxious.

"Now why would I take advise from Ponyboy?" Matthew asked with a laugh.

Morgan's brow twitched. He took a swig of drink and then stood to his feet, where he towered over Matthew by a good seven inches. "She asked you politely to leave. So leave." He wouldn't ask twice. Matthew cocked his head to the side and smirked up at Morgan. It was clear that he wasn't intimidated by the taller man. He opened his mouth to reply but stopped when a weathered hand grabbed his shoulder.

A salt and pepper haired guard stood among them. He had a stern look on his face. "Alright Matthew, time to head back. You've had enough to drink." He then gave Veronica an apologetic look. Matthew looked like he wanted to argue, but the soldier obeyed the old guard.

Morgan watched as they left. Once the door shut behind the two of them he finally sat on his stool once more. A hard breathe escaped his nose as he grabbed his cup and took an extra long drink. "I apologize about that. The soldiers can get out of hand when they're drunk. Boris throws at least three out each night it seems. They're extra drunk tonight after the execution. At least Frederick was here to wrangle Matthew in." The smile returned to his face as he looked to Veronica again. "I hope that fool didn't ruin your night."

 

[Malacina]

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• 
  
  Kimberly Parrish
  
  ​
  
  
  Wᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛᴏ ʟᴀᴜɢʜ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴅᴅs ᴀɴᴅ ʟɪᴠᴇ ᴏᴜʀ ʟɪᴠᴇs sᴏ ᴡᴇʟʟ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴛʀᴇᴍʙʟᴇ ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪᴛ ᴛᴀᴋᴇs ᴜs.

  Thankfully, and perhaps surprisingly on the man's part, neither of the pair fell after Kimberly crashed into the other. The man had grabbed onto Kimberly to keep his balance, but Kimberly hadn't been surprised by that, simply glad that the other man didn't get hurt from his mistake. No, Kimberly was more surprised by the man snatching his hand away, the sharp action causing Kimberly to startle and draw his arms closer to his body, noting again that the other man was clearly of money. Even drunk and in a state of imperfection, the man's clothes were too nice for him to be without real coins in his pockets. Kimberly always seemed to forget that nobles and even some merchants really did not like it when anyone without money touched them. At least he forgot until it was too late to do anything but apologize and hope that he would simply get yelled at.
  
  It seemed like Kimberly would get off with just a verbal chastization this time too - a weak one at that, for while the man's words were hot, his tone didn't hold the same heat. "Sorry, sorry! You're right I should have been looking where I - I just got distracted - there was a couple, a then the man before them - everyone is acting so bizarre and I just got back - I was out collecting - I didn't mean to run into you. I really am sorry, sir!" Kimberly rushed out in one breath, cutting himself off and talking over himself a handful of times before getting back to his newest apology.
  
  The next set of words out of the man's mouth made Kimberly pause, staring wide-eyed for a heartbeat before he really understood that the man had been trying to explain why he was so drunk. "Oh...I gues...hat's true." Kimberly mumbles his agreement, his face scrunching up around his nose as he tried to follow the man's logic. Kimberly wasn't one to drink a lot himself, so he decided to just take the man at his word. He had no reason to lie, after all, and it was true that there was a chill in the air. The temperature having dropped along with the sun to what was more traditionally associated with autumn. Kimberly, himself, didn't think it was cold enough to warrant such measures or even a thicker cloak really, but he couldn't fault the man for using what worked...though, Kimberly looked over the man's attire again, if he had money to dress the way he did, then surely he could have bought a cloak instead of a bottle? A cloak would last longer too.
  
  Kimberly's thoughts derailed quickly when the man's voice dropped into something more soft, asking about shoes. No, about Kimberly's lack of shoes. "Wha...no one stole my shoes? Why would you...?" Looking down at his feet, Kimberly expected to see something that warranted the amount of concern the man showed, but he just saw his feet. Dirtier than most, sure, but he had just spent all day out in the woods. He digs his toes into the cold stone of the street, before relaxing and shifting his weight to his heels. "I have shoes. Not on my feet, but I have them - it's easier to climb without them," Kimberly explains slowly, completely devoid of the fact that most people don't need to climb in their daily lives.
  
  It's a moment before Kimberly connects the dots between all of the man's words, "Oh! Oh, I get it. You're concerned about my shoes because it's cold. That's nice of you, but you don't need to worry. I'm'ot cold." Kimberly smiles with his teeth, before blinking back his reassurance, "Are you still cold? Is the ale not warm enough? Do you need a cloak? It would keep you warmer than the ale does, yea." Kimberly reasoned helpfully and honestly, with a tilt of his head, recalling his previous thoughts. The man had to have a cloak already, and if not, he could certainly buy one. It was late but Kimberly knew of a few places that keep their lights on for paying customers and deliveries.
  
  Location: Vardi Hill
  Company: Stefan
  Wearing: A high neckline, standing collar vest without a shirt, brown fitted trousers, short fingerless leather gloves, and barefoot with a muted green hooded cape and a multi-pouch black leather belt strapped at his waist and thigh. All of which is covered in dust and dirt.
  
  OCC: N/A
  
• 
  The Basics
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  • Real name: Kimberly Parrish
  • Nickname: Kim, Parrish
  • Age: Twenty-two (22)
  • Gender: Male
  • Romantic preferences: Pansexual
  • Race/Species: Human
  • Role: Human
  • Time in Mirim: Seven Years
  • Neighborhood: Lives in Florian & Works in Lanesboro
  Appearance, hobbies, and abilities
  ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
  
  • Height: 5'6"
  • Hair color: A dark reddish-blond w/occasional dyed strands.
  • Eye color: Bright green
  • Scars and body markings: Mostly temporary ink or dyes of various imagery with minor scars here and there.
  • Occupation: Courier, Collector and Amateur Cartographer.
  • Hobbies:
    • Exploring: This includes running around the roads and houses inside the city and the vast land and mountains outside the city.
    • Drawing: The majority of the time, this means Kimberly is detailing his many maps.
    • People-watching: Kimberly enjoys seeing people interact and live their daily lives as they are.
  • Abilities/Skills:
    • Free-climbing: Good hand grip, the ability to pull his weight, and impressive agility.
    • Acrobatics: Flexibility, fine and gross motor skills, and good balance.
    • Ambidextrous: Able to switch dominant hands or feel without trouble for the majority of tasks.
    • Spatial Awareness: A good sense of direction, understanding of one's body relative to space around it, and is good at guessing distances.
    • Improved Recollection: Better memory than most for both locations and faces.
  The Personal Things
  ▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
  
  • Personality: If nothing else, Kimberly is Optimistic - a trait that is the root cause of both his Resiliency and Confidence. He believes in the best of people and situations, makes the most out of what he has, and is sure he will always get back up again after falling. He's eager to help even if he doesn't know how and he often doesn't know how to due to his Obliviousness and Naivety of the world and the hardships many face in the world. It is less that he grew up sheltered from the horror of the world and more that he grew up Isolated from it. He spent more time exploring and hunting as a kid than he did staying indoors and only really learned about life and the history of the major cities through the occasional traveling storyteller. When he started spending more time inside villages and city walls, Kimberly was so enchanted by the daily lives of everyday people and the novelty of it all that he missed and continues to miss the exact extent of the discrimination of otherfolk face in Mirim. He doesn't see how bad it is because he can't fathom being so cruel. Another reason for this is that he very much lives in the Present, letting the past stay behind and not worrying about the future. He's been told more times than he can count to learn history and to plan his future, but figures he's Not Educated enough nor has any desire to do so. He's also constantly being told he's too Impulsive and Energetic causing people to find him Obnoxious or Friendly and sometimes both.
  The Fun Things
  ▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
  
  • Likes: His family. Running & Climbing. Exploring. Drawing. Shortcuts. Flirting. Rain. Talking. Cemeteries. People. Heights. Abandoned buildings.
  • Dislikes: Spiders. Clothing with sleeves. True silence. Indoors. Books. Lightning/Thunder. Being late. Fighting. Jump scares.
  • Fears: Being stuck in one place for the rest of his life. Being completely on his own. Losing a limb.
  Other
  ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
  
  • Kimberly doesn't know how to read or write, but there are some words he recognizes through pure memorization. These words usually pertain to the herbs and reagents he's been hired to obtain. Some of his maps have the names of neighborhoods on them - this is in response to him asking someone else to point out the name or write it and then he copies the letters.
  • Kimberly is enthralled with the abilities and talents of otherfolk and gifted humans. He finds that he's in awe and is just so happy to be able to witness such abilities that he skips over feeling jealous of not having his own.
  • Kimberly really wants a pet but knows he can't take care of one. Instead of having his own, he makes do with petting all the animals he can.
  • Kimberly deals with migraines.
  Relationships
  ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
  
  • (Character name here): XXX
  • (Character name here): XXX
  • (Character name here): XXX

Stefan​

​

 

[Caffeinated Joy]

.​

.

.

Hector Darius​

With: Corline, Taavi, Yetzirah, Zayleigh
Location: Castle

Hector’s gaze swept from Taavi to Yetzirah and back to Taavi again. The thought of the two of them following their group around the castle grounds was enough to set his nerves on edge. He knew what Taavi’s gift was. He’d made it his business to learn about the prominent Gifted humans in King Jero’s service, and he honestly didn’t want to give Taavi any opportunity to use his gift on him. He wasn’t afraid of pain. After all, holding up a stone retaining wall while civilians climbed out from under it didn’t exactly feel like a feather’s caress. Or even changing shape. In fact, the first few times an Ursine changed shape were some of the most agony filled moments of any young cub’s life. You had to train the body to not fight against it. It felt more like changing clothes now, if the clothes were a little tight and ill-fitting, but the first time? Hoo, boy. What he was afraid of was feeling so much pain he lost control. He didn’t know his limit and wasn’t eager to find out.

Zayleigh approached from her room down the hall, her warm scent easing Yetzirah’s foreign metallic tang. He glanced at her as she approached, nodding his head slightly to acknowledge the wave of her fingers. She was tall, for a human woman, and willowy, with her long, red hair spilling down her back. He had met her a few times during his visits with King Briar to Eastwind but didn’t really have the chance to do more than share a few words with her until their journey to Mirim. It was easy to see why Princess Corline liked her so much. She was bright, caring and alarmingly upbeat and positive, but there was a certain darkness to her humour that gave her a bit of an edge. She had been one of the few people who didn’t look at him like she’d discovered a new subspecies the first time she heard him say something intelligent about something other than weapons or fighting. He played the part of big, strong and dumb when gathering information for his King, because it was easy for people to accept the stereotype. People tended to feel comfortable speaking about things around him they otherwise wouldn’t, thinking him too stupid to understand. Sure, he was no rare genius, but he certainly wasn’t stupid.

He grunted. “No.” He finally said, shaking his head. “We don’t need a fully armed escort for a walk around the castle grounds.” Corline raised her eyebrows and he shrugged. “What, Princess? It’s true. We’re going for a walk around the grounds, not a hike about town. The worst we’ll run into is an overzealous guard too eager to do his job, which I can handle. After all, I got us all here safely from Eastwind.”

​

 

[Caffeinated Joy]

Princess Corline Faulkner
With: Hector, Taavi, Yetzirah, Zayleigh
Location: Castle​

Corline didn’t notice Zayleigh as quickly as Hector, but smiled and gestured her to approach when she did. Yetzirah’s suggestion they accompany their group was not entirely unexpected; however, the reason she wanted to go for a walk was to get air, certainly, and also to escape the pomp and rank for a few moments, even if it was only an illusion of escape. She had enjoyed their time travelling to Mirim. She could be, when they weren’t stopped for a rest in a city, just Corline, or Cori. Her duty in life was clear. She was all too aware of her role as her father’s heir. It was a heavy mantle to bear, at times, knowing the lives of every person in Eastwind would one day be her responsibility.

Hector grunted, and Corline had, through a near lifetime of exposure to the Ursine language, a good enough ear to understand when a grunt was just a grunt, or something else. It wasn’t his blunt refusal for an escort causing her to raise her brows at him as much as it was the “Oh, fuck no” she caught prior to it, but she smoothly gave no hint she understood.

She sighed softly, and shook her head, “Captain Darius, true or not, manners matter. Do try to be gracious.” She looked at Taavi and smiled warmly, “Captain Jokela, please accept my apologies. I thank you for your generous offer, but it’s not necessary. I’m certain you have much more important tasks before you. It’s true, we are keeping to the castle grounds this evening. It will be dark shortly, after all. I merely wish to get some air and see something other than the inside of these walls.”

 

[tityanya]

.

Ⲋⲧⲉ⳨ⲇⲛ Ⲃⲉⳑⳑⲥⲟⲙⲃ​

I am here: The streets of Vardi Hill
With: Kimberly

Stefan nodded with satisfaction as the man stumbled through another apology, explaining why he had run into Stefan. Stefan was mostly pretending to comprehend the words, though. He got the gist--the cute man in front of him was dodging others and ran into him. He didn't understand what "collecting" meant, or exactly how everyone was acting bizarre, but that wasn't important to him. All that mattered was that the man was sorry for scaring half the life out of him. "It's quite alright. Besides my poor racing heart, no harm was done," Stefan reassured the man, giving him a clap on the arm.

Stefan explained that he was "drunk to keep the cold out," an explanation the ginger in front of him seemed to reluctantly accept. Excellent! That excuse never worked on Stefan's father. Probably because he knew better, but that was neither here nor there. At that moment, Stefan noticed the lack of shoes on his "assailant," asking him about it. Stefan's head tilted at the baffled response--had he really asked something so strange? He followed the man's gaze down to his feet--covered in dirt and lord knew what else. Stefan knew that his toes would be freezing and ice cold to the touch if he were to be in such a state. But the man explained that he did have shoes--he just wasn't wearing them so he could...climb? "What do you need to climb?" Stefan asked, his drunk mind completely forgetting about the forest outside the city walls.

Was this man a cat burglar? Is that what he had been collecting? But surely his feet wouldn't have gotten that dirty from the side of houses...Realization dawned inside the other man's eyes. He reassured Stefan that he wasn't cold, which Stefan...doubted. That doubt was written all over his face. "If you say soooooo..." he slurred, holding onto the last syllable. But then the man turned it back onto Stefan, asking if he himself was cold! Stefan's jaw dropped a little bit. He hadn't been thinking about it all too much...the alcohol did really help. But the mention of the cloak. Stefan became crestfallen. "I forgot my jacket at the party..." he lamented. He had been in such a huff and a rush to get out of there that he had completely forgotten about it. He gazed back the way he came, wondering if he should go back to retrieve it. It had taken so long to get this far...

He shivered a little in the cold. He couldn't decide what he wanted to do--march immediately back and retrieve his jacket, or just head home and forget about it until the morning. He stood rooted in the spot, his faraway gaze showing his inner dilemma. ​

((ooc: Made me sad that Kimberly thought Stefan pulled away cause he's poor and not cause he thought he was being attacked :') ))
((outfit))
((I don't Care))​

Talk Think

 

[Rosacea]

𝐸𝓂𝑜𝓇𝓎 𝒱𝒾𝓈𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒾

I am here: Palace Gardens
With: Eudora​

There was nothing in the world that I ever wanted more...⇙

╔══════════════════════════╗​

This was just as horrible and awkward as he had expected. The Countess had been annoyed, at first, by the sound of his footsteps. He couldn't blame her--it was a private moment being interrupted. But once she realized that it was Emory who stood before her, she lowered herself into a deep curtsey, showing the basic amount of courtesy for Emory. He almost wanted to tell her she didn't have to do that, but held his tongue. The pomp and circumstance was important to her in a way it wasn't to him. Her words came out, sharp as barbs, making Emory wince a little. He might not be good at the wordplay himself, but one didn't grow up in high society and not learn how people hid their true feelings behind pleasant words.

He glanced out at the pond, wondering if he had made a tactical error. Perhaps he should have just left the Countess to her private moment? It would have taken no effort at all for him to simply...walk the opposite direction. It would certainly have been less effort than this was. The cold wind tore at them, making it hard for Emory to understand her words. She was fine. She was clearly not fine. Her brow was furrowed, and it wasn't just with anger at Emory's presence. Emory was quite familiar with the facial expression he gave the woman. No, there was a sadness in her eyes, not anger or annoyance. She gestured at the pond, saying she needed a place of quiet reminisce. She refused to look at Emory any further, instead glancing out at the water and clutching at her scarf.

He had just annoyed her. He deflated a little bit. At least I tried, Alicia, he thought sadly. He opened up his mouth to apologize for bothering the Countess, but was surprised instead by the admission from her: She looked so much like my daughter. At first, Emory was confused. What was she talking about? But with a jolt, he realized: The Countess had the same sad, disturbing thoughts on her mind that he did. The execution. Emory knew her daughter: there was a passing resemblance between them, if one was looking for it. His jaw dropped open, just for a second, from the shock. Countess Eudora was...telling him something so important?

He was stuck in a hard place here. His father had done his best to raise Emory with his hatred of Otherfolk. Alicia had taught him that that hatred was wrong and unfounded. But...there were very few people that knew Emory felt that way. It was dangerous for him, politically, to reveal that he differed so strongly from his father on such a...heated issue. As much as he hated it, he needed his father's support. That's why he was even there at that horrible execution this morning. Could he trust the Countess? But well, even if he couldn't trust her with the truth of his affiliation, he could provide her with some empathy.

"I've been thinking about it all day. I can't get it out of my mind," he admitted with a sigh. "It was horrible, and I didn't even have someone I was reminded of. I hate the executions." The last sentence was spat out, bitter. "I'm sorry that--that you had to witness that. Please believe me when I tell you that I understand the pain of losing your child. It's one of the worst things you have to face, as a parent." Emory was rather proud of himself that his voice barely wavered. That his voice stayed loud enough to be heard, even if it lost its strength near the end. That he didn't just burst out into tears. He was so glad he didn't even think of Alicia and Elle during the execution. It was bad enough on its own, without adding that extra trauma on top. The Countess was a strong woman to hold herself together so well despite those thoughts.

╚══════════════════════════╝

((ooc: ))
((outfit))
((pictures of you))​

Eudora Withersbury​

I am here: Palace gardens
With: Emory
Note: Sorry that this took so long. serious writers block. I hope this is semi-coherent.

Eudora's cold demeanor softened slightly as the prince spoke. She witnessed, like everyone at court, the tragedy that allowed Emory to relate to her now. Alicia's passing had been sudden, almost mundane in its likelihood. Thousands of women died in childbirth and thousands would continue to. But somehow they had still expected the pastel celebration of a new heir, the hard jewels on Alicia's head an assurance of immortal success. When the kingdom had been cloaked in a black veil of grief instead, the court found itself frozen and petrified. The mechanism of manufactured mourning, with its somber processions and locks of hair, swept them along and alleviated their shellshock. Alicia and her grieving prince evaded the raw punch of death. Instead, their story was told as a performative romance, fated to end in sadness. Plays were written, babies named and hospital ribbons cut with ceremonial golden scissors.

The crown marched on, reducing a woman to her smiling, round-shouldered portrait. They all averted their eyes from the empty space that endured. Eudora felt a prickle of guilt, almost repulsion, as she was faced with Emory's pained words. She had arranged herself with Alicia's death. She rarely thought about the woman with whom she had shared a convoluted almost-friendship. Some things were too sharp and jagged to be remembered. Remembrance was a pitfall that easily enveloped you in its darkness and Eudora did not have time for such self-indulgence. After their futile attempt and its consequences, could anyone blame her for arranging herself with reality? The constant dread of living under tyranny entirely fulfilled her desire for internal turmoil. And even if self-perturbed anger sometimes kept her awake, Eudora would gladly ignore such impulses to retain her family's safety. She would sell out every moral, every syllable of their family crest if it meant that the ground below them remained steady. Because like every tyrant, the King knew that people who had something to lose stayed in line. At least she hoped so. The execution had upended her tidy justifications, dragging rotting emotions back to the forefront of her mind.

The countess nodded slightly in acknowledgment of his words, observing Emory as if trying to weigh his honesty. „Thank you, your majesty. I have lost family before, but the horror of losing a child is not something which I ever want to consider.“ She shuddered slightly. By the gods, if something were to happen to any of them, she would not survive it. The possibilities of what could have happened- What had happened to Nathaniel. Her mind conjured pictures of the collapsed stables, the crunch of frozen grass, and the heavy smell of burning fire. Only this time it was not only him, limbs twisted gruesomely, but also them, lying face down on the cracked pavement. She could vividly imagine any of her daughters crumpling to the floor, their eyes empty and accusing like the Otherfolk who had lain on the gallows this morning. Her heart seemed to skip a beat in cold dread. She was being foolish. Eudora forced herself to focus on the moment. She straightened her posture slightly, carefully adjusting a stray lock of hair. Her eyes stung and she hated the slight waver in her voice.

She was just tired. Tired and touched by the prince's compassion. Even if something about his earnestness always frustrated her. As much as he tried to hide it, the prince was an open book. Where Alicia had been guarded and his father was cold, Emory's humanity always seeped through his mannerisms, like crayon bleeding out of a pencil drawing.
Sometimes that filled her with hope. He was not like the King, which meant there was a chance that Emory would come to different conclusions. Normally, it annoyed her as he seemed to lack the strength and resolve necessary to oppose his father. Maybe Eudora just did not like being reminded of her own helplessness in a system that placed divine power in the hands of broken men.

The countess shifted her weight from foot to foot, attempting to stay warm as the wind bit into her. She needed to shift this conversation towards less awkward and more useful topics. There was one more thing regarding the execution that greatly disconcerted her. No one she had spoken to seemed to know more than her either. „Please pardon my boldness in asking a question concerning the private business of the crown, Your Majesty “ She started, carefully choosing her words. „But there have been-“ She considered how to best express this concern „..silly rumors at court, regarding the mysterious executioner on the gallows this morning. What- or rather Who was that?“ Eudora asked, rather blunt in her approach. She knew from experience that Emory did not appreciate veiled communication.

 

[tityanya]

.

𝖁𝖊𝖗𝖔𝖓𝖎𝖈𝖆 𝕽𝖔𝖘𝖓𝖔𝖎𝖗𝖊​

I am here: Drunken Crow
With: Morgan

"What beautiful music the children of the night make" ☽

It was a true mark of Veronica's self control that she didn't murder Matthew on the spot. Transform into her dark form, rip his throat out, and flee before anyone could even notice. Her face barely even betrayed her inner emotion, only those who knew what to look for would see the clenched jaw and fiery eyes. It wasn't uncommon for bawdy soldiers to treat her with disrespect--but that didn't make her feel any less rage. His own distaste for the "ponyboy" was seeping through into his interaction with her. And he wanted to try and flirt with her? Hah! As though any self-respecting woman would consider this...imbecile to be worth her time. Couldn't even take being politely asked to leave without a quip.

Morgan, unlike Veronica, didn't hold his cool as well. He took a swig of his drink and stood up, puffing himself up like some kind of bear over the much shorter Matthew. Morgan reiterated what Veronica had said--that Matthew needed to leave. See, there was a man that actually listened when a woman spoke. But Matthew was unperturbed. No, instead of being anywhere close to intimidated or cowed, he had a pathetic little smirk on his face. Like he wanted this. Veronica was debating the pros and cons of attacking him first, while his attention was drawn elsewhere, when she saw another figure approaching. Another guard, much older, with salt and pepper hair. He gave Veronica a sad, apologizing look, telling Matthew that it was time to leave and that he'd had enough to drink. Still, the little shit looked like he wanted to argue. But after a moment of hesitation, he listened, leaving with the guard.

"Thank you," she mouthed at him when he reached the door. He gave a small wave in response, before the door shut behind the both of them. For a moment, she and Morgan were silent, the only sound being the long, loud exhalation from him. She wanted to join him. Instead, she took a sip of her wine, imagining it was Matthew's drained blood instead. She closed her eyes and savored the flavor of that daydream for just a moment. He better hope she never came across him again.

She opened her eyes when Morgan spoke again, apologizing for Matthew's behavior. "You have nothing to apologize for. He's the one who wanted to start a pissing contest over a woman who wasn't in the slightest bit interested," Veronica scoffed. They weren't exactly the polite words a higher-class lady like her should use, but her anger was still seeping through. You could take a girl out of Mud Bay, but you couldn't take the Mud Bay out of the girl. "Are you familiar with the guards? You seem to know all of their names, but the way that Matthew was treating you, I don't think you're one of them," Veronica asked, her curiosity piqued by the mention of Frederick. The guards knew Morgan, and Morgan knew them. But there was no respect or love between them. Veronica doubted it was because Morgan was a criminal or habitual drunk--the insults Matthew slung would have been related to that. Instead it was about...horses?

"No nights have been ruined, yet," Veronica beamed at Morgan, turning on her dazzling charm. "What's a trip to a bar without a little bit of excitement? Only, it's a shame we couldn't take that man down a peg together," Veronica smiled, her face at complete odds with her words. But she was telling the sincere truth. She wanted to rip that man apart limb from limb for daring to even think that he was above her. Like she was some object to be won.

≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎​

((ooc: ))
((Dress))
((Mediate))​

 

[Gazimon X]

Sherry
Vyrik Talho | Farmlands | Silent Tantrum

The silence of the night grew ever insufferable when Vyrik seated next to her with the bowl of food he had cooked. Saying nothing, the minutes seemed to stretch on, growing taut on the rack. Stewing in discomfort, Sherry felt her pulse quicken in anticipation of a rebuke, the quietness pierced by the sharp shriek of a bird in the dark foliage.

A barred owl, Vyrik had identified. A predator bird that brought sudden death, silent talons piercing into its prey. The hairs on her skin rose and she clutched her arms. She knew she could shift into one of her kachina forms, a giant lovebird that could easily outmatch the owl — but it was an instinctive fear hardwired into her brain. And… Vyrik could turn into an even larger bird. Who was to say that the owl couldn’t do the same if it were no ordinary owl?

Clamping her jaws shut, she listened to Vyrik’s urging but the words seemed to dissipate like a candle’s smoke. She was so tired, and she didn’t want to care about his mother. She just wanted her Papa back! She wanted to perch at the edge of her chair, at the ornate table with her bowl that had little dyed pastel flowers on the edges and wait for him to finish lighting the candles. She wanted to sit on his lap and enjoy the muted sweetness of dessert with his delicate floral teas. She missed his gentle touch on her head, the faint scent of cigar smoke on his breath mingling with the tang of disinfectant and herbal medicines steeped into his shirt — and yet the warmth that enveloped her as he lulled her to sleep.

Her answer to Vyrik’s patience was a small explosion of colours and mist, enveloping her body as it shrank to magical slivers and coalesced into the feathered shape of her disguised form. Feet pattering on the wood, she skittered away to a corner and fluffed her feathers. In this state, she could continue to preserve her energy and… she couldn’t cry anymore.

 

[Malacina]

• Post
• Profile

• 
  
  Kimberly Parrish
  
  ​
  
  
  Wᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛᴏ ʟᴀᴜɢʜ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴅᴅs ᴀɴᴅ ʟɪᴠᴇ ᴏᴜʀ ʟɪᴠᴇs sᴏ ᴡᴇʟʟ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴛʀᴇᴍʙʟᴇ ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪᴛ ᴛᴀᴋᴇs ᴜs.

  There was a small ball of tangled emotions, all wobbly and silly, settled in Kimberly's chest as he waited for the man to accept his apology or not. So far, it did seem like things would be okay, but people changed their minds all the time. He's been on the wrong end of a punishment that seemed to come out of nowhere before, and he really hated getting his knuckles rapped. Kimberly couldn't help the relief on his face when the nobleman truly accepted his apology with nothing more but some small words and a pat on his arm, of which was surprising, but Kimberly didn't have time to question it. With the wobbly emotions all untangled, he was left with curiosity about the man in front of him and the situation.
  
  The man seemed genuinely concerned about Kimberly's lack of shoes and yet he wasn't even wearing a cloak himself. Did the ale really work well enough to keep him warm? Would it do the same for Kimberly? He wouldn't have to wear so many layers then. Not that he was wearing much even now, but the lighter and tighter his clothes the better it was to move. But the last time he had some wine - nothing more than half a cup from a customer who was happy enough with Kimberly's work to share in his celebration - it had left him stumbling around so much that he could barely keep himself standing and fell clean off the half wall he tried to do a handstand on the top of. But Kimberly was wearing a cloak at the time and he had felt a little hot. Maybe he just needed enough wine to keep him warm enough that he wouldn't need a cloak and he'd be okay at climbing like he normally was.
  
  Speaking of climbing, the man asked seemingly lost and a little doubtful to Kimberly's long-winded explanation as to why he wasn't wearing shoes. Kimberly flexed his toes, curling them and uncurling them. Now that he was no longer running around, he could start to feel the cold biting at them. "I was out climbing in the forest collecting some herbs - I collect herbs and, really, all sorts of things for the apothecaries and medicine men and around town." The feeling of cold melted away as Kimberly started to rock up to his tip toes and back down in his joy at explaining his job. He got to run around and explore and actually help people - he was lucky people paid him to do something so fun.
  
  Kimberly smiled around a laugh when the man elongated his doubt into a single word. "I'mma okay - really, I am." He tried to sound reassuring, but honestly, Kimberly's confidence normally sounded as if it was born from naivety and not any sort of know-how. Regardless, though, of if Kimberly felt the cold like he should or just the adrenaline in his veins, the man in front of him most certainly fell victim under the weather. "You forgot your jacket?" Kimberly parroted, nose pinched a little as he followed the man's gaze down the street and then back to the man. Reaching out as if he could touch the missing item of clothing, Kimberly caught himself before he got too close to the nobleman, pulling his hand back to himself. Just because the man was okay with touching Kimberly's shoulder a moment ago in forgiveness, it doesn't mean Kimberly was free to do the same back without consequence. He had forgiven Kimberly once, Kimberly wasn't sure if he would get a second one if he had to apologize again.
  
  "Oh! Do you want me to go get it? I could - I mean I can be quick and if it's not too far I could be right back. I don't just collect herbs, I run all sorts of errands for people all around town." Kimberly asked, clearly without thinking about the offer but also with full honesty and intent. The man had accepted his apology early. Kimberly should be able to do something in return for him. "You could even keep walking towards...towards, uh, wherever you were going now and I could just catch up with your jacket. I know the streets really well - and a lot of short'uts." He motions back and around with his hands, a little wild with excitement as he tries to explain that he is in fact good at his job. Words continued to tumble out of Kimberly in his best attempt at a sales pitch (he got most of his jobs from word of mouth, usually from a mouth that wasn't his) that quickly falls out of his hands. "It could be like a thank you! Y'know for being nice and such - most people dressed like you aren't nice like this." Quickly realizing that the last of his words didn't sound nearly as much like the compliment he meant for it to be, Kimberly looked to explain himself, "I mean, you didn't even box my ears and barely even yelled at me when I ran into you" The good kind of nerves - the kind he gets right before reaching the top of a tall building, a tall tree, that is a victory of his skills, of himself over his environment - starts to build up inside Kimberly's chest, his hands, his head. It was all a challenge to be met - a test of how well he could push himself, how much he could help with his set of skills.
  
  Location: Vardi Hill
  Company: Stefan
  Wearing: A high neckline, standing collar vest without a shirt, brown fitted trousers, short fingerless leather gloves, and barefoot with a muted green hooded cape and a multi-pouch black leather belt strapped at his waist and thigh. All of which is covered in dust and dirt.
  
  OCC: Kimberly should not be considered an adult - he clearly has no sense of self-preservation.
  
• 
  The Basics
  ▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
  
  • Real name: Kimberly Parrish
  • Nickname: Kim, Parrish
  • Age: Twenty-two (22)
  • Gender: Male
  • Romantic preferences: Pansexual
  • Race/Species: Human
  • Role: Human
  • Time in Mirim: Seven Years
  • Neighborhood: Lives in Florian & Works in Lanesboro
  Appearance, hobbies, and abilities
  ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
  
  • Height: 5'6"
  • Hair color: A dark reddish-blond w/occasional dyed strands.
  • Eye color: Bright green
  • Scars and body markings: Mostly temporary ink or dyes of various imagery with minor scars here and there.
  • Occupation: Courier, Collector and Amateur Cartographer.
  • Hobbies:
    • Exploring: This includes running around the roads and houses inside the city and the vast land and mountains outside the city.
    • Drawing: The majority of the time, this means Kimberly is detailing his many maps.
    • People-watching: Kimberly enjoys seeing people interact and live their daily lives as they are.
  • Abilities/Skills:
    • Free-climbing: Good hand grip, the ability to pull his weight, and impressive agility.
    • Acrobatics: Flexibility, fine and gross motor skills, and good balance.
    • Ambidextrous: Able to switch dominant hands or feel without trouble for the majority of tasks.
    • Spatial Awareness: A good sense of direction, understanding of one's body relative to space around it, and is good at guessing distances.
    • Improved Recollection: Better memory than most for both locations and faces.
  The Personal Things
  ▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
  
  • Personality: If nothing else, Kimberly is Optimistic - a trait that is the root cause of both his Resiliency and Confidence. He believes in the best of people and situations, makes the most out of what he has, and is sure he will always get back up again after falling. He's eager to help even if he doesn't know how and he often doesn't know how to due to his Obliviousness and Naivety of the world and the hardships many face in the world. It is less that he grew up sheltered from the horror of the world and more that he grew up Isolated from it. He spent more time exploring and hunting as a kid than he did staying indoors and only really learned about life and the history of the major cities through the occasional traveling storyteller. When he started spending more time inside villages and city walls, Kimberly was so enchanted by the daily lives of everyday people and the novelty of it all that he missed and continues to miss the exact extent of the discrimination of otherfolk face in Mirim. He doesn't see how bad it is because he can't fathom being so cruel. Another reason for this is that he very much lives in the Present, letting the past stay behind and not worrying about the future. He's been told more times than he can count to learn history and to plan his future, but figures he's Not Educated enough nor has any desire to do so. He's also constantly being told he's too Impulsive and Energetic causing people to find him Obnoxious or Friendly and sometimes both.
  The Fun Things
  ▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
  
  • Likes: His family. Running & Climbing. Exploring. Drawing. Shortcuts. Flirting. Rain. Talking. Cemeteries. People. Heights. Abandoned buildings.
  • Dislikes: Spiders. Clothing with sleeves. True silence. Indoors. Books. Lightning/Thunder. Being late. Fighting. Jump scares.
  • Fears: Being stuck in one place for the rest of his life. Being completely on his own. Losing a limb.
  Other
  ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
  
  • Kimberly doesn't know how to read or write, but there are some words he recognizes through pure memorization. These words usually pertain to the herbs and reagents he's been hired to obtain. Some of his maps have the names of neighborhoods on them - this is in response to him asking someone else to point out the name or write it and then he copies the letters.
  • Kimberly is enthralled with the abilities and talents of otherfolk and gifted humans. He finds that he's in awe and is just so happy to be able to witness such abilities that he skips over feeling jealous of not having his own.
  • Kimberly really wants a pet but knows he can't take care of one. Instead of having his own, he makes do with petting all the animals he can.
  • Kimberly deals with migraines.
  Relationships
  ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
  
  • (Character name here): XXX
  • (Character name here): XXX
  • (Character name here): XXX

Stefan​

​

 

[tityanya]

.

𝐸𝓂𝑜𝓇𝓎 𝒱𝒾𝓈𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒾

I am here: Castle Grounds
With: Eudora​

There was nothing in the world that I ever wanted more...⇙

╔══════════════════════════╗​

Emory watched the Countess' body language relax ever so slightly relaxed. Nearly imperceptible, if you weren't watching for it. She nodded lightly, and Emory could tell that she was genuinely taking in his words. His lips tightened a little at the words losing a child, but otherwise he made no reaction. She knew. She was a mother. He still thought of himself as a father, even if it was for a child that he never got the opportunity to spend time with. "You're welcome," he said softly. He could tell that she became lost in a thought of her own, her eyes far away as she thought no doubt of all the horrible things that could happen. Emory remained silent--he would give her the opportunity to think without forcing his way in.

She seemed to gather herself, tucking a strand of hair away. Emory wondered if she was even aware of the nervous gesture. Her eyes were shiny, but there wasn't anything welling inside them. Emory doubted the Countess would ever truly lose control of herself in front of him like that. She was so, so very proud. She fidgeted a little in the wind, no doubt trying to remain warm. Emory's jacket, and the alcohol, were doing a pretty good job of keeping him warm enough. But the wind was biting.

When she began to speak again, Emory was half expecting her tell him more about what had been bothering her. Maybe something about Alicia. He couldn't help how his jaw dropped with shock when she changed the subject entirely. Private matters of the crown...? Emory watched, flabbergasted, as she delicately constructed her question. Polite, but straight to the point.

How did he even begin to answer that?

Well, he was a military doctor at the palace. Marshall Lykeios? I don't know if you ever met him. But it turns out he was never actually a person at all, just a sentient rock that my father had reconfigured to be loyal to the crown. And now he kills the otherfolk he had previously elected to protect in secret. Hah, yeah. That was definitely something he could tell her. But well, she was right about court and how rumors would abound. Counter-information to combat the wild speculation was never a horrible idea. But how much could Emory tell her? "He is Yetzirah. My father found him and was enamored by his power. He is very..." inhuman was the word that came to Emory's mind. ...distant. Cold. Like something is wrong with him. But he is a gifted member of the military. I'm afraid I can't say much more than that." The lie bit at Emory's tongue, but he knew it was necessary. That was Yetzirah's cover story, and Emory wasn't going to contradict it. Plus, anyone who was near that creature could tell that it wasn't really human. It didn't do a good job of pretending to be. No wonder rumors were starting to abound already. Soldiers telling maids who told their lords and ladies.

It would seem dangerous and hypocritical of his father to keep someone inhuman around. And it was. King Jero loved his little toy, but was also terrified it would betray him. Emory personally could never understand why he didn't just throw the rock deep into the ocean and be done with it. To him, the stress of wondering how Yetzirah would rebel wasn't worth keeping his power around.

But well, Emory had a more sentimental reason to want to keep the rock around and not throw it into the ocean. He and his father were different people with different perspectives, after all.

╚══════════════════════════╝

((ooc: ))
((outfit))
((pictures of you))​

 

[TaperedNightjar]

Morgan Bandera
Artwork by Cytomoss​

• Location: The Drunken Crow (Florien).
• With: Veronica
• Wearing: Fancy.
• General status: Calming down

Morgan's face softened a bit as Veronica spoke. He then laughed at her comment about taking Mathew down a peg. Now that would have been entertaining. "I'm sure Boris would have had his hands full if the two of us actually went at Matthew. I have a lot pent up for him to be honest. The only thing stopping me are the other guards and soldiers. I would rather not get completely pummeled. Although, he's not exactly well-liked anyway. I'm sure several would find it entertaining. He has gotten himself beat up among the ranks countless times as it is."

He took another sip of his drink and thought about Veronica's earlier observations. "You are sharp. I can definitely see that. I do work on the castle grounds, specifically with the horses. I am the Stable Master and I am in charge of all of the soldier's and guard's mounts. It can be a thankless job. Their work would be a lot more difficult without their horses. It doesn't bother me too much at the end of the day though. I just ignore them and spend my days doing what I enjoy."

"If they give me too much trouble I just... you know... put their horse out of commission for a few days. See how they like walking the street on their own feet," he added with a playful smirk.

"Also, I can't help but think just now... that you do look vaguely familiar, but I can't place it."

 

[TaperedNightjar]

Vyrik Tal’Ho
Artwork by Keydo Burakai​

• Location: His cabin (Farmlands)
• With: Sherry.
• Current eye color: Brown.
• Wearing: White shirt, vest, warm cloak, trousers.
• General status: Stressed. Anxious. Guilty.

➤ Vyrik watched as Sherry poofed into her smaller form and scuttled down the edge of the roof to perch in the corner. He was silent for a long moment and then quietly rolled his shoulders back until they made a light pop. Vyrik stared into the dark of the tree line. His sharp eyes easily spotted the barred owl. The bird was some distance away and was pre-occupied with preening itself. It would not be a threat to Sherry tonight. His attention then turned back to the bowl of stew in his hands. His stomach was starving, he needed to eat. Yet at the same time the idea of eating made him feel a bit nauseous. His lips curled a bit. When was the last time he ate a full meal?

It had been at Marshall's. The last meal the trio had eaten together.

Vyrik stood and made his way back to the skylight. He climbed through it and into the loft bedroom once more. There was a long pause as he stared at Sherry from over the opening in the roof. "I'll be here when you're ready." His voice was barely above a whisper and it cracked a smidge as he spoke.

Upon reaching the first floor of his home again he stowed the stew away. It was placed back into the smoldering embers of the woodstove. Vyrik couldn't bear the thought of eating right now. He would come back to it later. There was plenty that needed to be done and he didn't have time to battle himself right now. The root was retrieved, as well as a knife, pestle and mortar, and a small sachet. Vyrik set to work slicing the root and then grinding it within the mortar. Once the root had been turned into paste he packed it into the sachet and then slipped it into the leather bag hanging by the front door.

As much as he wanted to stay home and look after Sherry, he still had other important things to take care of. Vyrik's days were always busy. He was often busy with work. Any free time he had was spent in the garden or with Sherry and friends. He could tell that Sherry wanted some space, and so he would give it to her. If that's what she wanted then he would let her have it. Although he also understood that sometimes what people wanted and what they needed were not the same. The Moonwing would give her the desired space for now, but he'd have to make an effort at comforting her again later.

After putting on a layer of outerwear Vyrik slipped out the front door and into the night air once more. He hoped to make this errands quick, but that rarely happened.

 

[TaperedNightjar]

Taavi Jokela​

Location: Hallways (Castle)
With: Yetzirah, Hector, Princess Corline, and Zayleigh
Wearing: Idk.
General status: Tired.

● Their assistance was unwanted. Taavi had offered and the guests had turned him down. An effort had been made, but it wasn't a matter he would press. Not as long as they stayed within the castle grounds like they had said. His blue eyes watched the trio for a moment. He recognized Zayleigh as the third member of the Eastwind party, although he had only ever exchanged pleasantries with her.

"Very well, I see no harm in it so long as you stick to safe areas. I do ask that you take a castle guard with you if you do decide to leave the perimeters though. We do our best to keep the streets free from dangerous Otherfolk, but some still hide in disguise."

It was all just as well. Taavi had been looking forward to taking his horse out all day. He hadn't left the castle grounds much over the past several days and was growing restless as a result. He wondered if Yetzirah felt the same, although he highly doubted it. Morgan had exercised their horses for them, but Taavi generally preferred to do so himself. Lazuli was one of his most prized possessions, along with his pack of hounds.

As Taavi moved to speak again, the sound of footsteps rounding the corner caught his attention. Upon turning to look behind him he spotted one of the messengers. The young boy with blonde hair stepped up to the group and gave a small bow. He then held a letter out to Princess Corline.

"Your Highness, a message from King Jero," the boy stated in a formal tone.

 

[Metallic Bold]

Alberto Jay Easton "Black Shot"



Location: Florien, Mirium- The Drunken Crow
With: N/A
Wearing: Assassin attire
General statues: Neutral, tired

The streets are crowded, even in the cold. Florien, the heart of Mirium, always seems to be crowded at night. The city seemed louder than usual though, swelling in a robust way that threatened to burst into Eagle Shore. It traveled through the air like smoke and wisped its way to him. It was an execution, a celebration of death in such a way as a holiday. Guards lined every street corner that sported a home for a bar or pub, their laughter like whips in the night. People danced on the streets and musicians strummed their callus fingers. The oil lamps and streetlights smeared. Hidden within the chaos, Black Shot weaves through them, catching the shapes of people's faces tinted in amber.

Perhaps that's why he's been requested here. Perhaps death always invited company to his dine once supper is finished, not enough blood to fill his goblet during dessert. But death couldn't hold everyone's attentions, eyes tailed him down the street and up the hill right to the front doors of the Drunken Crow. He pressed his hands forward, and he steps inside.

He startles a few plastered folks loitering around the door and they watch him bug eyed like a theater performance as he skims the establishment. His client hadn't arrived yet, he'll wage his time then. His heeled boots clicked amongst the chatter as he approaches the bar. He sweeps out a stool and sits a few seats down from a proper dressed man and a women lavished in maybe blue. The Drunken Crow was a hearty, prominent establishment and his client was either very ignorant of his surroundings or very slimy with his pockets. Black Shot wasn't the regal looking type, in fact he's seen his masked face plastered over the streets almost as much as he's seen himself like this in a mirror.

He weaves his fingers together and probs his elbow on the bar countertop, his palms ghost above his mouth. His fingers were soot covered, the lines of his knuckles stark and his nails imbedded in dirt. He glances over to the pair conversating. Stable Master, huh? He recognizes those sharp features and Greek nose from the roaster of guard jobs, Morgan something. Must be his horse outside. The women, however, was unfamiliar in his accounts but he made good sure to etch her face into his memory. For now, he'll simply wait.

 

[Gazimon X]

⬷ ☬ ⤐

Royal Writ of Mirim

By command of His Imperial and Royal Majesty,
King Jero Visconti of Mirim,

Her Royal Highness,
Princess Corline Faulkner of Eastwind,

is hereby invited to be present at the Grand Ballroom on the morrow at the seventh hour post meridiem,
to be introduced to Crown Prince Emory Visconti of Mirim.

⬷ ☬ ⤐​

 

[tityanya]

.

Ⲋⲧⲉ⳨ⲇⲛ Ⲃⲉⳑⳑⲥⲟⲙⲃ​

I am here: Streets
With: Kimberly

He was out in the forest? Stefan's mouth opened in the slightest "o," astounded by his own stupidity. Of course. There were places outside the city, Stefan! He personally just had never any need to leave the city's walls, and hadn't even thought about the forest that surrounded them. The Garwood was such a fascinating place, filled with all kinds of folklore and mysticism. Stefan had briefly studied it for a little while, had considered going to go hike in the Garwood himself--and then all his other classmates canceled on him and he was not about to go into some spooky woods all by himself, so he never went. But he was always curious about how many stories about the Garwood were true, and how many were people mistaking seeing a bear for a monster and creating a legend around it. If he had been more athletically inclined, that might have been his area of expertise in study. Unfortunately, he was a bit too...prissy to spend time out in the woods.

The man began to rock back in forth, excited like a little dog jumping around as he explained what is was that he did in the forest. He collected herbs, huh? How fascinating. "What is the most interesting thing you've found in the forest?" Stefan asked, his ancient interest in the Garwood rekindled at the mere mention of it. If the man in front of him spent a lot of time in the woods, maybe he could be Stefan's eyes and ears so he could do research without having the lift a finger? To drunk Stefan's mind, it was the perfect plan. Sober Stefan would probably realize that in order for the research to be accepted by his peers, it would have to be from his own eyes and ears, and not the word of a stranger.

The subject changed to one of the cold and Stefan's jacket. Stefan, lost in his own thoughts, didn't notice the man's hand reach out towards him, but stop short of actually touching him. The man's words brought Stefan out of his reverie--he could retrieve Stefan's jacket for him? Stefan's hand went to stroke his chin, considering the proposal. Would the people at the party be okay with some random man coming in and taking Stefan's jacket? But Stefan really didn't want to show his face again. He was still angry at how he was the one removed from the party, unjustifiably, when the other man was literal scum of the Earth.

Stefan's main concern was for the time it would take to get back--he could barely walk in a straight line, and it had taken him so long to get here...but his new friend said that he knew shortcuts around the city. Stefan could just keep making his way down the street. That wasn't a bad deal--he got to continue home, and either the man would bring him his jacket, or run off with it. It wasn't a jacket he was particularly sentimental towards, anyways. And honestly, he could afford another jacket of equal caliber, so it didn't matter that much to him if someone less fortunate made off with it.

"It could be like a thank you! Y'know for being nice and such - most people dressed like you aren't nice like this." Stefan's head tilted to the side, a vague, blank smile on his face. What...did that mean? He looked down at himself--okay, he was dressed fairly ornately. He had been at a party. The man elaborated, saying that Stefan didn't even box his ears. Stefan's jaw dropped, his face scandalized at the notion. "Striking another person is barbarous!" he exclaimed, although he wasn't sure if he was upset that someone thought he was capable of such a thing, or that it was something that the man in front of him had faced before. "I haven't even struck my horrible brother-in-law," he muttered, his bias against Prince Emory ever strong.

"I suppose it wouldn't be a bad idea to have you retrieve my jacket, if you wouldn't mind. The address is, hmmm..." Stefan pondered for a moment. "263 White Walk Lane. And I live on Stetlan Street. If you're as fast as you say, I'm sure you could beat me there," Stefan said with a good-natured laugh. "Don't bother talking with anyone inside, they're all pompous assholes. Just tell whoever answers the door that you're there for Stefan Bellcomb's jacket, and they should retrieve it for you. If they give you grief, just come back and find me and let me know." Stefan wasn't sure what he would do, but that was a bridge to cross when he got there.

Swaying back and forth, Stefan realized that he had accepted this man's help and hadn't even done the basic courtesy of introducing himself. His face was aghast for a moment, before he extended his hand out for a handshake. "The name is Stefan Bellcomb. Might I have the pleasure of knowing your name, as well?" Stefan didn't bother with the noble title--a commoner didn't care. Besides using it to avoid getting their ears boxed, that is. But the last name might have been recognizable enough--after all, it was the family that the late Crown Princess had originated from. And Stefan was in black and gray mourning garb. It wouldn't take too much effort to make a connection between him and the Bellcomb family as a whole.​

((ooc: sorry it took a bit, was in a bit of a low period for a while there!))
((outfit))
((I don't Care))​

Talk Think

 

[Rosacea]

𝐸𝓂𝑜𝓇𝓎 𝒱𝒾𝓈𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒾

I am here: Castle Grounds
With: Eudora​

There was nothing in the world that I ever wanted more...⇙

╔══════════════════════════╗​

Emory watched the Countess' body language relax ever so slightly relaxed. Nearly imperceptible, if you weren't watching for it. She nodded lightly, and Emory could tell that she was genuinely taking in his words. His lips tightened a little at the words losing a child, but otherwise he made no reaction. She knew. She was a mother. He still thought of himself as a father, even if it was for a child that he never got the opportunity to spend time with. "You're welcome," he said softly. He could tell that she became lost in a thought of her own, her eyes far away as she thought no doubt of all the horrible things that could happen. Emory remained silent--he would give her the opportunity to think without forcing his way in.

She seemed to gather herself, tucking a strand of hair away. Emory wondered if she was even aware of the nervous gesture. Her eyes were shiny, but there wasn't anything welling inside them. Emory doubted the Countess would ever truly lose control of herself in front of him like that. She was so, so very proud. She fidgeted a little in the wind, no doubt trying to remain warm. Emory's jacket, and the alcohol, were doing a pretty good job of keeping him warm enough. But the wind was biting.

When she began to speak again, Emory was half expecting her tell him more about what had been bothering her. Maybe something about Alicia. He couldn't help how his jaw dropped with shock when she changed the subject entirely. Private matters of the crown...? Emory watched, flabbergasted, as she delicately constructed her question. Polite, but straight to the point.

How did he even begin to answer that?

Well, he was a military doctor at the palace. Marshall Lykeios? I don't know if you ever met him. But it turns out he was never actually a person at all, just a sentient rock that my father had reconfigured to be loyal to the crown. And now he kills the otherfolk he had previously elected to protect in secret. Hah, yeah. That was definitely something he could tell her. But well, she was right about court and how rumors would abound. Counter-information to combat the wild speculation was never a horrible idea. But how much could Emory tell her? "He is Yetzirah. My father found him and was enamored by his power. He is very..." inhuman was the word that came to Emory's mind. ...distant. Cold. Like something is wrong with him. But he is a gifted member of the military. I'm afraid I can't say much more than that." The lie bit at Emory's tongue, but he knew it was necessary. That was Yetzirah's cover story, and Emory wasn't going to contradict it. Plus, anyone who was near that creature could tell that it wasn't really human. It didn't do a good job of pretending to be. No wonder rumors were starting to abound already. Soldiers telling maids who told their lords and ladies.

It would seem dangerous and hypocritical of his father to keep someone inhuman around. And it was. King Jero loved his little toy, but was also terrified it would betray him. Emory personally could never understand why he didn't just throw the rock deep into the ocean and be done with it. To him, the stress of wondering how Yetzirah would rebel wasn't worth keeping his power around.

But well, Emory had a more sentimental reason to want to keep the rock around and not throw it into the ocean. He and his father were different people with different perspectives, after all.

╚══════════════════════════╝

((ooc: ))
((outfit))
((pictures of you))​

Eudora Withersbury​

Where am I? Castle Gardens
With whom? Emory
I apologise for how late this is, anyway here is Eudora, amateur conspiracy theorist and master of making wild political assumptions.

The countess's eyes narrowed slightly as she listened to Emory’s explanation. Like something is wrong with him. So, the prince was very much uncomfortable around this figure, this plaything that King Jero had christened the new executioner. She wondered why, but perhaps it was the violence the Knight had demonstrated that unsettled him. Eudora knew His Highness was only echoing what the palace had approved, but still- Not even a last name! Did the palace think this would lessen the circulating rumors? She could almost hear the whispers. A foreigner maybe, or a former unregistered gifted child of one of the high-ranking and powerful noble families, now used as a weapon by the crown. A prisoner, a cruel experiment, an ungodly priest who had conspired with dark forces. The possibilities surrounding this man's identity were endless and the ladies of the court would have much to bicker about. if he was man at all, which she heartedly doubted.

It was too hypocritical, too typical of Jero to twist the arm of the very target of his crusade and make them raise his sword. No, if she had to risk a substantial fleet of trading ships, she would bet the Knight to be Otherfolk. It would explain the excessive secrecy around this figure, the princes discomfort, and his startling powers, which she had never seen a gifted human use before. This was a fascinating, potentially troubling development. Eudora’s mind swirled with questions. What kind of Otherfolk could this be? Yetzirah…are there any origins to be traced from that name? Why did King Jero decide to make this obvious demonstration of power now? What, besides brute power, does this Knight possess that makes them worthwhile enough to the notoriously paranoid King? Or was this a change of policy, could this signify a potential integration of Otherfolk into the army?

Eudora seemed active, almost pleased at the prince's cryptic reply, her mind firmly distracted from its dark, panicked thoughts. A clear confirmation. Something had changed. Something was brewing on the political horizon, grey and foreboding, the color of an unsheathed sword.

“Gifted. I see. Well, he certainly seems…competent, regarding matters of security.” Eudora replied, her face neutral and calculating. Could she dig any further? Would it be wise to? The prince indicated that he did not want to discuss the matter, his last sentence an obvious dismissal.

“How surprising that his majesty suddenly decided to make changes to the castle guard.” She continued her interrogation, careful in her attempt to prevent alienation. “Will this soldier adopt the role of executioner, or is he simply a member of the military?” She asked carefully. “Of course, I understand if that is still private information. I am sure the courts anxieties will be lifted during the next royal council meeting. You will attend, your majesty, this time?” Eudora inquired politely, trying to smooth any edges from her potentially invasive questions. In reality, she really did not need to know if Emory showed up. All he did was bluster, stammering through his prewritten speeches until she writhed in internal agony. Some of her colleagues seemed to find it funny, but his behaviour just annoyed her. How difficult could it be to give a well-structured question to a harmless trade inquiry? No, she would prefer if he did not inconvenience her with his royal presence.

Anyway, before the next council meeting, she had the first advisor of defense to interrogate. Even if it was doubtful that he knew anything. Eudoras eyes wandered to the castle behind them, its looming presence secretive and threatening.

Just what was the King hiding this time?

 

[Malacina]

• Post
• Profile

• 
  Zayleigh Hellswater
  How wonderful is it that we laugh because our bodies simply cannot contain the joy?
  
  As she had trained her eyes onto Corline, Zayleigh caught the princess waving her towards the group. Humming for a moment as she digested the request before crossing the distance almost lazily, though it was mostly because of hesitation. She was not particular keen to be near the security captain or metal knight, but did not want to leave her party in their company. If Coline and Hector could stand there, so should she.
  
  Taking up a step behind Corline and Hector, Zayleigh just catches the knight's neutral words. She cocked her head, eyes drawing towards him. The slits of his helmet left a void and the pale glow of his armor made the contrast worse, darkening the area more and leaving Zayleigh switching her gaze quickly away from him. As cool and uncaring as the metal knight's words, Captain Hector's were as heated. Not an open fire, but the coals in a kitchen after being used all day with a simmering heat cracking through seams straining to keep everything in. A small grin pulled at Zayleigh's mouth, always thrilled to see someone speak the words they mean. He was also correct, which was a bonus.
  
  Corline's correction of Hector was of no surprise, as neither were her kind and firm words for the security captain. Captain Jokela took in the words for a moment, reviewing the trio, measuring how much he trusted the words spoken to him, before giving in with one last warning. Zayleigh smiled pleasantly, crinkling at her eyes as she placed her hands protectively over both of Corline's shoulders. She didn't rest her palms on the other woman, instead, letting them hover just above as her calloused fingers pressed lightly into the soft cloth of Corline's dress. Well, all but one. She wasn't about to let the one wrapped in a silver band touch the young royal. "Do not worry, Captain Taavi Jokela, our own Captain can take of any dangers we may find ourselves in. The princess is in good hands." Zayleigh offered the assurance with a curve of her lips and the same lilted tone she always uses with strangers as it was often received by people as being more pleasant and attentive where she normally would sound distant in a deeper tone of care.
  
  Her eyes fell away from the captain, head moving to track the movement of a young boy approached the group and held a letter in fine stationary out to Corline. "Oh, it seems the crowns have extended their hands to you, my lady." Who else would use such elegant paper? Though if it was from the king or the prince, Zayleigh wasn't about to offer a guess for. One would certainly be better than the other, but even Zayleigh was aware enough to know that such words should not leave her lips in the present company.
  
  Location: Castle Hallway near Princess Corline's suite.
  Company: Princess Corline, Captain Hector, Captain Taavi, & Yetzirah
  Wearing: A collared, bishop-sleeved dress that's an inch too long in the hem, and a double-breasted vest with a heavy frock coat and a hat over loose hair.
  
  OCC: N/A
  
  
• 
  The Basics
  ▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
  
  • Real name: Zayleigh Hellswater
  • Nickname: Leia
  • Age: Thirty-seven (37)
  • Gender: Female
  • Height: 6'3"
  • Romantic preferences: Heterosexual
  • Race/Species: Human
  • Role: Gifted
  • Time in Mirim: A few days.
  • Neighborhood: The Castle
  Appearance, hobbies, and abilities
  ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
  
  • Hair color: Bright orange bordering on red.
  • Eye color: Blue dominated Hazel
  • Scars and body markings: The most prominent alteration to Zayleigh's body is also probably the one she keeps out of the public eye. Zayleigh lost her right leg just below the knee some time ago and has had a prosthetic replacement for just as long. The prosthetic has been carved and painted to replicate her own skin. Over the years, the prosthetic has gotten better - the craftsman working in cables, gears, and sockets to aid in jointed movement. The prosthetic is attached with straps and laced around her thigh. There is some scarring on the same leg, and then she has stretch marks and a C-section scar on her abdomen.
  • Occupation: Medical Woman, Doctor
  • Hobbies:
    • Reading Poetry, Sewing/Cross-Stitching, Playing Chess/Checkers, Collecting Animal Figurines.
  • Abilities:
    • Mending: What makes Zayleigh considered a gifted human is her ability to Mend. This allows her to fix tears in clothing, repair broken pottery, and even heal minor wounds. It is very helpful in her line of work, however, it takes a lot of her energy to use the ability. In addition, to successfully Mend something there has to be two sides of what needs to be repaired and the sides have to be able to touch. She cannot create new matter or substance, only connect whats already there. The two sides also must be of the same material.
    • Field Medic: Zayleigh originally learned how to tend to wounds in field tents and in armor, allowing her to do more with less and find ways to tend to wounds that aren't the most ideal, but that work. It also means she understands just how likely someone is to truly survive specific wounds.
    • Medical Doctor: Zayleigh is a skilled surgeon with extensive medical knowledge and logs of how to use different medicines, salves, and iccours.
  The Personal Things
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  • Personality: Zayleigh is the type of Kind that only comes from suffering, something that is noticed the most with her Gothic humor, Idealist outlook, and almost Ominous Positivity. Something that one might not guess based on her more Whimiscal appearance - dressing in more fluid clothing often in whites, creams, and florals. Despite the Mysterious air that surrounds her, there is something Welcoming about her. Perhaps, it is because she presents as very Caring and overly Motherly to those around her or perhaps it's how Fearless and Calm she appears to be in even the most chaotic of times. And yet, this soft strength can be overshadowed by a sort of Aimlessness about her that leaves conversations with her Flowery and even disconnected.
  The Fun Things
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  • Likes: Flowers and their meanings. Being able to help alleviate someone's pain. Icy and cold weather. The sun, stars, and moon. Poetry. Drawing. Tea. Music. Winter.
  • Dislikes: Anger. The idea that respect has to be earned. Card games. Gambling. Flies. Cloudy days. Liquor. Talking about her family.
  • Fears: The dark, including the night. Having to return to Ostello. Simultaneously seeing and never seeing her family again.
  Other
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  • Zayleigh occasionally suffers from phantom pains in her right leg.
  • Zayleigh takes a lot of notes on anything and everything. Because of this she normally carries around a graphite stick or ink and is willing to write on anything, including her own skin.
  • All of her books are heavily annotated with notes and drawings.
  • Her favorite color is a bright shade of deep purple despite wearing and owning anything in the color.
  • She cannot carry a tune but is a very good dancer.
  • Zayleigh learned how to wield a sword when she was in the Ostello military. However, over the last decade, she hasn't needed to nor wanted to hold a blade in such a manner.
  • She can read tarot and tea leaves.
  • She still wears her wedding ring.
  Relationships
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  • Princess Corline Faulkner: XXXX
  • Captain Hector Darius: XXX
  • King Elliot: Out of the majority of nobles and royalty, Zayleigh has met, she finds King Elliot to be one of the better ones. She is also not blind to the love he has for his daughter, something that Zayleigh is sympathetic to.

Taavi​

Yetzirah​

Hector & Corline​