Fantasy // The Other Side // Open/Accepting

[TaperedNightjar]

The Other Side
This roleplay is marked MATURE and is not suitable for minors​

• Thread Owner/Captain ● WinterHound
• Moderator ● tityanya
• Members ● N/A
• Themes ● Survival, slice-of-life, resistance, tyranny. Fantasy with very basic technological advances (Indoor plumbing, firearms, oil lamps/oil).

The Kingdom of Mirim is prosperous land with fields of wheat, a port for fishing and trading ships, art shops, bakeries, cafes, and farms-a-plenty for raising cattle and other animals. Mirim is a powerful kingdom that prides itself on its success in the trading industry. A majority of the kingdom’s population is made up of humans. Among the humans is a smaller population of "Otherfolk." The Otherfolk are beings who are non-human. The relationship between the Humans of Mirim and the Otherfolk has been touch-and-go for as long as anyone can remember. Humans and "Others" often to have biased views of one-another.

Ten years ago a large group of Otherfolk caused an uproar in Mirim and tried to overthrow the throne. Although they were powerful beings, the Othwerfolk were outnumbered by humans, as well as non-humans who were against the uprising. Many of the offenders were killed on site, others were hanged, and a few still remain imprisoned within the castle's dungeon. The current ruler, King Jero, lost what little trust he had in the Otherfolk. His predecessors had allowed the non-humans to live in the Kingdom, but Jero had always held prejudice against them. For Jero, this attack was the final straw. It was on that day ten years ago that he decreed all Otherfolk be removed from Mirim. Those who did not go willingly would be forced out, imprisoned, or executed.

Since this new law was put in place a majority of Mirim's Otherfolk population were purged from the Kingdom. Many were forced into "The North," a location no human could ever venture into and survive. The North is split from Mirim by a vast canyon filled with dangerous beasts and acidic waters. Life is hard in the North. For over a century Otherfolk have been traveling from the North and into the lower kingdoms in search of a better life. Sadly, if they wish to live better these days they must proceed beyond Mirim and venture into neighboring kingdoms. This kind of traveling is not possible for everyone and many simply decide to settle in Mirim. Guards are placed along the length of the canyon on Mirim's side. Regardless, a handful of Otherfolk do make it to Mirim every year. How they get to the kingdom on their own is a mystery.

If one wants to survive in Mirim one must do their best to appear human. Many Otherfolk use potions and charms to change their appearances. Some also forge legal documents to appear as though they are immigrants from neighboring kingdoms. However, the King's men are constantly trying to search for these "monsters." Many humans employed by the king are known as "Gifted Humans." These humans possess unusual abilities such as telepathy, telekinesis, invisibility, etc. Even though they are not ordinary humans, their abilities do not cause them to be labeled as Otherfolk.

The Otherfolk are not alone in their efforts to survive. Within the shadows of it all, an organization has formed. The Otherfolk Protection aims to provide assistance to any and all non-humans who find themselves in need. Their leader is a mysterious figure who goes by the name of Nova. The veins of the Otherfolk Protection run deep through Mirim as the organization continues to grow. For eight years the OP has been able to stay on the down low, but will it be able to keep up with the number of Otherfolk steadily rising in Mirim?

Title Inspiration: The Other Side, Sirenia.
All new characters must have an application and profile PM’d to tityanya AND myself. Do not post profiles in the character thread until they have been approved! Please look at the character thread for more information on this process.

 

[TaperedNightjar]

Roles

Otherfolk (Open)
Vyrik, Morgan, Yetzirah, Veronica
​

• Otheroflk are the beings who have been outlawed from Mirim. Some were born there, later to be banished to the Shadowed North. Others have immigrated to the kingdom, either from neighboring lands or from the North itself. Mirim may be ruled by a tyrant of a king, but regardless, it is still safer than some of the other lands. Mirim offers plenty of food, a steady economy, and a chance at making a comfortable living wage. As a result, it is still appealing to many, regardless of the laws. If one can hide successfully among the humans, why bother risking it all to go elsewhere?

• Who classifies as an Otherfolk? This question comes up quite often. Some examples of Otherfolk are vampires, werefolk, shifters, merfolk, selkies, dragons, centaurs, nymphs, and ghosts. Basically, anyone who isn’t a human can be classified as an Otherfolk.

• Our preferences as Mods for Otherfolk (Please read): We ask that everyone read everything about this roleplay very carefully. Please do your best to submit characters that fit our vibe/aesthetic. It's fine to pull inspiration from various real-life cultures but please keep in mind the theme. Think more gothic horror and less anime.

- - - - - -​

The humans (Open)
Eudora, Stefan
​

• The Humans of Mirim are your basic everyday humans. They cannot shift or fly. They cannot breathe underwater. This, however, does not mean their roles are unimportant to the kingdom. While they may not be as remarkable as their Gifted counterparts, humans make up a vast majority of the kingdom’s population. They keep the economy flowing. Some popular occupations for the humans of Mirim are dock work, fishing, cooking, baking, servant work, art, city patrol, guard work, farming, trading (with other kingdoms), dressmaker, and cobbler.

- - - - - -

The Gifted Humans (Open)
​

• The Gifted Humans make up the second-largest portion of Mirim’s population. Gifted Humans are those who are predominantly human, but may carry an ability (or few) that set them apart from regular humans. They are generally born from parents who both have gifted abilities. However, they may occasionally have only one gifted parent. The rarest, are the ones who do not have gifted parents at all. This does happen on occasion but is incredibly rare.

• Some Gifted Humans are employed as sentries around the canyon/Divide while others may perform business inspections, home raids, and the likes. Some examples of "gifts" may include but are not limited to; invisibility, teleportation, control of various elements, floating, breathing underwater, super-strength, and more.

- - - - - -

Special Roles​

• Prince and Princess of Mirim: (Emory, PRINCESS OPEN) These characters can be any age between 19-30. Given the stance that the King has over the Otherfolk, he has likely tried to raise his children with similar views. However, whether or not they comply could be a completely different story. King Jero likely forces his opinions and beliefs on his son the most. The royal family are all humans, and some (or even all) can be gifted.

• Prince or Princess of Eastwind: (Full, Corline) The Prince/Princess (Player's choice) of Eastwind was sent to Mirim by their father (King Elliot) to be a guest at the castle and gather as much information on Mirim's current politics as possible. They are there under the guise of meeting the Prince/Princess of Mirim for potential marriage. They can be any age between 19-30. They can be Human or Gifted Human.

• Guard of Eastwind: (OPEN) A personal guard of the Prince/Princess of Eastwind has been sent along for protection. They can be Human, Gifted Human, or Otherfolk. If they are Otherfolk they will still need to hide their identity in order to not cause a conflict.

• Guard of Korillo: (Full, Hector) King Briar has sent one of his best guards with the Prince/Princess of Eastwind as a way of helping his best allies. This character can be Human, Gifted Human, or Otherfolk. If they are Otherfolk they will benefit from keeping it a secret whilst in Mirim.

• Captain of Security (COS): (Full, Taavi) This person is in charge of security personnel and the Gifted Humans who work for the King. They are also in charge of interrogations, trials, exiles, and executions. It is their job to make sure that security in Mirim remains tight and is done properly.

 

[TaperedNightjar]

Rules​

• Users should be 18+
• Even with an 18+ story, please make sure to give content warnings when necessary and be mindful of how you word the content in your posts.
• Please do not keep your partner/partners waiting longer than two weeks for a reply. If you find yourself waiting longer than that, feel free to move your character.
• Post your character's name, location, and who they are with in each post.
• Please ask me before posting any chaos that would interrupt a large group of characters or destroy a large portion of the kingdom. For example, you can say your character robbed someone. That's fine. But if your character is going to set an entire neighborhood on fire, please ask first.
• Please no real-life photos of people for your characters.
• Do not take control of someone else's character. If your characters are fighting, plot it out with one another.
• Post in third person.
• At least two paragraphs per post is nice, but not required. Some posts may naturally be shorter, and others longer.
• Character applications are just little summaries of your character idea. These are so that I can look over the basic idea for your character before you put in the effort of filling out an entire profile for them. Profiles can be filled out after I receive an application and have given you the go-ahead.
• All characters should be period appropriate! Make sure they fit the setting of the RP.

 

[TaperedNightjar]

Vyrik Tal’Ho
Artwork by Keydo Burakai​

• Location: Garwood Forest > The Farmlands.
• With: No one.
• Current eye color: Brown.
• Wearing: Mud, cream shirt with long sleeves, brown pants, brown cloak, boots, and a pack.
• General status: Stressed. Anxious.

➤ Vyrik growled in frustration as he crawled free from beneath the body of a large beast. The creature was massive, at least the size of a full grown male bovine. It had long matted fur that smelled of mold and filth. It's face was long with two rows of sharp teeth on each jaw. The front paws were wide with toes that tapered into razor sharp claws. This was not a creature that folks within the inner walls of Mirim would see on a daily basis. Or at all. The oversized mole-like beast only resided within Garwood forest. It just so happened that Vyrik and the giant omnivorous animal ended up in the same place at the same time. A miscalculation on his part had brought Vyrik directly into the creature's burrow. He would have preferred to leave it alive, however, the mole had given him no choice when it tried to eat him alive as a punishment for the intrusion.

The Moonwing attempted to wipe mud from his eyes but his hands were filthy. He painstakingly removed his cloak and used it to clean his face the best he could for now. He managed to free his eyes from the mess, but his face was still covered in a thick layer of earth. Once he could see again he quickly made his way through the forest and back toward the farmlands. Upon reaching the edge of the forest he peered out into the vast fields that lay before him. He could feel a painful stinging sensation coming from his abdomen, but the Moonwing wasn't too concerned about it. It didn't hurt that badly, so how serious could it be?

Brown eyes continued to study the darkness in front of him. Once he decided that the coast was clear of pestering guards he straightened up and headed toward the nearest dirt path. It wouldn't take him too long to reach home. Well, so long as no one stopped him, and the man sure hoped that would be the case. He was exhausted and running off of no sleep. His body yearned for rest, but his mind wouldn't let him. The past several months had left him drained more than ever before.

A second maturation. Like hell. This was the worst. Adolescence had been hard enough already, and yet once again the feathered creature inside was changing and evolving into something more. This left Vyrik wanting nothing more than to sleep for weeks on end. It also caused him to have an insatiable appetite, yet he struggled to eat. So much had happened recently, which in turn made him anxious and nauseated a majority of the time.

His boots crunched lightly as he made his way down the dark path. The dirt roads of the farmlands were not lit like those within the city walls. Some homes had oil lamps lighting the paths to their houses, but the main roads were not lit. Many folks would have to use moonlight or lamps to navigate, but not Vyrik. No, the Moonwing was able to see just fine in the dark. This ability served him well as he made his way toward home at a fast walk.

 

[Gazimon X]

It had come without warning. A voice once poised with dignity and gravitas, had become ragged and pained.

“V.” The nickname was interrupted by a shuddering growl, like static noise in the mind, jarring and senseless. “I… I have been compromised. If you do not hear from me in an hour, ah…. grrruh … a precaution — abandon the clinics and hideouts. Go to ground. We… we cannot lose all we have built.”

He wanted to say more. So much more.

He wanted to say his name, to feel the purr of the word on his lips, but there was no time. He was purging. Names. Locations. Identities. All his carefully catalogued compendium of otherfolk specimens, shredding away between his fingers; the bitter and sweet memories that they shared, shattering in his mind.

“My friend. My precious one. I will miss you. I wish I could—“

Then his psychic voice was gone, and the void was uncaring and silent.

​

Past Occurrence // The Disappearance of Sol

 

[TaperedNightjar]

Morgan Bandera
Artwork by Cytomoss​

• Location: The Drunken Crow (Florien).
• With: Boris (NPC), crowd.
• Wearing: Fancy.
• General status: Stressed. Anxious.

⋙ As soon as Morgan pulled up to the Drunken Crow he could tell that there was quite the commotion happening inside. He dismounted from the roan horse he was riding and kept his eyes on the front door of the establishment. The curtains had been drawn closed once the sun set, so Morgan was only able to make out the silhouettes of those inside. Voices were raised and he observed one shadow throw a chair at another. The man shook his head and tied his horse to the post at the edge of the sidewalk.

"Looks like there's a lot going on tonight, eh Hawk?" He gave the blue horse as a pat on the neck. "I don't think you'll get too bored. not with this grand show to watch."

The door to the bar swung open and out came the giant bartender, Boris. His curly mustache and large frame were an icon of Florien. He held one man under each arm. One had a bloody nose and the other a black eye. Morgan forced himself to hold back a wide grin at the sight. Occurrences like this were common in the bar. Hell, they were common anywhere groups of men and beer came together. Morgan watched as Boris unceremoniously heaved both men to the street.

"Git on home and don't come back until ya sober up!" Boris grunted. His brown eyes then spotted Morgan. "Drinks waitin' for ya."

Morgan smiled and followed Boris inside. The bar was quite packed tonight and rather loud at the far end. "Quite the group you have tonight. That's what happens when the guards and soldiers decide to celebrate."

"Aye, that's what happens when there's an execution," Boris replied. There had been an Otherfolk execution that same morning. Seeing the guards and soldiers celebrate such a thing made Boris' stomach sick.

Morgan on the other hand, had not a care in the world. He pulled a stool out from the bar and grabbed the drink that Boris slid down to him. He tipped the glass to his lips and took a sip as his sharp green eyes scanned the faces in the bar.

 

[tityanya]

.

𝖁𝖊𝖗𝖔𝖓𝖎𝖈𝖆 𝕽𝖔𝖘𝖓𝖔𝖎𝖗𝖊​

I am here:
With:

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

Veronica had heard the news from her maids that evening. An otherfolk execution. They chatted about it as the brushed her hair, talking about how all the soldiers in the city were celebrating. Veronica wasn't mad at the maids for discussing it--in fact, she was the reason why they discussed these things at all. She had asked them to bring her any interesting news that had happened during the day while she was sleeping. But the news...made her stomach turn. King Jero, the bastard. What crime was this person "guilty" of? Defending themselves from soldiers?

Veronica needed more information. For her own sake. So she went out to where she knew she could find some: The Drunken Crow. The owner of the bar was a friend, and since it was in Florian it was also very popular with the soldiers. All she had to do was go there, get a drink, and listen. So she dressed for her outing, in her opinion a rather simple black and white striped dress that didn't convey too much that she was from Maple Hill, and tied her hair up high. She knew that going to a bar full of soldiers was a risk, just as a woman. But she was more than capable of caring her herself.

With a kiss goodbye to Grover, Veronica got in a carriage and set off. She arrived to the sight of Boris throwing out a couple of men, their faces bloodied and bruised. A smirk crossed her face, but she otherwise paid the men no mind. They would either find their way home or continue brawling in the street, and she cared about neither. She followed the green haired fellow in, nimbly dodging her way through the crowd and towards the bar, closer to where the soldiers were sitting. She made sure to keep a distance, though. A woman sitting next to a group of drunk soldiers and guards was just asking for trouble.

It also, coincidentally, happened to be right next to the green-haired man. Boris had already slid the man a drink without him asking. "Anything for you, miss?" Boris asked, his gaze turning to Veronica. The two had an unspoken agreement that no matter how many times she went to the bar, he never remembered her. "Wine, please. Whatever you have," she answered. He nodded, going off to fetch the drink for her. Veronica turned her attention to the man. She didn't come to the Drunken Crow often enough--she didn't recognize him. But that didn't entirely mean she hadn't seen him here before. If he was getting drinks without asking, he was a frequent enough patron to be of interest to her.

"How often does a man have to come here before the bartender knows his drink without asking?" Veronica asked, her chin gingerly resting on her folded hand as her eyes glittered with amusement. It was a strong, if somewhat cliché opening. But she found that usually with these men, subtlety wasn't their forte. She would adjust her strategy at his response; stronger, the same, or less.

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((ooc: ))
((Dress))
((Mediate))​

 

[TaperedNightjar]

Morgan Bandera
Artwork by Cytomoss​

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

Morgan didn't pay Veronica any attention when she arrived. He was busy watching three men talk in the far corner. Two were young soldiers. The third was a salt and pepper haired guard. The two soldiers were full of energy and talked quickly with the guard, who simply sat back in his seat and listened quietly with a neutral expression on his weathered face. Morgan's lip quirked up a tiny bit in a faint smirk.

Green eyes turned to the woman who had entered while he was distracted. "A couple nights a week," he answered in a smooth voice. Morgan picked up his cup and took another sip of the whiskey.

"I don't see women in such nice dresses in this bar very often," he commented. Her dress wasn't as fancy as those the women from Maple Hill wore, but it also did not fit the kind of women who frequented the bar. When he noticed she was alone, his eyebrow quirked but he decided not to comment.

"Did you come to celebrate with the soldiers?"

 

[Gazimon X]

Yetzirah
Taavi Jokela | Reminiscent

Executions were, sometimes, interesting.

All who stood – chained – atop the Death’s Door platform surely wished that their end would be swift and painless, at the lob of an experienced headman’s sword or axe. But beheadings, often considered the most honorable and least cruel way to die, were reserved for knighted men, highly-esteemed gentry and nobility. The Otherfolk, deemed lesser than human and a plague upon mankind, were never given this courtesy – especially when fears of their regenerative abilities lingered like mould.

Fire. Scalding oil. Crushing. Quartering. Flaying.

All these could be performed by normal men whom the heavens had skipped over in their elect of a blessed one. Then, there were times when the magically-inclined Gifted were called upon to assist the scourging of an inhuman monster. These employed more creative means, piercing by icicles, strangulation and torn apart by magical vines or even petrification. A reminder and show of the power the crown held, and continued to hold, over the protected and purified kingdom of Mirim.

The ritualistic display of punishment had been fast and furious at the beginning of the new laws. Monsters had been hauled before judicial proceedings in the sight of the public and their crimes laid bare. The shocked consternation of seeing neighbours, friends and loved ones dragged to their doom quickly faded over the months and years when it became easier to pin the blame on murderers and scapegoats. There had been a frenzy when citizens had warmed to the idea of the Purge, and even warmer to the monetary rewards that came with their cooperation. Those darker days had been celebrated as a new beginning for Mirim, free of the predators, parasites and stumbling blocks that had hindered her progress. Now that the executions were less common, they had regained an audience of morbid curiosity.

As Dr. Marshall Morgandy, he had never had to participate directly in the proceedings. Occasionally the body or remains were collected from the aftermath and sent to the morgue, where he would be required to confirm if the non-human was truly dead, or if there was a chance, no matter how fractionally unlikely, that there could be a revival. As the military’s senior doctor, he’d more important duties to attend to, such as saving the living.

But now some of them knew the truth: the king and his heir, the high-ranking commanders and officials, and his former friend — the captain of the Gifted soldiers. That he was not the refugee gifted who had pledged his service in the employ of the crown all those years ago. His gifts were not limited to telekinesis and liquid manipulation either. And he certainly wasn’t human – he might not even be considered alive. He was The Door. A relic gateway to unimaginable power. A philosopher’s stone playing at the mimicry of life.

Now he was charged to play with death. He turned the memory of the morning’s event over in his mind, carefully like a child examining the pebble. The crowd had been uneased to see him; he did not emulate a human well in this body, but then even masquerading as a soldier in ornate armour, he found that he did not care much for their opinions. It had been an observation he noted, nothing more. Greater so was the burst of glee he had felt when the creature’s heart had been excised from its chest, speared upon the tip of his polearm. That organ had been the last to be carved out from the abdominal cavity. That Jero had commanded his new toy to kill the otherfolk — the irony was not lost on him.

Yetzirah’s eyes glowed with a brightened hue as he strode to Captain Jokela’s side. It had been a long day and he could see weariness darkening the creases around the human’s eyes.

“You should come and visit me.” Came the quiet whisper, despite the fact that he had spent almost all day at Jokela’s side. “We could drink like old times...”

 

[tityanya]

.

𝖁𝖊𝖗𝖔𝖓𝖎𝖈𝖆 𝕽𝖔𝖘𝖓𝖔𝖎𝖗𝖊​

I am here: the Drunken Crow
With: Morgan

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

Veronica's eyes followed the green haired man's to the corner of the bar. Just a casual glance on her part, curious about who he was watching. A trio of guards or soldiers or some type, one listening quietly while the other two spoke animatedly. Veronica made a mental note to try and keep track of those three--perhaps they had seen something at the castle. She spoke to the man, asking him about how often he came to The Drunken Crow. A couple nights a week he answered smoothly. Veronica gave him a pleasant smile, tucking that information away for later. She might ask Boris about him later.

Her wine arrived, and Veronica took it with a nod, holding the glass delicately as she sipped and looked over the bar floor. He took a sip of his whiskey, before mentioning that her dress looked rather nice for the usual clientele of the bar. Did it? Damn. She didn't want to wear any of her other, far more simple dresses. She was peacocking, after all. Trying to subtly draw the attention and eyes of loose-lipped soldiers who would spill any beans to her. His eyebrow quirked for a moment, something Veronica didn't have too much trouble interpreting, especially with his next statement. She was alone at a bar. That was a scandalous position for any woman to be in. But Veronica was a scandalous woman already, so she didn't care.

"Celebrate isn't exactly the word I'd use," she told him with a laugh. "I just like hearing the news straight from the source. My name's Veronica Rosnoire, by the way. Might I have yours?" Veronica asked, extending her free hand for him to shake, should he desire. She'd already been able to pin him as the shrewd type--she had to be careful with playing her hand. Show too much and he'd either back off and she got no information at all, or he would hoard the information for a cost.

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((ooc: ))
((Dress))
((Mediate))​

 

[Caffeinated Joy]

Princess Corline Faulkner
With: Hector Darius
Location: Inside the castle, on her way to her room
​

Corline walked down the castle corridors, heading toward her rooms. Hector’s heavy footfalls fell behind her, his presence intimidating to most others, but comforting to her. The few days they had been in Mirim had been filled with court meetings, formal dinners and scores of introductions. Yet she had yet to have been formally introduced to the one she came here under the pretense of meeting – Prince Emory, though she had seen him in passing. Was King Jero waiting for her to pass some sort of test before deeming her worthy to meet his heir? She had only traveled across three kingdoms to do so after all. Allegedly.

The castle was a bustling hive of activity, much like her own home, but there was a palpable tension in the air here, as if everyone was waiting for the next shoe to drop, so to speak. There was definitely laughter and conversation among the castle staff, but it was…reserved. The execution of the Otherfolk earlier that day had people on edge.

“Hector.” She announced. “I think I’d like to take in the night air and go for a walk on the grounds.” She brushed a hand along the silver shot ivory silk skirt of her gown. “After I change into something less…” Corline smiled and nodded at a maid who bobbed a quick curtsy as she scurried by, “Something less glamourous and stiff, and something more comfortable. We’ve been cooped up indoors since we got here.”

She glanced over her shoulder at Hector, smiling up at him. “Poor you, having to eat only 3 times a day.” She laughed when he rolled his eyes.

They arrived at her rooms and she slipped inside, closing the door behind her. She knew Hector would stand in front of her door, and she could talk softly under her breath, secure in the knowledge he would hear her but no one else would. She opened her wardrobe and selected a simple blue walking dress trimmed in black, silently longing to wear trousers, and got changed, softly whispering her concerns to her friend.

 

[Caffeinated Joy]

Captain Hector Darius
With: Princess Corline
Location: Castle​

Hector heaved a sigh of relief when Princess Corline politely excused herself and left the Great Hall. Watching Mirin’s upper crust vying for political favour from King Jero (who he really wanted to punch in the nose), while circling around Princess Corline as if they were sharks and she a piece of chum, had him gritting his teeth so hard his jaw muscles ached. A few of them tried engaging him in conversation, but, since he was playing the part of big and stupid, he kept his answers short, simple, and sometimes a little rude. Being a little bit rude to a pompous blow-hard was one of his favourite things, so he indulged.

He felt himself relax a bit as he strode down the hall behind the Princess, taking care to keep his steps measured to avoid stepping on her heels. The air in there had smelled tantalizingly of the food, but it was hard to enjoy with the acrid stink of overly perfumed bodies mingling with the scents of fear, anger and even lust. Why did humans have to go and try covering up their natural odour with oils and flowers? It was vile. You could tell a lot about a person from their smell, enough that King Briar banned the heavy use of perfume in his court.

Princess Corline mentioned taking a walk in the night air and getting into more comfortable clothing, jarring him out of his thoughts. “If you like, Princess. I wouldn’t mind a change of scenery.” He sniffed, "It stinks in here."

He rolled his eyes when she teased him, but responded with good humour, “I’ll waste away at this rate, and then what will you do?”

They arrived at her suite of rooms and he stood outside her door, making an effort to look imposing to anyone who might think of approaching while she got changed. He heard her inside and she changed, talking in a low voice too quiet for anyone to hear, but he heard her clearly. "They executed one of the Otherfolk today. It’s like a circus event here, how awful. I honestly wonder if their only crime was being Otherfolk. It makes me worry for you. I definitely don’t like it here so far, Hector. People keep looking at me like I’m fresh prey or something, and I haven’t been introduced to Prince Emory yet. I’m here under the guise of presenting myself as a potential – ugh – wife for him. What is King Jero waiting for?"

Hector sighed. What, indeed?

 

[Gazimon X]

Sherry
Vyrik Talho | Farmlands | Worried

She first noticed the buzz of tiny figures, swarming like an agitated ant hill. Then as she swooped nearer and circled overhead, the sight of the familiar uniforms and armour of the soldiers stabbed fear into her little breast.

They were here. Her home.

Shouts tense with anger and disgust, the crash of furniture, splintering wood and smashed porcelain, all punctuated with the footfalls of heavy boots. There were so many of them. Ten? Twelve? More than that. She couldn’t count. At least two squads stood guard outside at some distance, but many more men were moving through the manor on both floors. Items, found useless, tossed from windows. Carpets pulled up and marble tiles cracked, the sound of a heavy sledgehammer thundered down the halls to its foundations.

She wanted to scream, then spotted archers with crossbows and marksmen with guns.

She fled. Senseless fear twisting daggers into her chest and stabbing her mind with questions she could barely complete. Where was he? What happened? Where should she go? What now? Did he fight them and loose? How? He was so strong. He said he could crack the earth if he wanted to. So how?

The castle had been her second, no — her third home. She had once perched on Jero’s crown and nestled to sleep upon his shoulder. Nipped nuts and seeds from his fingers and bathed in his teacup. All because Papa had told her to. And now the order and purpose in her life had shattered. Jero’s soldiers were there — destroying Papa’s house. The sanctuary she had known for most of her life had become his hunting grounds.

She had nowhere else to go. So for the next days, and weeks, she stayed with Vyrik. It was a dirty old place, but she drowned in grief and made it dirtier still. Chewing anxiously on his papers and canvasses, splintering wood with her sharply hooked beak. Even when she curled up in her human form so that her eyes had the tearducts to cry, she could only wilt the time away. Nothing was tasty to eat. Nothing was fun to do. She just wanted to sleep so that the blank darkness could soothe her; but she woke in nightmares with her heart hammering in her chest.

She spotted movement in the distance. Unfolding her arms, she stood up and leaned on the parapet, squinting in the darkness. She didn’t hear armour, so the figure wasn’t a soldier. She couldn’t see well in the dark, and for several beats she felt a frigid snake coiling inside her. Finally he was near enough for the lamp to light upon his messy hair… and whatever gunk he had rolled in. Her breath caught in her throat for a moment, taken aback by how unkempt he looked. But then — since it was him — that didn’t matter.

“Did you find him?! Did you find Papa?” Her fingers curled against her chest, reddened eyes searching his face.

 

[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.

➤ Brown eyes glanced up toward the top of his home as he rounded the corner of the path. He could see Sherry there, waiting for him. Vyrik wondered how long she had been standing there. A pang of guilt stung him as he realized she had likely been worried about him on top of everything else. The little lovebird had been staying with him since Marshall's home was raided. Vyrik's tiny cabin had become messier than ever before and many spells of grief Sherry had resulted in more repairs for the home. He didn't mind having her around though.

They needed each other.

As Vyrik grew closer he could see the red in Sherry's eyes, and then she asked him the same thing she had asked countless times before. He had the same answer as always. His eyes shifted to the ground and he shook his head. He had failed her. Again. Vyrik's lip tugged down into a frown.

"No Sherry. I'm so sorry."

He would try again soon. For now he needed to go inside. He pushed the front door open and stepped into the tiny cabin. The bottom floor had only two rooms. One was a bathroom and the other was open concept. There was a kitchen area to his left and a sitting area on his right. He kicked his boots off at the door and walked to the woodstove in the living room. Vyrik used ovens mitts to open the door and remove a small clay pot from within the embers of the stove. The scent of stew wafted through the tiny home and caused his stomach to growl. He placed the pot on the coffee table and then made his way up a small ladder and into the loft bedroom.

Upon his return he had changed into some clean clothes and freshened himself up in the bathroom. He lifted his shirt to get a better look at the sore he had received from the giant beast in the forest. It was red and irritated, but would heal without needing sutures. A nasty bruise was already forming. Vyrik then made his way back into the living room and searched through his leather bag.

"Sherry," he called up to the girl, hoping she could hear him through the open loft window. "How about you come try to eat something?"

He held a large root in his hand. It had taken a lot of work to get such an item and he had a laceration and bruise to show for it. He set the root aside and then flopped onto the couch. His eyes looked to the clay pot. He was starving, and yet he couldn't bring himself to eat just yet.

 

[TaperedNightjar]

​

Taavi Jokela
​

Location: His office > Hallways (Castle)
With: Yetzirah, Hector.
Wearing: Idk.
General status: Tired.

● The past month had been a particularly eventful one. Taavi had been blindsided by the discovery of his friend's secret. Weeks later and he still felt betrayed. The sentient stone had been trapped and was being held within the castle. The doctor's home was raided, but nothing they found gave any information away. The Captain was aware of the Otherfolk Protection, information had been leaked and gathered over the years. However, there was still much to learn. Who was their leader? How many members were there? Raids had been performed on one of their secret dwellings shortly after Marshall's capture. It had been devoid of all clues, emptied quickly before Taavi's men had managed to find it.

Taavi absentmindedly twirled a large golden feathered between his forefinger and thumb. He had found it years ago after several guard had been killed in the dead of winter. He did not look away as a shadow filled the open doorway to his office. The man's brows furrowed.

"Hm," Was all the Captain replied.

Taavi stood from his chair and returned the feather to it's place in quill holder on his large desk. He then grabbed his overcoat from where it hung and pulled it on.

"I think I will go for a ride instead. The weather is nice tonight," he answered as he looked to Yetzirah. "Come with me if you'd like." His tone was flat, but the invitation was there.

Taavi was silent as he made his way down the winding corridor and through the castle. He didn't say anything to Yetzirah. He wasn't sure if the other would take a horse out with him or not. Taavi was trying to remain civil for the sake of extracting more information. While he was still boiling mad over everything, Marshall had been his friend and a part of his human nature still clung to that fact. As they rounded a corner her spotted one of the castle guests. Hector's giant burly form was hard to miss. Taavi had spoken with him a few times, but only formally.
"Good evening, Captain Darius. I trust all is well tonight?"

 

[Rosacea]

Eudora Withersbury​

Location: Castle gardens
With: Alone
Wearing: https://i.ebayimg.com/images/g/wpQAAOSwdZdgv4ay/s-l1600.jpg (without the snazzy hat)
General status: Anxious, tired
TW: graphic execution

The curving pathways seemed lonely and desolate in the face of drooping hedges and empty flowerbeds, autumn having cast its melancholy shadow over the palace gardens. Large grey clouds towered over the castle like malevolent giants and gusts of sharp wind tore leaves off the Kings oak trees and across wide planes of muddy gras. Countess Eudora withdrew into her fur coat, her steps aimlessly brisk on the granolithic pavement. She had no idea where she was going. The necessity of fresh air had driven her out of the castle, after being cooped up inside carriages and houses for weeks on end. The harsh cold shortened her breath, and she lessened her pace, stifling a cough. Eudora had contracted a mild case of tonsillitis as soon as the weather first cooled and only recently recovered from the annoyance. Three weeks in bed were a monumental waste of time, especially since Winter posed the need for strategic routes and planning regarding the transport of goods over Mirims northern ports. She employed reasonably competent staff which took the wheel, but Eudora disliked missing such vital trade agreements, especially since her legal representatives in binding contracts were her family. Of all the traits she could fondly recite about her offspring, business savviness was not one of them. Nor common sense. Eudora cringed as she thought about the characteristic disaster which was family lunch. Once again, her children had managed to, in their own individual folly, collectively do their very best to drive her insane. And turn yet another afternoon into a door-slamming display. She shook her head, trying to dispel unwanted memories as she continued walking in the vague direction of the ponds.

At least her family was safe, if infuriating. The same could not be said for the poor soul on the gallows this morning. Even now the mental image caused a curious vertigo within her. She had been standing amongst a bubble of nobles, their chatter slowly dying as the judge appeared on stage. They all clapped politely as he started to lay out the sentencing, cheers and benign “hear, hears” seeking to encourage his shaky presentation. Eudora knew the judge, a Lord with thinning grey hair and a soft, high-pitched voice. She had spoken to him once or twice before, exchanged pleasantries and anecdotes about sending their sons to the same military academy. Now the man felt alien to her. He loudly denounced the Otherfolks treachery against the crown, spittle flying out of his mouth as he strained with righteous indignation. Bellowing the name of the crown and his loyalty to all which was just and righteous, his pudgy red face contrasted weirdly with the crisp white gown of a high judge. Cheers and whoops rewarded him as he sentenced his victim to a violent and degrading death, blinking into the rare moment of spotlight with blushing pride before scuffling off the stage. Eudoras eyes had quickly been drawn back to the middle of the gallows, and she remembered the spell of silence which had fallen over the crowd as the Otherfolk was pushed on stage.

It was a young woman. Eudora would have guessed her to be about as old as her youngest daughter, though she looked grey and sickly. The Otherfolk was wearing a powdery blue cotton dress, torn in places, and Eudora barely made out intricate flowers embroidered along the bodice. One of her shoes was missing and she clutched her arm like a bird who was nursing a broken wing.
The girl looked small and heavy. Her eyes were focused starkly on the floor in front of her. The countess was glad. She was a coward, but she knew that if the girl were to look her way, she could not bear it. Silence filled the square as the Otherfolk stood in desolation, flanked by guards.

Then, another group of knights emerged, spear-headed by the executioner. The crowd murmured with discomfort. And Eudora understood why. Something about this guard felt wrong. Non-human somehow, movements choppy and disjointed. It had been wearing a common guard uniform with an iron helmet, towering uncomfortably over its colleagues. Stepping closer to the Otherfolk, the knight raised its armoured arm. Its movements were horrifyingly fast as the girl was raised high into the air, her startled screams accompanied by the sound of tearing. Eudora had momentarily averted her eyes then, the screaming ringing in her ears as she exchanged glances of quiet terror with the noble beside her. The lady had brought her child for some unimaginable reason and hastily covered her sons face with a gloved hand, composure crumbling in the face of royal violence.

Eudora looked back up to the gallows as the girls screams faded to whimpering gurgles. The knight, a calculating monster of steel and blood, wielded his sword in a last triumphant motion. Eudora remembered her vision blurring and the wet squelching sound of a heart being ripped from its chest. A body had collided with slickened wood, the force of its impact sending a splatter of red liquid across the stage. That thing, it held the heart with an almost tender reverence, standing in vigil above the scene it created. The sight of a still beating heart cradled in glistening iron gloves had been to much for her. She had left the scene with the haste of a criminal, though Eudora knew she could never outrun her crime.

The countess stood in front of the castle’s ponds, dark and uninviting in autumn, burying her face in her hands. This was not her first execution. The blood and bubbling anger stuck with you, but most of all the bitter taste of being an accomplice to state-sanctioned brutality.

 

[tityanya]

.

𝐸𝓂𝑜𝓇𝓎 𝒱𝒾𝓈𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒾

I am here: Palace Gardens
With: Eudora​

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

╔══════════════════════════╗​

Emory was tired. So unbelievably, bone-weary tired. The cold of the day creeped into his bones, slowing his movements.

This morning had been a nightmare. Beyond just the execution of the otherfolk girl--a sweet looking thing, so incredibly young. He knew logically that otherfolk could always appear younger than they really were, but watching that...thing rip her heart out? It was almost more than he could bear. He hated that he had to stand impassively by his father's side as they watched the execution. Hated the smirk that came to his father's face, the quip about his "new toy" being an excellent acquisition.

He missed Marshall. The man that...thing used to be. The man that he went hunting with, shared drinks with, shared his grief with. All that was left now was this...machine. The King had banned Emory from visiting the "actual" Marshall down in the dungeons. Said that it was for Emory's own good, to keep the memory of his friend alive. That he was too close to the doctor, and that he was too "sentimental" to see what he really was. Emory had been told what he was, of course. It was something he couldn't even really wrap his mind around--his friend had never really been alive at all? Just some...sentient rock that created a body? There were so many complicated emotions there. Inhuman, a double agent. His good friend.

The palace was stifling. Alcohol didn't help. If anything it made him hotter, feel more suffocated. He had been left to his own devices all day after the execution. Simon, his assistant, had thankfully canceled or rearranged all of Emory's appointments. He didn't deserve that man. Emory had spent most of his time lying in bed, trying not to replay the images of the day in his head. The blood on the execution stage, his father's smirk, becoming more distorted and grotesque, the strange and inhuman executioner...Why was everything so hard? Why did this have to happen now of all times? He needed Marshall. He still needs Marshall. But now he was as good as dead to him. How many more people that Emory loved would leave him?

He wasn't even really aware of what he was doing until he was halfway down the hallway, pulling on his shoes and a coat. He needed out. He couldn't stay in that room anymore. He wandered, half-drunk through the halls, until he finally met the blissfully cool air of the autumn night. He sighed with relief, drinking in the cold night air and soft moonlight. The cold air stung pleasingly in his lungs, prickling with every breath he took. His feet took him around the gardens, his body on auto-pilot. It felt so good to be away from the castle. Away from the oppressive feeling of everything weighing down on him.

He stopped by the pond, gazing at the dark water, illuminating the moon above. How many times had he played in this pond as a child? How many memories did he have of Alicia and Stefan here? A sad smile came to his face, but he resisted the urge to cry. He didn't want to wallow in his misery right now. He had been doing that all day--now was time to get away from it. But as he gazed along the shoreline of the pond, he saw that he wasn't alone. He didn't recognize her at first, her face obscured by the darkness, barely illuminated by the moon. But he recognized the body language. Countess Eudora. She had been great friends with Alicia, but her relationship with Emory...polite at best.

Emory almost turned to walk somewhere else, away from the Countess, when he saw her bury her face in her hands. It shocked him for a moment--he knew she only did it because she was alone. but the iron lady...felt worn down by something? The soft spot inside of Emory arose. Go talk to her. She was Alicia's friend. See if she's okay. it said. Fine he replied. He walked around the shore line to the countess, making sure his footsteps were loud enough that she'd know he was coming. But once he reached her, he found that his tongue had gotten tied. His heart was pounding with nervousness. Something about the countess always made his foot in mouth problem worse. But...he had to try. "Countess Eudora. Is everything alright?" he asked, his tone a little awkward and stilted. He hoped she would look past it and consider the fact that he had decided to ask her the question at all as a sign of his earnest concern for her wellbeing.

╚══════════════════════════╝

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

 

[tityanya]

Ⲋⲧⲉ⳨ⲇⲛ Ⲃⲉⳑⳑⲥⲟⲙⲃ​

I am here: Streets of Vardi Hill
With: Alone?

Stefan was wandering the streets of Vardi Hill alone and drunk. He had been at a party. A party he had been unceremoniously and quite rudely kicked out of. It was such bullshit! All he had said was that it was morally heinous to have a toast to the death of another sentient creature. It was. He knew he wasn't the only one made uncomfortable by the big pomp and circumstance of celebrating a death. He saw the faces on the others in the party--those forced, polite smiles that hid horror and revulsion. He knew he was feeling that way. It wasn't his fault that the toaster decided to start a verbal debate. And it wasn't Stefan's fault that the debate turned into curse words hurled at each other.

He didn't even throw the first punch! The other man was just too drunk to actually make contact with Stefan. Really, he was the innocent victim in all of this, trying to speak up for the voiceless. But because his punch actually landed, and made that pompous asshole bleed, he was the one who had to leave. It was so unfair. Several other people had left with him. While they were still together, Stefan felt buoyed. He was the champion. They congratulated him on the punch, and how that man was being an asshole all night and deserved to be punched. Who even brought up an execution at a party, anyways?

But slowly the group began to splinter off, heading towards their homes, until it was just Stefan by his lonesome. And by his lonesome made him think more about why he was even at that party to begin with--he didn't want to be alone. And now here he was, trying his best to stumble in a straight line as he headed the direction he thought might be home. Maybe it was home. Maybe it was wherever destiny decided he should be.​

((ooc: ))
((outfit))
((I don't Care))​

Talk Think

 

[Rosacea]

Eudora Withersbury​

I am here: Castle Gardens
With: Emory
The countess hastily, almost comically, straightened her posture as she heard someone approach. She turned to the cloaked figure, who she initially assumed to be a servant, with abrupt irritation. Had she been gone for so long that her driver grew worried? Perhaps someone mistook her for an intruder on the castle grounds. The King had been increasing security around the castle lately, paranoid for no discernible reason. But it was not a guard on patrol who had spotted her. No, she clearly recognised the tall, dark haired man in front of her. Though he did not look as clean-shaven and crease-free as he usually did, the princes’ mannerisms and his stilted politeness were familiar to her. Of course. It is not enough for the royal family to ruin my business, my conscience, and my country. Even my bout of self-pity is being interrupted by a blustering, performative castle-dweller. The countess mentally reproached herself for this venom almost immediately, reminding herself that the crown prince may be frustrating, but that he was not his father. His father certainly would never be seen dead looking as dishevelled as Emory currently did. The wind was tousling his hair in a very undignified manner as a slight tinge of alcohol seemed to envelop the prince, his eye bags and lightly swollen face betraying otherwise hidden inner turmoil. He seemed jumpy as he asked her if she was alright, as if he as well felt surprised to find himself in this situation. Perhaps it was the location, or the dark, or the fact that she had been caught in a vulnerable position, but Eudora found herself grasping for words. This did not happen often. To afford herself some time to consider an appropriate response to a very inappropriate question, the countess sunk into one of her characteristically low curtsies.

“Your majesty. How surprising to meet you during such uninviting circumstances.” She remarked thinly as she stood back up, a particularly sharp gust of wind almost tearing the words from her mouth. “I am fine, thank you for the inquiry.” She gestured to the ponds “I needed a quiet place to reminisce.” Following her own earlier gesture, Eudora stared intently into the dark water of the pond, jaw set tight as her hands nervously grasped her scarf. She did not want to look at the prince. The execution would not leave her tonight, the images of judge and executed seared into her mind. It had not been her first execution, but the little details one remembered surprised her every time. The noblewoman’s fiery red hair, the judges polished cufflinks, the girls embroidered flowers. Her missing shoe. She had died without any shoes at all. The other one had fallen off when she was raised off the ground. Before Eudora could stop herself, she confessed something which had been echoing in her mind ever since the Otherfolks warm body had hit the floor.

“She looked so like my daughter. They even shared the same age. I asked.”

 

[tityanya]

.

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))​

 

[TaperedNightjar]

Morgan Bandera
Artwork by Cytomoss​

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

So she was here for the gossip. Hmmm. Morgan wasn’t surprised by this. Many folks came around the bar for the juicy details of the day-to-day at the castle. Locals knew this was the best place to get information straight from the horses’ mouth. Soldiers and guards blabbed a lot when they drank too much or when they were trying to impress beautiful people.

Morgan took her hand lightly when she offered it. “Veronica Rosnoire, it’s a pleasure to meet you.“ His long fingers were cold as he gave her own hand a gentle shake. “It’s a beautiful name. I am Morgan Bandera.”

He held onto her hand for a moment longer, “Ms or Mrs?”

“Misses, surely. I hope I’m wrong though!”

Morgans‘ green eye twitched as the grating voice reached his ears. His fingers remained wrapped around Veronicas’ hand as he turned to look at the soldier who stood behind them. Even on the stool Morgan was eye level with the soldier.

“No one invited you over here, Matthew. Go back to your friends,” Morgan instructed as he waved dismissively at the shorter soldier.

“Shoo! Don’t you have horses to take care of, Ponyboy?”

Morgans’ lips thinned as he glowered at Matthew. “Don’t you have some ass kissing to do?”

Yeah, there went Morgans’ tact and out came that infamous running mouth of his.

 

[Gazimon X]

Yetzirah
Taavi Jokela + Hector Darius | Vexed + Wary

He was playing with the feather again. Like an endearing creature pawing at a toy despite not being privy to its origin.

As for Yetzirah, the amber plume always caused a burr of niggling annoyance — a faint notion that he had once known its owner, but like a telegraph that sneered static, the memory was gone. Cauterized down to the quick, leaving only scars that clung to his mind like ghostly claws. Even without a mouth, or a face, to show his displeasure, his eyes glowered with the faint flickers as he processed the sight.

“Hurrm.” Came the intoned hum, reverberating through his metalloid form. Despite the neutral tone, the mirroring was too much of a coincidence to not be snide sarcasm.

Sound emanated from him despite having no breath in his chest. Still, he incorporated all the motions. Almost all.

“Certainly.” Yetzirah tilted his head downwards, just low enough to suggest acceptance of the captain’s authority in the midst of that invitation. Whether Yetzirah liked it or not, he would have to. His magical master had ordered him to shadow Taavi to the best of his abilities when there were no other outstanding orders — and there were only so many tasks the gifted captain could have him perform before he ran the risk of the intelligence misinterpreting the bounds of the job.

Whether in the castle or out upon the back of a beast, he couldn’t escape his duty. Him and the captain alike; just wardogs tethered to an extremely long leash that glistened with the king’s sanction.

Yetzirah followed half a pace behind Captain Jokela, matching him as only a good friend and an unnatural being could. Even as the man stopped to converse with their foreign guest, Yetzirah was at his shoulder. Silent as he stared impassively at the other, like an effigy far too ornate, he would not move for several moments. From affar he held the appearance of a knight, but on closer inspection his skin-clad armour give no indication of skin or hair; his scent devoid of sweat, wax or oils, not even the oils used to buff metal and ward against corrosion. He carried the inert tang of steel and iron, the faintest hint of gunflint smoke, and the unforgiving emptiness of quartz.

 

[Caffeinated Joy]

Captain Hector Darius
With: Corline, Taavi, Yetzirah
Location: Castle​

Hector listened to Corline whisper her concerns as she changed into clothing suitable for a stroll outdoors. From everything he'd heard, the Otherfolk they'd executed had been a young, red haired girl. What she was, exactly, other than human, he hadn't heard, but the fact they could callously rip the heart out of someone who was still practically a child was appalling. Something clearly had to be done about King Jero, but what could they do that wouldn't incite a war among the kingdoms? Could they avoid a war among the kingdoms?

More importantly, if they successfully deposed Jero, would Prince Emory be any better? The man hadn’t made himself known since they arrived, and until he had, they would have no way of knowing.

Hector had been trained for war, but this didn't mean he wanted it. Knowing how to kill a person didn't make a someone a murderer. At least not most people. Any doctor knew how to kill, but it didn't mean they willingly would. You knew how to take a life to save a life. His training involved how to rescue and protect people as much, if not more, than how to kill them. If anyone were to look at his performance record in Korillo, they’d see years of doing more to keep people alive than not. Hector had always done the right thing because he wanted to, not for recognition, yet they insisted on rewarding him. The most common compensation for a job well done was to give more work and responsibility. Hence, the rank of captain. He sighed. No good deed goes unpunished. He missed the days if being a rankless nobody. Though, if he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t ever a nobody, given how uncommon Ursine had become. The moment he enlisted in the Korillan guard, he was a curiosity, nor did he help his desire to fly under the radar by leaping in to save Princess Corline's life when she was a wee child.

He lifted his head as the distant sound of footsteps reached his ears. A pair, evenly matched in gait, with a subtle din of metal and stone. He hadn't been in the castle long enough to recognize who they belonged to, though it tickled his memory. He closed his eyes briefly to give himself a second to focus, only to open them with a slight shake of his head and a soft exhale of air through his nose. He would have to wait for them to get a little closer before he could smell them better. The greatest bloodhound couldn’t hold a candle to a bear.

Ah. There. He could smell it now. Captain Taavi Jokela, accompanied by…something else. There was nothing there, aside from the bitter smell of gunpowder, metal and the unmistakeable spice of magic. No sweat, no dander, no oil glands or anything else. He looked at them as they came into sight, his eyes narrowing slightly at the figure striding a half step behind Taavi. Hector remembered seeing it accompany Captain Jokela during the meetings and court meals they had attended over the past few days, and it puzzled him. It was clearly no human, or gifted human. Whatever kind of Otherfolk it was, the hypocrisy of King Jero using it for his means while outlawing the rest didn't escape him.

He nodded his head politely, “Captain Jokela. Evening.” His glance flickered to the unmoving form nearby. What had he heard it being called? Yat-something? Yertzary? Yetzirah. That was it. “Everything is well enough, thanks. Was there something you wanted from Princess Corline?” Big and stupid. He told himself. Big and stupid.

He heard Corline's movements in her room pause briefly when he greeted Taavi, then resume as she quickly finished changing. The door opened behind him and Corline stepped out, dressed, he was pleased to see, in a proper walking dress and not the jacket and trousers he half expected her to don.

 

[Caffeinated Joy]

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

Coraline ran her fingers along the fabric of the trousers she had snuck into her wardrobe before leaving and sighed softly. It was expected of her at home, but here, she was trying to make a favourable impression, and she doubted trotting around the castle grounds in a jacket and trousers would do it. Even if they were of an excellent quality and design. She was Princess Corline, heir to Eastwind’s throne, something she was reminded of at every turn.

She would never dream of disappointing her father, but, sometimes, it would nice to simply be Cori.

If this ended in war, in spite of her best efforts, would she be whisked away to a gilt prison for safekeeping, or would she be allowed to fight? She wasn't helpless, but she supposed it wouldn't matter. There was no other child to inherit the throne if something happened to her, and Hector's career was at stake if something happened to her while under his protection, no matter how deep his friendship with King Bran was. She had to keep a level head, and volatile tempers cool.

Shaking her head free of such intrusive thoughts, she finished buttoning up the vest of her deep blue and silver walking suit before shrugging on the fitted, fur-lined jacket, pausing when she heard Hector's deep voice growl a greeting to Captain Jokela. What could he possibly want at this hour of the evening? Did Prince Emory finally wish to meet them? She froze with her hands over her skirts, then took a deep breath and pulled on her gloves before grabbing her hat and opening the door, a warm smile on her face.

“Captain Jokela and Yetzirah. How lovely to see you.” She set her hat on her head, and tied it in place. “Captain Darius and I were about to take a walk.”

 

[Malacina]

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

  Kimberly was not running late, thank you very much. He wasn't. He was, however, running a little behind and he was definitely going to hear it from his most constant employer since he had told the tonic maker, Bleaker, that he would be back before evening. But like, when did it really stop being evening anyways? Just because it was now clearly past nightfall, didn't mean it couldn't also be evening! At least that's what Kimberly planned to argue. The older man usually griped whenever someone happened that displeased him but he had never raised his voice at Kimberly before, so even now, while Kimberly wasn't looking forward to the late reunion, he was not exactly worried about it either.
  
  At least Bleaker would be happy with the items Kimberly was able to gather from his trek into the Garwood Forest. He would be even more pleased when Kimberly showed him not only the yellow morning buds from the yettis plant that Bleaker had requested Kimberly get him but also the small bundle of bluelight gill mushrooms Kimberly had found.
  
  The rare mushrooms had been nestled in a rotting hardwood trunk that had fallen into a small crevice that was probably closer to the divide than Kimberly should have been, but that was never a concern Kimberly fostered. Chipping away at the opening so that he could slip down into the cavity revealed a narrow cave-like structure that ran farther than Kimberly expected it to run even curving out of sight on one end and tapering down to nothing but passing water on the other. The structure had clearly been made by some underground waterway as even now, days away from the last rainfall, there was still water running the length of the passage not quite covering the soles of Kimberly's feet. Kimberly first marked the opening of the crevice on his hand-drawn map and then after plucking a few of the mushrooms and storing them in his belt pouches, Kimberly realized the remaining mushrooms would run out of food if another piece of hardwood didn't fall into the crevice. Climbing out, cutting a few limbs of neighboring hardwoods, Kimberly then shimmied back down to nestle the wood with the remaining bluelight gills.
  
  He was then left with two options, climb out a second and final time, returning to the city walls and thus Bleaker before midday or follow the narrow opening around the bend. It wasn't even a choice Kimberly really contemplated before walking into the dark. Every now and there there was another sliver of sunlight from another opening above Kimberly, but for the most part Kimberly walked forward relying on his senses other than sight. Once or twice, the passage narrowed so that Kimberly had to twist sideways but it was never pressing enough for him to be too concerned. And then the passage came to an end, the ceiling above having collapsed allowing only a small opening at the floor for water to flow. At first, Kimberly hadn't realized the cave-in had come from above normally assuming it was the sides that gave way, but climbing up the rocks revealed a massive oak that had been uprooted by...well, by something not natural and it was the tree that had forced the ceiling of the waterway inward. The leaves and limbs of the tree also blocked the opening from sight above and it was only once Kimberly had climbed up and through the fallen foliage and rock that he had a good view of the surface. He had traveled farther west than he originally thought, but not by much, and marked this opening on his map near the farmlands still within the forest along with a dotted line that he thought had made up the general path he had taken from the original opening.
  
  It was then that Kimberly realized that the sun was setting and quickly made his way to the closest city gate, finding himself rushing through the streets of the Rosin neighborhood back towards Lanesboro where Kimberly knew Bleaker would still be awake working away in his basement even at this late hour. As he ran, Kimberly noted that people either seemed to be celebratory or solemn in their facial expressions and gestures. If he wasn't running late - behind! If he wasn't running behind, he might have stopped to try and listen to more of the conversation being had. But as it was, he had to make do with trying to make out what happened with his eyes. He was looking over his shoulder at a pair trying to figure out what could have occurred to have such a blanketed dividing effect on people when he rounded the corner of a narrow street coming out onto a larger road within Vardi Hill and straight into a man dressed in clothes worth more than all the money Kimberly has ever owned.
  
  "Oof!" Kimberly was able to right himself, keeping himself from falling while letting out a curse before following up with a quick apology, "I'm so sorry, are you okay?" Holding out his hands wide in case the older, clearly noble man lost his balance with a pinch around his eyes. Kimberly wasn't sure this interaction would end with him not being yelled at to watch where he was going, but as long as the other man wasn't hurt, Kimberly figured it would be okay. It was only then with his feet solid and looking up at the much taller man that the distinct smell of liquor hit Kimberly's senses, "Oh wow - you're full as a tick on whiskey, aren't'ch?" As soon as the words left his mouth, Kimberly cringed sheepishly with soft worry.
  
  
  Location: Garwood Forest ↠ Rosin Corner ↠ Vardi Hill
  Company: Possibly Stefan, but who knows.
  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: The first four paragraphs are set up, only the writing after that is relevant to interactions.
  
• 
  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
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  • 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
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  • 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
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  • 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
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  • 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
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