OP
Obscene Symphony sea wench
Member
Seen
30 days ago
OP
Obscene Symphony sea wench
Member
Seen
30 days ago
OP
Obscene Symphony sea wench
Member
Seen
30 days ago
Name: Linta of the North Tree
Age: 22, (Brand new adult)
Sex: Female
Race: Tree Person
Height: 5'4
Build: Lithe
Eyes: Hazel
Hair: Straw-blonde, reaches waist when loose, mid-back when braided. Almost always worn braided with various feathers braided in.
Tail: Disproportionately long, capable of brushing the ground when standing. Tipped with a tuft of straw-blonde hair, often decorated with cord and feathers. She often holds it wrapped loosely around one leg while standing still.
Age: 22, (Brand new adult)
Sex: Female
Race: Tree Person
Height: 5'4
Build: Lithe
Eyes: Hazel
Hair: Straw-blonde, reaches waist when loose, mid-back when braided. Almost always worn braided with various feathers braided in.
Tail: Disproportionately long, capable of brushing the ground when standing. Tipped with a tuft of straw-blonde hair, often decorated with cord and feathers. She often holds it wrapped loosely around one leg while standing still.
OP
Obscene Symphony sea wench
Member
Seen
30 days ago
The trip to wherever she was had gone largely unnoticed by Lienna, who had spent the ride drifting in and out of a sleep-like state, roused by the occasional painful bump only to drift off into sweet unconsciousness again. Last she remembered, she was on a horse, but when her eyes fluttered open again she was in a stone room, tucked into a soft bed.
As soon as her eyes opened, Lienna closed them again, slowly and carefully rolling onto her side. Her head swam, her body ached, and she was in no mood for surprises. Whatever would come, would come, and that was the start and end of it. She was just grateful for the bed.
Unfortunately, her peace soon ended at the sound of muffled conversation nearby, followed by the opening of a door and a clear voice with a familiar tone.
“My, my…. He certainly did a number on you didn’t he? Curious as he left the other one all but untouched, didn’t strike him for the devoted type. Change of heart, Lienna?”
Lienna's heart sank. Yes, she definitely knew that voice. It was the Drakkan woman from the night before. The one who'd offered them a deal. The bear who had tossed her to the wolves.
Carefully, she sat up in the bed to face the woman, pulling her blankets up over her breasts as she did so. Her eyes felt like they were full of sand, so she could do little more than squint. She caught a glimpse of her arms as she did so, once ivory, now mottled in shades of red, blue and green. They'd only get worse before they got better.
"Nothing has changed," she croaked, looking away from her arms and towards the woman. "I'm still the slave I was brought here to be, but now presumably in the hands of a new master."
The woman only laughed once, nudging herself gracefully off of the door frame with a sway of her hip as she turned to leave. "Ah, you will be fun," she sighed condescendingly, disappearing down the hall.
The woman wasn't gone a minute before the door was opened again, this time by a girl who looked like nothing Lienna had ever seen before. She wasn't a Drakkan, but she was a far cry from a Gem too. Her legs looked more like a deer's than a Gem' (complete with hooves!) and her tan skin was patterned with brown and mottled with white spots. Long ears protruded from chestnut hair, twisting this way and that at every noise. Lienna could do nothing but stare.
The girl said nothing as she entered, didn't even glance at Lienna as she made a beeline to the dresser. It was then that Lienna noticed just how big everything was. The strange girl wasn't much taller than herself, but the door frame was almost twice her height. Even the dresser against the opposite wall rose to the girl's ribs, whereas a properly sized one would only have reached her hips.
The girl hadn't come empty-handed. In one hand was a ceramic basin filled with fabric, balanced on her hip; in the other was a pitcher. She deposited both on the dresser, picking up the fabric and placing it on the foot of the bed with practiced grace.
"I brought you some clothes," said the girl, unfolding what looked like a tunic, "And there's some warm water if you'd like to wash. Is there anything else I can do for you?"
The girl stood pin-straight, the picture of a proper servant, but she had a queer look in her eyes when she looked at Lienna. A pained, yet knowing look. Lienna could tell she was trying not to look at the bruises on her arms, and she wondered how many Gems the girl had seen in her condition before.
"Where am I?" she asked the girl, completely ignoring the question.
The girl looked towards the hallway. "You're in the Dantanath Estate," she replied. "My name is Alice, I'm one of the household servants."
Lienna nodded. She recognized the name - Dantanath - as the surname of the Drakkan she'd been given to. It must have been him who came for her, probably angry that someone else had claimed his prize. "Who was that woman? I remember her from the Choosing, but why is she here?"
"That's Morganna Dantanath," Alice replied, "She's the sister of Azilon, the man who brought you here."
Lienna nodded again, twisting her covers in her hands, eyes unfocused, trained on some point far away ahead of her. So, she was back with her husband. She supposed she knew what that meant now, if last night had been any indication.
"Thank you, Alice," she said finally, focusing once more on the servant girl, "I hope we might cross paths again."
Alice gave a curt bow of the head. "I expect we will," she replied as she turned to leave, "I'm always around."
"Wait," Lienna called, catching Alice just before she turned down the hall, "I haven't told you who I am."
Alice simply shrugged, with a sad smile. "I suppose it doesn't matter."
~ / / / ~
Lienna must have drifted off again, because suddenly she was waking up with a horrible crick in her neck from sleeping semi-upright against the wall. With a groan, she let her torso flop forward over her legs, letting her head hang and stretch out the soreness. Of course a hundred other parts of her started hurting when she moved, but she had to start somewhere.
Leaning back once more, she thought long and hard about going back to sleep. Eventually, she decided against it; she may have wanted to disappear and sleep for the rest of her life, but she had to come back to reality sometime. That, and she was starving.
Taking a moment to brace herself, Lienna gingerly swung her legs over the side of the bed, sliding into a sitting position. She had to pause, feet dangling off the floor from the raised-too-high bed for a moment as pain shot through her body. Sitting, it would seem, was particularly uncomfortable.
She took one deep breath to ready herself and slid off the bed, pausing again and leaning against it to stabilize herself. Once she mustered up the courage, she made a beeline for the dresser, where the basin and water awaited her.
She was suddenly conscious of how absolutely disgusting she felt, and the water in front of her seemed like a gift from Naia herself. She dipped a hand right into the pitcher, and was sad to find the water had gone cold.
No matter. She simply placed her hands on the outside of the pitcher and closed her eyes, and it was only a moment before the water was steaming again.
Picking the pitcher up, she moved to fill the basin and noticed something sitting on the bottom of it. A knife, a dagger with a wicked blade and an ornately forged handle. Lienna picked it up, noticing how large it was in her hands, and turned it a few times to see the light shine off the exquisitely polished surface of the blade.
Was this a message? A challenge? She doubted it was Alice who put it there; after all, why would the servants care enough to threaten a bride? Perhaps it had been her husband. A gift, maybe? No, Lienna was sure suicide was too common among Gem brides to present the opportunity so openly. So why the dagger?
She laid it aside on the dresser, deciding to decipher its meaning after she was done. She poured her now-hot water into the basin, halting a moment to let the steam envelop her face. There was a washcloth draped over the side of the basin, but Lienna didn't need it. Closing her eyes, she let the water crawl over her like a snake, scrubbing her every surface clean and warming her like a hug from an old friend. She breathed in the steam, and for a moment she was able to relax. After some time, when the water had gone cold and she decided she'd done enough (she didn't feel clean, but she couldn't just stand there for the days it would take her to get there) she let the water slide back into the basin, leaving her skin perfectly dry and pleasantly moisturized. She was surprised to see the water was about as clear as when she'd started; the way she felt, she expected it to have turned black with filth.
She picked up the knife again, looking it over as she crossed back over to the bed and laying it aside on the covers to see what clothes Alice had brought her. It was a dusty red, sleeveless tunic. The shoulders came to points, secured by little gold clasps. The fabric was lightweight and soft.
Lienna pulled the tunic over her head and walked across the room, where an overly tall mirror rested in the corner. The neckline of the tunic rippled around her breasts like a cowl, just low enough to expose cleavage on a more well-endowed woman than herself. The gold clasps felt cool on her bruised shoulders, and the fabric was light and airy. A gold chain was supplied as well, which Lienna used to tie off the waist, bringing the hem of the tunic up above her knees. There was a draft on her back, and when she turned she noticed the back resembled the front, except that it dipped all the way down to her tailbone. The exposed skin was mottled with bruises, some in the vague shape of large hand prints. Turning back around, she could see fingerprint bruises along her arms and a well-defined hand print around her neck.
She went back to the bed and sat down, picking up the knife once more. The hilt was ornately carved in black metal, with lines of red enamel snaking down the handle. It was then that something clicked in Lienna's mind. It was a weak hunch, but Morganna had been dressed head-to-toe in black and red when she came to check on her. Was this Morganna's knife? From what little Lienna knew of the woman, she seemed to be the type to play with her food before she ate it. Did she intend to mess with Lienna as long as she was with Azilon here?
A soft knock on the door pulled Lienna from her thoughts. It opened to reveal Alice once again, and Lienna hastily hid the knife behind her. "I was sent to come collect you for dinner," said Alice.
Lienna stood quickly, regretting it immediately as her muscles complained. [color-baa7c7]"Thank you, Alice. Will you show me the way?"[/color]
"Of course."
As Alice turned, Lienna called some water from the basin to her hand, drawing it into a long point and freezing it to a razor's edge.
Lienna followed Alice through the halls and down some stairs to the main dining hall, where it looked like the family was gathering for dinner. Every step was uncomfortable, alerting Lienna of yet another site of soreness. When she reached the hall, she looked around briefly for Rya; however, when her eyes fell on Morganna, she made a beeling toward her.
Approaching with her back straight and an only slightly hobbling gait, she stopped in front of Morganna and tipped her head in a small bow, holding out the dagger in one open palm.
"I believe this belongs to you," she said, concentrating hard on keeping her tone respectful. Hateful as the woman was, it wouldn't do to disrespect a member of her husband's family. She wanted to garner favour as quickly as possible after the events of the Choosing.
She then produced the razor-sharp icicle in the other hand, adding, "I think you'll find I have no use for such things."
OP
Obscene Symphony sea wench
Member
Seen
30 days ago
| Male | 19 | Light Mage |
Portrait of Aaron in ceremonial dress, a tradition of the Starag family. Painted soon after his Awakening, when he was eighteen.
Aaron stands around six feet tall, with a lean athletic build. Shown in his portrait in ceremonial dress, Aaron normally dresses more modern, insisting to keep himself looking presentable. Clean-shaven, hair neatly styled, stuff like that. Long-sleeved dress shirts, slacks and khakis make up his everyday wardrobe, always clean and nicely pressed. On cooler days, a blazer or peacoat is usually never far behind.
| Personality |
Aaron was raised very disciplined, and that is reflected in his personality. He keeps to his routine, maintains good self-control and is very well organized. However, that doesn't mean he has the attitude of an army officer. Quite the contrary, in fact. He is a vibrant young man who loves life, but also loves work. A very purpose-driven guy, he will never start a project he doesn't intend to finish, and is extremely goal-oriented (the goal, of course, being to be the best attendant he possibly can and uphold his family's legacy). As a result he is always trying to better himself, be it in academics, art, or any other discipline. To some, especially other mages or humans, his dogged persistence and desire to be, essentially, the best slave he can be, can be a little odd or even off-putting. For him, though, his work is a matter of pride.
He is a perfect gentleman, well-spoken, and well-versed in etiquette (admittedly, to a point where those who weren't raised to be servants to royalty might find him to be a bit much). Friendly and dignified, he maintains composure in public, disliking overly emotional behavior. Luckily, he's not quite uptight to the point of awkwardness.
Aaron holds himself to impossibly high standards and as such, can sometimes push himself a little too hard. He becomes annoyed with himself in failure, but tries to use failure as a motivator. Being devoted as he is to being a good attendant, he is at risk of betraying his principles on the command of his master. Hopefully, though, it won't come to that.
| Bio |
Born to a mage family well-respected by the Council, Aaron's pedigree is long and impressive. Directly descended from Larand Starag himself (albeit many, many generations on) he has big shoes to fill and a sparkling reputation to uphold; as such, it comes as no surprise that he had a very structured and disciplined upbringing. Indeed, Aaron has been held to a high standard all his life, his entire childhood having been spent learning everything from etiquette to swordsmanship. He was taught academics and etiquette alike from private tutors, and has been kept on a strict diet and exercise regimen since he first became a teenager. You see, in the Starag family, the best thing you can become is an attendant to a vampire, and they take their assignment to the royal family very seriously. Therefore, their children are taught from a young age anything and everything that could be of use to make them the best attendants out there; how to conduct themselves in a vampiric court, how to keep themselves fit and healthy (i.e. in good feeding condition) and everything they might need to keep their future masters happy, from organizational skills to keep their master's appointments to martial training should they have to defend them.
Aaron was no exception. In fact, he was a glowing example of a Starag child on his way to great accomplishment as an attendant. Only one thing stood to impede him: whether or not he was actually a mage. One of the things Aaron remembers best from his childhood was a combination of anxiety and desperate hope that he would have magic and be accepted, as his ancestors were, into the ranks of mage attendants. Most of the Starag descendants before him had been mages, with the few who had not having left His Awakening day was the most exciting, terrifying, and highly-anticipated one of his life; he remembers practically shaking as he held his crystal in a white-knuckled grip, eyes tight shut, hoping with all of his might that the damn thing would light up. To his considerable joy and great relief, the crystal glowed brightly, emitting sharp rays of golden light all throughout the chamber.
In the two years since his Awakening, Aaron has been training harder than ever under the watchful eye of his tutors, knowing any day could be the day he was finally chosen to take his place at a Noila vampire's side. However, only a few weeks ago, he was informed that, against tradition, he would be attending Noila Academy instead of completing his studies under a tutor - at the command of Princess Ryner herself, the vampire whom his father and other relatives served - and, consequently, end up possibly being assigned to a vampire outside of the Noila family. As of now, he will be the first Starag mage to ever attend the academy.
| Likes |
Self-improvement / success / magic / being organized / dogs / structure / swordsmanship / playing cello / the night sky / quiet / dressing up
| Dislikes |
Failure / feeling like he's not in control / sloppiness / blatant emotion / crassness / laziness / noise / most modern music / ungrateful mages
| Habits |
Journaling (keeps both a personal diary and a habit and health tracking journal) / scheduling / near-obsessive grooming / foot tapping
| Other |
Aaron keeps extremely good care of himself, partly because it's good for him both physically and mentally, and partly to make himself the best protector and most satisfying feed possible for his future master.
He was raised nocturnal in anticipation of his service to a vampire, so he'll have no trouble adjusting to life with a vampire.
He uses full-spectrum lighting to prevent vitamin D deficiency and seasonal affective disorder.
Aaron also keeps a diary and a detailed log of his health and habits. He uses a smartwatch to track his steps and activity.
Aaron was raised very disciplined, and that is reflected in his personality. He keeps to his routine, maintains good self-control and is very well organized. However, that doesn't mean he has the attitude of an army officer. Quite the contrary, in fact. He is a vibrant young man who loves life, but also loves work. A very purpose-driven guy, he will never start a project he doesn't intend to finish, and is extremely goal-oriented (the goal, of course, being to be the best attendant he possibly can and uphold his family's legacy). As a result he is always trying to better himself, be it in academics, art, or any other discipline. To some, especially other mages or humans, his dogged persistence and desire to be, essentially, the best slave he can be, can be a little odd or even off-putting. For him, though, his work is a matter of pride.
He is a perfect gentleman, well-spoken, and well-versed in etiquette (admittedly, to a point where those who weren't raised to be servants to royalty might find him to be a bit much). Friendly and dignified, he maintains composure in public, disliking overly emotional behavior. Luckily, he's not quite uptight to the point of awkwardness.
Aaron holds himself to impossibly high standards and as such, can sometimes push himself a little too hard. He becomes annoyed with himself in failure, but tries to use failure as a motivator. Being devoted as he is to being a good attendant, he is at risk of betraying his principles on the command of his master. Hopefully, though, it won't come to that.
| Bio |
The Starag family name was made famous during the Blood Wars when Larand Starag made a name for himself as arguably the most powerful mage on the human side, as well as the most tenacious. He took to his magic more easily than most, ever so slightly shifting the power balance in each battle he fought. Fighting off the vampires and freeing the human race was his singular goal; he led mage forces against them time and time again, wielding fire at the head of each encounter, and even accrued the most vampire kills on the human side. He was strong-willed and well-respected, and even in the face of certain defeat, would not surrender.
His resolve didn't falter when the werewolves attacked. Even in the face of sure destruction, he was the last to be swayed in favour of the Blood Treaty. Fortunately, his desire to save humankind won out over his hatred of vampires and he did finally sign the Treaty as the co-signatory to Queen Anastasia Noila herself. After the combined armies of the humans and vampires fought off the werewolf invaders and a shaky peace was finally established, Queen Noila took Larand as her personal mage and, to set an example, declared that from that day on the Noila family would take only Starag mages as their servants. Outwardly, Larand accepted his place under Queen Anastasia's thumb and performed well as her mage servant until he eventually died of old age.
Ever since, as Queen Anastasia declared, the Noila vampires have only taken Starag mages as their servants. As a result, the Starag family came to be held in high regard by House Noila and the Moonlight Council for their history of dedicated service. In return, the Starags have developed an affection for the Noila line and vampires in general, having reaped benefits from their service most mages are not so fortunate to recieve. As such, the Starags have changed from begrudging servants submitting for the greater good to enthusiastic attendants who consider their position to be a noble one and take it as a source of pride, telling themselves and their offspring that through their work they are participating in the system that emancipated mankind from tyrannical rule.
To this day the Starags are some of the best trained and highest regarded mages in the Treaty. However, this will be the first year a Starag will attend Noila Academy, having traditionally been privately tutored.
His resolve didn't falter when the werewolves attacked. Even in the face of sure destruction, he was the last to be swayed in favour of the Blood Treaty. Fortunately, his desire to save humankind won out over his hatred of vampires and he did finally sign the Treaty as the co-signatory to Queen Anastasia Noila herself. After the combined armies of the humans and vampires fought off the werewolf invaders and a shaky peace was finally established, Queen Noila took Larand as her personal mage and, to set an example, declared that from that day on the Noila family would take only Starag mages as their servants. Outwardly, Larand accepted his place under Queen Anastasia's thumb and performed well as her mage servant until he eventually died of old age.
Ever since, as Queen Anastasia declared, the Noila vampires have only taken Starag mages as their servants. As a result, the Starag family came to be held in high regard by House Noila and the Moonlight Council for their history of dedicated service. In return, the Starags have developed an affection for the Noila line and vampires in general, having reaped benefits from their service most mages are not so fortunate to recieve. As such, the Starags have changed from begrudging servants submitting for the greater good to enthusiastic attendants who consider their position to be a noble one and take it as a source of pride, telling themselves and their offspring that through their work they are participating in the system that emancipated mankind from tyrannical rule.
To this day the Starags are some of the best trained and highest regarded mages in the Treaty. However, this will be the first year a Starag will attend Noila Academy, having traditionally been privately tutored.
Born to a mage family well-respected by the Council, Aaron's pedigree is long and impressive. Directly descended from Larand Starag himself (albeit many, many generations on) he has big shoes to fill and a sparkling reputation to uphold; as such, it comes as no surprise that he had a very structured and disciplined upbringing. Indeed, Aaron has been held to a high standard all his life, his entire childhood having been spent learning everything from etiquette to swordsmanship. He was taught academics and etiquette alike from private tutors, and has been kept on a strict diet and exercise regimen since he first became a teenager. You see, in the Starag family, the best thing you can become is an attendant to a vampire, and they take their assignment to the royal family very seriously. Therefore, their children are taught from a young age anything and everything that could be of use to make them the best attendants out there; how to conduct themselves in a vampiric court, how to keep themselves fit and healthy (i.e. in good feeding condition) and everything they might need to keep their future masters happy, from organizational skills to keep their master's appointments to martial training should they have to defend them.
Aaron was no exception. In fact, he was a glowing example of a Starag child on his way to great accomplishment as an attendant. Only one thing stood to impede him: whether or not he was actually a mage. One of the things Aaron remembers best from his childhood was a combination of anxiety and desperate hope that he would have magic and be accepted, as his ancestors were, into the ranks of mage attendants. Most of the Starag descendants before him had been mages, with the few who had not having left His Awakening day was the most exciting, terrifying, and highly-anticipated one of his life; he remembers practically shaking as he held his crystal in a white-knuckled grip, eyes tight shut, hoping with all of his might that the damn thing would light up. To his considerable joy and great relief, the crystal glowed brightly, emitting sharp rays of golden light all throughout the chamber.
In the two years since his Awakening, Aaron has been training harder than ever under the watchful eye of his tutors, knowing any day could be the day he was finally chosen to take his place at a Noila vampire's side. However, only a few weeks ago, he was informed that, against tradition, he would be attending Noila Academy instead of completing his studies under a tutor - at the command of Princess Ryner herself, the vampire whom his father and other relatives served - and, consequently, end up possibly being assigned to a vampire outside of the Noila family. As of now, he will be the first Starag mage to ever attend the academy.
| Likes |
Self-improvement / success / magic / being organized / dogs / structure / swordsmanship / playing cello / the night sky / quiet / dressing up
| Dislikes |
Failure / feeling like he's not in control / sloppiness / blatant emotion / crassness / laziness / noise / most modern music / ungrateful mages
| Habits |
Journaling (keeps both a personal diary and a habit and health tracking journal) / scheduling / near-obsessive grooming / foot tapping
| Other |
Aaron keeps extremely good care of himself, partly because it's good for him both physically and mentally, and partly to make himself the best protector and most satisfying feed possible for his future master.
He was raised nocturnal in anticipation of his service to a vampire, so he'll have no trouble adjusting to life with a vampire.
He uses full-spectrum lighting to prevent vitamin D deficiency and seasonal affective disorder.
Aaron also keeps a diary and a detailed log of his health and habits. He uses a smartwatch to track his steps and activity.
OP
Obscene Symphony sea wench
Member
Seen
30 days ago
Aurelia had only achieved a few short hours of sleep by the time her personal attendants woke her, opening curtains and setting out breakfast and filling the room with soft, excited chatter. Aurelia would normally have vehemently opposed the early intrusion, but she knew as well as they did that today was a big day.
She rose without protest, accepted an unusually hearty breakfast (oat porridge sprinkled with dried fruit and nuts as opposed to her usual meal of fruit and cheese) and allowed her handmaids to dress and groom her. If not for the date, it would seem like an almost normal morning. However, as she went about her routine, she was also giving orders and opinions as her rooms were torn entirely apart by both her own attendants and their apprentices, offering counsel on what to pack and where, invited or otherwise. She did, however, insist on packing her cosmetics personally, carefully arranging them in padded boxes to ensure none of them would spill or be broken; some of those little pots and jars were very rare and worth an inordinate amount of money, and many were gifts from her father, her brothers, or other figures of consequence looking to curry favour. They contained a wide array of salves, balms, pigments and perfumes of both the liquid and solid variety.
When that was done, she set about packing away her other treasures, personally overseeing the packing of her jewelry after it had been unearthed from the palace vault. She always loved taking inventory of her jewelry, gorgeous pieces in largely sapphire and silver, ranging from grand collier necklaces to priceless earrings and gilded circlets, but it was a small consolation when she knew she was taking them with her only because she was leaving her life behind.
It took all morning to get her affairs in order and by the time she sent the last of her things to the coaches, it was nearing noon, and her rooms were empty save for the furniture. Aurelia took only a moment to herself in the newfound silence to glance around the bare walls and empty shelves, look at the courtyard through the window she'd been using since she was a child. Down there, a procession of stagecoaches in royal regalia awaited to take her to her new home. She could see the few Firthian escorts down there as well, all yellows and blacks from the knights to the coaches, and she noticed that from this height, they looked rather like wasps. In all, it was a magnificent procession indeed, but to Aurelia it still looked like a slaver's caravan.
Now, with the last of her things being loaded into the caravan (they had taken up about four stagecoaches in total, though she was pleased to see two others at the ready) her time was running out. Soon her father's knights would start lining up for a formal sendoff, as would her brothers and their families, all smiles and waves and childlike well-wishes as Aurelia stared down her fate. Her father would be there, dressed to the nines, sending her off to be wed to a foreign king in a far-off land, likely never to be seen again.
But now was not the time for grieving. She would have plenty of time for that later. Now was the time for her to be a princess, and take up the reigns of her duty with pride. She tore her eyes away from the procession in the courtyard below and turned them to her vanity, one of the few possessions she wouldn't be taking with her. On it laid a twisted silver circlet with a single, teardrop-shaped sapphire nested at the front. In the vanity mirror she saw herself, raven hair gleaming in cascading waves over the shoulders of a light cloak, grey in colour and ornately embroidered with shining eagles. Underneath the cloak was a long-sleeved blue gown, rather plain by her standards, but better for travelling, and still much more lavish than anyone outside of noble circles would ever wear in their lifetime. The collar of her cloak concealed the dress' delving neckline, but all in all it was relatively demure a look for the Bastollion Princess.
Gods, I look like a commoner, she thought, sliding onto the padded vanity bench for the last time and giving herself a good, long look. Her emerald eyes shone with a glimmer of wetness, and a hard lump began forming in her throat as she looked on. She blinked hard, scowling into the mirror and breathing deeply to stretch her chest as she picked up the circlet and settled it on her head.
Too late to cry now, she told herself, it's time to do your job.
She rose without protest, accepted an unusually hearty breakfast (oat porridge sprinkled with dried fruit and nuts as opposed to her usual meal of fruit and cheese) and allowed her handmaids to dress and groom her. If not for the date, it would seem like an almost normal morning. However, as she went about her routine, she was also giving orders and opinions as her rooms were torn entirely apart by both her own attendants and their apprentices, offering counsel on what to pack and where, invited or otherwise. She did, however, insist on packing her cosmetics personally, carefully arranging them in padded boxes to ensure none of them would spill or be broken; some of those little pots and jars were very rare and worth an inordinate amount of money, and many were gifts from her father, her brothers, or other figures of consequence looking to curry favour. They contained a wide array of salves, balms, pigments and perfumes of both the liquid and solid variety.
When that was done, she set about packing away her other treasures, personally overseeing the packing of her jewelry after it had been unearthed from the palace vault. She always loved taking inventory of her jewelry, gorgeous pieces in largely sapphire and silver, ranging from grand collier necklaces to priceless earrings and gilded circlets, but it was a small consolation when she knew she was taking them with her only because she was leaving her life behind.
It took all morning to get her affairs in order and by the time she sent the last of her things to the coaches, it was nearing noon, and her rooms were empty save for the furniture. Aurelia took only a moment to herself in the newfound silence to glance around the bare walls and empty shelves, look at the courtyard through the window she'd been using since she was a child. Down there, a procession of stagecoaches in royal regalia awaited to take her to her new home. She could see the few Firthian escorts down there as well, all yellows and blacks from the knights to the coaches, and she noticed that from this height, they looked rather like wasps. In all, it was a magnificent procession indeed, but to Aurelia it still looked like a slaver's caravan.
Now, with the last of her things being loaded into the caravan (they had taken up about four stagecoaches in total, though she was pleased to see two others at the ready) her time was running out. Soon her father's knights would start lining up for a formal sendoff, as would her brothers and their families, all smiles and waves and childlike well-wishes as Aurelia stared down her fate. Her father would be there, dressed to the nines, sending her off to be wed to a foreign king in a far-off land, likely never to be seen again.
But now was not the time for grieving. She would have plenty of time for that later. Now was the time for her to be a princess, and take up the reigns of her duty with pride. She tore her eyes away from the procession in the courtyard below and turned them to her vanity, one of the few possessions she wouldn't be taking with her. On it laid a twisted silver circlet with a single, teardrop-shaped sapphire nested at the front. In the vanity mirror she saw herself, raven hair gleaming in cascading waves over the shoulders of a light cloak, grey in colour and ornately embroidered with shining eagles. Underneath the cloak was a long-sleeved blue gown, rather plain by her standards, but better for travelling, and still much more lavish than anyone outside of noble circles would ever wear in their lifetime. The collar of her cloak concealed the dress' delving neckline, but all in all it was relatively demure a look for the Bastollion Princess.
Gods, I look like a commoner, she thought, sliding onto the padded vanity bench for the last time and giving herself a good, long look. Her emerald eyes shone with a glimmer of wetness, and a hard lump began forming in her throat as she looked on. She blinked hard, scowling into the mirror and breathing deeply to stretch her chest as she picked up the circlet and settled it on her head.
Too late to cry now, she told herself, it's time to do your job.
OP
Obscene Symphony sea wench
Member
Seen
30 days ago
It was a short trip from Linta's tree to her mother's - only a short upward climb and two tightropes away - and she made it there in good time, traversing the ropes with ease. She didn't bother announcing her arrival before she pushed through the barrier of woven willow curtain that closed off her mother's hollow; she could already smell their usual tea brewing inside. She entered just as her mother was settling for their daily meeting.
"You were late this morning," her mother joked when she entered, gingerly arranging her legs beneath her, "I saw you scrambling to get in your offering in time."
"Hush you," Linta chastised in return, unceremoniously plopping herself down opposite her mother, "I bet my offering was better than yours anyway."
Her mother laughed quietly, pulling a fur blanket over her crossed legs while Linta busied herself with serving the tea.
It was very warm in her mother's hollow, with a fire steadily burning in the brazier in the wall and her tightly woven curtain doing a good job of keeping the draft out. It was a little too warm for Linta, who pulled at the collar of her tunic to let some air in, but her mother sat right in front of the fire on the little nest of mats and furs that made up her bed. Her mother wasn't too old, but she had painful joints that ached in the cold, and even though the autumn chill had only just started, it was already starting to bother her.
Linta retrieved a squat wooden tray from a recessed shelf in the wall, a thick rectangular slab with indents in the sides that acted as handles and palm-sized divots in the surface. From the same shelf she retrieved a bowl of carefully hollowed out eggshells, the round bottoms of which fit snugly into the tray. From the bowl she selected two shells, one light blue with brown speckling and the other dark green with a spray of tiny black dots, and set them out on the tray to be filled.
The tea, which had been brewed in a much larger and thicker eggshell kettle (arguably the most valuable possession in anyone's hollow) was a clear light green, like tinted water. It was, however, much more potent than it looked, and the smell, sharp and herbal, filled the hollow as she poured.
When she was done, she placed the kettle back on its little wooden stand (an indented block much like the tray, but larger) and handed her mother the brown shell, keeping the blue one for herself. Her mother sipped hers immediately while Linta set about sweetening her own with honey.
"Did Orik drop by yet today?" Linta asked, not looking up from the stream of honey she was carefully measuring.
"Oh yes," her mother replied, "Brought another packet of medicine too."
"Oh really, how is it working?" Linta asked.
"Like a blessing," her mother sighed, rubbing one of her knees, "This one hasn't complained at all today."
Linta smiled. Her cousin Orik, son to her late father's sister, had been bringing her mother a new medicine recently. Something his own mother, an established ersha, had been working on to try and alleviate joint pain. It was made from rare components, so her mother was lucky to be able to test it.
Linta stayed for a little while, finishing her tea and chatting as they did every day. Of course, it was only a matter of time before her mother brought up the only topic anyone who knew her had in mind.
"So, have you had any luck in your search?"
Linta stifled a groan, opting instead for a heavy exhale. Impulsively she gathered the end of her tail in her lap, fiddling with the feathers and beads that decorated it.
"No luck yet," she admitted.
Her mother's eyes softened. "Oh come now, it's not the end of the world," she cooed, "You'll find your ari in due time."
"I just don't understand," Linta sighed, "I thought I've done everything right, but the spirits don't seem to agree."
"Hush," her mother scolded gently, "Don't think like that. You'll find one when your time comes."
Linta nodded down at her tail, and her mother pulled her into a hug. She knew this was a touchy subject for her. She was more than old enough now, having left home and carved her own hollow (a good one, she thought) and having, she thought, taken on her adult responsibilities. She did what was asked of her by her elders, she contributed her share to the food stocks and if she was needed elsewhere, she would go. She hadn't found a specialty yet, fine, but lots of people determined that after finding their ari. She didn't know why the treyu didn't think she was ready for adulthood yet. What more could she do?
"You know what?" Linta's mother finally mentioned, "Orik told me Mara might be looking for some help with collecting materials. Maybe you should help her!"
Linta didn't hesitate. "Of course," she offered, "I'm always willing to help Aunt Mara."
"Good," her mother laughed, "Because you know how Orik can be. He means well, but I can't imagine he'll be a huge help when he gets over to the west tree..."
They both laughed. It was true, Orik was sweet but had a habit of getting distracted, especially when a certain black-haired Canopy girl came into the mix.
"Besides," Linta's mother added coyly, "You'll have to look pretty deep into the foliage and around the village borders. You never know what you'll find..."
It was nearing noon when Linta finally left her mother's hollow, making her way across the criss-cross of tightropes to the south tree in search of her aunt. When she got there, Mara was glad for her offer of help and handed her a few pouches and a list of what she was to gather and sent her on her way.
Her gathering mission took Linta into the canopy on the edges of the village, where the foliage was thicker owing to the reduced traffic. All manner of plant life lived up here, from little vines taking advantage of the sunlight to the leaves of the mighty trees themselves. Linta was a skilled climber and navigated the thin branches with ease, bouncing occasionally from one to the other, relishing each instant of suspension over the endless drop below. She did a pretty good job of finding the items her aunt requested of her - bark from this vine, nectar from that flower, buds from this plant, etc. - but kept a sharp eye out all the while for the streak of brilliant white and blue that would signify her transition to adulthood. It never did come, but when her pouches were full and she was turning back home, she noticed something comparatively interesting.
It was a nest, a very large one, settled into the tallest branches of that particular tree (though it was almost impossible to tell which branches belonged to what trees), with three shining black eggs nestled neatly in it, each about the size of Linta's head. It was a Qian nest, the enormous predatory birds that occasionally worked up the gall to try and carry off children before they were driven away by the Canopy garrison. Needless to say, the presence of a nest here, so close to the village, was a serious problem.
However, those eggs were a valuable commodity in the village. Their shells were especially thick, and they were what everyone's kettles and cooking pots were made of.
Unfortunately, as Linta determined when she was getting ready to raid the nest, she had no bags on her large enough to hold the eggs, and running through the branches with your arms full was a death wish. Still, she didn't want to waste this opportunity.
If she couldn't take the eggs home, she could at least hang on to the memory. Pulling her journal out of a pocket on her leg, she settled herself somewhat comfortably between two branches, pulled out a charred wooden stick and started sketching.
Within about ten minutes she had a good sketch going of most of the nest and was starting on the eggs when a shadow passed over her. She froze. Her heartbeat filled her ears.
The shadow passed over her again, and a huge mass of brown feathers filled her view. She felt the buffeting of air on her face as the bird flapped around the nest. Panicking, Linta threw her journal at the beast and scrambled down under the canopy where the qian couldn't reach her, rushing through the branches and back to the village, straight to the garrison to report the bird. She'd gone further out of the village than she had thought, but she made it back in time for the garrison to dispatch. The screeching she heard in the few minutes that followed told her the garrison had taken care of the threat.
"You were late this morning," her mother joked when she entered, gingerly arranging her legs beneath her, "I saw you scrambling to get in your offering in time."
"Hush you," Linta chastised in return, unceremoniously plopping herself down opposite her mother, "I bet my offering was better than yours anyway."
Her mother laughed quietly, pulling a fur blanket over her crossed legs while Linta busied herself with serving the tea.
It was very warm in her mother's hollow, with a fire steadily burning in the brazier in the wall and her tightly woven curtain doing a good job of keeping the draft out. It was a little too warm for Linta, who pulled at the collar of her tunic to let some air in, but her mother sat right in front of the fire on the little nest of mats and furs that made up her bed. Her mother wasn't too old, but she had painful joints that ached in the cold, and even though the autumn chill had only just started, it was already starting to bother her.
Linta retrieved a squat wooden tray from a recessed shelf in the wall, a thick rectangular slab with indents in the sides that acted as handles and palm-sized divots in the surface. From the same shelf she retrieved a bowl of carefully hollowed out eggshells, the round bottoms of which fit snugly into the tray. From the bowl she selected two shells, one light blue with brown speckling and the other dark green with a spray of tiny black dots, and set them out on the tray to be filled.
The tea, which had been brewed in a much larger and thicker eggshell kettle (arguably the most valuable possession in anyone's hollow) was a clear light green, like tinted water. It was, however, much more potent than it looked, and the smell, sharp and herbal, filled the hollow as she poured.
When she was done, she placed the kettle back on its little wooden stand (an indented block much like the tray, but larger) and handed her mother the brown shell, keeping the blue one for herself. Her mother sipped hers immediately while Linta set about sweetening her own with honey.
"Did Orik drop by yet today?" Linta asked, not looking up from the stream of honey she was carefully measuring.
"Oh yes," her mother replied, "Brought another packet of medicine too."
"Oh really, how is it working?" Linta asked.
"Like a blessing," her mother sighed, rubbing one of her knees, "This one hasn't complained at all today."
Linta smiled. Her cousin Orik, son to her late father's sister, had been bringing her mother a new medicine recently. Something his own mother, an established ersha, had been working on to try and alleviate joint pain. It was made from rare components, so her mother was lucky to be able to test it.
Linta stayed for a little while, finishing her tea and chatting as they did every day. Of course, it was only a matter of time before her mother brought up the only topic anyone who knew her had in mind.
"So, have you had any luck in your search?"
Linta stifled a groan, opting instead for a heavy exhale. Impulsively she gathered the end of her tail in her lap, fiddling with the feathers and beads that decorated it.
"No luck yet," she admitted.
Her mother's eyes softened. "Oh come now, it's not the end of the world," she cooed, "You'll find your ari in due time."
"I just don't understand," Linta sighed, "I thought I've done everything right, but the spirits don't seem to agree."
"Hush," her mother scolded gently, "Don't think like that. You'll find one when your time comes."
Linta nodded down at her tail, and her mother pulled her into a hug. She knew this was a touchy subject for her. She was more than old enough now, having left home and carved her own hollow (a good one, she thought) and having, she thought, taken on her adult responsibilities. She did what was asked of her by her elders, she contributed her share to the food stocks and if she was needed elsewhere, she would go. She hadn't found a specialty yet, fine, but lots of people determined that after finding their ari. She didn't know why the treyu didn't think she was ready for adulthood yet. What more could she do?
"You know what?" Linta's mother finally mentioned, "Orik told me Mara might be looking for some help with collecting materials. Maybe you should help her!"
Linta didn't hesitate. "Of course," she offered, "I'm always willing to help Aunt Mara."
"Good," her mother laughed, "Because you know how Orik can be. He means well, but I can't imagine he'll be a huge help when he gets over to the west tree..."
They both laughed. It was true, Orik was sweet but had a habit of getting distracted, especially when a certain black-haired Canopy girl came into the mix.
"Besides," Linta's mother added coyly, "You'll have to look pretty deep into the foliage and around the village borders. You never know what you'll find..."
~ / / / ~
It was nearing noon when Linta finally left her mother's hollow, making her way across the criss-cross of tightropes to the south tree in search of her aunt. When she got there, Mara was glad for her offer of help and handed her a few pouches and a list of what she was to gather and sent her on her way.
Her gathering mission took Linta into the canopy on the edges of the village, where the foliage was thicker owing to the reduced traffic. All manner of plant life lived up here, from little vines taking advantage of the sunlight to the leaves of the mighty trees themselves. Linta was a skilled climber and navigated the thin branches with ease, bouncing occasionally from one to the other, relishing each instant of suspension over the endless drop below. She did a pretty good job of finding the items her aunt requested of her - bark from this vine, nectar from that flower, buds from this plant, etc. - but kept a sharp eye out all the while for the streak of brilliant white and blue that would signify her transition to adulthood. It never did come, but when her pouches were full and she was turning back home, she noticed something comparatively interesting.
It was a nest, a very large one, settled into the tallest branches of that particular tree (though it was almost impossible to tell which branches belonged to what trees), with three shining black eggs nestled neatly in it, each about the size of Linta's head. It was a Qian nest, the enormous predatory birds that occasionally worked up the gall to try and carry off children before they were driven away by the Canopy garrison. Needless to say, the presence of a nest here, so close to the village, was a serious problem.
However, those eggs were a valuable commodity in the village. Their shells were especially thick, and they were what everyone's kettles and cooking pots were made of.
Unfortunately, as Linta determined when she was getting ready to raid the nest, she had no bags on her large enough to hold the eggs, and running through the branches with your arms full was a death wish. Still, she didn't want to waste this opportunity.
If she couldn't take the eggs home, she could at least hang on to the memory. Pulling her journal out of a pocket on her leg, she settled herself somewhat comfortably between two branches, pulled out a charred wooden stick and started sketching.
Within about ten minutes she had a good sketch going of most of the nest and was starting on the eggs when a shadow passed over her. She froze. Her heartbeat filled her ears.
The shadow passed over her again, and a huge mass of brown feathers filled her view. She felt the buffeting of air on her face as the bird flapped around the nest. Panicking, Linta threw her journal at the beast and scrambled down under the canopy where the qian couldn't reach her, rushing through the branches and back to the village, straight to the garrison to report the bird. She'd gone further out of the village than she had thought, but she made it back in time for the garrison to dispatch. The screeching she heard in the few minutes that followed told her the garrison had taken care of the threat.
OP
Obscene Symphony sea wench
Member
Seen
30 days ago
OP
Obscene Symphony sea wench
Member
Seen
30 days ago
Aurelia steadied herself with a breath as she set foot into the courtyard, steeling herself for the first leg of her journey. The path from the castle doors to her stagecoach couldn't have been more than twenty-five steps, but it stretched obscenely before her like a winding path all the way to Sommerfirth. Flanked on either side by visiting nobles and family members alike, it reminded her of a funeral procession; waiting at the end was her hearse, attended by her draconic undertaker.
Firm in her resolve, Aurelia painted on her best "excited bride-to-be" smile and stepped off the landing and into the sunlight, making her way down the line, individually saying her goodbyes to her brothers and their families, and smiling and nodding to the visiting nobles who had attended to pay their respects. It was excruciating to be sure, both the sadness of saying goodbye to her family and the maddening slowness required to conduct this ridiculous custom at all. If she had had her way, she would have broken out in a run and taken refuge in the coach; sadly, etiquette was a shackle most firmly fastened around the ankles of royalty.
She lingered a touch longer with her father at the end of the line, letting him take her hands in his and accepting, with newly tear-filled eyes, a kiss on the cheek after his formal farewell had been recited. She was reluctant to go (especially seeing that the same shine in her eyes had glazed over her father's), but finally, she had to tear herself away.
At her stagecoach at last, she turned an eye back at the line of nobles, following them with her eyes to the castle walls and up, up until she had to squint at the blinding white of the sunbathed towers above them. It hurt her eyes, but still she stared nonetheless until the light had burned away the tears that threatened in her eyes.
It was only reluctantly that she turned away; she could feel the pressure of time and she knew she couldn’t linger any longer. Turning back to the carriage, only one challenge remained. The half-breed, armour glinting in the sun, alien face all but covered by his helmet, awaited her. When she neared, he offered his hand to her.
For a second, she simply stared at the clawed, scaled hand before her in morbid fascination; she normally would have snubbed the offer, and perhaps have summoned a different knight to escort her into the carriage.Hell, she would have chosen another knight altogether. But she wouldn't embarrass herself now. She remembered the scornful looks she'd gotten when she snapped at the half-breed in the throne room. She'd been stricken by shock then, but wouldn't make a fool of herself this time.
With only a brief hesitation, she took the hand offered to her, ever-so-gently grasping it and allowing the dragonborn to help her into the carriage. She even gave him a polite nod as he did so, as any proper noblewoman would. By all accounts, it was a prime display of etiquette.
His scaly hand was warm, Aurelia noted to her surprise. The silver scales felt more like finely polished stone than steel; while she had never given it more than a passing thought, she'd expected touching him to feel like touching an empty suit of armour.
The thought didn't linger, however, past the closing of the carriage door. By then, she only wondered how far they had to get outside of the palace walls before she could cry.
Firm in her resolve, Aurelia painted on her best "excited bride-to-be" smile and stepped off the landing and into the sunlight, making her way down the line, individually saying her goodbyes to her brothers and their families, and smiling and nodding to the visiting nobles who had attended to pay their respects. It was excruciating to be sure, both the sadness of saying goodbye to her family and the maddening slowness required to conduct this ridiculous custom at all. If she had had her way, she would have broken out in a run and taken refuge in the coach; sadly, etiquette was a shackle most firmly fastened around the ankles of royalty.
She lingered a touch longer with her father at the end of the line, letting him take her hands in his and accepting, with newly tear-filled eyes, a kiss on the cheek after his formal farewell had been recited. She was reluctant to go (especially seeing that the same shine in her eyes had glazed over her father's), but finally, she had to tear herself away.
At her stagecoach at last, she turned an eye back at the line of nobles, following them with her eyes to the castle walls and up, up until she had to squint at the blinding white of the sunbathed towers above them. It hurt her eyes, but still she stared nonetheless until the light had burned away the tears that threatened in her eyes.
It was only reluctantly that she turned away; she could feel the pressure of time and she knew she couldn’t linger any longer. Turning back to the carriage, only one challenge remained. The half-breed, armour glinting in the sun, alien face all but covered by his helmet, awaited her. When she neared, he offered his hand to her.
For a second, she simply stared at the clawed, scaled hand before her in morbid fascination; she normally would have snubbed the offer, and perhaps have summoned a different knight to escort her into the carriage.Hell, she would have chosen another knight altogether. But she wouldn't embarrass herself now. She remembered the scornful looks she'd gotten when she snapped at the half-breed in the throne room. She'd been stricken by shock then, but wouldn't make a fool of herself this time.
With only a brief hesitation, she took the hand offered to her, ever-so-gently grasping it and allowing the dragonborn to help her into the carriage. She even gave him a polite nod as he did so, as any proper noblewoman would. By all accounts, it was a prime display of etiquette.
His scaly hand was warm, Aurelia noted to her surprise. The silver scales felt more like finely polished stone than steel; while she had never given it more than a passing thought, she'd expected touching him to feel like touching an empty suit of armour.
The thought didn't linger, however, past the closing of the carriage door. By then, she only wondered how far they had to get outside of the palace walls before she could cry.
OP
Obscene Symphony sea wench
Member
Seen
30 days ago
As they neared the noble dormitory buildings, a warm sense of familiarity blossomed in Aaron's chest. He'd only been away from home for a few hours, but still the sight of Noila family colours brought him some comfort; he hadn't quite realized how tense he'd been until he relaxed a little at the sight.
Looking around inside revealed more of a neutral atmosphere, gold tones on soothing white - a calm environment for a stressed student. The front door opened into a hallway, with a dining room on the left and a sitting room on the right. Aaron stood in the entryway as Varis explored, closing the front door and glancing around at what rooms he could see as he waited for Varis to make the first rounds. He wanted to check out the house too, but truth be told he was a little nervous. No matter; there'd be time for that later.
It didn't take Varis long to finish his inspection, though Aaron did note he spent more time in one bedroom than the other, probably his own. When he had satisfied himself, he called down the hall with an order for Aaron to unpack and meet him in the study. Aaron gave Varis an affirmative nod as he passed him in the hallway, peering into each room and promptly entering the one which already held his belongings. Strange, he thought, that it was the same one in which the Count had lingered.
He took only a minute or so to explore the bedroom, bathroom, and closet before he started unpacking, quite pleased with the accommodations. It didn't take long to get himself situated, having cleverly packed his expertly folded clothes in sections easily relocated to drawers and hangers. His other belongings moved quickly as well, toiletries finding homes in the bathroom and various books and other stationery, including a number of journals, nestled neatly on shelves. The whole production only took about fifteen minutes; Aaron was sure he'd move things around and personalize his room as he got comfortable here, but that could wait.
With everything in its place and his empty luggage stowed out of sight on the high shelves in his closet, Aaron felt the room was ready. He opted to remove his sword and scabbard from his hip before leaving, hanging the unit carefully in the closet before he went to the study. He'd find a better home for it later, but for now, the closet would do.
Aaron took another deep breath to stretch out the nervous constriction in his chest and made his way to the study, where he found Varis seated at one of the desks with a few sealed letters in front of him. Stopping a short distance away from the desks, he straightened his posture and folded his hands behind his back once more, spinning his ring. He opted to stay silent this time, thinking it wise to let the Count do the talking.
OP
Obscene Symphony sea wench
Member
Seen
30 days ago
The courtesy afforded to Aaron had clearly outstayed its welcome as Varis mocked him and closed the distance between them with a dangerous look in his eye. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up when the Count unexpectedly weaved his fingers through his hair, pulling Aaron down to his level. He froze like a bird caught in a cat’s teeth as Varis whispered in his ear, pulse quickening nervously at the suggestion therein. As close as he was, Varis could probably smell the blood that coursed urgently through Aaron’s veins as his heart thundered in his ears in a very unwelcome combination of confusion and fear.
Then, as quickly as he had come, Varis was gone, and Aaron could breathe again. He barely heard the rest of the Count’s commands but immediately set about fulfilling them anyway, eager to do something, anything, other than standing at attention. Only when he could no longer hear Varis’ footsteps down the hall did he allow himself a moment to center himself, leaning on the desk and letting his head drop, briefly consumed in a combination of confused anger and relief. He ran his other hand through his hair, rearranging it where the Count had tousled it, and rubbed his ear as if to scrub away the feeling of Varis' lips. What the hell was that?
Only when he finally relaxed did he notice how tense he had been throughout their exchange; he could feel the tightness in his chest begin to loosen and the muscles in his neck complained as he stretched them. Was this how his life would be from now on, a constant state of nervous uncertainty? Varis was unpredictable and seemed to delight in Aaron’s discomfort. He hesitated to make judgements after barely a day of knowing the vampire, but at that point, what other conclusions could he draw?
He scooped up the letters on Varis’ desk with near-trembling hands, taking a few long breaths to steady them. Speculation like that would do nothing but drive him crazy, Aaron knew, and he did his best to focus on the task at hand. Organizing the letters into a neat pile, he set out down the hall and out the door to deliver them.
The cool night air was welcome on his flushed cheeks and he was thankful for the darkness as he strode out with long steps into the night, depositing the letters to the groundskeeper and to Lady Sinnenodel into their own mailbox and tilting up the indicator. Then it was straight to the other noble dorms’ boxes, each one getting a letter with the appropriate name.
When the last box was closed and the indicator adjusted, it was time for Aaron to go back to his new home, to his new master. He took his time going back, his meandering steps a stark contrast to his former urgency, and turned his eyes skyward. His favourite constellation, Orion, hung massive and bright in the sky, and Aaron used his walk to admire it. The cool air and the majesty of the night sky did wonders to calm him down, even as he neared the stone wall surrounding the property. For all the stress he’d just gone through, he never once considered leaving. Regardless of the fact he’d be easily found if he did, the idea never even crossed his mind. To Aaron, servitude was a way of life - the only way of life, in fact, he could imagine for himself. In his mind there simply was no alternative; running away for him seemed as impossible and pointless an idea as taking to the sky by flapping his arms.
When he finally did return, locking the door behind him, Aaron made for his room. He relaxed even more once the door was closed, and he went about his morning routine more or less automatically, mulling over the night’s events in his mind. If he was going to do well - and indeed, even be happy - as Varis’ attendant, he had to learn not to let his discomfort get the better of him - or preferably, learn not to be uncomfortable in the first place. Of course that was easier said than done when the man who essentially owned him was whispering lewd suggestions in his ear, but he hoped that had been an unusual tactic to try and get a rise out of him. He would have to learn to handle the way the Count spoke circles around him. Perhaps, he thought, he’d get used to it. Perhaps for now Varis was just trying his boundaries, and would back off as they got accustomed to each other. Surely the up-and-coming protege of Lady Sinnenodel had better things to do than constantly toy with his mage.
The thought brought Aaron a strange comfort, that he might be left alone in favour of more pressing matters. Nonetheless, his profession to Varis had been true; he truly did want to live up to the Count’s expectations. He wanted to impress him. Despite the way he’d been toyed with and treated so far, Aaron was a devoted man; devoted to his service, and devoted to his master. Serving and serving well was what Aaron thought to be his calling in life. To him, there was honour in service. A certain dignity. Those values had been instilled into him from childhood, and into his family from the earliest days of the Treaty. Indeed, if he were suddenly free, as the humans were or even the vampires, he probably wouldn’t know what to do.
It was those values that were at the core of the conflict raging inside him as he slipped into a pair of pajama bottoms, opting to stay shirtless, picked a journal and a pen off his bookshelf and made his way to his remarkably large bed. He wanted to be a good attendant, but the human inside him bristled at the disrespect. He knew it was a ridiculous gripe; he would be justified in his annoyance if it were a human or a fellow mage to treat him like that, but he knew he had no real claim to any standard of treatment when it came to vampires. Whatever respect or consideration he got was a kindness on the vampire’s part. He’d been raised around exceptionally kind vampires, but he knew he should know better than to expect the same treatment from the rest of the world.
When he finally collapsed into bed, he considered writing his usual nightly entry in his journal, but ultimately decided against it for now and put the journal and pen on the bedside table. His mind had been running around in circles all night, and the very thought of putting those thoughts to paper right then was exhausting on its own. It was earlier than normal for him to be going to bed, but the night’s events had taken a toll on him.
He turned off the lamp to his side, letting the room plunge into darkness, setting an alarm on his phone to 7:15pm before putting it away as well. When he rolled onto his back, staring up at the total darkness, a different thought entirely came to mind. A thought of long white hair and pretty sapphire eyes looking up at him without malice, of a soft pale hand in his and a gentle voice he could still hear in his head saying a name he couldn’t seem to forget. Lilie.
He just tried not to think of the vampire’s hand that had weaved its way through her hair like a snake in the grass. He would have preferred it if that hand had been his.
~ / / / ~
The day eventually passed, sound sleep turning fitful throughout the day as Aaron tossed and turned, not really sleeping but not really awake. He didn't dream, but he was restless nonetheless until his 7:15 alarm finally pulled him all the way into the real world once again. Not one to stay in bed after waking up, he got up and immediately went about his evening routine, showering, brushing his teeth, and the like. He didn't need to shave tonight, which gave him some extra time to look over the contents of the envelope on his vanity. As he pulled on his clothes (a pair of khakis and a rust-red cardigan over a white button-up) he skimmed over the letter and focused on the schedule, taking a picture of it with his phone once he was done in case he needed a reference later.
It was about 7:45 when he left his room, noticing immediately that streams of deep orange sunlight lit up the hallway from the living room. With sudden urgency Aaron rushed to the living room, quickly securing the heavy velvet curtains over the windows. Varis must have forgotten to close them before he went to bed, or maybe he'd expected Aaron to do it. He made a mental note to make sure they'd been taken care of at the end of the night; the last thing he needed was Varis bursting into flame on account of an oversight.
He did hold open the last curtain for a second to admire the orange and red splash of the sunset over the trees. If he was one for visual arts, it was a scene he would have gladly painted. But he'd never been much good at that, and he didn't want to keep the curtain open much longer in case Varis emerged early from his room and got a face full of ambient sunlight. It definitely wouldn't reflect well on him.
The sunlight seemed to be caught in his eyes for a second in the form of a faint yellow glow as he turned them away from the sunset, disappearing after a few blinks. Once he'd secured the last curtain the room fell back into blackness, and Aaron had to use his phone flashlight to find the light switch. When he flicked it on, the room gradually brightened with soft off-white light, which he recognized immediately to be from full-spectrum bulbs. A nice touch, considering there would be mages living in these dorms who needed some replacement for daylight, both for their physical health and their mental well-being. It was also nice to know Aaron wouldn't need to set up his own lights, which was always a pain. He guessed that the regular student dorms had them as well.
He took the time with the house empty to explore a little more. He was familiar with the study, but he looked around the dining room, the sitting room, and the kitchen, finding everything lovely. He particularly liked the light colour scheme of soft whites and golds. The house wasn't overly large; a good size for two people but snug enough to be comfortable. Overall, he quite liked it, and some of the excitement he'd felt the night before about living on his own was starting to creep back.
After he'd finished exploring the house, he heard a deep rumble outside followed shortly after by a sharp knock on the front door. Brow furrowed, Aaron checked his watch as he walked to the door. It was eight o'clock on the dot, and the memory suddenly returned to him about the food delivery he was supposed to be expecting. Sure enough, when Aaron opened the door he was met with a middle-aged woman in a leather jacket holding an insulated delivery bag in one hand and a clipboard with the other.
"Sign there please." she stated flatly.
"Oh yeah, of course," Aaron replied as he scrawled his signature where the woman indicated.
The woman made an affirmative noise somewhere in the back of her throat and opened the delivery bag, carefully pulling out a warm paper box that smelled of strawberries and a metallic pouch of coffee and thrusting them into Aaron's arms.
She turned and left, mounting a motorcycle at the curb, as Aaron arranged the box and pouch on one arm. "Thank you!" he called after her, just before her motorcycle roared to life.
He went back inside, closing the door behind him carefully so as not to drop his packages, and made his way to the kitchen where he set the box down on the counter and went about getting the coffee machine running, skimming over the instructions on the pouch as he did so. Once he had the coffee machine bubbling away, he opened the box on the counter, greeted as promised by the sweet aroma of strawberry Danishes. There were two of them, fairly large, golden and overflowing with cream cheese and syrupy strawberries. The smell filled the kitchen and Aaron felt a flutter of excitement; he didn't normally get to eat decadent foods like these.
The coffee machine beeped softly and he rushed over to it, pulling a mug and a small plate from a cupboard and taking a seat at the kitchen island once he had his coffee in hand. He pulled over the danish box, put one on the plate and started eating the other one. Much to his delight, it tasted as good as it looked; a pleased little smile curled the corners of his lips as he chewed, careful not to get any crumbs on the counter.
As he ate he pulled out his phone, skimming over the morning news. There wasn't anything special, mostly headlines about the current Council negotiations and some gossip about the new Academy students. Apparently word had already gotten out that one noble from each house would be there this year, and there were some rumours that the royal family had made a "contribution" as well that Aaron wasn't particularly fond of. He didn't let it get to him; gossip would fly no matter what. The articles were mostly speculation and the mage tired of them quickly, but there wasn't much else to look at.
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Obscene Symphony sea wench
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30 days ago
The procession from the castle was a lovely display of royal wealth and a source of joy and gossip for the citizenry of Allamanthe. All but one, who did her best to smile, and broke down into tears the minute the city gates closed behind them.
From that point the journey dragged on without incident, most of Aurelia's time spent chatting distantly with her chief handmaiden Willa, discussing everything under the sun with the Firthian emissary for some reason and staring longingly out at the countryside, drinking in every peaceful, sun-soaked detail. She had an image in her mind of Sommerfirth as a scorched and barren wasteland beset at all times by tornadoes and dust storms, and she wanted to savour every green blade of grass and every golden field and every calm little town while she could.
Of course, like everything else, Aurelia quickly grew tired of the inside of her gilded carriage, and grew tired of sleeping in a different bed every night like some kind of common whore without the company. She grew tired of the Firthian emissary's incessant prattling, tired of the clopping of his horse's hooves alongside her carriage, tired of the gold tooth that glinted between his shifty lips. Of course she humoured him, not wanting to insult her future kingdom, but her answers to his endless questions soon became short and curt, and she rarely spared him a glance.
Eventually, on their approach to the port city of Wickport, the emissary got on her very last nerve, clopping alongside her carriage rattling on about something, his horse's side blocking her view of possibly the last piece of Bastolle she'd ever lay eyes on again.
Tired and sore from travel and tongue worn raw from talking about nothing, finally the princess leaned out her window and stared daggers at the emissary.
"Dear Ambassador," she began with a voice like poisoned honey, "We are on the approach to Wickport. Wickport is the last Bastollion city before Sommerfirth begins on the other side of the Rebus Sea. Now I am ecstatic to join the ranks of your fine rulers but I would also like to steal a glance at the last part of the country I very well may never see again." Her former smile darkened into a scowl. "So, for the love of all that is holy and light get your damn horse away from my window before I send the poor beast bolting with you tied by your ankles to the reins!"
A look of shock crossed the poor emissary's face and he promptly slowed his horse to let the carriage pass. Meanwhile, Willa giggled behind her hand.
Aurelia looked back at her, doing her best to keep up her firmness, but failing. "Now what ever is so funny?"
Willa laughed openly then, and Aurelia couldn't help but crack a smile. When the thought re-entered her mind that today would be the last she'd see of Willa, Aurelia pulled the girl into a hug. As nasty as the princess' reputation was among the servants, Willa had been with her since they were both children, and saw through her like glass. Gods, she would miss her.
When the caravan finally stopped in Wickport, Aurelia and Willa were promptly ushered to an inn overlooking the harbour and were situated in a common room with a sunny balcony where they could watch the ship as it was loaded. A small bastion of knights, mostly Bastollion but some Firthian as well, stood guard around them, but the presence that was notably missing was that of the half-breed champion. The ladies could see him giving orders on the docks from their perch, unmistakable what with his shining silver-and-blue cuirass and the vast wings folded on his back.
"They look rather like mail, don't they?" Asked Willa, apparently reading Aurelia's mind.
Aurelia shrugged, peering down at him with a sort of bored interest. "I suppose so," she replied, "But I don't think many well-to-do knights would wear them."
Willa chuckled, more in affirmation than anything. "He's really quite something, isn't he?"
Aurelia frowned. "Certainly something..." she offered distantly, swirling her drink before turning back to Willa with a mischievous grin, "But we've yet to find out exactly what."
Willa rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean," she gently chastised - perhaps the only person aside from the princess' immediate family who could get away with it - "Coming to all this trouble to escort you, and all."
Aurelia scoffed. "He is obeying my father, nothing more," she asserted, "That we do have in common."
Willa shrugged, changing the subject. "I wonder if they'll get that horse on board?"
Ah yes, the horse. They both knew which one Willa was talking about. The dragonling's horse, a monster in its own right, easily six hands higher than every other mount in the company. Aurelia wasn't sure if there was another beast in the country that would readily carry such a creature. Maybe in Sommerfirth, she mused, they could find him some kind of giant reptile.
From that point the journey dragged on without incident, most of Aurelia's time spent chatting distantly with her chief handmaiden Willa, discussing everything under the sun with the Firthian emissary for some reason and staring longingly out at the countryside, drinking in every peaceful, sun-soaked detail. She had an image in her mind of Sommerfirth as a scorched and barren wasteland beset at all times by tornadoes and dust storms, and she wanted to savour every green blade of grass and every golden field and every calm little town while she could.
Of course, like everything else, Aurelia quickly grew tired of the inside of her gilded carriage, and grew tired of sleeping in a different bed every night like some kind of common whore without the company. She grew tired of the Firthian emissary's incessant prattling, tired of the clopping of his horse's hooves alongside her carriage, tired of the gold tooth that glinted between his shifty lips. Of course she humoured him, not wanting to insult her future kingdom, but her answers to his endless questions soon became short and curt, and she rarely spared him a glance.
Eventually, on their approach to the port city of Wickport, the emissary got on her very last nerve, clopping alongside her carriage rattling on about something, his horse's side blocking her view of possibly the last piece of Bastolle she'd ever lay eyes on again.
Tired and sore from travel and tongue worn raw from talking about nothing, finally the princess leaned out her window and stared daggers at the emissary.
"Dear Ambassador," she began with a voice like poisoned honey, "We are on the approach to Wickport. Wickport is the last Bastollion city before Sommerfirth begins on the other side of the Rebus Sea. Now I am ecstatic to join the ranks of your fine rulers but I would also like to steal a glance at the last part of the country I very well may never see again." Her former smile darkened into a scowl. "So, for the love of all that is holy and light get your damn horse away from my window before I send the poor beast bolting with you tied by your ankles to the reins!"
A look of shock crossed the poor emissary's face and he promptly slowed his horse to let the carriage pass. Meanwhile, Willa giggled behind her hand.
Aurelia looked back at her, doing her best to keep up her firmness, but failing. "Now what ever is so funny?"
Willa laughed openly then, and Aurelia couldn't help but crack a smile. When the thought re-entered her mind that today would be the last she'd see of Willa, Aurelia pulled the girl into a hug. As nasty as the princess' reputation was among the servants, Willa had been with her since they were both children, and saw through her like glass. Gods, she would miss her.
When the caravan finally stopped in Wickport, Aurelia and Willa were promptly ushered to an inn overlooking the harbour and were situated in a common room with a sunny balcony where they could watch the ship as it was loaded. A small bastion of knights, mostly Bastollion but some Firthian as well, stood guard around them, but the presence that was notably missing was that of the half-breed champion. The ladies could see him giving orders on the docks from their perch, unmistakable what with his shining silver-and-blue cuirass and the vast wings folded on his back.
"They look rather like mail, don't they?" Asked Willa, apparently reading Aurelia's mind.
Aurelia shrugged, peering down at him with a sort of bored interest. "I suppose so," she replied, "But I don't think many well-to-do knights would wear them."
Willa chuckled, more in affirmation than anything. "He's really quite something, isn't he?"
Aurelia frowned. "Certainly something..." she offered distantly, swirling her drink before turning back to Willa with a mischievous grin, "But we've yet to find out exactly what."
Willa rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean," she gently chastised - perhaps the only person aside from the princess' immediate family who could get away with it - "Coming to all this trouble to escort you, and all."
Aurelia scoffed. "He is obeying my father, nothing more," she asserted, "That we do have in common."
Willa shrugged, changing the subject. "I wonder if they'll get that horse on board?"
Ah yes, the horse. They both knew which one Willa was talking about. The dragonling's horse, a monster in its own right, easily six hands higher than every other mount in the company. Aurelia wasn't sure if there was another beast in the country that would readily carry such a creature. Maybe in Sommerfirth, she mused, they could find him some kind of giant reptile.
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Obscene Symphony sea wench
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30 days ago
Varis emerged from his room just as Aaron was clearing away his dishes, dressed to the nines and outlining the plan for the day. As Varis finished, Aaron glanced at his watch, making a mental note.
"Three o'clock." he confirmed, then ducked quickly into his room to grab his sword before following Varis out, securing it to his hip as he went with practiced ease. Varis locked the door behind them, and Aaron was reminded that he didn't have a key. Not only did he have to be back by three, he noted, but he probably couldn't get back any earlier. He set an alarm on his phone for 2:45am and made his way behind Varis to the main campus, where they parted ways.
"Three o'clock." he confirmed, then ducked quickly into his room to grab his sword before following Varis out, securing it to his hip as he went with practiced ease. Varis locked the door behind them, and Aaron was reminded that he didn't have a key. Not only did he have to be back by three, he noted, but he probably couldn't get back any earlier. He set an alarm on his phone for 2:45am and made his way behind Varis to the main campus, where they parted ways.
Aaron fell into the middle of the mage group, absently following those in front of him as he looked around wide-eyed at the sights around the campus. The air was alive with magic and excitement for the most part, and the energy was intoxicating. Before long, Aaron found himself grinning wide in anticipation, forgetting for the moment his worries and anxieties as he watched the wonders the upper-level students performed all over the campus lawn. Of course he didn't miss the few mages in the crowd who did their best to sink into the ground, looking very self-conscious with leather straps or chains around their necks. Aaron caught the eye of one, who looked to be struggling to keep his composure, and offered a reassuring smile. For all he knew, he might be in the same position by the end of the night.
He grimaced at the rancid smell of cigarette smoke as someone walked behind him, but his spirits returned to him as a bird swooped by, its glistening form revealing it was actually made of water. Aaron watched it as it fluttered past the crowd, stifling a laugh and covering the guilty smile on his face when it drenched a girl at the head of the pack.
Soon after the group approached a building labelled Rose Hall, and started filing in. Aaron paused at the door, letting some people go past him as he looked out over their heads, hoping to see a spot of white among them. Unfortunately, he didn't see anything, and soon followed the rest inside, taking a seat one row back from the front of the stage.
He listened intently to the Headmaster's speech, eyes softening with empathy every time the old man succumbed to his coughing. It was an issue that plagued his mother; she'd come down with a crippling respiratory infection when he was about seventeen, and her lungs never quite recovered. With the Headmaster, though, Aaron was pretty confident the issue came with age.
He noted the Headmaster's counsel about vampire-mage relationships, then jumped as one of the doors behind them slammed open. But then a gentle, floral breeze washed over him and he immediately relaxed. He'd recognize that anywhere. Sure enough, when he turned to look there was Sariel, Ms. Stylish Entrance herself, striding down the aisle. when she caught sight of him she gave him a wink, and Aaron smiled warmly. He'd only known Sariel for a few years but she had played an integral part so far in what little aspect control he had, and she was an uplifting presence in what could sometimes be an otherwise dreary and stiff environment at Noila castle. She was, as could be expected, suitably decked out for the occasion in Noila colours, all golds and sapphires gleaming in the stage lights. Aaron couldn't help but inwardly chuckle.
He looked on with a knowing smile as Sariel made her presentation, and had to quietly laugh at her closing remark. He was tempted to go up and say hello to her, but he figured there might be other students with more pressing concerns and he didn't want to take time away from them. Instead, once Sariel released them he stood and made his way to where the various student clubs and societies had set up tables. A few caught his interest - one for an arcane study club, one for affinity practice, one for a student orchestra - but he made a beeline for one in particular: the Arena Guild.
The Arena Guild booth was nicely decorated with all sorts of well-made information displays including what the club did, how they operated, and several images of the club crest. It also featured a few weapons on display - an axe and a shortsword - as an example of some of the activities they offered. It was staffed by two upper-level mages (they were actually probably around Aaron's age - he knew he was a bit older than a lot of the first years), a dark-skinned bald man and a tall blonde woman, chatting excitedly to each other and other interested first-years about the various exploits of the Guild.
Aaron and the Guild representatives exchanged greetings when it was finally his turn to speak to them, introducing himself only as Aaron, a new student.
"So you're interested in swordplay are you, Aaron?" The woman asked, gesturing sarcastically to the sword on his hip.
Aaron couldn't help but chuckle to himself at the question, putting a hand on his pommel and rubbing the smooth brass with his thumb. "Call it a family tradition."
They chatted for another minute or so before Aaron finally asked, "Do you think it would be possible for you to help me find a sparring partner for later today?"
"Oh, totally!" replied the man, whose name was Joseph, sliding a piece of paper and a pen across the table. "We have lots of members who are always looking for an excuse to get into the Arena, just fill this out so we can get an idea of your skill level and match you to someone suitable."
Aaron smiled and set to work filling out the form, moving out of the way of other students and stooping over a corner of the table. It was mostly basic information and a self-declaration of skill level, and he couldn't help but grin to himself as he circled "Advanced".
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Obscene Symphony sea wench
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30 days ago
Lucan/Aaron Collab: The First Day
The training room was dark, the windows that normally let in copious amounts of moonlight were closed, and the curtains drawn. Artificial light from dimmed bulbs gave the room an eerie yet relaxed feeling, and for Lucan it was a safe haven and a home, a place he truly loved to be. The vampire pureblood walked slowly but surely into the room and began moving silently to a silhouetted figured near the center. In his hands were two swords, the day’s weapon of choice.
As he approached, Lucan simply stopped some five paces behind the blond-haired youth and gave a gentle clear of his throat. And suddenly the stillness and total silence was shattered. “Aaron Starag I presume?” Came the tenor voice.
The boy turned around with a start, and promptly stood at attention, hands behind his straightened back. “Yes sir.” He exclaimed stiffly.
Lucan considered him. The boy was tall but lanky, and from how he stood one could tell he wasn’t quite comfortable with the new dimensions of his limbs. He had big blue eyes and honey-blond hair, classic features that had come to be expected from the Starags, and he stood rigid, as if he was nervous to put a muscle out of place. He was a classic example of a human youth, one who clearly felt the weight of a long and proud family history on his newly-broadened shoulders.
“Indeed…” Came the reply as critical eyes sized the boy up and down as if deciding upon whether this was truly worth his time. A few minutes later he simply nodded and held out a longsword for the boy to grab, removing a handkerchief from his front pocket right after, to wipe some dust from his own blade’s pommel. He raised an eyebrow as he saw the lad more rigid than a tree. He replaced the kerchief and rolled his eyes..
“You’ve been through some training I’ve been told, that’s good. But I’d suggest you relax your back before it breaks from strain.” He took his sword, which would appear to be slightly larger than the longsword, and with the flattened end, smacked Aaron in the back. It was gentle, like a nudge in the right direction. “You can -not- fight if your back will break by simply moving. Movement is key to gaining an advantage, rigidity will get you killed.”
The Starag took the offered sword dutifully, and a little embarrassment flashed over his features as he was corrected. He jumped a little when the blade touched his back, probably from the tension as the tap couldn’t have hurt. Finally he did relax a little, posture still good but now perhaps capable of moving.
Doing his best not to let his amusement show, Lucan nodded towards the youth and began the more boring part of the training. “You’ve been trained to slash, hack, parry, feint, advance, and retreat but I will teach you the true art of dueling. And by extension fighting as a whole, footwork.” He inclined his head to Aaron’s feet and smacked the footwear the boy was wearing. “Everything is about footwork, I will teach you how to move in circles around your opponent, how to block without utilizing too much energy and to utilize one handed parries to prepare you should you become a mage upon the awakening ceremony.”
The vampire paced around the blond, his voice even and never changing in pitch or timbre. “If you pay attention I can teach you to become a great swordsman, if you don’t.” He let the sentence hang and then shrugged, “well that won’t happen.” He knew of the Starags and of the high class they were raised with. “Now, let’s begin. Show me what you’ve learned thus far from those mages of yours.” He suddenly entered a ready stance, sword pointed down towards the ground, his fist enclosed tightly around the hilt, and his eyes changed in the gentle light to a much darker shade of violet.
His young trainee spun the sword in his hand with a flick of the wrist, eliciting a roll of the eyes from Lucan himself, as the teen twirled the blade like he was some magician enthralling a village. He had listened well at the very least, a telltale glance downward at the mention of possible failure, before moving rather easily into a ready stance reflecting Lucan’s own. He took a second and just looked forward, eyes wandering over Lucan’s body, probably looking for an opening. Suddenly, the boy inhaled sharply and sprang forward, launching off his back foot and going for a high hit.
And then everything fell apart rather quickly. Frustration quickly beginning to surface, but was aptly discarded and Lucan had to tell himself that this was not a Bordeleaux vampire he was training. Still, he executed his standard dueling mannerisms and would not take things easy on this boy.
‘1 and 2 a-.’ Ah, a quick attack. It was always a good priority to count how quickly an attack would reach you in combat, you got a better feel for tempo and it allowed for all sorts of mistiming feints and movements. As it was, Lucan had no need for such as the blond had a tell, his eyes giving away everything. The vampire let the enemy blade head towards his shoulder and then deftly blocked it at the very last second, which would no doubt unbalance the less experienced swordsman. He would then swing back around and smack Aaron on the side.
“Dead.” Came the soft tenor as the vampire lowered his blade. “Stop staring at your target location before you strike, you give away your intentions. And stop breathing.” He hesitated and an amused smirk hit his face. “By that, I mean that you should become a statue in the beginning moments of a fight, you inhaled which told me the exact second you would attack. Try again.” And with that, Lucan would enter another ready stance, eyes once more darkening.
Aaron whipped his head around to look at the spot under his arm where he’d been hit. It was honestly a little bit funny, he was clearly shocked by the pace of it all. But, to his credit, he didn’t give away any clear frustration and simply took another stance, throwing himself at the vampire once again, going low.
Lucan admired the boy’s spirit as he kept doggedly attacking the vampire time and time again. Over time the spoken ‘dead’s’ added up quite rapidly, the Bordeleaux never letting frustration enter his voice, continuing to speak at the exact same tone. It was clear the human was giving every single trick in his rather small arsenal a chance to shine against Luc but the experienced swordsman had seen it all at least once, and he deflected time and time again. “Footwork boy, what did I tell you? Move that way, not that way.” He smacked the boys thigh and pointed in a direction after a particularly bad dodge attempt.
Overall the session moved swiftly and as the blond became more and more tired his moves got exceedingly sloppy and it was no use in continuing the blade dance. “Well, once again you’re dead.” Came the tenor line and Lucan pressed his blade into Aaron’s chest, not letting the top pierce flesh but enough to get his point across. This came after a particularly strong block which took Aaron’s blade away from him and sent it clattering away. “Work on your timings, and your breathing for the next session. Perhaps we won’t have as many dead kids then.”
The boy’s skin glistened with sweat, a few locks of hair sticking to his forehead, and his chest heaved with heavy breaths, jugular thumping at a rapid clip. He kept his eyes trained on Lucan’s as he spoke, not shying away from the blade at his chest, and something burned within them that wasn’t there when they started. A certain intensity. He was clearly frustrated and visibly exhausted, but there was resolve there. He looked like he’d love nothing more than to throw himself at the vampire one more time, despite how spent he must have been.
Lucan placed his blade on the ground and flipped out his handkerchief once more, wiping off his brow and looking down at his outfit to begin adjusting it. “So, how many times did you die exactly? Did you keep count?”
A sharp inhalation was all that was heard as a response and Lucan let a smile place itself onto his face. Well now, this was interesting. The Blond lurched forward and moved to take the Vampires feet out from under him and Luc simply hopped the clumsy strike and spun, bringing his leg up after it returned to solid ground to slam into Aaron’s chest and send him flying back onto his backside. Lucan stared at him for a moment and then stepped forward, kneeling and tilting his head. “What did I tell you about breathing dead boy?”
The boy landed with a grunt and let his head fall back on the rubber floor, chest heaving, eyes staring blankly up at the vaulted ceiling. At Luc’s remark, he let a long breath out of his nose, the end of it coming out as an exasperated laugh. At once, his pent-up frustration seemed to melt away.
“I suppose I won’t need to now, will I?” he returned with a helpless chuckle, shielding his eyes with his forearm, “I died 112 times.”
“So you did keep count, interesting.” He offered his hand to the blond on the floor to help him up, his other once again brushing off some dust from his coat. “I wonder if the attendants actually dust this room.”
Aaron nodded and glanced up at the clock on the wall and practically jumped off the floor, rushing over to quickly but carefully gather what little he’d brought with him, taking a long swig from the last of a water bottle as he did so. “Maybe I won’t die as much tomorrow.” he stated hopefully, throwing his bag over his shoulder. He made it a few steps toward the door before he apparently remembered his finely-tuned manners and turned to offer Lucan a curt bow, adding, “Thank you sir.”
Luc placed his hands behind his back as Aaron stood and rapidly gathered up his belongings, and quenched his thirst. Secretly the Vampire was impressed that the lad hadn’t complained about the lack of breaks in the two hour session but would never let anyone know that. A very soft smirk graced his face again as Aaron repeated his words from earlier and then surprise would find its way onto the Vampiric visage, his control not enough to stop it as he was thanked. “How interesting you are Starag,” came the soft tenor, barely audible.
Lucan just stood there, letting the practice room once again return to a dead silence.
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Obscene Symphony sea wench
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30 days ago
Lucan/Aaron Collab: The Last Day
The image was vivid in Aaron’s mind, an image of moonlight streaming through tall windows onto white marble floors, of mahogany furnishings gleaming black in the near-darkness. An otherwise empty room populated only by two figures in the middle, grasping instruments.
Three soft, rhythmic taps of a foot against the floor, a quick breath in, and suddenly the room came alive. The first sections of Mozart’s Lacrimosa, deep notes harmonizing with higher ones, the occasional sweet dissonance redeemed once more by harmony. The sound reverberated through the room perfectly, washing over everything, like an elegant duet of dancers sweeping across the floor. Every vibration played its part in the chorus and the two voices had the body of twenty as they sang through the space. If the windows had been living, they would have turned to listen.
But suddenly, there was a sour note, and the tenor line stopped playing.
Aaron dropped his head and sighed in frustration. Reaching out around his cello to the pencil on his stand, he drew several dark, angry circles around that damn D flat on his music.
Eyes closed and posture straight Lucan appeared to be a statue, the only thing in motion being his bow arm as he followed along with Aaron’s deeper and darker timbre. One always played down to the lowest sound available in music and in this case, the cello kept the pace. Things seemed to be going quite well, the music in the room a cacophony of a well oiled machine. Two practiced and strong performers moving along like a river until the hiccup.
Lucan opened his eyes, and lowered the Violin from his neck, tilting his head as if considering something as he slowly placed his instrument beside him on his chair. With a calm hand he removed a handkerchief from his front pocket and wiped down a bit of dust that he saw happened to find its way onto his long coat.
“What happened this time Aaron? I’ve heard you play that passage time and time again, something happen today?” It was phrased like a question, but the vampire made it sound more like a statement of fact.
“I’m sorry,” Aaron muttered, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand and straightening up once more, “I’m sorry I’m just a little distracted I suppose.”
His hands went to his sleeves, rolled up to just below his elbows, absently tucking away any stray corner of fabric as his eyes settled somewhere in the distance past his stand. Within a second or two, though, he picked his bow back up and re-settled the cello between his legs, looking hopefully - almost desperately - to Lucan. “Again?”
The vampire placed his handkerchief on Aaron’s stand silently and his eyes flashed as he considered the human. “Indeed, relax and we shall continue. I expect that you will tell me what it is that troubles you?” Once again, the statement was phrased as a question, but Aaron could hear the uncertainty in it, probably one of the only ones to pick it out of the vampire’s practiced facade of emotions.
Aaron tilted his cello back onto its stand, put his bow aside and put his face in his hands, exhaling slowly as he apparently tried to rub his distractions away. It didn’t work, and his leg started bouncing instead. Suddenly uncomfortable, he fidgeted around his chair, leaning forward and back until he found his words again.
“I-” he began, only for his voice to die in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut, opened them and tried again. “They’re sending me to the Academy, Lucan.”
Silence, the room became deathly silent as Aaron went still and even a soft whisper would almost seem like screaming. For several long moments it continued until Lucan stepped forward and placed a single hand on Aaron’s shoulder, perhaps collecting himself as he apparently had been taken by surprise. A squeeze, almost comfortingly, was given, and Luc stepped closer.
“I see. I assume that you’re less than excited for that prospect.” His voice was softer than normal, another tell that he was concerned and wanting to help. Sure, maybe acceptance to a school as prestigious as the Academy would be good news to most, but Lucan knew just as well as Aaron did what it meant for the likes of him.
Aaron inhaled sharply, leaning his chin on his hand, bending to rest his elbow on his knee. “My mother told me this morning, she was so happy,” he chuckled nervously around the lump growing in his throat. “Isn’t it wonderful she told me, isn’t it wonderful they’d choose me to represent the family at the Academy.” He couldn’t stay still, all the pent-up anxiety from the day coming out as he fiddled mercilessly with his ring. He cleared his throat and blinked furiously at the stinging in his eyes, still shocked from it all. His next words were more of a strained whisper to no one in particular. “Isn’t it great.”
With purposeful steps, Lucan stepped around the chair and retrieved a third, placing it right in front of Aaron and sitting slowly. The same hand replaced itself on Aaron’s right shoulder and Luc moved his head a bit to catch his eyes. “Look at me.” He said, before breathing out needlessly. “Calm yourself Aaron, and look at me.” Luc had clearly picked up on Aaron’s situation and was trying to help him regain control. The handkerchief from earlier found its way into Aaron’s hand but Luc refused to move his eyes. “Deep breaths.”
Aaron nodded and followed Lucan’s orders - something he could do well. It took a little time, but his heart rate did slow and his throat did loosen. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, eyes flashing down to his hands, which were wringing Luc’s poor handkerchief like he was trying to dry it, “It’s all very overwhelming, that’s all.”
There was silence for a moment before Aaron added, “I guess I just thought something different was planned for me.”
Luc made no move to interrupt or insert himself as Aaron calmed himself and said his piece. He simply nodded twice, once as Aaron spoke and again at the end. “We have both been given one job upon entering this world, and a wrench was thrown in yours. But it isn’t the end, if anything this is another test for you to overcome to become the best mage possible.” His voice was quiet, soft and had none of the usual gentle hesitation. “Now straighten up, you’ve been given an opportunity, perhaps not the one we expected but an opportunity nonetheless.”
There was a hesitation, then Luc placed his other hand on Aaron’s opposite shoulder and just stared at him. Aaron could see the gears turning behind his violet eyes as Lucan looked on, until finally after a minute he nodded once more.
Aaron nodded along as Luc spoke, quickly at first and then more assuredly nearer the end. “You’re right,” he affirmed, and of course he was. His lot in life was to be at the Noilas’ beck and call, and sulking was not only unproductive, but ungrateful. After a moment of purposeful breathing, he picked his bow back up, readjusted his cello and straightened his back, looking once more to Lucan. He wasn’t entirely recovered, but he was better than he started. “One more time?” he asked, eager to move on.
Lucan removed his hands from Aaron’s shoulders and considered him once again, nodding and smiling softly. He stood and replaced the third chair and then walked purposefully back to his violin which he picked up and then prepared his bow. “On you Aaron, and remember. Regardless of what happens, you can count me on your side.” He inclined his head and prepared to once again launch himself into the world of music.
Aaron offered a ghost of a smile in response and took his playing posture. Three taps of a foot later, and a quick breath in, and the room came back to life.
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Obscene Symphony sea wench
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30 days ago
Max didn't seem all that enthralled by Aaron's demonstration (although if Aaron was right, he did look a little jealous) but he must have been impressed to some extent because he accepted the offer. His compliment, however begrudging it sounded, still made Aaron swell with pride.
"Thank you," Aaron replied, politely inclining his head. His eyes flicked to Sariel again, just for an instant, conveying another little inside joke. "I do my best."
He was about to ask Max what sorts of goals he had for his magic when they were interrupted by quiet clapping.
"That was amazing!"
A head of white hair rushed up to them and Aaron's eyes lit up, smile widening. He stood a little straighter. There she was! He'd been worrying she'd been a figment of his imagination when he couldn't find her at the beginning of orientation, but here she was, all stunning smiles and impressed by him of all things. A close observer would have noticed Aaron's ears flushing red under his hair.
Max looked unimpressed and turned away, but Aaron was anything but. "Thank you!" he replied, a little more enthusiastically this time, "Lilie, right? From the ceremony last night?" he asked, as if her face wasn't already etched in his memory.
He was smiling like an idiot, and realized he didn't have anything else to say. Reluctantly, he looked away from her face and her hair and those beautiful eyes, noticed the rapier on her hip, and had an idea.
"Hey, you're a fencer!" he noted a little too enthusiastically, pointing at the pommel of her rapier. "I'm actually here looking for a sparring partner for later tonight, would you be interested?" He turned so she could see the longsword on his hip, as if it wasn't obvious already. "I'm not a fencer myself, but I've trained against fencers - well, only one fencer, but a lot of times - so if you're willing, I am."
His mood fell a tick when he realized he had no idea of her skill level. It wasn't usually something he considered, but he'd had the same opponent for the past five years and didn't usually consider the fact that not everyone had been brought up the way he had. He'd hate to trick her into an unfair fight. "How long have you been training?"
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Obscene Symphony sea wench
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Ten years! Aaron honestly hadn't expected that, but he was elated nonetheless. Not only could he justify taking her on, but even if his training had been more intense than hers (and, thinking back to the thousands upon thousands of hours he'd spent getting his ass kicked by a vampire six times his age, he was pretty confident it had been), having at least similar experience would still make the match more fun.
"It's a date then!" Aaron replied happily. Unfortunately, it hit him a second too late that the phrase, which he usually used without concern, might come across as a little too forward. The only women he had ever interacted with were either his female relatives, his teachers or the ancient vampires who literally owned him, so he wasn't incredibly well-versed in the art of interacting with girls his own age and status. A brief look of horror crossed his face and he cleared his throat, mind racing through every worst-case scenario and searching for a solution. He didn't want to scare Lilie away before he even got the chance to get to know her.
Mercifully, their conversation was interrupted, first by the smell of winter air and fresh laundry, and then by a very nervous-looking young man with tan skin and a bunch of eye-catching tattoos. Grateful for the distraction from his misstep, Aaron turned to the newcomer with an expression of relief that soon turned to polite concern as he watched the poor guy just about fall to pieces. Aaron wasn't entirely sure why he was so anxious, but he supposed everyone reacted to the whole mage situation differently, and it could very well be those nerves coming out now that there weren't any vampires around. Besides, after the trouble he'd had the night before with Varis, Aaron was in no position to judge.
Lilie offered a greeting, and Aaron couldn't help but watch her face as she turned to the newcomer with that dazzling smile. Surely that'd be enough to put anyone at ease, and her kindness made something pang longingly in his chest. He followed her lead and offered the newcomer a welcoming smile.
"Of course, don't worry about it," Aaron offered, doing his best to seem reassuring. The man had already known his name, and Aaron wondered if Sariel had referred this one as well. If so, he was flattered. He hooked a thumb in his pocket and relaxed his posture, hoping to calm the newcomer by proxy. "Are you looking for help with magic too?"
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