Amethyst

✯ Our Brightest Stars

_{IMPORTANT: This roleplay now has an OOC! Please make yourself known over there. <3}

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Each star a new world. Each star a destiny to be explored.

It was slow at first - a few gifted children here and there - like the kind that you would read about in newspapers or see on TV on “slow news days”. Whether it was the story of a boy graduating from MIT at 12 and later going on to work for NASA and other top scientific bodies in the United States, or the 8 year old playing piano in front of a full Carnegie Hall, everyone just assumed it was more tales of extraordinary humans. No one noticed or cared that these kids all had white stars of varying shapes and sizes on their body. Things got out of control fast when the extraordinary began defying the laws of nature. It started with the collapse of Big Ben when a child accidentally weakened the entire sub-atomic structure of the building. The next shock was when the US president was found assassinated in the oval office after a 13-year old had simply asked to be let in and put a bullet through his head. Then the connection was drawn - all of these children and teenagers had that white star somewhere on their bodies.

The reactions were mixed. Members of the scientific community called for calm as they tried to figure out the origin of the “Stars” as they had been colloquially named, but that didn’t stop the riots. These riots occurred outside police stations and government buildings with demands to arrest and imprison the Stars for the safety of the public. Religious fanaticism reared its ugly head, with some priest and cults calling the Stars the first sign of Antichrist having come to earth. In several cases, the military had to be called in to quell the riots and protect the Stars from being harmed. The abuse that several Stars suffered during this period also brought about
“the black star corruption”. It was found then when a Star suffered extreme amounts of physical or mental trauma, their star mark would turn black and their powers would become amplified. This brought about another problem however - corrupted Stars would slowly lose their moral sense and often suffer from psychosis. This also served to amply fears and cause more rioting. Despite that, however, the situation was brought under control but it was clear that this was only the first sign of the dominant question of an era. Politicians and other public figures began calling for legislation restricting the rights of Stars, or outright forcing them into ghettos.

Following these incidents and the initial fears, a number of organizations rose up to handle the crisis.

The first was Nova Infintium around 5 years after the initial incident. Nova Infintium was formed by some of the original Stars - including Ethan Carter, the Star known for graduating MIT at 12, who became the head of the organization. Nova Infinitium quickly constructed an academy for Stars - a safe haven where they could learn how to control their powers and flee from a society that oppressed them, giving them a competitive, cutting-edge education and ensuring they would be well taken care of and trained with their capabilities. Their physical location is at odds with their proposal; their campus is a small one, situated in the most rural mountains of upstate New York, well out of sight and often out of mind in the actual politics surrounding Stars, which they’ve remained quiet about. Rumors have circulated within the Star community that they are up to something far more nefarious, but nothing has confirmed or proven that. Outwardly, they are a stellar (pun intended) organization, providing excellent structure and challenging development for Stars of all stages of growth and powers. They are fairly well-supported by all sides of society - no matter what you think of them, or if you fully trust their founder, they’re doing what they can to keep the Star problem under control in our cities and towns, and for that they have a lot of respect.

The second to be founded was Lux Astra. Founded by a woman named Alexandria Grant who, while not a star herself, advocates for the full inclusion of all stars into society; she also contributes immensely to a research program that seeks to find a cure for the black star corruption. Located directly in Washington D.C, Lux Astra is a group of both stars and non-stars, though it finds itself struggling against both Nova Infinitium’s collection of Stars and support from the government, as well as the general public’s fear of Stars. Though they struggle with personnel and funding for more hands-on movements, they have made up for it in legal battles, blocking legislation that would have greatly restricted star rights and providing an advocacy network for Stars mistreated in their homes and communities.The public often has a split view on them; some see them as “reactionaries” who are just “pandering” to current social pressures, while others acknowledge the contributions they are making to reintegrate society.

These two organizations, notwithstanding the occasional hate group, ultimately do make up the bulk of the conversation around the future of Stars. As tensions rise, both between these groups and the world abroad, it’s become clear that no side has the full story, or all the answers. But things cannot remain as they have been; no - with the way society is going, something has to be done about this problem. With no easy answers, society might just have to turn to the stars themselves.

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Welcome to Our Brightest Stars!

In this roleplay, you will play as a Star-marked teen or twenty-something attending the Nova Excelsis Institute of Higher Learning - the private secondary school and college run by Nova Infinitum both as a way to support and study Stars and their capabilities. Some of you may have been involved with Nova Infinitum in some form since early childhood, as their boarding school program provides full-time care for students as young as four, but not all of you need have been. Parents of Starred children are under considerable pressure and incentive to send students into NI’s programs as soon as possible, but not all do. Some of you may have had some semblance of a normal childhood, even.

Whatever your story, here you are. The world is imploding around you, but Nova Infinitum has remained resolute in keeping you informed of what’s going on and even asking for your input, if you’re an upperclassman. You are safe to be yourself, unapologetically, while on their campus, they make sure of it. Still, there’s something just slightly ...off, something you can’t quite put your finger on, even while you go about your studies and prepare for a placement into the real world. NI does amazing things with placements; some Stars go on to be government agents, some into biomedical research, some as performers or authors. Your future looks bright, but still - something is wrong; even as the institute tries to convince you otherwise. Pressure from various other groups, including Lux Astra - which seeks to dismantle even the excellence and prestige of this institution that has sheltered you - is starting to seep in through the cracks. Some part of you wonders what’s waiting for you in the world outside.

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Still with us? Great!
This roleplay is run by me and @Aurora Primrose. We’re running this as a high-casual setting, so a couple paragraphs a post would be amazing. As far as rules, we’re pretty laid-back DMs, just a couple things.
Listen to your GMs.
Bigotry is a 0 tolerance issue. Everyone is valid regardless of identity or aesthetic and we will not tolerate any form of hate speech or gatekeeping.
Please, no godmodding or overpowered characters.
More rules can be added at our discretion; we’ll do our best to keep everyone informed, however.

A Pairing Beloved

’They absolutely should have been more careful,’ Miry signed. ’But the nature of the Gemmenite parliament is such that once the policy was abolished - by royal mandate, not even by a vote, but the king soon realized his mistake. The parliament was in a deadlock from that point on; something had to be done but no one could agree on what. It’s been thirty years of this, you know, and every year ideas are brought up and summarily struck down. It’s infuriating.’

She took a bite of her stew, watching her husband curiously. He seemed particularly deep in thought, but he picked up on her words about volunteering.

The traitor tears sprung up in her eyes again.

’My mother volunteered me.’ Her hands fell sharply in her lap, and she bit her lip to try to stop its trembling.

No one except those other brides taken at the royal court knew how Miry had ended up here. Others were quick to talk about the home they’d been ripped from; she hadn’t been. What was there to say?

’My elder sister was presented to the royal court as prince Kelan’s wife-to-be. For the first time in three hundred and seventy two years, the title is passing patrilineally - my sister will take his name. It’s a huge opportunity for my family, you see.’ in Gemmenia, by virtue of how elemental affinities passed down (from mother to children), titles and names usually passed matrilineally, though by a technicality anyone could inherit their family holding. ’The night of her presentation ball, the younger Drakkan prince arrived at the capital. He took several of the young court ladies for the reaping, all dressed up in their finery, and - wished to take my sister for himself. My mother screamed at me to do something and - when I couldn’t, she... she begged him to take me instead.’ She squeaked sadly, her face crumpling as she fought off tears. ’I still don’t know why he agreed. Or why she would - I - none of them would look at me, when he took me away, not her or my aunt or my sister or even my little brother.’ She hesitated for a moment and then wrapped her arms around Zak’s, burying her face in his side and sobbing, whole body shaking. Her next signs were frantic, difficult to determine even if he could see them. ’I’m sorry I’m not - I - if you want to trade me away for someone better I understand, but - please tell me if you’re going to I just - I just want to know who I’m supposed to be.’

At some length of time that she wasn’t sure of, the pain in her chest and mind subsided a bit, and her sobs turned to whimpers and then to trembling hiccups. She sniffled, wiping her eyes and looking up at Zak blearily, trying to match his smile. ’I - languages? I mean, it’s not many, at least not many that are useful, but I read eighteen different languages with seven and a - well, sort of a half - different notation systems.’ She rattled them off, including archaic tongues of the first era and languages from lands beyond their border - and several so ancient and mysterious, held only in tomes transcribed and re-transcribed a dozen times with age, that even their modernized catalogue entries were in pre-first-era pictogrammatics. Only two of the languages she read were Drakkan in origin, and both fairly archaic - no text or tome of language had made it across the spine in a hundred years - so she was certain they were of little use. High Drakkan had certainly not helped her within the walls of Vinokh, though it was likely a difference in reading versus hearing as well. She gave a self effacing smile. ’Few of them are useful, as I said, so it’s really not all that impressive. I’m just good at learning patterns.’

A Pairing Beloved

Miry blinked stupidly up at Zakroti for a moment, finally shaking her head to clear it. She took the bowl back and placed it where it wouldn’t be disturbed, though she paused a moment to place a bite of some sort of starchy root vegetable, similar to a potato in consistency at least, into her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully, reconstructing her thought.

’I mean, I’m sure you know everything I’m about to say, but-‘ she paused, scrubbing at the air with her hand as though erasing that thought. ’Though actually, I’m not certain. The history as it was written is not often told to even our children anymore; I can’t imagine how it’s spun across the mountains. The agreement between our kingdoms has not always been like this - most of our great houses still push the narrative that it has, of course, I daresay because they don’t want to admit how badly our tradition has fallen apart.’ she wrinkled her nose in distaste of her fellows and took another bite of stew. ’But I was fortunate enough to get to read not one but two manuscripts, originals that date back to twelve hundred and eight of the fourth era - you know, three years after the first agreement, and though the context of them both have been hotly debated, at least that of the almanac of Saranea-‘ she cut herself mid-sign, her fingers pausing in the middle of drawing the particular scholar’s enormous and oft-cited beard. Certainly the Drakkan lord who sat beside her did not care to be regaled with the intricacies of a long-dead Gemmenite court historian’s narrative. ’Sorry, I - particulars aside, you know, it was called the Great Council for a reason. Representatives of fifty five noble houses and associated scholars convened with Drakkan lords for two weeks of negotiations and wrote a contract - sorry, I’m sure you know that, too -‘ she shook her head slightly.

’The long and short of it is, well, the Drakken did not break their contract. We broke ours. The exchange of goods and services was not unlike most, if you ignore that living people were among those goods taken forward and back across the Spine. Under the En’delare dynasty,’ the namesign trailed down from the crown of her head to her shoulders; the royals who had held power since the dawn of the fourth era were known for the length of their hair, their rule, and their lives. ’the choosing was voluntary, and families were taken care of in the absence of their daughters. It was a deeply flawed system, of course, but struggling families were often quick to offer up their children for the royal stipend, and seldom were the brides anyone of importance, so - it was peaceful enough.’

She gritted her teeth. ’When the crown passed over to the Aralenderals, the first king- woefully young and naive, though his heart was in the right place, made certain changes to the program. He found it hideously objectionable to trade goods for young women - entirely understandably - and so no longer offered the stipend, and so within two years there were no longer enough volunteers. And so the Drakkan lords stopped asking.’ Her handsigns were sharp, small, and deft, pointed and distant from herself. ’Gone were the festivals and open markets and proud public gatherings. Drakken came in the dead of night and snatched away girls who were previously untouchable. And you know, as the years have gone on they’ve stopped listening to the old guidelines, because we broke the treaty first, so. They take so many girls every year, now, those too young or old, those already promised in marriage, those already set to inherit, those who-‘ she trailed off again, a shiny rock on the ground catching her attention and holding it.

Under agreed upon circumstances, she never would have been taken. She was too young, the heir, and besides that, fae-touched. Stupid, to some, but her mother had been too stubborn to let anyone plant that idea in her head. Just, different. She saw things too brightly and heard things too loudly and thought of things and words just differently from most people.

Still, most didn’t see it as a gift. She very vividly remembered freezing up in their lessons, being shoved against the bricks of the fortress, the guards and even the other brides talking over her head about how slow and dumb she was.

She shivered slightly, refocusing and chancing a glance up at Zak.

’if they weren’t following the rules you might’ve gotten my prettier sister, not me. But apparently, they still take volunteers.’ Her signs were sharp and bitter, eyes clouded by tears. She wondered how much he’d been told of her - presumably not much; most lords likely didn’t care the circumstances of where their brides came from.

She was sure she’d bored him with her ranting, but also perhaps not; his comment about languages gave her considerable pause.

She’d thought it more of a Gem thing, to be gifted with so many words of so many people. As future Warden, she had been under a particular expectation to know as many different languages as possible, though most of the ones she knew were quite archaic and, as some scholars put it, ‘dead’.

’It was my job, or, well, was going to be my job, to know how to read and write as many languages as I could, or that was part of it.’ The warden’s job was far more than just a scribe’s work, but that was a large part of it, too.

She chanced a tiny smile up at the man who was to be her husband. She could make this work. There was much to be learned, here.

A Pairing Beloved

Miry squeaked, melting back into Zakroti’s arms and twining her arm around his, hugging his close to her. After a moment, she rested her speaking screen across her lap, pinning it under their interlaced hands and freeing her other side. She closed her eyes for most of the journey, finding it better to trust his arms than her eyes for balance.

She might have fallen asleep; honestly, she wasn’t entirely sure. But as the column drew to a halt, she cracked her eyes open again, squinting faintly against the sun. Zak practically had to lift her out of the saddle, and even then she stumbled against his side, legs tingling as she regained feeling she didn’t even know she’d lost.

The men-at-arms were quick to busy themselves with assembling a meal of some sort; a stew made from things both foraged and brought from the holdings. Miry, having set her speaking screen down somewhere safe, hovered anxiously behind the busy men, unsure how to help but feeling like she should.

For the most part, the soldiers ignored her, bustling about their business and quickly preparing the meal. It wasn’t long before Zakroti beckoned her and Nenra to the campfire.

Nenra wandered off the moment they made their camp, eyes scanning the vegetation and dirt. She mentally compared the plants here - overwhelmingly, they were small, close-to-the ground mosses and succulents, with the occasional scrub or shrubbery- to the ones at home. Her home had been farmland, lush plains and woodland that even tended slightly to swampland, but up in the hills a day’s ride away there were similar bits of scrub and bitter ground herbs used for a variety of medicinal applications.

These plants all looked similar enough, but she knew that never meant anything here. She shook herself out of her sudden dark thoughts as Zak called her name, and she plastered a pretty smile on her face as she rejoined the group.

Miry perched on a stone, hesitantly poking at the stew with the supplied eating utensils. It smelled spicy and savory, much bolder than most of the cuisine they’d ever had at home. She wasn’t quite sure of what the meat was, but it was dense and tough, and even the vegetables and mushrooms seemed denser than they were at home. She tentatively stabbed a piece of mushroom and nibbled on it uncertainly, wrinkling her nose as her palette flooded with spicy, vaguely tart flavors from even just that one bite.

Nenra snorted at Zakroti’s comment, shaking her head. She had shoved a scoop of the stew in her mouth with little regard for decorum or manners, and chewed quickly, mumbling around her food, “well of course we did, that’s all they fed us at -“ she trailed off. “The place. Shadow somethin’. I don’t care what they call it, but, that place they had us all for ‘training.’ Not that it did much of any good.” As if to emphasize her point, she wiped her hands on her trousers and took another big bite of stew, flinching at the cast of unfamiliar flavors but chewing resolutely.

’Vinokh,’ Miry signed, holding her bowl in her lap as she spelled out each individual letter, stretched out to resemble the multitude of spires of the Drakkan border fortress. It was the proper name of it in the old imperial tongue, though seldom used now outside of academic circles. She’d read all about it in her childhood, of course, and so that was the name that came first to mind. As Zak mentioned trade, she perked up, eyes brightening. She could talk trade. ’Trade across the mountain is worse than you imagine, I think,’ she started signing, the idea coming faster and words blurring together around the edges. ‘the easterners have little interest in exchange anymore, not since-‘ she bounced her legs a little bit, as she did when she was excited, and nearly dropped her bowl of stew.

She panicked and caught the bowl, barely, and coughed lightly with embarrassment as she adjusted its position in her lap. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Nenra’s gaze sliding dismissively past her, and several of the guards looking at her blankly.

Oh.

Right.

She’d done the thing again.

She set the bowl aside entirely, blinking away sudden tears, eyes fixating on the rocks at her feet. A thought crossed her mind, for about the fifth time that day, meandering in among words and stories half written and this time refusing to be shooed off. Zakroti had noticed when she’d called the - she mentally skipped over the name again. Ganaut? - whatever it was, he’d noticed and acknowledged that she’d called it a dragon. Her cheeks reddened slightly in embarrassment of her conduct. But even that didn’t unhitch the wagon of her thoughts.

He’d been so respectful of her ...needs, previously; he’d barely even hesitated when she showed him the speaking-screen and drawn water through it to make the shapes of words at the selection gala, and he’d been quick to adapt to using questions and comments that could be answered with only nods or vague gestures, but she’d not tried to sign to him directly before.

Spire Court sign was relatively unused, even in Gemmenia - most of the noble seats had their own dialects, variations on the visual language (though they were all similar enough to be at least vaguely understood!) and theirs was among the most archaic of them. It had been a surprise and a half that Nenra and Kazia had both known some form of hand-sign, at least well enough to hold a simple conversation, but Zakroti? She was certain that any sort of training they sent the lords to, if there even was one (and she was sure it was a laughable idea) didn’t include a primer on Gemmenian visual languages.

She tried to catch his eye, turning to regard him and staring at the point of his chin to give the illusion of meeting his eyes. ’How did you learn our handsign?’ she shaped the words slowly and excessively precisely, out of habits formed interacting with those unfamiliar, and prayed he’d understand.

Nenra started to speak up to translate, talking around yet another face full of stew, but Miry shot her a look. This was important, and she had to speak for herself on it.

A Pairing Beloved

The blood drained from Miry’s face as Zakroti boosted himself up into the saddle and motioned them to join him. She blinked uncertainly for a moment, swaying on her feet. Belatedly, pain and panic seized her chest, worming their way up to her throat; she struggled to catch a breath. She half shook her head, mumbling to herself and shying away from the beast, legs and chin visibly wobbling.

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t -

Strong hands settled over her shoulders. “Miry,” Nenra hissed, somewhere over her ear. The small girl squeaked, all but falling against Nenra’s body. The taller girl caught her and propped her up, hands settling under her arms.

“You have to, Miry. You have to.” The words were scarcely louder than a whisper in her ear. Before the tiny girl could argue, Nenra placed her hands on her waist and hoisted her up, depositing her quite neatly on the edge of the saddle in front of Zak.

Miry flailed her legs around for a moment, fighting her slightly-too-long skirts into some semblance of elegance, draped across the saddle and trailing down the creature’s side. As she did, her gaze fixated on the ground, and she realized just how far off the ground they already were.

Just because she’d grown up in a mountain fortress didn’t mean she particularly cared for heights.

She folded over on herself, pressing her face into her skirts in an effort to clear the fog of terror that still clung behind her eyes. Tears welled up, and she mumbled to herself as she discreetly wiped her face on her skirt to try to clear them.

Nenra took the moment to glance up to Zak. “She’s a bit skittish, is all. Figured it’s better to have you hold on to her.”

Miry signed something too quickly to be understood, making a vague obscene gesture in Nenra’s direction, mostly hidden behind the tangle of her hair. She would not fight if Zak reached his arms around her, and even would slightly lean in against his chest.

The tall bride didn’t seem to notice Miry’s frustration, lightly vaulting up behind Zak. She settled awkwardly into the saddle, not quite sure where to put her feet or hands. She ended up settling her hands at Zakroti’s waist, cringing slightly at the implication of that position. But there was hardly anywhere else to help her balance...

She turned her gaze over the assorted men-at-arms, taking stock of the traveling party. “How far do we ride today? My - my lord,” she hastily added, nervously dipping her head in reverence though she knew he couldn’t see her. That one would take some getting used to still.

A Pairing Beloved

The pair of women who walked beside the lord could not have been more different if they tried.

The first, hovering uncertainly near the lord’s side as though unsure where she should position herself, was remarkably short, making even her diminutive husband look comparatively a giant. That, at least, was how it should be, or so his - father? Grandfather? Had sneered at her the previous night.

Then again, the old man had said all kinds of things. Not once before had anyone ever likened her demeanor to that of a puddle of slime ooze... she shivered slightly under the memory of his icy glare, carefully adjusting the hood of her cloak to not muss the pair of braids that were pinned tightly around her head.

He was right, she supposed, and that was the worst part.

Miry Loravyr, Warden of Time, professional puddle of backbone-less ooze. It had quite the ring to it, she thought idly, tapping her fingers on the edge of the stretched silk screen she carried under her arm. She peered up curiously at the short lord - her husband, Naia’s mercy - as he started speaking, and belatedly realized the enormous creatures that occupied the courtyard were nothing at all like she’d expected.

Lord Zakroti had mentioned a ride that evening, and she had thought, of course, of horses. Even when he’d alluded to their unfamiliar nature, she had thought- the hardy draft horses from the south, maybe, or even the winged ice spirits of northeastern legend... or perhaps even a wyvern, from the far north of Drakka. She’d read about those in several narratives, though now she wasn’t too sure of the pragmatics of trying to ride such a beast.

Miry hummed anxiously, and despite her fear of overstepping her lord’s boundaries, found herself quickly huddling under his arm, shielding her face against the chest plate of his armor, fingertips rapidly flailing between the signs for ‘big’ and for ‘dragon’.

Dragons. That was the first thought that crossed her mind; bloated, wingless dragons, perhaps the offspring of the sort that had razed so many gemmenian cities in the third era...

But the beast made no move to raze them. After a moment, Miry’s eyes popped open again, curiously, to regard the creature’s - now much closer - face. It flicked its tongue out; Miry chose to believe it was in greeting. She chirped nervously, a high-pitched squeaking in the back of her throat, and gave the large creature a slight, incredibly shaky bow.

She did not particularly wish to call the creature ‘a creature’ forever, but she wasn’t about to ask the lord to repeat something he’d surely just said! She half turned, meeting her sister-bride’s eye for a moment before glancing back at the creature. Nenra! Name? she signed, drawing the point of the question out from her chin towards the beast for extra emphasis.

The taller bride, hovering a few paces behind them, raised her eyebrows incredulously. “I’m not sure I can say that, Miry. Gun-OUT? That’s what they’re called?” She mumbled the words, turning to face their lord and forcing herself to slouch down in her boots, bending her knees slightly and sinking her shoulders. It did little to match their stature; as she had noticed the previous night, her chin was on a level with his nose even if she was barefoot!

Nenra stopped into a vague approximation of a bow, ears and neck reddening as she remembered the words thrown about her ears for the last two weeks of ‘training’, said by guards as though she couldn’t hear them. They joked about all manner of things, most often that she been a Drakkan recruit run away from the southern border in disgrace. After all, for those who defect, there’s nowhere to go. It made sense that she must’ve sawn off her horns and gone to live as a gem. Especially with a nobodies’ name - no record outside of her own tiny village of her surname.

Despite her best efforts, her lips curled into a vague snarl, but she was quick to school her features into blankness as the soldiers looked to her.

Some of them saw her as dangerous, she was sure of it, and maybe she could even see why. She was tall, of a height with most Gemmenite men, her hair short and fluffy around her ears, and she wore a simple linen tunic and trousers that showed off her broad shoulders and muscular arms.

She shook her hair out of her eyes and approached one of the creatures, tentatively extending a hand to be sniffed. She half expected fangs to sink into her palm, but the creature was serene, extending a scaled muzzle into the curve of her hand and pressing forward, as though expecting to be scratched under the chin. She obliged it, careful not to catch herself on the sharp edges of its chest scales.

An image pressed into her mind, sleepy and warm, of sun-baked mudflats on the banks of a river, several of these creatures laid out on heated rocks. Curiously, Miry popped into existence in the picture, running with a herd of smaller - or just young, perhaps - creatures, all of them squeaking and chirping.

“They think you’re a baby, Miry,” she mumbled, the sleepy inflection of the picture spilling over into her voice. “Because you squeak so much. They’re not gonna hurt you; this one just wants to go home and soak in the sun.”

At length, she pulled her hand away from the creature’s chin, ignoring its pointed, plaintive chirp. “If I may be remarkably dense, my lord,” she stumbled over the honorific, but stubbornly kept speaking, turning to regard the top of the lord’s head rather than meet his eyes, “how are these creatures... to be ridden?”

A Pairing Beloved

Ari's Character Catalogue - WIP

_{cast colors
|| Zel - 7356ba || Miry - d0a5fd || Kazia - f3c9ff || Nenra - ad90a8 || Gaelin - a15290 || Sia - d13bc0 || Kalai - a948b8 ||}

<sub>Aymiria Loravyr - bride of Zakroti Unalim. A sixteen-year-old water Gem. Her mother stood up to a Drakkan prince during the reaping and demanded they take the younger sister, not the older one who was set to marry the Gemmenian crown prince. Whether for cruelty or perhaps some twisted sense of mercy, the prince agreed. Miry's most notable physical feature is her incredibly diminutive stature; she scarcely comes up to the collarbones of any of her sister-brides. Most notably about her demeanor, she cannot communicate verbally; she uses sign language or writes with lines of water on a pale grey silk screen that is always on her person.

Gaelin Unalim - bride of Nastaki Unalim. An eighty-six year old earth Gem. Gaelin has been steadfastly loyal to Nastaki since she was reaped, sixty-seven years ago. It's nearly unheard of for a bride to live this long, much less to maintain favor of her husband for the duration of her life. She has assumed all the roles of the lady of the household since both of Nastaki's drakken wives passed on to age, and is effectively properly wed to him in all but legal status. Her household standing is nearly unheard of for a Gemmenite bride. She bears herself quite proudly and properly, standing tall despite the years and the toll motherhood took on her body.

Kalai Vunalathi - TBA. tba

Kasimaera Niyeseri - bride of Qeynate Unalim. An eighteen-year-old air gem. She's the middle child of a pair of Gemmenian court musicians, and was a dancer in her childhood. Kazia's most notable physical feature is her majestic cascade of pearl-white hair, falling in ringlets to the backs of her knees. As far as her demeanor, it's noted that she can never, ever sit still - even when she must, she fidgets with currents of air in her skirts and her hair. Kazia adores jewelry and all things sparkly, often wearing several rings and incredibly intricate necklaces, bracelets, and ear cuffs or hair ornaments.

Nenra Corislen - bride of Zakroti Unalim. A twenty-year-old earth gem. Born in a tiny farming community in the middle of nowhere - a community often stricken by the blistering plague, at that - Nenra never expected to be reaped. A wayward Drakkan reaping party, struggling to meet their quota of potential brides, took her and several of her cousins. Most notable about Nenra's appearance is her tall, muscular frame, seconded by her piercing, gold-green stare, peculiarly reflective and haunting. She always bites her nails and invariably, no matter how clean her environment is, ends up with a smudge of dirt across her face or skirts before midday.

Siadamkiru Beneni - TBA. tba

Zelphyra Chazumin - TBA. tba</sub>

A Pairing Beloved

The Story So Far...

A Pairing Beloved

This is a closed RP between myself and @darkwolf687. Please PM me if you have any comments, questions, or concerns, thank you!