Cubix

Cubix's Grove of Plots -- Newly Updated :D

Finally found some time to rehash and do away with some old plots :D

The Folly of a Felicitous Prince [CLOSED]

"How droll," A cold smile curved the servant's lips, her body veering away from the finished pot of porridge as she took the glinting knife from its sheath on the table. Eerily, her footsteps thudded against the stone floor as Anatole sauntered over to the tardiness-ridden maid who believed that she could do anything she pleased without getting any consequences. "For someone like you to think that you know what others desire in their lives when you can barely make sense of yourself in the morning." Her hand raised the knife before plunging it downward, stabbing an apple at its tip before Anatole flicked the fruit upwards as she caught in her palm. Without a wasted moment, she began slicing the apple in crisp strips, and tossed them inside the nearby serving bowl without even looking. "I know you take pride in being ineffective. I can see that in your eyes whenever you seem so amused when you break the sanctity of time. And, while others tolerate your mediocrity, rest assured that I will not." By the time Anatole finished the small tirade, almost half of the apples from the straw-woven basket sat sliced in the bowl. "People like you who waste time, who waste purpose are so enclosed in their little worlds that they forget that they are also stones in the kingdom's foundation. You believe yourself exempted from the rules, so entitled to your own benefits that you begin to believe that you know others when you barely even know how to respect yourself. Stones like that... are removed from the foundation, and replaced with a better material."

Finally, Anatole picked out the last apple from the basket as she slowly pierced the knife through the center before splitting the fruit in half, revealing the rotten core.

"Bad apples," She gestured to the darkened insides, and then, she threw the fruit into the waste bin. "Are thrown out." The servant's unfaltering gaze lingered on the maid as she shot out her hand to remove some apple bits which stuck to the sides of her mouth. "Aw, you wee lamb." Anatole furrowed her brows in mock care. "I suggest you swallow an entire apple, and wait for a prince to revive you. That way, someone will watch out that you don't accidentally stab yourself in the foot. After all, that's every fair maiden's dream, isn't it? A prince who will coddle them because they are afraid to soil their hands." Smirking, Anatole took the bowl of apples before placing it in Ally's hands with a gentle pat on the backside of her palms. "Make yourself useful."

The steadfast servant began mobilizing the kitchen crew into formation in order to facilitate the food serving. With the servants heaving pots and bowls of foods, Anatole arranged them accordingly from those with bread and pastries to fruits and vegetables up until the ones who served the poultry and seafood. Soon, the whipped crew assembled behind the kitchen doors as Anatole began her final inspection. From time to time, she approached one of the servants, giving them a reassuring tap on their shoulder before gently smiling at the nervous and anxious employees.

"Good job today, Erick." Anatole smiled, patting the lad's head. "The lettuce you harvested were nothing but fresh. Well done." And, to another, she also gave a comforting hand on the back. "I liked your creativity with the sop today, Krixa. The flatbread was a nice touch."

After she finished her rounds of assessment, Anatole wiped the sweat from her forehead as she cranked the door open which directly lead to the dining area.

"Forward, march!" She sounded, causing the servers to walk out of the kitchen in a neat single file as, orderly, they placed their assigned food on the table as well as the utensils and the personal plates before they turned around and left still in a single file lane. Finally, Anatole herself came out, carrying the large pot of steaming porridge with a cloth around her hands to dampen the heat. She heaved the pot in front of her, making her way towards the table before setting it down where she took a step back and took the lid off. "Breakfast is served."

And, just as she said these words, the roosters' cry echoed out from the outside walls, signalling that she was just in time. Anatole bowed to the people present at the table before she spun around, pumping her fist just near her chest in delight that she finished her first objective of the day. Her strides exuded confidence as the servant made her way out of the dining room and back into the kitchen where the weary staff lounged about, exhausted from the hell that Anatole afflicted upon them. But, before anyone could leave the room, a relieved chuckle escaped Anatole's lips, her face brightening into a gentle smile as she crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"I'm proud of all of you today. Now, just because I won't be handling the other meals does not mean that you can all slack off." A devious, almost scheming smirk replaced the grin on Anatole's lips. "I'll be paying attention, very close attention to the future preparations." The woman sighed as she turned around, leaving the kitchen through the backdoor as she decided to make her way towards the training grounds where she expected Rowan to be training. It had become almost a routine for the second prince to practice his skill with the blade at the early hours of the morn, and while she was more than willing to help him out with training, she believed that someone else was more fitting for the task-- probably, the captains or the other formally trained soldiers. Still, it didn't mean that she would just watch on as he committed certain flaws and errors in his stances and styles.

The prince's ability really did not lie in his strength of the arm, but of the mind. But, Anatole nearly questioned her own presumptions just as she saw Rowan driving his sword through one of the wooden training dummies. The prince was not always capable of such a feat of strength as those dummies were made from the sturdy oaks and sycamores lining the kingdom's borders, but the sight was far from disappointing. In fact, Anatole felt those butterflies fluttering somewhere down her stomach. Without even meaning to do so on the prince's part, even the simplest act drew out a myriad of emotions from the otherwise stoic servant, and she cursed herself for such a weakness. So, before she approached him, Anatole let out a series of choked breaths to calm herself down as she paced around the hallway in an infuriating loop. But, finally, Anatole found the will to revert back to her neutral shell which allowed her to walk calmly towards the second prince.

"Prince Rowan, you've been training hard." She bowed upon her approach, and then, her eyes landed on the sword embedded through the target. The servant turned towards the dummy before she placed a reassuring hand on the sword's hilt. "Fine strength, my prince. But, if I may, you are placed too close to the enemy with your lunge. If the foe persists to live even with this blade in their chest, you are in range for a fatal counterattack." A sad look overcame Anatole's eyes as he realized that while Luthier received the best training from the castle's finest tutors, the king didn't bother to send a decent tutor to train Rowan extensively-- merely teaching him what he already knew which was infuriating at the very least. Anatole breathed deeply, deciding to change the topic away from the favoritism of the royal family, and to focus instead on matters which involved Hiertania as a whole. "Bandits have dared to cross Tiadan, and right into a lutairi settlement which they pillaged. The lutairi queen might send word soon for aid, but with this kingdom's seeming distaste for the lutairi, I doubt there will be a positive response."

The prince's visage spoke volumes of the suffering he went through. The sleepless nights, the suppressed emotions, and the painful isolation-- he deserved better; gods, she wanted to give him better. But, this was his fight, and the least Anatole could do for the man was to become a pillar to support him on his way to the top. After all, from the very moment she became his personal servant, she promised to see his dreams through to the end. At this thought, her hand sifted through her pockets, bringing out a hairbrush which meant only one thing.

"Do keep still, prince Rowan." She huffed, pretending that such an act didn't fill her heart with warmth. She brushed his unruly hair back, trying to tame it as a ringleader would towards a lion. Then, she pulled out a cloth from another pocket to wipe off the sweat glistening on the prince's forehead, and to outsiders, it would seem like a mother was taking care of her child. "There." Anatole spoke, keeping the grooming tools in her pockets once more before she turned towards the dining hall. "Breakfast has been served, prince. I know that you are not tired yet," A tiny grin formed on her lips as she took it upon herself to pull out the embedded blade out of the dummy. Next, she swished the blade through the air with a snap of her wrist, causing a drop of sunlight to scatter and refract from the sharp edge. "But, a spot of breakfast is always great for starting a new day." Then, Anatole spun the sword in her hand, ultimately holding it at the hilt while the blade pointed to the earth. She then extended the sword to the prince as she nodded towards the direction of the dining hall. "Lord Adelbrand is already there, and I believe he might be more than willing to train you, my prince, given that not many can endure the champion's rigorous tendencies."

The Folly of a Felicitous Prince [CLOSED]

It's always about him.

From the very first light of dawn seeping through the tattered holes in her window curtains to the last flicker of the candlelight in the evening, the auburn-eyed prince seemed to squeeze in every nook and cranny of her thoughts. This morning, as Anatole sat straight on her bed in the wee hours of the dawn, already the young prince flashed in her mind. She knew of his suffering, his desperate clamor to be appreciated like his brothers. Though prince Rowan may not have known it, Anatole always did her best to learn more about him every single day since the moment she became his personal servant. She knew of his sleepless nights; and while he toiled relentlessly, tearing through scroll after scroll of knowledge, she stood outside of his quarters, ready to attend to any request he might have. Though her eyes threatened to shut close in fatigue, Anatole believed that if her charge refused to rest as he worked hard to obtain what he had now, then, she had no right to rest as well. She remembered how her ears would perk up in attention once the constant clatter and crumpling of papers and books would cease, signalling that the prince, more or less, fell asleep due to exhaustion. This would usually signal for her time to enter the prince's quarters, tidying up his mess as she sorted the scrolls and books on his desk, neatly filed and organized. Then, her heart would clench and flutter as her eyes swept upon the exhausted Rowan.

She recalled tugging the groggy prince up, leading him to his bed as she helped shimmying off his shoes and vest to leave him comfortable in his casual clothing. Like a mother with her child, Anatole always tucked the prince into bed in nights like this, and after she drew the blanket over his chest, she would take this silent opportunity to rustle his rather untamed onyx locks until Rowan's breathing calmed. This lad, no, this wonderful man oozed of ambition and strength. And, though, he didn't exhibit his own potential and abilities in the more traditional ways of the sword, tongue, and gallantry, she still saw the makings of a wonderful leader of Hiertania. No one was to blame for the prince's seclusion, none but the ailing king who failed at being a father. Truly, Rowan deserved to experience-- not just know-- the love that he never found at home. If anything, Rowan deserved to be the king more than Luthier, because if someone can still rise and persevere despite being left in the snares of cold and isolation, then, that certain someone is already stronger than most. Rowan is already stronger than the black-haired, smiling idiot who bathed in the affection of both father and mother. The same went for the third prince who kept going on and on about poetry, believing that he was destined to become the greatest bard of all time when his words sucked as much as his swordsmanship skills. In all honesty, she wouldn't mind helping the third prince stumble upon the edge of a cliff... or the pointed end of a pitchfork with all his baseless arrogance.

Rowan was the needle in the haystack, the diamond in the rough-- it was just a shame that no one saw his potential as Anatole did. But, she dare not pity the second prince. He did not deserve to be pitied; rather, he needed the support and trust of his countrymen-- two things that Anatole had a lot to give him.

He never really appreciated Anatole's efforts, but as long as she saw the smile on his face, then, perhaps, everything was right with the world again.

You'll always be the king of Hiertania to me. She thought to herself before leaving the quarters to finally get a good night's rest.

---

"You're suppose to cut the fish like this, Dothy." Anatole explained, incising two lines in the grouper's side. "This allows the heat to pass through more effectively when you cook it, and thus, the insides will be tastier. Now, you try." She handed the knife to the woman who nervously took it before proceeding to cut. "Don't be so stiff." She commanded, and immediately, Dothy exhaled to relax her nerves.

Immediately, Anatole's head snapped to the side, seeing one of the cooks busying himself with the contents of a pot at the far end of the kitchen. She clicked her tongue before fixing a deadly glare in his direction.

"Ahmar," Her voice sliced through the quiet early morning air. "Don't try to pretend to be busy by washing your hands inside the pot. The wheat is in the upper cupboard. And, don't think I didn't notice your constant search for the sack of wheat. Your eyes were everywhere."

Ahmar uttered an anxious affirmation as he dashed off to retrieve the sack just in time for another troublesome duo to enter, lips locking against one another in an intimate expression of affection. However, the moment their eyes landed on Anatole, they parted for dear life.

"Didn't expect me here, did you? Now, go wash your hands before I broil your lips together!" Anatole pointed the ladle at the two lovers before they bolted off to their respective stations. Early morning meal preparations were always tasking, and it was only when Anatole took part in the routine did things make sense. In fact, the only time that meals were served on time was when she headed the breakfast cooking. The quality of kitchen help was deteriorating, and he had the blasted king to thank for that. Then again, if he couldn't take care of his second son, then, what could she expect with the type of people he hired?

"Hey, Ana!" Ahmir called out as he brought in the sack. "Have you heard of the news lately? Apparently, some bandits were found in Tiadan."

"And, this is related to making porridge... how?" Anatole raised her brow, stirring the pot of porridge in front of her.

"Come on, not everything is about cooking!" Ahmir replied in an exasperated tone as he raised his hands in surrender. "Look, this act of aggression is new on Lutaires' side coming from Tiadan. This might prompt the queen of that country to ask for some help from the neighboring kingdoms."

"And, look, I feel for those pixie dusts at Lutaire, and I certainly support catching those thugs," Anatole huffed as she faced Ahmir. "But, there are more important matters to discuss. Like, how can we improve our services to the crown, and even how can we overth-- overwhelm the crowd when prince Luthier will finally become king." Or, just slunk off and smile at everything whenever he helped someone, like a dog expecting praise. That's what he does best anyway.

Anatole turned back to the porridge before deciding that it was finished. She sighed, heaving the pot to the side as he thought of Rowan once more, and how he rightfully deserved to stand in front of the people he loved so much with the crown on his head.

Damn it. Even now, it's still about him.

And, maybe, it always has been.

The Folly of a Felicitous Prince [CLOSED]

I'm a-okay with it :)

The Folly of a Felicitous Prince [CLOSED]

Anatole Makhlas

Name: Anatole Rivule Makhlas

Age: Nineteen

Role & Kingdom: Hiertania

Skills:

• Lashback Swordsmanship - Trained by her father and brother who were both soldiers, Anatole inherited the unique swordplay style developed by her father. Endearingly known as the Lashback (also her father's name) technique, this fighting style entails that the swordsman be as unmoving as much as he is unmovable. A purely defensive style which waits before striking, countering an opponent's lash before retaliating with one's own attack. This swordplay puts premiums on parrying, focus, patience, and wit as well as an eye for detail and openings which one can explot upon countering an enemy's offensive. Effectively, this allows Anatole to be efficient in battle, even dueling up to two opponents at once. However, forcing her out of this stance causes the swordswoman to be less efficient since she is not skilled when it comes to offensive tactics as she placed all her attention and time into mastering the defensive form. Not to mention that range attacks are this form's weaknesses as the Lashback swordsmanship forces the user to remain unmoving in one location.
• First-Aid Knowledge - As the Second Prince's personal servant, Anatole was required to know how to apply basic first aid as well as medicinal knowledge should the need arise to bind the prince's wounds. Still, her knowledge has its limits as major and fatal wounds are more or less already out of her reach.
• Culinary Mastery - What is a servant if he or she is not skilled in the kitchen? An accomplished culinary prodigy, Anatole knows how to prepare the prince's favorite meals, snacks, and beverages. She also participates in the castle's general meal preparations if her services are not needed by the prince himself. While her skill in cooking is not up to par with the kingdom's finest chefs, she still makes it a point to keep improving on her art, and more importantly, to find out more of the prince's favored foods. Roasting, sauteing, frying, steaming-- you name it, Anatole's got it.
• Advanced Grooming - Royalties are physically incapable of taking care of themselves, according to the servant guidebook. Thus, Anatole made it a point to figure out the best fashion sense she can muster for her prince, and does her best to make sure that he does not go out looking like someone catapulted him into a brier of cacti. She can fix his sometimes unruly hair, straighten his coats, and wash the stains off of his clothes. Though she messes up sometimes in terms of grooming him, she has finally accomplished a skill that did not come easy for servants: not flustering when seeing their charges naked.

Equipment:

• Makhlas Rapier - Originally owned by her father, Anatole now bears her father's sword. While she does not always carry it on her person, Anatole naturally radiates a posture and stance which reflects her swordsmanship. However, she does carry the sword when going with the Second Prince outside of the castle walls, or when he takes her along in a meeting with other leaders. It is true that it is uncommon for a servant to carry a blade, Anatole could care less as it is better for her to be prepared to protect her prince rather than being left empty-handed when the time comes.
• First-Aid Pouch - A pouch containing medicinal supplies such as gauze, bandages, antiseptics, and other materials which would be necessary to stop and disinfect a wound.

Personality: Calm and neutral when it comes to dealing with other individuals outside of the Second Prince, Anatole is the epitome of a precise and calculating person. Almost everyone in the castle knows that Anatole looks out for merits in actions, and when people act without purpose, that is one sure-fire way to piss the living daylights out of the woman. While she is courteous and unfazed even in front of rude and repugnant guests, she does not tolerate any insults towards the Second Prince who she has an unrequited affection for. Possessing a quick and sharp tongue, Anatole will not hesitate to lash out at anyone who insults the prince, often with heavier insults and words. However, in front and alone with her charge, the woman melts into a nervous heap though she always tries her best to become as composed as possible. Her heart easily swoons for the Second Prince, and will always support him in his endeavors. She truly believes that he is innocent, and that, the death of the King and the Crown Prince was just destiny's way of saying that the Second Prince is the rightful heir to the throne. Her unquestioning loyalty and obedience to the Second Prince is fueled by the sole dream of remaining by the prince's side until he meets the rightful princess for him. Though the sight of the two walking down the aisle would be akin to white-hot knives piercing her own heart, Anatole pays no mind to the stings, because as long as the prince is happy, then, she would be happy, too.

Biography: Growing up in an average household already paved the way for Anatole's future towards the simple, plain life of a servant in the castle. While her father and brother served in the military as, again, low-ranking soldiers, Anatole's mother already began preparing her to take her place as one of the castle servants. While her mother taught her the culinary arts and other domestic skills, the father and brother trained her in the military arts of fighting and defending oneself. By the time that Anatole was fifteen, she was not only an accomplished servant, but also a skilled (although informally trained) fighter. However, Anatole's life would soon take a rapid turn when her father and brother died in combat while protecting one of the kingdom's villages against a group of organized thieves who just wanted to raise trouble. This was the first time that the average and low-lying soldiers took the center stage, and acted beyond the call of duty. The pair's act of valor raised the attention on the Makhlas name, because when the village guards took heel and ran away to save their lives, the Makhlas soldiers stood their ground and held off the thieves until help could arrive. The cowardice of those stationed guards disgusted Anatole, and from that moment forward, she began to see the kingdom coldly. In her mind, a lot of people clamor to roles they were not willing to accomplish, and that the true mark of a person in Hiertania was someone who acted with purpose, not just for the sake of acting.

It went without saying that promotion for Anatole arrived quite fast after that. As she quickly rose through the ranks of the castle servants, the young girl suddenly saw the second prince as he busied himself day and night with mastering the art of alchemy. He poured himself into mountains of books and scrolls for the sole purpose of mastering the science of a field where even angels feared to tread. A lot of the servants belittled, even insulted the prince from the shadows with his hobby and focus, but where other people saw weakness and obsession, Anatole saw a man who wanted to make a name for himself. She saw a man who acted with purpose; a man who stood his ground and continued fighting while others fled. She admired him for his perseverance and patience, and in the prince's focus, she saw him radiate a light that no other monarch had, not even the first prince.

Getting to the second prince's side was her next goal, and after a few more years, when she was finally nineteen, Anatole was promoted to the second prince's personal servant, and already, she got to work in making him proud of her. She never let her emotions run amok, and she acted with purpose just as the prince also did. While the death of her dear father and brother left Anatole on the verge of despair, she found a new light in the prince, and like a moth hovering near a flame, she doesn't care if she get burned. If going up in cinders meant giving the prince the happiness that a lot of people deprived him of in favor of sucking up to the first prince's side, then, Anatole was more than willing to be set ablaze in order give this man, this wonderful man the sunshine he deserves.

Extra: Most obviously, Anatole possesses an unrequited love towards the prince-- a secret affection she keeps for him. She is skilled in hiding her affections, but the momentary smiles and glances can tell tales of how deep her feelings really run. However, she is kept in the dark as to the prince's real intentions, and she didn't know that it was the prince's doing which slayed the king.

The Folly of a Felicitous Prince [CLOSED]

*Hey, Aime! I was wondering if a female servant for the second prince was acceptable. In any case, once the second prince gets the CS up, I'll be revising what needs to be edited!

Anatole Makhlas

Name: Anatole Rivule Makhlas

Age: Nineteen

Role & Kingdom: Hiertania

Skills:

• Lashback Swordsmanship - Trained by her father and brother who were both soldiers, Anatole inherited the unique swordplay style developed by her father. Endearingly known as the Lashback (also her father's name) technique, this fighting style entails that the swordsman be as unmoving as much as he is unmovable. A purely defensive style which waits before striking, countering an opponent's lash before retaliating with one's own attack. This swordplay puts premiums on parrying, focus, patience, and wit as well as an eye for detail and openings which one can explot upon countering an enemy's offensive. Effectively, this allows Anatole to be efficient in battle, even dueling up to two opponents at once. However, forcing her out of this stance causes the swordswoman to be less efficient since she is not skilled when it comes to offensive tactics as she placed all her attention and time into mastering the defensive form. Not to mention that range attacks are this form's weaknesses as the Lashback swordsmanship forces the user to remain unmoving in one location.
• First-Aid Knowledge - As the Second Prince's personal servant, Anatole was required to know how to apply basic first aid as well as medicinal knowledge should the need arise to bind the prince's wounds. Still, her knowledge has its limits as major and fatal wounds are more or less already out of her reach.
• Culinary Mastery - What is a servant if he or she is not skilled in the kitchen? An accomplished culinary prodigy, Anatole knows how to prepare the prince's favorite meals, snacks, and beverages. She also participates in the castle's general meal preparations if her services are not needed by the prince himself. While her skill in cooking is not up to par with the kingdom's finest chefs, she still makes it a point to keep improving on her art, and more importantly, to find out more of the prince's favored foods. Roasting, sauteing, frying, steaming-- you name it, Anatole's got it.
• Advanced Grooming - Royalties are physically incapable of taking care of themselves, according to the servant guidebook. Thus, Anatole made it a point to figure out the best fashion sense she can muster for her prince, and does her best to make sure that he does not go out looking like someone catapulted him into a brier of cacti. She can fix his sometimes unruly hair, straighten his coats, and wash the stains off of his clothes. Though she messes up sometimes in terms of grooming him, she has finally accomplished a skill that did not come easy for servants: not flustering when seeing their charges naked.

Equipment:

• Makhlas Rapier - Originally owned by her father, Anatole now bears her father's sword. While she does not always carry it on her person, Anatole naturally radiates a posture and stance which reflects her swordsmanship. However, she does carry the sword when going with the Second Prince outside of the castle walls, or when he takes her along in a meeting with other leaders. It is true that it is uncommon for a servant to carry a blade, Anatole could care less as it is better for her to be prepared to protect her prince rather than being left empty-handed when the time comes.
• First-Aid Pouch - A pouch containing medicinal supplies such as gauze, bandages, antiseptics, and other materials which would be necessary to stop and disinfect a wound.

Personality: Calm and neutral when it comes to dealing with other individuals outside of the Second Prince, Anatole is the epitome of a precise and calculating person. Almost everyone in the castle knows that Anatole looks out for merits in actions, and when people act without purpose, that is one sure-fire way to piss the living daylights out of the woman. While she is courteous and unfazed even in front of rude and repugnant guests, she does not tolerate any insults towards the Second Prince who she has an unrequited affection for. Possessing a quick and sharp tongue, Anatole will not hesitate to lash out at anyone who insults the prince, often with heavier insults and words. However, in front and alone with her charge, the woman melts into a nervous heap though she always tries her best to become as composed as possible. Her heart easily swoons for the Second Prince, and will always support him in his endeavors. She truly believes that he is innocent, and that, the death of the King and the Crown Prince was just destiny's way of saying that the Second Prince is the rightful heir to the throne. Her unquestioning loyalty and obedience to the Second Prince is fueled by the sole dream of remaining by the prince's side until he meets the rightful princess for him. Though the sight of the two walking down the aisle would be akin to white-hot knives piercing her own heart, Anatole pays no mind to the stings, because as long as the prince is happy, then, she would be happy, too.

Biography: Growing up in an average household already paved the way for Anatole's future towards the simple, plain life of a servant in the castle. While her father and brother served in the military as, again, low-ranking soldiers, Anatole's mother already began preparing her to take her place as one of the castle servants. While her mother taught her the culinary arts and other domestic skills, the father and brother trained her in the military arts of fighting and defending oneself. By the time that Anatole was fifteen, she was not only an accomplished servant, but also a skilled (although informally trained) fighter. However, Anatole's life would soon take a rapid turn when her father and brother died in combat while protecting one of the kingdom's villages against a group of organized thieves who just wanted to raise trouble. This was the first time that the average and low-lying soldiers took the center stage, and acted beyond the call of duty. The pair's act of valor raised the attention on the Makhlas name, because when the village guards took heel and ran away to save their lives, the Makhlas soldiers stood their ground and held off the thieves until help could arrive. The cowardice of those stationed guards disgusted Anatole, and from that moment forward, she began to see the kingdom coldly. In her mind, a lot of people clamor to roles they were not willing to accomplish, and that the true mark of a person in Hiertania was someone who acted with purpose, not just for the sake of acting.

It went without saying that promotion for Anatole arrived quite fast after that. As she quickly rose through the ranks of the castle servants, the young girl suddenly saw the second prince as he busied himself day and night with mastering the art of alchemy. He poured himself into mountains of books and scrolls for the sole purpose of mastering the science of a field where even angels feared to tread. A lot of the servants belittled, even insulted the prince from the shadows with his hobby and focus, but where other people saw weakness and obsession, Anatole saw a man who wanted to make a name for himself. She saw a man who acted with purpose; a man who stood his ground and continued fighting while others fled. She admired him for his perseverance and patience, and in the prince's focus, she saw him radiate a light that no other monarch had, not even the first prince.

Getting to the second prince's side was her next goal, and after a few more years, when she was finally nineteen, Anatole was promoted to the second prince's personal servant, and already, she got to work in making him proud of her. She never let her emotions run amok, and she acted with purpose just as the prince also did. While the death of her dear father and brother left Anatole on the verge of despair, she found a new light in the prince, and like a moth hovering near a flame, she doesn't care if she get burned. If going up in cinders meant giving the prince the happiness that a lot of people deprived him of in favor of sucking up to the first prince's side, then, Anatole was more than willing to be set ablaze in order give this man, this wonderful man the sunshine he deserves.

Extra: Most obviously, Anatole possesses an unrequited love towards the prince-- a secret affection she keeps for him. She is skilled in hiding her affections, but the momentary smiles and glances can tell tales of how deep her feelings really run. However, she is kept in the dark as to the prince's real intentions, and she didn't know that it was the prince's doing which slayed the king.

Cubix's Grove of Plots -- Newly Updated :D

Updated :)

A Prized bride (The return)

Hi, guys. I just want all of you to know that my time RPing in Prized Bride was one of the most terrific stories I've ever taken part in this guild. I saw brilliant writers and great story lines weaving beautifully in the RP. Truly, this has the potential to become a masterpiece.

However, I seem to have lost interest in the story, and I believe it's more of my fault than anything else. I did really try to get my muse back up, but I just really lost my drive to contribute further to the plot. It would be unfair to the talented writers here if I were to keep slapping a crappy post just to move the story along. You guys deserve someone who is more dedicated and more talented than I am.

Thus, I'd like to withdraw from this RP, and I wish you all the best. This story has great depth and detail, and it was an honor to be a part of it for ten months.

Thanks for having me, Prized Bride folks.

Cheers,

Cubix

A Prized bride (The return)

I'm actually still up in this RP. It's just that I'm not quite sure about the plot anymore. As regards my absence, I just got done with my thesis paper, and I'm just waiting for my grades to come up. Still keeping thumbs crossed that I get my diploma.

In any case, I'm still in this RP. If things change, I can just erase the last post and say that we are back in Shadow Worth since my brides and Cuwarr are already en route to their fortress. Also, I'd just like to ask if you guys have any events that Cuwarr can join in? I can work a post which will veer in that direction.

Cheers.

A Prized bride (The return)

Lord Cuwarr Naxremis

Husband of Kalani (@karamonnom), his auburn rose, and of Amalia Solair (@Belle)

Summary

Cuwarr and his brides leave for Drakka in a carriage. Soon, they arrive at the slopes of Vekor Atalli, the warlord's territory, as the biting winds begin to manifest. They were not far from Sudreth, and soon, they would arrive at the Naxremis keep.

With the rapidly encroaching curtain of night cascading down the crimson skies, Cuwarr turned back to Shadow Worth for one final glance at the locus of his reawakened bloodlust. A century's worth of murderous urges suppressed within the confines of his heart threatened to jut out in violent tendrils, assuring pain and death to those who would live to see the beast lash out from its cage. Cuwarr believed in his flawless ability to hide and remove his bloodlust, taking pride in it as what made him different from the other drakkens. However, all his hard work riven to fragments with just the flash of a knife, the glint of bared teeth, and the trickle of crimson. Silently, he cursed his escalating bad luck before he watched his wives enter the carriage one after another. While the two of them comfortably seated themselves, Cuwarr breathed out a sigh of relief. He would never lose another bride again. Kalani was a given-- she was dear to his heart. But, Amalia was also another case. With or without Kalani's counsel, he would still have picked Amalia after he saw her defiance against all odds. Like a fish writhing on the ground in hopes of flopping back to the waters, Amalia thrashed against the jaws of death until she floundered to where Cuwarr and Kalani were.

Such defiance and courage could only be born from a lifetime of one's true self being suppressed, and when Cuwarr's ice-azure gaze met Amalia's (though her sight barred by the eyepiece), he saw a burning desire to prove herself, to live and to win. There was nothing more enticing than a gem who knows her own identity before a drakken gave her a new one. He would have lavished Amalia, gave her the affection she deserved. But, Sorici's act froze the warlord in his tracks. Whenever he opened himself up to be probed and read like a book, vivid flashes of Sorici's betrayal would ravage his sanity-- the gemminite's searing torch igniting Cuwarr's pages until he burned out of existence like a whiff of dying embers.

He would do his best to learn, to become his old self. This was the least he could do for them. With his bloodlust pounding against the doors of his heart, Cuwarr knew that if he was not careful in his steps, he would be the brides' undoing more than anything else.

The warlord's train of thoughts derailed when he saw another approaching carriage. The intricate, gem-based design of the vehicle already assured him that it was another bride to be reaped from her home. And, while he grew less interested as two lesser gems exited the carriage, his eyes whipped back to the carriage as the final gem stepped out with the grace of nobility echoing from every step she took. Crimson tresses fell softly down to her shoulders, fairly reminiscent of a candle whose flame warded off the shadows of night from consuming all in its warm light. Her red hair curtained her rather smooth, milky-white flesh on her neck as her hips swayed with little force yet it only accentuated the voluptuous curves which lined her body. She was different than the gems he met: she knew her power, and she embraced it. Furthermore, the deep crimson flecks of her dress just confirmed what Cuwarr already knew.

She was a royalty back in Gemminia. Well, was. Her crown would not help her from being broken and destroyed by the strength of men greater than hers. After all, even the brightest of candles melt should they try to increase their light.

"Well," Cuwarr scoffed as the gem vanished around the hallway of Shadow Worth. "She is as enticing as a rotten piece of meat." The warlord mumbled to himself, stepping into the large carriage which lurched forward when the door shut.

Gemminia was behind; Drakka laid ahead.

---

The gems conversed much to his comfort. He didn't really know how to talk to Amalia yet. While Cuwarr sat beside Kalani, his attention fixated itself upon the talking gem who spoke about her family and who she was. Immediately, she began to express how she knew that they did not like her presence, and to an extent, she seemed too presumptuous to think that she knew what Cuwarr wanted.

"I do not test those who I do not deem worthy." Cuwarr spoke, his voice slicing through the winds. "And, I tested you, did I not?" The warlord leaned back on the cushion before also noticing the slight shiver which ran through his wife's physique. With deliberate movements, Cuwarr bent down to retrieve a large, wool blanket. Cuwarr stood up before wrapping the blanket around Amalia, encasing her in its warmth before he fell to his knees in front of her. "You just grabbed at straws, and drew the shortest one. It is not your fault. Things happened, and it will take some time for me to get back to normal. But, for what it is worth..." He leaned forward, pressing a light, quick kiss on her forehead before retreating back to Kalani's side. "You are not unwanted."

The ride continued as they ascended the slopes of Vekor Atalli, the border of Sudreth. With the biting winds waltzing in and out of the carriage, Cuwarr prayed that his brides would make it. Immediately, he grabbed Kalani before cradling her against his chest in an effort to warm her. In the meantime, the warlord's eyes gazed at Amalia, never letting her leave from his mind and attention.

After all, they were his. And, they were not unwanted.