Member
Festive
Melissa
AlteredTundra
LovelyComplex
Horangi
PrinceAlexus
ReturnerBugs. They were everywhere, and it was up to a single, tiny blonde to combat them all. At the first buzz, her hands shot out, not to attack, but to shield the delicate features of her face from the horrors that came. A few microscopic mosquitoes landed on the sleeve of her dress, being the fearless blood drinkers they were, yet their attempts to sink their needle-like proboscis into the young girl's flesh were in vain. Her raiment was too strong! The thick, pink dress that adorned her skin reflected the insects' assault and before too long, they gave up on their search for blood, meandering back into the fetid air to search for new prey. For now, the blonde had won. However, danger lurked around every corner of the Rienes Swamp.
Peachie Verolin, daughter of Marquis Phillip of the East Marches, sank into the hard wood of her seat. Misery was etched into her face, dreading every moment she spent inside this infernal place. She hadn't thought it would be this bad. Dreams of a wondrous wilderness filled with delightful, happy creatures had been the girl's thoughts of this place when she had first heard that she'd be on an expedition to visit with House Noire. Where her eyes had been clouded with delusions, her father's had been aware of the potentially treacherous landscape his darling daughter was headed. Daddy's disdain with the crown's decision was made known with a polite letter asking for a change of scenery, lest he lose his only child to a cursed bog. Unfortunately, no revision came, and here Peachie was, pleading for her two months to be over with already.
"Do they eat people here?" her pleasant voice asked the other two people in her carriage. One of them, an aging, ashen haired Knight named Castor Ereban, shook his head silently. Castor had long been her father's friend and a loyal vassal to House Verolin. While he was nearing his 60th birthday, the man had a keen mind and an even sharper blade, though he wasn't particularly talkative. As Phillip's most trusted, he was here to keep Peachie safe and to advise her, by decree of the Marquis. The other figure, a large red haired woman clad in an even frillier dress than Peachie's, scoffed at the girl's words as she fanned herself. "I have no doubt, Lady Verolin. Anyone insane enough to live here must certainly resort to cannibalism. As your father said, House Noire is nothing but a bunch of savages. How the crown even tolerates them is beyond me." Delilah Lowborn, Peachie's Housekeeper and aunt, spoke. While she was kin, Delilah was a bastard, the product of a coupling between the former Marquis Xavier Verolin and a serving girl, and as such had no claim to nobility. However, her father grew close to his half-sister in their younger years, and these days, she enjoyed luxuries not normally seen by half-bloods.
"I hope they don't eat me... I don't think I'd taste very good." the young woman muttered before silence dawned on the small company. Outside of her carriage, her ears listened to the clopping hooves that carried the King's Knights, all great warriors that would ensure a peaceful visit. Between them and Castor, Peachie had every reason to consider herself well protected, certainly warded enough to shoo off any cannibals. Still, she was worried. Not just about the swamp's perils and the denizens within it, but the mere fact she was expected to act as emissary. What did she know about House Noire? Absolutely nothing. The subject seemed ill explored, and most everybody within the Stormhold had little good to say about the House. With such a meager amount of information to go off on, how was she expected to act in this new domain? What would happen if she damaged relations between her own House and House Noire? The questions were endless, and anxiety crept up on her like a stalking phantom.
Several hours later, and Peachie finally landed her feet on the muddy ground. Her finest shoes were ruined in an instant as the blonde trudged toward what Castor had called the Hall, though it looked nothing like what she imagined. Not only her shoes, but her hair was a frizzy mess, untamed and wild, her make-up had long disappeared, and the bottom of her dainty dress was picking dirt. Unfortunately, there was no time to salvage her appearance, much to Delilah's vocal chagrin. "No proper Lady should have suffer through such a tragedy!" the older woman exclaimed under her breath. Castor sighed behind her, perhaps being the most worldly and accepting of their company. He alone knew what these people were like, yet he made no inclinations as of yet to offer his wisdom up. As they entered the strange, natural realm, it felt as though all eyes were on her and the Knights that followed. It made sense for the Hall to be as packed as it was, considering the uniqueness of such an event, but that made it no less intimidating.
Where was her daddy when she needed him? It should of been him addressing the people in this room, not her. Alas, Peachie sucked down her fear and approached the central family, whom she could only assume were the leaders of this place. Perhaps it came down to her unfamiliarity with the culture her, but everyone in the room looked the same in her eyes. The people here lacked the vivid and bright colors, as exemplified by her own pink dress, that the nobility of her kingdom wore to separate themselves from the lower masses. Nonetheless, Peachie mustered up the brightest smile she could and strode forward with confidence. She was her father's daughter, the new face of the reformed House Verolin, so they would receive her personality in full.
"Hiya! I'm Peachie Verolin! It's nice to meet you all! I don't know a whole lot about this place or your House, but I hope you can teach me while I'm here. I also hope we can all be the best of friends!" Her introduction was anything but formal, and in the background of the room, Peachie swore she heard Delilah smack herself in the face. Proper etiquette had never been her strong suit nor did she intend it to be. Her words were meant to be simple and concise, albeit laced with an exorbitant amount of naivety. Curtsying, the beaming blonde's azure eyes met with family's gaze, silently praying they didn't use some manner of witchcraft to strike her down her and now.
Peachie Verolin, daughter of Marquis Phillip of the East Marches, sank into the hard wood of her seat. Misery was etched into her face, dreading every moment she spent inside this infernal place. She hadn't thought it would be this bad. Dreams of a wondrous wilderness filled with delightful, happy creatures had been the girl's thoughts of this place when she had first heard that she'd be on an expedition to visit with House Noire. Where her eyes had been clouded with delusions, her father's had been aware of the potentially treacherous landscape his darling daughter was headed. Daddy's disdain with the crown's decision was made known with a polite letter asking for a change of scenery, lest he lose his only child to a cursed bog. Unfortunately, no revision came, and here Peachie was, pleading for her two months to be over with already.
"Do they eat people here?" her pleasant voice asked the other two people in her carriage. One of them, an aging, ashen haired Knight named Castor Ereban, shook his head silently. Castor had long been her father's friend and a loyal vassal to House Verolin. While he was nearing his 60th birthday, the man had a keen mind and an even sharper blade, though he wasn't particularly talkative. As Phillip's most trusted, he was here to keep Peachie safe and to advise her, by decree of the Marquis. The other figure, a large red haired woman clad in an even frillier dress than Peachie's, scoffed at the girl's words as she fanned herself. "I have no doubt, Lady Verolin. Anyone insane enough to live here must certainly resort to cannibalism. As your father said, House Noire is nothing but a bunch of savages. How the crown even tolerates them is beyond me." Delilah Lowborn, Peachie's Housekeeper and aunt, spoke. While she was kin, Delilah was a bastard, the product of a coupling between the former Marquis Xavier Verolin and a serving girl, and as such had no claim to nobility. However, her father grew close to his half-sister in their younger years, and these days, she enjoyed luxuries not normally seen by half-bloods.
"I hope they don't eat me... I don't think I'd taste very good." the young woman muttered before silence dawned on the small company. Outside of her carriage, her ears listened to the clopping hooves that carried the King's Knights, all great warriors that would ensure a peaceful visit. Between them and Castor, Peachie had every reason to consider herself well protected, certainly warded enough to shoo off any cannibals. Still, she was worried. Not just about the swamp's perils and the denizens within it, but the mere fact she was expected to act as emissary. What did she know about House Noire? Absolutely nothing. The subject seemed ill explored, and most everybody within the Stormhold had little good to say about the House. With such a meager amount of information to go off on, how was she expected to act in this new domain? What would happen if she damaged relations between her own House and House Noire? The questions were endless, and anxiety crept up on her like a stalking phantom.
Several hours later, and Peachie finally landed her feet on the muddy ground. Her finest shoes were ruined in an instant as the blonde trudged toward what Castor had called the Hall, though it looked nothing like what she imagined. Not only her shoes, but her hair was a frizzy mess, untamed and wild, her make-up had long disappeared, and the bottom of her dainty dress was picking dirt. Unfortunately, there was no time to salvage her appearance, much to Delilah's vocal chagrin. "No proper Lady should have suffer through such a tragedy!" the older woman exclaimed under her breath. Castor sighed behind her, perhaps being the most worldly and accepting of their company. He alone knew what these people were like, yet he made no inclinations as of yet to offer his wisdom up. As they entered the strange, natural realm, it felt as though all eyes were on her and the Knights that followed. It made sense for the Hall to be as packed as it was, considering the uniqueness of such an event, but that made it no less intimidating.
Where was her daddy when she needed him? It should of been him addressing the people in this room, not her. Alas, Peachie sucked down her fear and approached the central family, whom she could only assume were the leaders of this place. Perhaps it came down to her unfamiliarity with the culture her, but everyone in the room looked the same in her eyes. The people here lacked the vivid and bright colors, as exemplified by her own pink dress, that the nobility of her kingdom wore to separate themselves from the lower masses. Nonetheless, Peachie mustered up the brightest smile she could and strode forward with confidence. She was her father's daughter, the new face of the reformed House Verolin, so they would receive her personality in full.
"Hiya! I'm Peachie Verolin! It's nice to meet you all! I don't know a whole lot about this place or your House, but I hope you can teach me while I'm here. I also hope we can all be the best of friends!" Her introduction was anything but formal, and in the background of the room, Peachie swore she heard Delilah smack herself in the face. Proper etiquette had never been her strong suit nor did she intend it to be. Her words were meant to be simple and concise, albeit laced with an exorbitant amount of naivety. Curtsying, the beaming blonde's azure eyes met with family's gaze, silently praying they didn't use some manner of witchcraft to strike her down her and now.
