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Forsaken Kingdom

Precaria

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a part of Forsaken Kingdom, by BeelzytheBub.

None

BeelzytheBub holds sovereignty over Precaria, giving them the ability to make limited changes.

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Setting

The world created by Victory Ginsburg.
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Precaria

None

Minimap

Precaria is a part of Forsaken Kingdom.

7 Characters Here

Victory Ginsburg [2] The Creator
Alexis Wynter [2] The Prince Charming
Alura Wise [1] .......
Eros Primit [1] The First Crush
Liliana Philomel [1] The Mourned
The Hood [0] A vigilante hero gone rogue
Jacob Warden [0] The Protector

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Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Alexis Wynter
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Alexis Wynter

The Prince Charming



The hall was empty of sound, save for the faint intermittent clinks of cutlery on china. Sat at one end of the great oak dining table, Alexis ate in solitary silence, dominated by the vast dining hall. It had been beautiful once, but from the immense chandelier now hung swathes of cobwebs, and drifts of dust had gathered against the skirting boards. Casting a faint glow up onto the elaborately moulded ceiling, a single candelabrum sat in front of Alexis’ plate, placed by one of the few remaining servants. It was the reason the castle had fallen into such a state – the cheerful ranks of housestaff had been dwindled down from dozens to a very select few, who drifted silently through the corridors and lingered in the shadows, never in sight long enough for Alexis to take some sort of offense from their presence.

He had known it was necessary, really, to dismiss all those servants; with their smiling and chattering, their waiting on him and their helpfulness, always being around and doing things for him – he knew he couldn’t trust them. He couldn’t, could he? Of course he couldn’t. No, they had to go.

Alexis put his knife and fork together and frowned coldly at his plate. He’d barely made a dent in the meal that had been prepared for him, but he wasn’t hungry for something so bland – he couldn’t even remember eating anything that tasted of something. Glancing up, his eyes lingered on the opposite end of the table, where a second place was set – a full glass, an untouched plate, spotless silver cutlery. Her place.

He rang the tiny silver handbell that sat behind him, to indicate to the servants he had finished, stood up, pushed his chair back and left the hall. The staff would wait until after he had left to come in and clear away; that was how he liked it. You couldn’t get too personal with the help, couldn’t have them finding out things about you. He kept his distance.

His boots made faint tracks in the soft carpet of dust along corridors, paintings and tapestries gave him unnerving smiles through cataracts of grime. He scowled at one of the paintings as he passed; he’d decided last week to have it moved from upstairs into the main corridor as he rather liked it, but seeing it here he’d decided that actually, he really didn’t like it all that much. He’d have it moved somewhere else later, to be replaced with whatever piece of wall decoration happened to take his fancy today. Continuing onwards, even the candles seemed to shine with a dull and dusty light, barely able to make a dent in the gloom that hung all over the castle. He reached the great double doors at the end of the corridor and entered, to perform what had become a daily ritual to him.

Into the throne room. It was grey, bleak and unlit, but daylight streamed in from the great windows. He’d considered having them boarded up, but of course that wouldn’t look good at all when She came back. Between the two rows of pillars a long and dusty carpet stretched to tsteps leading up a raised platform and, there, the throne. He approached the empty seat, and sank respectfully to one knee before it. Her face appeared before him in his mind. He made a great effort to remember every tiny detail he could, every mark and mole, every highlight of her hair, the way her nose sloped just so and the way her eyes made the light dance in them. He had to keep her alive in his memory, to let her be forgotten would be a treason of the worst order and Alexis couldn’t do that to her.

His love would be proven, in time.
And, he was certain, returned.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Liliana Philomel Character Portrait: Alura Wise
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#, as written by Polka
Alura sat in the middle of a large tree stump. Small blue orbs danced around her hair as the breathed in time with the surrounding wind.
At one time she was more of a fairy.. a Godmother if you like. However, now she had surrounded herself in nature and became rainbow sage of Precaria.
After her pride and Joy had left she had nothing to work for, her main reason for living ceased to exist. Thankfully the tree's showed her the way and in return for their kindness she became the sage.

It would be a lie to say that Alura never thought of her. She had left a handprint behind, poor old Lili. There was a time that she looked after the two girls together and she adored them but that all changed when she chose to leave them behind.
The sage and tried to create a medicine to mend Lillian, she was a broken reflection of the girl who kept Precaria alive but nothing seemed to work.


People often visited her for advice and herbal medicine and Alura always delivered but she just couldn't find the right medicine to fix the messes that had been left behind.

As she continued to meditate in the middle of the large stump, rain began to hit the ground. The weather had became so unpredictable these days but it often indicated how the earth was feeling. It rained most days now, the earth weeped. All the Sage could do was try to keep as in tune with nature as she could and soothe it's broken heart.

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Character Portrait: Eros Primit
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Eros Primit


"So, Rose, how's your day going?" The young man who was dressed all in green asked, his dull eyes looking hopefully at the wilted figure infront of him. The pathetic excuse for a rosebush didn't even budge when he willed it to move.
No surprise there.
"Ah... not so great then." He sighed, dropping down on to the grass and began staring up at the clouds. When the rest of his body made contact with the ground, the grass below him instantly went dry as if he was sucking up whatever life was around him.
Sorry, Grass. He thought as he plucked a dead strand and tossed it away, I couldn't help you even if I wanted to.
The man stared up at the sky for a few minutes, but quickly got bored and glanced over at the flower again.
Maybe if he just tried harder...

"I bet you looked nice once, huh?"
He said, pulling himself upwards into a sitting position, "This whole place did, maybe. But Rose, you've gotta cooperate with me, okay? You can't keep being dead like that." The boy said to the plant, a slight smile findings it's way onto his face. He could revive it, he was sure. The petals would go back to red and the leaves would straighten themselves out. It would be a little bit of beauty brought back to the world, the others surely would enjoy it.

However, when he tried to put life back into the rosebush, all it did was stay where it was and not change at all.

The smile dropped from his face, "I guess not today." he said in defeat. There wasn't any motive to try for a second time, for he knew that the result would just be the same. The others would have to wait if they wanted to see the rosebush alive again.
Not that they passed through where he young man was, though, but if he ever was able to fix it then he'd go out and find them... wherever they were now.

"Eros!" Someone called in the distance. At the sound of his name, the man shot up to his feet and looked around. No one had used him name for as long as his mind allowed him to remember. Maybe the odd old friend he had talked to once or twice, but nowadays Eros had spent his time with Rose, Lily, Marigold, and Fern. They never could hold a decent conversation, of course, but even if it was one-sided Eros was content with having friendships.
"Eros, come here!" There it was again. Just being able to hear someone... Eros smiled.
"Where are you?" He called back, actual hope ringing in his voice, "I'm down by the stream... tell me where you are and I'll find you!"
"Right over here, turn around!" The voice laughed. Eros did as told and saw...
It looked like her.
It couldn't be her.
'Her' was somewhere else.
Who was 'Her', anyway?
Eros squinted his eyes. He knew that he should have recognized her, but when he tried to remember... nothing came up. "You..." He said, taking a step towards her, "I know you." Eros was only a few feet away now, but when he tried to reach out to the girl, his hand passed right through and suddenly the figure vanished into thin air.
His hand snapped back and Eros stared at it in surprise. She had been there, he had seen her! ..But she was gone again, just like that.

Eros scowled at the ground and went back to the rosebush. It had been just another stupid illusion.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Victory Ginsburg
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Crumpled on her bed like a dropped doll, Victory stared at the dusk creeping over the windowsill. The seam on the sleeve of her post office uniform pushed at her shoulder in just the spot to bother her, but she felt that she did not have permission to move and, in any case, that she deserved any discomfort.

Oh, you deserve such a cruel fate! What a pitiful way to be, having your sleeve dig into your shoulder! Idiot. No wonder everybody hates you.

For the hundredth time, her mother’s words played in her mind: “Get out! You’re not my daughter! Get out!”

She’d just been waiting for an excuse. She’d wanted to say that for years. You were just too stupid to realize how much she hates you.

The fresh memory of Tammy’s voice cut through. “You still chose your homophobic family over me? After all I’ve done for you? Get out! Get out of here!”

You should be alone. You don’t belong anywhere, freak. Go live in the sewers like the scum-sucking rat you are.

A long blast of a car horn pierced the silence, snapping her back into her room. She raised her eyes to the red glow of the clock, breathed a hollow sigh, and shifted to let gravity drag her off the bed and to the sink.

She hoped she wouldn’t look at the mirror, but like a grisly car wreck, her puffed eyes and dripping makeup drew a glance. She cringed.

Fucking pathetic.

She smeared her face clean in cold water, dried it on her shirt, and slunk back to bed, curling up on top of the sheets and hiding her eyes under the pillow. She just wanted to sleep, to get out of her head by sinking further in. “It used to be so easy, didn’t it?” she thought.

To solve your problems by pussying out of them.

“It used to be so easy, and it felt so…”

Something you don’t deserve. Something you never deserved.

“I just told myself to dream, and I did.”

Wasting your time on bullshit. Typical.

“If I just try, no one will know but me.”

Yes, you will, and you’ll still be an idiot.

“I’ll dream of someplace I can hide… a fortress. I’ll dream of a castle. With walls that will keep out everything. And empty halls. And quiet. I just want it quiet—”

“Well, we’re doing our best, believe me.”

Victory flinched and opened her eyes. Her eyes worked well enough in the dim light, but she still took a moment to process the scene in front of her: a long dining table and a trio of servants clearing the used dishes onto a greasy trolley. She felt naked, suddenly thrust in front of gawkers.

“Where’d you come from, anyway?” asked the tall servant.

“Lexie’ll have a whole herd of cows if he catches you in here,” said the servant with the bushy red eyebrows.

“And if he hears you calling him ‘Lexie,’” said the servant with the big mole on her lip.

Victory felt her face heating up. “Um.” She glanced around. “Where—I-I don’t know. I’m sorry, I should…” She turned away to find a quick way out of the place.

“Well, hang on!” said the servant with the bushy eyebrows. “You don’t have to run off.”

“Yeah, you’re a fresh face. That’s pretty weird,” said the one with the mole.

“It’s not a big town, even if we’ve got a castle. Everybody knows everybody,” said the tall one. “Who are you?”

Victory froze. She’d wanted silence, not this.

Can’t even escape from your own pathetic awkwardness in your dreams.

She half-shuffled around to face them, hooking her hand on her shoulder. “Um, Vicky.” She glanced at the floor. She only cared about getting to someplace solitary, but she was in it now. “Y-you?”

The tall one opened her mouth but made no sound. She pursed her lips. “Huh.”

The one with the mole crossed her arms. “Come to think of it…”

The one with the eyebrows squinted at the domed ceiling. “Funny, I have no idea.”

Victory furrowed her brow. “How do you just go around not knowing your own names?”

The one with the mole shrugged. “Well, there’s really only us, the master, and a few others in the castle. We just kinda…”

“Get by?” the tall one suggested.

“That’s about right,” said the one with the eyebrows.

Victory frowned. “Oh. Okay. Well, can’t you... give yourself names?”

The trio looked at one another, then back at Victory.

“This One,” said the tall one.

“That One,” said the one with the eyebrows.

“The Other,” said the one with the mole.

Victory blinked. “I, uh. Guess that works.” She looked up at the cobweb-covered chandelier. The ceiling above it was once covered with beautiful murals, but dust obscured what hadn't chipped off. "But you said this was a castle?

This One nodded. "Yeah. It's pretty empty, though."

That One sighed, crossing his arms. "Ever since Lexie started getting his panties in a bunch about people watching him."

The Other scoffed. "Who'd care what he does, anyway? All he ever does is mope."

"This Lexie guy," said Victory. "Is he the, uh, master?"

"Yup," said The Other.

“Then why’s he moping?” Victory asked.

“He’s sad about a girl,” said This One.

“I just think he’s nuts. Keeps worshipping an empty throne,” said That One.

“Wow,” said Victory. “That’s kind of sad, actually.”

That One scoffed. “Not when he snarls at you for trying to clean the place.”

The Other shook her head. “He keeps saying we’ll ‘disturb the setting.’”

“And then he fires you for spying,” said This One.

Victory raised an eyebrow. “That guy needs help. Like, professional.”

Not as much as you do.

“Anyway,” she said. “Is there a…” She figured that she wouldn’t get any privacy in the castle, and it didn’t feel right to ask for her own room as an intruder. “Is there a way out of here?”

“Oh, sure!” said The Other. She pointed to the big door beyond the far end of the table. “Just go through there.”

“And take the second left, go down the stairs, and up the next,” said That One.

“Then straight, straight, left, right, and another straight. It’s just past the big stained-glass window. You can’t miss it,” said This One.

“Oh… Yeah, sure.” Victory nodded with feigned enthusiasm. She figured she could go through the door and the path might become self-evident in time. In any case, the thought of getting lost in the future was less excruciating than the thought of asking them to repeat the instructions, or worse yet, an escort. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem,” said That One.

“Glad we could help,” said This One.

“See you around!” said The Other.

“Yeah, I’ll see you,” said Victory, with no intention of doing so, and she pushed through the door to the sound of plates and silverware clanking on the greasy cart.

Half an hour later, she slumped against the wall with her clenched fists on her forehead. “This place is some godforsaken maze,” she groaned. The ubiquitous gray stone didn’t help. The creepy paintings certainly didn’t help. The only thing that seemed to help was the layer of dust on the floor which told her when she was backtracking, but she had the sneaking suspicion that it was somehow keeping her from backtracking to the actual path to the exit.

And you even get lost in your own dream. You’re like some Olympic champion of being a spectacular loser.

“But I need to find my way out,” she thought.

What’s the use? You know you’ll just keep running in circles.

She shifted her feet under her to stand.

Whatever. Knock yourself out; I don’t care.

When she swung out her arms to balance herself, her hand smacked into a plaster pillar that served as a stand for an expensive-looking urn. The pillar and urn wobbled, and she stumbled and snatched at the urn to keep it from falling. Her hasty grab only smacked it to the floor. She winced at the resulting crash. Fear prickled at the nape of her neck. Had anyone heard? She decided to not take her chances, and she sprinted for a narrow hallway.

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Character Portrait: Victory Ginsburg Character Portrait: Alexis Wynter
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Alexis Wynter

The Prince Charming



A crash somewhere in the halls disturbed his silence.

Idiots! What the hell were they up to now? Servants were far more trouble than they were worth, he could see that now. Tomorrow he would see that they were thoroughly disciplined for making such nuisances of themselves.

He straightened up to his full skeletal height and brushed the patches of dust from his knees.

On second thoughts, why wait until tomorrow? No time like the present, after all. His face set in an irritated frown, he strode quickly out of the throne room in the direction of where the sound had come from; buckled to his hip, his dull sword swung against his thigh with every step. It hadn't been properly used in a while - the rust and tarnishing cake over the hilt made that clear - but he had taken to wearing it even around the castle, just in case of sudden violent treachery.

It didn't take long to see what had caused the crash that disturbed him. There on the floor, lying in shattered fragments rather than on the elegant plaster pedestal it had previously inhabited, was the urn of - of - well, of someone very important, probably. He didn't know who's urn it was and he didn't really care; but what he did know, and care very much about indeed, was that it was very expensive, very broken and very much his property.

He scowled at the empty hallway.

In response, the faint sound of footsteps came to him from the narrow hallway that led off to the left, and with one hand on the hilt of his sword he followed the noise. He knew that the only place they could hide was a storage room at the end of this corridor, which gave him a shred of faint satisfaction.

"You can't hide from me in my own castle!" he shouted into the gloom, drawing himself up as tall and imposing as he could manage. Although he didn't have the same visual impact as a large man might have, there was definitely something unnerving about seeing his gaunt shadowy frame stalking towards you down a dimly lit stone corridor.