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Lorelle de Croismare

"A smile is a curve that sets everything straight."

0 · 627 views · located in Tibera

a character in “The Price of Blood”, as played by Magical_pineapples

Description

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"Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars"




{“What you do, the way you think, makes you beautiful}




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|{Full Name}|
Lorelle Persephone de Croismare.

|{Nick Name}|
Ellen (Common) Loren (Accepted) Mary (Absolutely adored).

|{Gender}|
Female.

|{Age}|
Twenty-eight.

|{Rank/Title}|
Lady In Waiting

|{Sexual Orientation}|
Heterosexual.

|{Kingdom/Alliance}|
Seabel.




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{“She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes...” }
~ George Gordon Byron




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|{Hair Color}|
Coppery Red.

|{Eye Color}|
Blue-Green.

|{Height}|
5'7.

|{Weight}|
125lbs.

|{Tattoos}|
None.

|{Piercings}|
None.

|{Scars}|
None.

|{Description}|
editing
Lorelle's long hair is a coppery red tone, glimmering beneath the sun's warm rays. Typically, she wears it out and loose, allowing its natural waves and such to be seen. However, whenever she is being active and training, she will gather a few strands and braid them along the sides of her head to keep them from her face while the rest tumbles down her back. Only on rare occasions is her hair ever up..




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{“There's nothing more inspiring than the complexity and beauty of the human heart.” }
~ Cynthia Hand, Hallowed




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|{Personality}|
{Confident, Playful, Honest, Insensitive, Loyal}

Lorelle is not the sort of person to allow herself to become wrapped up in insecurities or worries about who she is and whether she is good enough. When she was younger, the girl had a problem with such concerns- just as all young maidens do. However, rather than allow those fears of the past to haunt her, the young woman learned to ignore them- though it took a while to do this. It is her confidence which allows her to act quickly when situations suddenly sour, because indecision is the child of insecurity and it isn't something one has time for when they have to think on their feet. That being said, sometimes her confidence can lead her to bite off more than she can chew, taking on extra tasks besides her normal duties as Rosalie's Lady In Waiting because she feels that she can handle it. Sometimes she is correct, and manages well enough- but this isn't always the case, unfortunately. Lorelle prides herself on being the sort who keeps a cool head and doesn't allow herself to be prompted into a fight, but she can become very defensive when it comes to her family, getting irritated with those who try to threaten them. Her loyalty exists outside of its ability to cloud her judgment, luckily, and also means that she is unlikely to betray her loved ones, even if doing so is for the best. To her, betraying those one cares for is the greatest sin, one she'd never commit. But perhaps she'd be willing to do less than savory things, if she thought it would help. A cause for concern, certainly. Luckily, deception doesn't come easily for the woman, who is blunt at worst and honest at best. In fact, should she try to lie, it would be transparent for lack of practice. The young woman comes from a family that valued the truth, even if it comes like a smack in the face- and while she's learned to have some tact, in the end she believes that people would be better off with the truth than in blissful ignorance- though many people have disagreed with her over this. Perhaps it is the fact that she isn't always the most empathetic of people which causes her to hold this value. For the most part, Lorelle doesn't pretend that she is able to understand a person's motivations or feelings just through their expressions and cryptic words. It is best that a person simply say what they mean if they want her to get the message- otherwise it will certainly be lost in translation. She's stepped on toes unwittingly before due to misunderstanding the feelings or wishes of another. During tense situations she makes up for it with a good sense of humor and the ability to let insults toward her own person roll away. A fan of jokes and little pranks, she obviously is liked by children and other good humored members in the Western Palace.


|{Likes/Loves}|
▲King of Seabel
▲Her family
▲Laughter
▲Jokes
▲Children
▲Red wine, particularly Rothschild and French Bordeaux
▲Sewing
▲Reading
▲Cleaning
▲Telling Stories
▲Secrets
▲Baking
▲Expensive bath oils, especially vanilla or jasmine-scented ones
▲Candles
▲Expensive tea, especially chai and black teas
▲Old Literature
▲Desserts
▲Peace
▲Baguettes and croissants
|{Dislikes/Hates}|
▼Queen of Seabel
▼Insecurity
▼People Lacking humor
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{“QUOTE.” }
~ AUTHOR




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|{Place Of Origin}|
Seabel.

|{History}|
Insert History Here.


|{Happiest Memory}|
Insert..


|{Saddest Memory}|
insert..




Face Claim:

So begins...

Lorelle de Croismare's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Celia Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Genevieve Hansdottir Character Portrait: Christoph Edwards Character Portrait: Renly Arryn Character Portrait: Alistair Lannister Character Portrait: Ulfric Bjornson Character Portrait: Corianna Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Annabelle Waldorf Character Portrait: Loras Edwards Character Portrait: Cassandra Lannister Character Portrait: Rosalie Lannister Character Portrait: Priscilla Edwards Character Portrait: Lorelle de Croismare Character Portrait: Lucas Navigne Character Portrait: Nicholas Brigham Character Portrait: Tyrion Lannister Character Portrait: Elanor Lannister
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OOC: "Here ye here ye! Come one come all. The good ole' Royal family Lannister of Tibera has put forth their 4th annual Masquerade ball at dusk. So, ladies and gents grab your masks and prepare to see identities be revealed.."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Alistair Lannister Character Portrait: Rosalie Lannister Character Portrait: Lorelle de Croismare Character Portrait: Tyrion Lannister
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The guilt began gradually eating at Rosalie's insides as Tyrion spoke, "Yet for all the wealth and beauty none of it compared to the love of your parents. Your mother and father loved each other so very much and on that day they out shined the sun. Rarely did their hands separate, their fingers seemed permanently entangled. Constantly they whispered to each other sweetly, telling private jokes only they knew the punch lines to. Truth be told even when the toasts were made I doubt they ever heard them for they only had eyes and ears for each other." Yes, he was talking with Cassie, but there was this pull at Rosalie's chest that told her that he hadn't only been talking to her. When his eyes suddenly met with hers, then had she knew he was studying her expression to see how she'd react. Rosalie began biting at her lower lip, a nervous habit, as she let her thoughts roam about. Yes, those feelings for Alistair had suddenly changed, but it never denied the fact how she felt about him. She did love him. Always. However, with Loras around her love for Alistair always came into questioning. Alistair was her first love and will always be, but something about Loras is...indescribable. When he made love to him it just felt right. Needless to say, it was wrong that she cheated on Alistair, but her feeling for Loras is complicated. He didn't know her like Alistair did, but he knew whenever she was hurting, whenever she needed to be comfort and she adored him for that. He was her 'guard' after all, and she did feel guarded whenever he was near.

"You learn well from your mother now, darling niece. When you grow up and find a love of your own you settle for nothing but the true love your mother has found in your father. A love that is strong, passionate and resilient. A love that burns brightly and even during the coldest winters, when the night seems to last for generations one need only stoke that flame to feel its warmth once again." Tyrion said, breaking Rosalie away from her thoughts.

That was then, and people change. She wanted to tell Tyrion, but kept quiet as he continued. "Ah, but alas. I fear I've taken up far too much of both of your time and you lovely ladies have a ball to prepare for. I bid you both farewell, and I shall see you tonight." And at that, he took his leave only before turning on one heel to look back towards the two, "Oh and Cassie, before you go to the ball, come to my room. I have a gift for you." Then, he left without another word.

Rosalie waited until she seen Tyrion disappeared around a corner before she grabbed her daughter's hand. "Now, shall we go get those pops?"





Rosalie was nearly finished pinning her blonde hair into a well-arranged braided crown. Now she was getting her corset laced by her Lady-In-Waiting, Lorelle. "As I was walking back from buying a loaf, I noticed you talking to that boy- what was his name again? Oh, yes, the dear Count's son, Loras Edwards." she said matterafactly. Rosalie found herself smiling at his name as her thoughts pondered back at their conversation, at the rose he'd given her. She had stored it safely in her Jane Eyre novel as her very own personal book mark that she'd be able to look at in pleasure. In addition, she never denied to Lorelle the fact that Loras was now in her life. She trusted Lorelle with every bit of information, she was her one and only close friend she had, and she very well kept Rosalie and Loras' secret. At twenty-eight, Lorelle came in handy on advices as well. "Ah, yes!" she beamed. "Such a honorable man he is. He even was kind enough as to present me with a little gift."

Lorelle was quiet as she knotted the laces. Until she had finish. "I'd be careful with that man, Ms. Rosalie. Something about that one seems off to me."

"Oh, stop it Lorelle," she rolled her eyes. "He is a fine man. You and I both know that."

"Yes, I understand that madame, but-" Rosalie interjected. "Creame satin, or blue cutton?" she said, helding up two ball gowns.





"Mr. Quincy, you are such a charmer." Rosalie laughed at the man's witticism as they danced at the sound of the music playing. The man was near forty, but even behind his mask he looked rather handsome. "I am quite sure Evangeline would be admired."

"I'm sure she would be"- he twirled Rosalie in unison-"but then again, I am barely visible to the woman." Evangeline, a woman who's caught Quincy's eye since the moment the masquerade began, and he's found no intention on talking to her. Rosalie knew that he fancied her and she felt the sudden urge to set the two up.

"Tell her a story you have once told me, I'm sure she'll find it humorous. Infact, I believe I see her over there at the buffet." At that, Quincy released Rosalie to take a glance at a woman whose long black hair cascaded behind her back as she nibbled at a deviled egg, careful not to make a mess on her purple ball gown. Rosalie smiled at Quincy lost in the woman's beauty, and began pirouetting away from him until suddenly she knocked into another man's arms. "You look beautiful tonight." he said.

It was Alistair, and she was sure of it. The way his eyes met with hers, there was no need to release their masks to be sure of it. She knew him as a mouse knew not to be caught in a cat's attention and she was grateful of that, that she poised her hand one his broad should as the other slid in his hand. "And who might this man be who I am dancing with?" she smiled.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Alistair Lannister Character Portrait: Lorelle de Croismare
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The night was indenieably busy for Lorelle and her trainees. She was in the kitchen nearly shouting out for people to attend to there stations, "Madame Gillan, come, serve these here cocktails to the guests. Siward, I need more wine. Angus, is thou mad? Fly thee! Shoo, they're waiting for our attendance." With one small brush at her white apron and adjusting the cap that sat upon her head, she grabbed for the wine platter, then stepped out into the grand hall where music came blaring in sharp chords that brought her heart thumping wildly. The other servants came to join her, all platters and smiles as they came to accompany their guests. Lorelle smiled to herself. Everything was working smoothly. The guests were enjoying themselves, the servants made sure that there platters were empty, and Lorelle was staring before them making note to the guests satisfaction. Her eyes scanned through bodies swaying in unison until her eyes landed onto a man who grabbed the shirt of one of the servants and lifted him at least three feet in the air- ready to pounce on him. She rushed over, and from what she could see the servant had spilled red wine on the man's suit."Oh, my," she gasped. "Come, let me get that cleaned up." she urged for the man to let go of her trainee, but he just shrugged her off.

"I'm not going any where until this here peasant learns his lesson." He spat out as he brough his fist midst the air, preparing to hurt the young boy. What she was about to witness made her stomach lurch, almost brought her to her knees. The boy couldn't at least have been thirteen years of age, and seeing him about to become beaten by a man twice that age was provoking. "Stop, I say!" Lorelle yelled. Everyone within a three-standing radius turned to look at her, even the man. She continued, "I am sure that this young boy didn't mean to do it. He is just a child, and we all know children are quite the clumsy ones."

The man seemed to ponder at that; gazing back and forth to Lorelle and the young boy nearly petrified in his grip. "I suppose," he released his grip, and the young boy hurried over behind Lorelle gown. "But keep that...thing away from me. Understood?"

"His name is Seyton."

The man only huffed, then stalked away. Lorelle turned toward Seyton and ran her fingers through his hair. "You are done for today. Why not rest for the morrow?"

He nodded. "Thank you, Madame Croismare." At that, he handed her his plater and hurried away. Lorelle watched as he disappered into the crowd before she headed for the kitchen to return Seyton's platter until she seen King Alistair fummbling around for something as half the staff stared after him, frightened. "What in God's name-" A nearby cook cut her off.

"Oh, Madame Croismare tis' a surprise. I do know what has happened. The king just came barging in looking for wine I suppose. He looks rather upset."He whispered as his eyes lingered onto the King's body. And Lorelle knew that the cook was right. The King did seem a bit shaken, if not angry

"Alright, everyone back to you stations." she ordered, and no body failed to follow. Then, she moved quickly toward the King. She cleared her throat. "Is everything alright, my lord? Why aren't you with my Miss? Perhaps you'd like a French Bordeux?" she said, offering the drink.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Alistair Lannister Character Portrait: Lorelle de Croismare
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The lion was hungry. He stalked the kitchens, his jaws ready for the meal to come, his icy blue eyes spotting his quarry. The gazelle and the zebra and the warthogs all scurried out of his path, wisely choosing not to risk catching his gaze. The lion sniffed the air and found his watering hole. Bottles upon bottles of Arbor reds, Dornish golds, imported Northern Mead and everything in between. The lion thirsted something fierce for the meeting with his lioness had left an uncomfortable feeling in the heart of the great king of beasts. The great lion sniffed the air and smelled the sweet scent of a nomadic female, looking to gain entry into his pride.

"Is everything alright, my lord?"

Lorelle spoke, her voice soft as silk and twice as comforting. Alistair turned, his eyes hungry as ever as he wrapped his hand around her waist and pulled her close.

"I'm not your damned lord."

He said, his voice a husky whisper heavy with desire. He almost kissed her right then and there. He wanted her, he burned for the warmth of her touch and the peace of her unaccusing eyes. She only ever looked at him with affection. Never fear or distrust or hate but love always and for that Lorelle Persephone de Croismare was the only respite he had in his world so dark and full of terrors. He nearly pressed his lips to hers, in full view of the rest of the staff when she spoke again, her hand on his chest halting him.

"Why aren't you with my Miss? Perhaps you'd like a French Bordeux?"

Word of the wine was lost in her mention of his wife. Alistair pushed himself away from her with a snarl, anger sparking in his heart and his mind. He stepped away from her and clenched his jaw, his eyes seeing Rosalie in the gold of the Dornish wine before him.

"Your lady..."

He growled as he picked up the wine and looked into the golden liquid before he hurled the bottled, shattering it against the wall. One of the nearby kitchen servants gasped in shock and Alistair wheeled on the lot of them.

"Get out or I'll take all your heads and replace you within the hour."

He snarled viciously. The kitchen was empty within seconds leaving Lorelle and Alistair alone. He turned back and found her watching him. She didn't fear him like the others, she knew him better than that. Despite his reputation, despite the beast he was supposed to be she knew he'd never hurt her or any other woman for that matter. Alistair had never so much as struck a woman before let alone take their heads as he would threaten. Yet she stared at him all the same, knowing how his emotions ruled him and made him act out.

"What? Don't look at me like that."

He asked, somewhat apologetically as he went back to grab some red wine from the cupboard and filled himself a goblet.

"I'm tired Lorelle. I'm so very tired."

He began before he took a long, much needed drink.

"Tired of the throne. Tired of that crown, all those damned courtiers, the false friends, the liars, thieves, whores, all of it. It's funny almost. The way we all look down at the denizens of poorer districts and see them as so far beneath us. We nobility are supposed to be better but here we are. Cheating and scheming and lying and fighting and fucking just like all the rest of them. The only difference between us and the common people is our names and the power we think they hold."

Alistair downed his drink and poured himself another before turning to look at Lorelle in the firelight of the kitchens hearth. She was beautiful and alluring. Her hair had the kiss of red in her copper curls, worn long around her face the way he liked it. Rosalie so often wore her hair up and he hated that. Lorelle liked it down and Alistair loved running his fingers through her long copper locks as he stole a kiss. Her skin, smooth and pristine as porcelain and her eyes blue and green. She would make a fine Lannister Alistair often thought during their private time together. Alistair approached her slowly, his eyes softened but just as passionate as ever.

"Let's leave this place Lorelle. You and me, tonight. Damn them all. Let them have their game of thrones, we can leave the board and let them all rot together."

He asked, despite the ridiculousness of his words he meant it. His head giving way to his heart for once he just wanted to get away and find love with this woman who understood him so. He pulled her in and eyed her lips, hungry for a kiss and for her answer.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Alistair Lannister Character Portrait: Lorelle de Croismare
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"Your lady..."
Lorelle overheard a grisly snarling sound that seemed to be coming deep in Alistair's chest. He snatched up the wine glass with one hand, balanced it in that hand for a moment, and threw it with blinding speed, shattering it against the wall, which collided and shattered into tiny bits of crystal.

And he was in front of her again, standing two feet away, still as a stone. He waited, but she still couldn't speak. She stood without moving, amused at his beastly temptation to scare off others. However, she'd never seen him so competely freed of that carefully cultivated facade. He'd never been less human...or more beautiful. Face stern, eyes wide, she stood like a bird locked in the eyes of a snake.

His lovely eyes seemed to glow with rash excitement. Then, as the seconds passed, they dimmed. His expression slowly folded into a mask of sadness. "What? Don't look at me like that." She watched his jaw set as he said that, and his eyes darted to her face and away so quickly that she wasn't sure if she only imagined it. Then, as if nothing had happened, he began moving around the kitchen with deliberately unhurried movements; opening and closing cupboards as he went until he found a goblet and poured himself red wine. "I'm tired Lorelle," he said formally, his back turned toward her. "I'm so very tired."

He waited, but she still couldn't speak. So, he continued. "Tired of the throne. Tired of that crown, all those damned courtiers, the false friends, the liars, thieves, whores, all of it. It's funny almost. The way we all look down at the denizens of poorer districts and see them as so far beneath us. We nobility are supposed to be better but here we are. Cheating and scheming and lying and fighting and fucking just like all the rest of them. The only difference between us and the common people is our names and the power we think they hold." He looked back at her and smiled, but his face was ashamed. At that, they stood silently, looking into each other's eyes-trying to read each other's thoughts.

He broke the silence first.

"Let's leave this place Lorelle. You and me, tonight. Damn them all. Let them have their game of thrones, we can leave the board and let them all rot together." he urged on with ever word, he took a step closer, his eyes never left her lips, until he stood in front of her, their noses partically touching. He reached a hand out, and brushed at her cheek; the other pulling her close against his chest with every staggering breath. He lifted her eyes; his expression was wistfu, pleading.

She thought for a moment, unsure what to think. She opened her mouth to say something and shut it almost instantly. Did he mean for the two of us to run away-together? And leave the country and, and... "And what about..?" She asked to break the silence.

They both knew who she was referring to, and it was wrong to even question it. She looked away, he waited, but she wasn't going to finish.


Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Celia Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Genevieve Hansdottir Character Portrait: Christoph Edwards Character Portrait: Renly Arryn Character Portrait: Alistair Lannister Character Portrait: Corianna Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Annabelle Waldorf Character Portrait: Loras Edwards Character Portrait: Cassandra Lannister Character Portrait: Rosalie Lannister Character Portrait: Lorelle de Croismare Character Portrait: Lucas Navigne Character Portrait: Nicholas Brigham Character Portrait: Tyrion Lannister Character Portrait: Elanor Lannister Character Portrait: Evelyne Spyre Character Portrait: Guy Priestas Character Portrait: Simon Priestas Character Portrait: Priscilla Augusta Edwards
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The King's hand brushed lightly against the scar that still graced his left cheek -- a bitter-sweet reminder of how he had come to stand here beside Genevieve. His coronation, given the lack of spiritual leaders in the widely-diverse Ostwall, was headed by one of the eldest chieftains within the kingdom's borders, a man of a staggering seventy-seven years. Ronan's hair and beard had grown out to appear more like his people, from whom he required approval. The thick fur of a bear, draped about his shoulders, only helped further that image and reflect the symbol of his father. The pelts seemed to weigh him down greatly. They most certainly were the reason beads of sweat had begun to form on his brow. Or perhaps they came from the worry that, somehow, they'd trace the murder back to him.

The death of Ostwall's monarch had brought the festivities to a screeching halt. Ulfric's burial had been a ceremonious one, and the kingdom had grieved for months, meaning the current coronation had been unable to occur until now, two months later. In the mean time, Ronan suddenly found himself in the shoes of a man he had only, until then, dreamed of becoming. He played the part well, and Genevieve had as well. It was only when they were behind closed doors that she lost her air of nearly-constant mourning. Even then, he had not permitted her to be joyful in public until far after he had announced his plans to wed her.

Ronan moved his hand to brush at his brow then, and as he looked up at the chieftain before him, he noticed Celia just a bit off, holding Volundr. His son. He could never acknowledge the boy as his own, for the kingdom believed he had been the child of Ulfric and Genevieve, but Ronan told himself that the young prince should rightfully bear the surname of Ronanson. It pained him that it should be otherwise.

The chieftain stumbled over his words, causing Ronan to look back at him. Ostwall, unlike the other two kingdoms, had never truly adopted the more traditional concept of coronation until Ronan had insisted upon modernizing the nation. The chieftain had little idea as to what he was doing, and the words on the page made little sense given the fact that he was just barely literate. His stammering ended soon, thankfully, and he moved on to the crowning of the royals. The crown that was placed upon his head was nothing more than a thick band of iron with ornate patterns carved into it. The real beauty and power laid in the heavy chain that was placed about his neck, further weighing him down.

It was a relic dating back to times before even Falor had been unified when the clans of the North would give the chain to the strongest chieftain in the land. Over time, the simple chain had been added to in terms of links and precious stones until it hung heavy enough that it was only used for ceremonies. This, of course, was one of them.

As Genevieve went through a similar ceremony, receiving a less burdensome crown and chain that he had had created, for up until this point, the consort of the king of Ostwall had no political say. Though he had most certainly received the approval of the others in his kingdom, he knew they hardly approved of this action. Nevertheless, he turned around to great his people, hand reaching for Genevieve's as he did so. The chieftain cleared his voice once more before speaking in his thickly accented voice.

"I present to you King Ronan Bjorn Ulfricson, first of his name, and his queen, Genevieve Hansdottir of Falor, first of her name."




The proceeding festivities were a welcome change for all in Ostwall, having been in a period of nearly perpetual mourning for two months. A mixture of traditional and foreign instruments played, inspiring many to leave the banquet table in order to dance. Ronan, a bit too drunk by then to gracefully find his footing, resolved to stay at the table where he held the one month old Volundr in his arms. The King brushed a finger along the boy's cheek, laughing as the young prince gripped it and inspected the calloused finger with fascination.

"It's wonderful, is it not?" he remarked, looking out on the crowd of nobles, local and foreign, who occupied the hall. "It's ours now." Ronan continued to look about, meeting the gaze of a few nobles who watched the pair closely, with judgement visible in their eyes even from at the royals' place at the table. He knew they spoke about him and Genevieve quite often. It was most certainly scandalous for anyone to marry their widowed stepmother, let alone just months after her husband's death, but there were no laws regarding marriage in Ostwall.

Propping the small child up in his lap, Ronan gripped his tankard of ale and sipped from it for a moment, positioning it afterwards so that it attempted to block out the gossiping nobles. It hardly helped, however, and he simply turned back to Genevieve with his arm once more around Volundr.

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