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Bacchus L. Anarane

"Whomever dared kill Riven Anarane deserves one fate- and that fate is death."

0 · 317 views · located in The Two Kingdoms

a character in “Where rivers collide”, as played by aarondalea

Description

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Thunderstruck | 2Cellos
”My father has my elder brothers and I have my freedom. Only till he loses both will he need me- so, until then, I'll be in my study room."





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【 Full Name 】
Bacchus Liridon Anarane

【 Nicknames 】
Bach | Your Highness | The Degenerate Prince
“They all can call me whatever they want because I could not give less of a damn. I will live how I like and with whomever I like because I hold no responsibilities or position. Nothing matters to me; I am only the last born of the Anarane house.”


【 Age 】
20
“Young? Perhaps. Young for me to be exact, because I can continue to be a child for as long as I like. Adulthood can wait- my brothers will make up for my digressions.”


【 Affiliation 】
Anarane House of

【 Role 】
Youngest Son of the Anarane House

【 Gender 】
Male
“I never could have imagined someone would be able to mix up my gender! I would love to have the ladies and men of the court prove my gender.”






Appearance
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“I once aspired to make my family proud, to be a young dashing prince ready to marry whomever he is told to, do whatever he is told to do, look like whatever he is told to look like. But at one point I just lost all interest in acting as how my parents wanted me to. The only person that really mattered was Riven.”





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【 Height 】
6'1 || 186cm

【 Weight 】
163lbs || 74kg

【 Hair Colour 】
Blonde |

【 Eye Colour 】
Blue |

【 Voice 】
Bacchus’s voice is of a medium range, low for his appearance yet not too deep to create a sort of dissonance with his appearance. When he shouts or speaks at a higher volume, his voice can turn a bit scratchy, so he tends to speak in a lower volume than others.

Tall and gangly, Bacchus never really grew into his body or really tried to expand much upon it. His hands seem a tad bit too big for his body, and his limbs a little bit too long for his torso- but Bacchus still manages to look rather dashing and pleasing to the eye. Barely any muscle build really covers Bacchus’s body, of which seems mostly to be bones covered by a fine layer of fat and skin. Due to his tendency to not work out or really eat very healthy, it is no wonder that Bacchus has no muscles at all and has a healthy amount of flabbiness on his stomach (if you pinch it) and on his legs and arms. But Bacchus wears his fat with pride and, really, his physical digressions cannot really be seen as his tall height really does stretch it all out (since he doesn’t eat much anyways, Bacchus has never been rotund except when he was a kid). What really might draw one’s eye to Bacchus (besides his height) could be his crown of light blonde hair and his electric blue eyes. It’s no wonder that the prince constantly wears colors that allow his facial features to shine, as Bacchus is a rather pretty young lad. His hair reaches to his shoulders with a small segment (that he loves to tie into a ponytail) hanging down to his back. His bangs tend to cover his eyes up a bit, but not too much. With the amount of care Bacchus tends to give to his hair, it’s no wonder that his hair feels and looks like silk, moving in gentle waves with the wind.
Bacchus can be extremely fancy with what he wears and, well, extremely sloppy as well. From the newest fashions that rave through the Ezean court to the humble dress of a normal citizen, Bacchus tends to wear anything that allows him to feel comfortable at the specific moment. If he wishes to wear a high collared coat of finest silk with gold embroidered pants to bed then he will. If he feels like wearing a simple white silken shirt and dull brown pants to court then he will (and throw on a grand cape just to be more formal). That is to say, one can never really guess what outfit Bacchus might step out in due to his hugely varied tastes in clothing and fashion. From time to time, due to his weak sight in his left eye, Bacchus tends to cover it up with different sorts of eye patches (or just ripped pieces of cloth if the pain suddenly starts while he cannot gain access to one of his fancy patches).
On his back, Bacchus has a rather large tattoo that spans from his shoulders and down, in thick navy lines. Bacchus had gotten it the moment he had decided that he, well, really couldn’t give much of a damn anymore. Bacchus also has a set of ear piercings that he uses from time to time (though not often), especially to accessorize his usually already extremely extravagant outfits while on a fancy outfit day. Other than that, Bacchus really doesn’t have anything else on his pristine (almost sickly) white skin due to his low amount of physical exertions and his keen protection over his own body.






Personality
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”Well? Do you think you can read anything at all? If you can, then it would be a failure on my side. If you cannot, then I have succeeded."





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【 Likes 】
    Political Intrigue || Though politics and the ways of ruling a country rather bore Bacchus (or so it may seem), the Prince adores keeping a track on what happens within the court between the courtesans, the magistrates- everyone. Bacchus finds it simply amusing to watch as the seasoned members of the court try to curry favor everywhere, band into tiny groups against one another to see who can gain more power; it all is a puppet show in Bacchus's eyes- one that he is unwilling to participate but willing to pay to watch.
    Dances || Balls, parties, dances are all what really fuel Bacchus on a daily basis. The energy and general air of these events keep Bacchus, well, engaged with normal life and interested to continue striving for success (in his own little ways). It does help that Bacchus is an extremely accomplished dancer and how he tends to find new “bed-mates” at these events. Already, it is a rule within the nobility to always invite Bacchus to their event, to make sure to send a special invitation to curry the favor of the Degenerate Prince.
    Romance || Though he holds a cynical view to much of the life in Ezea and the world in general, it is funny that there is a small romantic in Bacchus. From reading romantic poems to singing love songs to his temporary lovers, Bacchus constantly coddles those whom temporarily come into his embrace with the most love he can muster. It entertains him, this means of escaping the dull everyday life as “the Youngest Prince”, and his need for something fresh constantly causes Bacchus to cycle between different partners, never really imparting them the true love he reserves only for his family members.
    Being Enigmatic & Unreadable || Bacchus feels sorry for his future wife, especially since the marriage between the two had been planned out by their parents. For, well, in his eyes, Bacchus believes that marriage is something sacred, a bond of understanding between the husband and his wife. However, he would never allow such a bond to occur between him and anyone else outside of his biological family, for, to an extent, Bacchus believes that other people cannot be trusted. Thus, he continues to act in ways others cannot fathom, giving less than a shit about his name as he puts on a mask for the grand show in front of him.
    Lazing Around || With how he acts, Bacchus has not only been known to be somewhat of a disgrace to the royal family but also one of the laziest members currently alive. He rarely does anything besides going out to parties; otherwise, Bacchus is almost constantly locked in his large suite located in the castle, though no one really knows what the prince does while he is in there for he never allows anyone in (even his partners).
    Gardens & Nature || Bacchus really moves between two places while in the palace (and when he is not ordered to attend royal meetings): his suite and the large gardens that dot across the castle. After nights of socializing, calculations and acting, Bacchus always likes to go back to these small, aesthetic pieces of nature. Linked to his own suite is a small greenhouse that Bacchus tends to sleep, rest and laze in, on the large king sized bed he had placed in the middle.

【 Dislikes 】
    Confrontation || Bacchus has never been one for arguments, debates or confrontations. Whenever he feels like a fight is going to ensue from his actions, Bacchus tends to back down and away from whatever he was doing. Though many claim that this is because the young prince is spineless, Bacchus acts like this more so because he tends to dislike being responsible for anything from his actions to his relationship with others.
    Lectures || Ever since he was a kid (still young enough to aspire to be as good as his older brother, Riven), Bacchus had already developed his negative attitude towards classes and lectures. It’s not that the young prince isn’t interested in studying or learning anything; it was just that the topics (policy, “how to rule”) were not of his interest. But, well, his lack of interest in these topics at one point transferred to a general dislike of being lectured by anyone, anywhere, from his tutors in class to the scolding his father would give him from time to time.
    Exercise || Bacchus tends to dislike most of what could tire him out. From emotional burden to physical exertion, Bacchus tends to avoid everything that makes him feel one bit of tiredness. Needless to say, Bacchus has avoided sword-training, horse riding, and general physical exercise like the plague (though most of the times he is dragged to class by his countless maids, tutors and overseers).
    Being Serious || || Though he gets himself into many bad situations, Bacchus has rarely ever allowed his laidback and aloof countenance to fade away. This is because Bacchus dislikes being serious, as he tends to equate being serious as being responsible. And, well, that would ruin his fun; even in front of his father, Bacchus never allows his smile to fall off his face, though, well, many would have to admit that Bacchus makes good points whenever he does open his mouth while during royal meetings.
    Responsibility || Bacchus hates responsibilities. From his responsibility to be a good prince, to marrying a favorable princess, to bringing glory to his nation. This is most probably the reason behind all of Bacchu’s actions, as each and every move he makes is made to avoid as much responsibility to everyone and anyone as possible. This is the reason why he never has long relationships, why he never goes to classes, why he never listens to the words of his advisors but rather continues to live his life of affairs, solidarity and aloofness.



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【 Skills 】
    Analytical Skills || Bacchus has had the habit of judging and analyzing people and situations since he was a young child. From judging if a person would be helpful in his network of connections to how he can get out of a situation, Bacchus tends to be able to find a solution to his questions and problems. It is a shame that Bacchus has refused time and time again to use this particular set of smarts to help Ezea or to further his position within the royal court.
    Sword Fighting || Though Bacchus hates to physically exert himself or really try at anything (besides the arts and music), he is rather well-practiced in the ways of sword fighting. It is due to many years of diligent advisors, overseers, constantly bugging Bacchus to go to sword fighting classes that Bacchus has managed to pick up these skills. Bacchus has been forced to enter sword-fighting contests from time to time and has come out in the top tier every single time. He claims that he despises sword-fighting and rarely ever picks up the sword in front of others, especially within recent years.
    Napping Everywhere & Anywhere || From in his bed to on stairs, from in the royal bath to his seat in the royal meeting hall; Bacchus is able to fall asleep anywhere he wants to. Just by closing his eyes and tilting his head to a side, Bacchus can basically fall asleep standing up. Sitting down, lying down, in the most awkward positions ever, the young prince can still manage to bid farewell to the real world and waltz into dreamland. Just for his own amusement, Bacchus has time and time again fallen asleep in front of others while they are talking to him seriously, only to see how long it takes them to notice that he is asleep.
    "Disappearing || Whenever conversation is not going how Bacchus likes (or when he is just off to find something entertaining), the prince tends to just vanish from sight. During group conversations, Bacchus can go from being in the center of the spotlight and then, suddenly, going off without a second word, his absence unnoticed until but a few minutes later.
    The Arts || Drawing, singing, dancing, writing- Bacchus has been well trained in the arts compared to most others. While in his private study, Bacchus tends to focus on reading and painting, while his voice tends to travel through the air into the ears of his servants. As can be seen, Bacchus’s multiple romances are the muses of his artistic achievements, and only to those whom he loves (either momentarily or forevermore) does Bacchus gift his accomplishments.

【 Fears 】
    ⦿ Failure || Even though he rarely commits himself to anything, Bacchus has a fear of failing at whatever task he does have an interest in. From failing to impress himself with his drawings, paintings, writings to from failing to reach a certain high note while singing- Bacchus would tear his hair out if one or the other happened. Bacchus has, in the past, shut himself up in his room for days on edge due to a bad art piece, and has exited a week later weary, tired and with traces of blood on his clothes. What he also includes in his long list of things he cannot fail in includes protecting his family…a task he failed to complete as well.
    ⦿ Commitment || Bacchus hates commitment and avoids it like the plague. This can be seen rather evidently from his actions and behaviors with others, from his fleeting conversations to his short affairs. Even with the arts, Bacchus can really only sit down and work for short periods of time before rushing off to do something else to keep himself occupied. This is the cause of all of Bacchus’s problems and a fear that he wishes he could throw away though he has made no motion of trying to go against it.



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【Personality】
Aloof || Gregarious || Charismatic || Distant || Deceitful || Self-Indulging

Bacchus is the person with the worst personality he knows- and he admits it, lives with it, loves it. It’s not that he lacks morals (sort of), is apathetic (rather, he is), and low in motivation (true in some areas), but Bacchus just isn’t the type of person that really seems to fit under the category of a “good person”. Though in the eyes of those whom he wants to impress Bacchus can come off as absolutely charming, his smiles bedazzling and his attitude so genial that any flaw of his can be swiped underneath the carpet and forgotten. Bacchus tends to use his charms and charisma to get along with the ladies of the court and to get himself out of the occasional trouble he gets into. It’s no doubt that his name, family line and looks all help boost his standing with the ladies but his ever oozing charm and laughter is what seals the knot. However, if observed from afar- or by people whom know him well- it is rather obvious that Bacchus’s smile tends to be rather, well, fake. And even though Bacchus is gregarious and sociable during large dances, balls, parties, in the end one can always see that he never really comes away with close acquaintances or friends. What most Bacchus tends to have are people whom he is “familiar” with, each pieces in the large web of connections and ties Bacchus tends to keep in mind.
Needless to say, Bacchus tends to keep his distance with most people, excluding members of his family. From servants to butlers, Bacchus has made sure to keep his distance from them at all times, cleaning up his room by himself if necessary to make sure they do not bother him. He tends to keep his door locked against outsiders unless something urgent happens (or if Aislin or one of his brothers comes to search for him, though they each have a key to his room). Funnily enough, Bacchus is completely able to appear extremely close and comfortable with a person one second and then completely closed off at another, immediately after his amount of interest hits a new low. He does not care for how others might feel with a sudden lack of interest from his side, and tends to never make up for it unless something piques his interest once again. The same is with his partners as well; Bacchus retains his aloof and distant image though he might sleep with them. Immediately, on the day after, he will kick them out with another word, all of his loving words and promises of future happiness immediately thrown out of the window. Of course, to maintain his reputation, sugar coated words and gifts arrive afterwards (along with a few more short meetings) but nothing warm will come out of any interactions with Bacchus at all.
It is by this self-indulging lifestyle that Bacchus lives by, thinking about himself and only himself (though he also cares a lot for his family). However, somewhere along the line Bacchus managed to convince himself that his actions really didn’t matter much at all, especially since he had two older brothers taking up all the responsibilities available for the princes. Thus, Bacchus has managed to recline himself into a rather hedonistic (yet punishing) lifestyle, closing himself off in his own quarters, ignoring the words of others, eating, partying, dancing, soliciting like nothing can affect him at all. Yet, at the same time, Bacchus can sometimes come out exhausted, wounded, weary with bloodied wounds and sores on his body. No one knows fore sure why Bacchus does this to himself, but he has only given one response to past questioning: “payment”. Only Bacchus knows what happens in his quarters, and that is self-inflicted retribution for his actions outside of his rooms- but he cannot stray from the path he has already chosen.
But with all of this in mind, Bacchus truly cares for his family. From his brothers to his sister to his parents, Bacchus only shows a truly caring figure to these few people. With them, he is kind and caring, understanding and willing to listen. He loves to joke around with his brothers, laugh out loud with true happiness and really let himself go to enjoy his time with them whenever he can. However, the death of Riven has driven Bacchus back to his own quarters once more; the prince emerged again with red eyes but with a fiery determination that no one has ever seen in him in the past. For no one harms Bacchus’s family without incurring his never ending fury.






History
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”Why cage yourself to one thing at a time? Why not expand your sights to everything that you can?"






【 History 】
Bacchus had been born third to the line. He was to inherit nothing but a name, and the blood that flowed through his veins would at best allow him to receive a province to govern under his name. Last born; the last Prince. Yet for the short time his mother had been with him, Queen Elayne had spoiled her young baby Prince relentlessly until she had grown pregnant with the young Princess. Bacchus, frankly, remembers nothing of his mother, for he was too young to remember anything that happened In the coming year that Aislin was born. From his mother’s warm embrace, to the grand funeral that had occurred for Queen Elayne’s death…to the birth and loss of Aislin; Bacchus had heard of all of the story bit by bit after he had grown up bit by bit. And though loss and despair was heavy on the royal family of Anaran, Bacchus was still pampered by his father, brothers and the royal attendants. He acted appropriately as a little child, a constant little ray of sunshine for the Anarane family to grin and laugh at as he clumsily tried to make his family happier. It helped that Bacchus tried to emulate Riven as much as possible, following behind his brother’s footsteps from classes (where he slept in) to physical training (where he fooled around at) with ever-avid attention. It was young Bacchus’ dream to grow up to be like Riven and help his older brother rule Ezea.
It was during this time, during his ninth year of living, that Bacchus had come across a curious young girl. It had been on one of those outside fieldtrips he had with Riven once every other month, him trailing behind the others as they surveyed the situation in the large capitol city. Obviously, Bacchus had been keen on impressing his brother, his young sharp eyes wide with attention until the hair of a certain child caught his attention. She was as young as he, Bacchus had been able to tell immediately, and with his eyes wide he had seen her snatch the purse of a noble lady standing a few steps in front of him. He had immediately leapt to action, his young shrill voice shouting in the air, commanding her to stop as his legs immediately set off underneath him. He had chased her, his legs pounding furiously on the ground, fueled by the energy and determination of a young child, and with each passing second he had gained ground on her. Hands flailing, he had commanded her to stop repeatedly until, finally, Bacchus had flung himself on top of her, forcing the young girl to stop. Proud and belated, Bacchus had immediately returned to the royal entourage with his catch, ecstatic when he had received praise from Riven but also slightly depressed when he had been told off for running off so recklessly.
Back then, Bacchus had not yet known that stealing was a punishable sentence and could leave someone in jail for more than five years at a time. He had not understood the concept of imprisonment and detention- and probably his advisors and father had wanted to show Bacchus the underbelly of society. Nonetheless, the grand jury had decided to leave the girl’s fate to Bacchus’s hands, claiming that since he had been the one to catch her, he should have control over her life sentence. Belated, the young prince had headed down into the dungeons…only to be terrified by the scene he saw there. But he had continued on until he had reached the cell of the young girl, his hands shaking as he had pushed open the door and announced his arrival. As expected, curses and insults greeted his arrival, the young girl spitting out every cuss word the young Bacchus could have imagined. Bacchus had been in shock, his eyes round and wide as he had watched a soldier hit the girl on the side of the head. He had rushed to her aid, shielding the girl from the soldier until a birthmark on the girl had grabbed his gaze. Though everything had happened when he was barely a toddler, Bacchus knew that his lost younger sister had a very particular birthmark. Even as a young child, Bacchus knew that no time could be lost.
He had immediately called for his father.
Afterwards, a huge celebration and revival had happened within the Anarane family, and Bacchus had spent many glorious nights and days running around with Aislin wrecking havoc. The two had been partners in crime, had been so close it was almost as if glue had stuck the two together. But something suddenly changed within Bacchus when he hit the age of thirteen, during which he drew away from everyone within his family. It was then when he started to notice women (and men) alike. He moved out of the room he had shared with Aislin and had taken abode within the large quarter that had been unused since the castle had been built. Refurnishing it with his own plans, ordering the reconstruction by himself, Bacchus finished building his own little cave in the castle by the time he was fifteen. By then a huge and relentless flirt, Bacchus had by then lost his innocence and had plunged himself into the life he now lives in. And, well, nothing much really happened during those years except for the arranged marriage that was forced on his head. Though Bacchus protested repeatedly, nothing came out of his arguments. Bacchus immediately fell silent but had retaliated with affair upon affair until he finally locked himself in his quarters in resistance to his father’s decisions. However, with his personality, Bacchus can never stay angry with his family and had immediately came out the day after to once again meet up with Aislin and fool around with her. In this way, Bacchus has led a relatively laid back and not very stressful life- that is, until now.






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”For once in my life I shall swear it upon a vow- and that vow is to bring death upon whom ever caused the death of my brother."

So begins...

Bacchus L. Anarane's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Aislin Serafaena Anarane Character Portrait: Elizabeth Kashatir Character Portrait: Zandyr Kashatir Character Portrait: Rosalina Seraphine Xairali Character Portrait: Ildantxhe Anarane Character Portrait: Bacchus L. Anarane
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#, as written by Layla
A I S L I N.
1544, Thirty-first of December | Dusk.


Murderers dined in the great hall of the Winter Palace, their cackles skittering across the marble floors to gambol through the hollow tunnels of unsuspecting ears. The noises fused into an untuned symphony, snippets of slurred speech and hefty guffaws leaping to attention like the jarring clash of cymbals when the humongous double doors swung open. She clenched her teeth against the nails that raked across her scalp as forks collided with knives, their bickering like the discordant hiss of clashing swords. Cranberry sauce spurted from a large boar as a cleaver sliced into its belly, the red oozing from its corpse like blood from a prone body. A trumpet wailed beside her left ear in 6/8 time.

"Her Royal Highness the Princess of Ezea, Aislin Serafaena of the House of Anarane," announced a vociferous voice that pummelled each syllable into the ivory walls. Heads swivelled above shoulders as thousands of eyes hammered into her, each nobleman and woman eager to chip at her edges until a nail struck her core. But Aislin Anarane was impenetrable, as inaccessible as the infinite expanse of dusk that breathed through the glass dome of the Winter Palace. Vines etched into the alabaster fortification crept towards the clear ceiling, the heart of every delicately crafted leaf winking with its diamond's light. To maintain such conspicuous grandiose in the thirteen years of war was an affront of them all. She imagined the veins embedded within the leaves to be the blood of the artists who'd painstakingly etched the unbroken mural across 1,000,000 square feet of space and wondered how much they'd been paid for their trouble, if they'd been paid at all.

Aislin kept her gaze lowered and intent upon the gleaming silk carpet as she walked between the rows of of ebony tables, searching for crinkles in the cloth that did not exist. Her father's warning hummed at the base of her skull - "lower your gaze, always" - reminding her of her eyes' inability to maintain a facade of insensate naiveté. The corset dug into her ribs, compressing the lungs behind them into that of a pigeon's and endowing her with a plunging cleavage she was certain she lacked. Her skirts swished around her heels, the deep crimson of her bodice gradually fading into a warm tangerine and the brilliant gold of a setting sun at her feet. She thought she looked like a lit torch. Albeit one that was hideously overdressed, and without the bliss of being on fire.

Her throbbing feet halted before the raised dais. She saw the eight pairs of polished shoes resting beneath the elaborately crafted top table, one remaining seat devoid of an occupant. She was late, but that Aislin already knew, having underestimated the time it would take to be cinched within an inch of her life and prodded by a sadistic liege of hair ornaments. Her stinging feet yearned for the gentle caress of soft leather, but she thought the corset might have been useful for entrapping game. It was certainly effective in entrapping her.

Aislin stood a mere stretch away from the King of Xairal and his vulnerable jugular. She saw the boots of his royal guard at his back, recalled the two framing the doors behind her and the many who stood rigid against the length of the great hall, and wondered how much time she would have before a sword punctured her heart, and then how much longer before the floor embraced her. Aislin counted the seconds it would take to duck a hand beneath her skirts to the dagger that rested in the sheath clasped to her thigh garter, and then the seconds it would take to lodge it in his throat from this distance. She could do it. She should do it. He was an avaricious being, a fraud and a murderer. She saw Ezea's green forests devastated in the war, the cinders where villages once stood and the smoke that wept towards the Heavens weeks, months and years after mothers, fathers and children became carcasses. She heard the pleas for mercy, the women and children robbed of their dignity before they were their lives, and she thought, yes. I should kill him.

Instead, Aislin clutched the folds of her skirt until the skin of her knuckles became bone and her tongue bled where she bit it, as she forced her knees to bend. She thought she could hear the groan of her cartilage as they scraped against one another in her descent, or perhaps that was the heat that flooded through her veins and turned her ears red. Her legs resisted even as her head pulled the blinds over her heart, but she knew that for her people, she would kneel. The Princess of Ezea bowed her head before the King of the country that had ravaged hers, and curtsied.

"Rise, girl," King Aegnor barked after a pregnant pause. A nerve throbbed at her temple as fury stained her vision red. Aislin had to bow before the king in his kingdom, but she would not be commanded as if she were a squirming worm beneath his boot. No, she would not rise for him.

"Rise," he repeated through gritted teeth. Aislin took her time, counting the ticks and tocks in her head until the silence of the great hall stretched to unbearable. Just before the string of toffee snapped in two as it was being pulled apart, she rose. Aislin lifted her head and met the King of Xairal's cold gaze with those forged of fire and brimstone. Molten lava bled from onyx pupils and melted into the amber of sunsets as a ring of pure gold laced the inner circle of an impossibly dark limbal ring. Her eyes burned like flames trapped within two crystal orbs as she stared at King Aegnor, a smile that was both parts feral grin and challenge lifting the corners of her lips. Thick black kohl lined her large eyes, tilting at the corners in a feline stare.

"Forgive me, your excellency," Aislin said. "I was entranced by your presence and nervous to lay eyes upon the reverent King of Xairal. You are greater than the tales, my lord." The corner of King Aegnor's lips twitched in a frown or a smirk, but soon a hefty laugh erupted from his chest which the great hall echoed. Aislin's gaze flicked to King Aegnor's right and she met the honeyed brown of her own father's. He regarded her warily, lips pressed into a thin sliver of colourless white. She beamed.

"Come, sit. Eat," King Aegnor boomed, gesturing with his right arm. A right-handed fighter, then? Would his left side be unprotected? "Resume, please," he told the inhabitants of the great hall. Aislin stepped onto the dais, strolling to the remaining seat without a glance at the royals who sat at the top table. She held her head high as she dragged her chair backwards before a servant's fingers could close around it to perform the menial task, and dropped into the seat. All the room's attention was fixed upon the two kings as they spoke in turn of peace, treaty, unity, prosperity, trade, end of the war... It freed her of the need to pretend to be the princess she evidently was not.

"A toast, brother." King Aegnor lifted his glass along with his body. King Mirus mirrored the action.

"A toast," he replied, and their glasses clinked. The room roared, chairs toppling and wine spilling over cups as they stood. Aislin stabbed her fork into a chunk of bleeding boar, and shoved it into her mouth, eyes rolling behind her closed lids. All around her, drinks collided in promise of peace, rendering thirteen years of war forgiven and forgotten. Aislin snorted.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Aislin Serafaena Anarane Character Portrait: Elizabeth Kashatir Character Portrait: Zandyr Kashatir Character Portrait: Bacchus L. Anarane
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Bacchus opened his eyes to the sound of birds chirping, each singing their own songs as the sun slowly set from the sky. He turned onto his side, intent on falling asleep again. And this was precisely how he had spent his time ever since Riven had left: sleep and eat. The young prince refused all attempts from the outside world to reach to him- the only times his butler saw Bacchus was when the prince straggled out for food once every day. No more parties, balls or events could draw out Bacchus from his quarters. His laugh no longer boomed out from behind the heavy oak doors that separated him from the rest of the castle, and no longer did the sounds of moans and gasps echo throughout the hallways. He acted as if he was devoid of life, but a mannequin moving with invisible strings attached to his appendages. No matter how much others tried to persuade the young prince back to his senses they were all met by a blank stare followed with a faint smile before his door closed on their faces. Thus, Bacchus spent his days in prolonged mourning, stuck inside the grand greenhouse linked to his own quarters. But it was time that it came to an end, as his skin stuck to his bones and the numerous wounds that he had inflicted upon himself needed caring to. This was weeks ago, before the young prince had been drawn out of Ezea and carted off to meet with the Xirali royal family with what was left of his own family.

Now, at Xairal, Bacchus had managed to lock himself in his assigned quarters for what felt like a week. But he knew that he had to attend the ball- he had to. That and his bed sheets needed to be changed by what he imagined would be soon-to-be horrified Xairali servants.

Sighing, Bacchus rolled over before groaning and rolling off of his bed, feet landing first on the marble floor. He knew he was definitely late but Bacchus showed no signs of rushing as he pushed the glass doors that led to his room open, waves of cold air rushing past him as he stepped out of the sunny warmth of the greenhouse. The room itself was gloomy and lit dimly, with a bare amount of furniture and three doors: for his bathroom, study and to the “outside world”. Slouching slightly, Bacchus yawned as he made his way across the room and fell onto his bed. His eyes slowly shut together once more as Bacchus let himself into a small slumber. But his small peace would not last long- urgent knocking suddenly came from his door as the familiar voice of his butler, dear old Sebastian, came from the corridor. ”Your Highness? Your Highness Bacchus!” Bacchus opened one eye before closing it shut again, his forehead scrunching together as he used a hand to grab a pillow to block out Sebastian’s voice. Alas, it was not enough. “Your Highness! If you do not open the doors this instant I will use my set of keys to open it! You are late for the ball with the Xairali-“ Letting a groan out to block out what Sebastian was saying, Bacchus yawned widely before getting up and striding to the door, opening it wide to show his disheveled self. “Can I just go like this?”

His question was answered with a look of abject horror and a quick flurry of hands forced Bacchus to back into his bathroom and into his shower. A few quick minutes later- coupled with much berating and sighs from Sebastian- Bacchus emerged refreshed and, once again, clean. Even more scolding came as Sebastian made his round in Bacchus’s greenhouse (especially when the old butler saw the state of Bacchus’s second bed). ”Young sire! How could you do this to yourself-,” Bacchus did not answer as he made his way to his wardrobe and dragged out articles of clothing to replace the naked state he was in. Pulling on a white button-up shirt, the young prince yawned widely before pulling on a pair of gold embroidered blue pants. A dark navy vest was fitted underneath a slightly too large, gold patterned jacket that Bacchus threw on. His hair quickly tied into a lose ponytail with a length of gold satin, Bacchus grabbed a single sapphire drop earring before turning to look at Sebastian. “Exactly how late am I?” He asked while rolling back the cuffs of his jacket and picking out a pair of shoes. “The rest of the royal family are there.”

Bacchus let out a bark of laughter as he grabbed a cane- the final touch to his grand ensemble- and made his way out of the door. “Just on time, then.” His sentence was met with yet another sigh as his butler hurried on behind him, ushering the prince through the many hallways of the grand palace. “Be on your best performance, Prince Bacchus,” His butler muttered, “For this is a large event that cannot go wrong.” Bacchus guffawed at Sebastian’s sentence, waving his cane in the air dismissively as they made their way towards the door that led to the grand hall. Sounds of gay laughter and music traveled through the large doors and to where Bacchus and Sebastian stood, beckoning Bacchus to his “natural hunting grounds” (or so he liked to call it). “Yes, yes, Sebastian, you need not worry,” Bacchus said, turning around to look at Sebastian before turning back again. “There is no fun in being a fool when Riven is not there to laugh with Aislin and I.” Waving at the guards, Bacchus stepped into the large ballroom as trumpets wailed to announce his entrance. “His Royal Highness the Second Prince of Ezea Bacchus Liridon of the House of Anarane.”

Uncomfortable silence fell as the horridly late prince walked across the long carpet that led up towards the royal table. Murmurs and whispering went abuzz as the royal men and women watched as the infamous prince made his way until he was right in front of the members of the royal families of Anarane and Kashatir. “I apologize for my tardiness, father,” Bacchus said before anyone else could open their mouths, “I do hope my transgressions may be forgiven.” King Mirus gave the prince a disappointed glance before shaking his head and laughing slightly, “You are forgiven- but I shall not be as kind the next time you are as tardy as today. Take your seat.” A smile playing on his face, Bacchus winked at Aislin, his every action denying the fact that the Xirali royal family was also seated in front of him. “So this is the famous Prince Bacchus?” A voice boomed out just as Bacchus had turned slightly to make his way to his empty chair. His eyes flickering upwards, his own icy blue eyes were met with the muted brown ones of King Aegnor. Silence fell once again as Bacchus stood straight again, a look of disregard on his face as he looked at the King before looking down at his hand and checking his flawlessly filed nails. “You flatter me, sir.” Was Bacchus’s only response as he let down his hand and let out a sigh, “Truly, my older brothers are much more “famous” than I am. Especially my honorable eldest brother whom died in battle- may he rest in peace.” His glare icy cold, Bacchus laughed once again before bowing his head. “Excuse my manners- I should not talk of the dead at such a great event. Let us both have a toast, shall we?” Walking up to the table, Bacchus picked up his own wine filled glass and held it up. “To peace.”

Grinning at the bemused king whom raised his glass for a drink, Bacchus lifted his cup as he turned around to make his way around the table. But when he had sat down on his seat, the prince made no move of finishing the toast he had started. He would not be drinking with the indirect murderer of his own brother. Turning towards Aislin, Bacchus allowed a cheeky grin to appear on his face. “I think father is truly growing old,” He commented as he cut into the piece of meat that lay on the plate in front of him, “especially with how he’s placed the two of us to sit together at such a grand event. And by God is your dress hilarious- you almost look as if I had dressed you up.”

Characters Present

Character Portrait: [NPC] Bartender Character Portrait: Aislin Serafaena Anarane Character Portrait: Elizabeth Kashatir Character Portrait: Zandyr Kashatir Character Portrait: Rosalina Seraphine Xairali Character Portrait: Bacchus L. Anarane
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#, as written by MayKinz
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Rosalina had been waiting for this ball for months she had practiced day in and day out. She revised her curtsies so that she would gleam through the event as a social icon, she spent most the her days walking the palace grounds talking to the butlers and maids in particular she wanted to know everything every single bit of gossip whether it be meaningless or not, and finally she had spent at least 3 hours in her boudoir with her most trusted ladies maids fitting her final touches to her gown making sure her hair was pristine and overall making sure she looked ready to play the part.

As she sat at the table later that day with all the royals she laughed and jested with the other lords and ladies making her rounds and wishing all of them a wonderful evening and of course catching up on how their lives had been playing out not that she didn't already know..,but she liked to hear how people spun their stories differently. She smiled and gleamed as she was curtsied and bowed to out of the courtesy of the lower born, as she nodded she also allowed herself just a bit of crimson wine she didn't want to knock herself off her game but every now and again the drink was just to delicious to pass up. She made another round of the rooms guests having many compliments paid as was expected, her cheeks flushed a summer rose colour and on request she even done a brief spin to show off her gown. It was her favourite a pure white gown with lace trims it pushed in her tiny waist as the corset tightened, but after reaching past her hips it spurted out in beautiful white lace held up underneath by very well designed netting in her hair she wore diamonds that shined underneath the candles and made her blonde locks seem even more beautiful, around her neck she wore a key necklace that had been a birthday gift from her late maid Jane she always treasured it.

Sitting back up at the table she heard the princess of house Anarane announced she cut off mid sentence to turn her attention to the entrance of the so spoke about princess Aislin..,ugh she didn't particularly like her since she had just had to enter at the moment she was telling her favourite dinner story. Rosalina watched carefully as the princess made her way to her father watching to see how perfect or tragic her curtsey would be except she bowed how strange maybe that was the custom where they came from? but as her father ordered to her to rise she did not "How dare she!?" she accidentally blurted out rather embarrassed, she delved her head into the wine glass once again as she emerged she saw the princess had finally risen.

After the toast was done and she had finished exchanging smiles and laughs she turned her gaze to her sister who was slowly being escorted to the table by the butler Rosalina gave a slightly disappointed look she thought maybe it was her prince...but come to think of it the table had been so much more happier without Elizabeth, she never seemed to want to joke and exchange gossip Rosalina even some how wanted to doubt that she was even her sister but Elizabeths blonde locks still held the evidence of that doubt.

She was rather bored by the time the doors decided to swing open again but she sat up in attention it was the other prince..how odd she thought why was he this late? It was extremely rude to be late for any occasion let alone how momentously important this one was! Were all of house Anarane so rude and uncouth they couldn't be surely she had been thinking of her betrothed all night and although in her mind he was perfect she couldn't wait to see him he would look rather dashing and heroic, not to mention he would smile bright. The very thought of the wedding planning made her blush even more she would have to have a little sip more to stop this foolish thinking.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Aislin Serafaena Anarane Character Portrait: Zandyr Kashatir Character Portrait: Bacchus L. Anarane
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#, as written by Layla
A I S L I N.
1544, Thirty-first of December | Dusk.

There was once when the sight of Bacchus at an opulent event such as this was quotidian, expected, even, but surprise brushed its fingers up her spine when the same contralto that had announced her arrival announced his. Aislin had scarcely seen her youngest older brother upright, much less upright and clothed in what appeared to be nice clothes - unwrinkled, hygienic clothes - since... Since the Incident. She found herself flummoxed at his easy composure and apparent lucidity, it was a familiar sight, and yet utterly foreign. In the days after the Incident, she'd sat by his bed when she wasn't funnelling her anguish through swords or slapping the sputtering mud of Ezea's forests with her tattered boots, insisting that he eat. Always that he eat. Since they were children, her remedy for setbacks had been to leave no room in their bellies for it to reside, but this was not a whole moon's cycle trapped indoors for having released all of the kitchen's hens in Ildant's personal chambers. This was a death. A hole that gaped its vacant mouth in the pit of their stomachs, swallowing all that they threw at it, devouring their innards when it throbbed with hunger, and it was famished.

On a night following Ezea's cause for mourning, she'd crept beneath Bacchus' thick woollen blankets, and moulded her body to his, scooting backwards until his blonde hair tangled in hers, gold melting into the red warmth of fire. Aislin had thought she felt him shaking with the rhythm of his sobs, or perhaps it had been her own devastation she'd felt rattling her bones. It had been a long while since they'd last laid in the same bed, slept in the same room, but she doubted either of them had slept a moment that night, so perhaps it did not count.

Bacchus met King Aegnor's gaze and exhaled malice as if it were smoke from his mouth. There would no doubt be consequences but Aislin could not silence the small thrill of pride at his gusto when Bacchus veiled his accusation with a toast. She'd caught his wink but returned to him only a look of devastating boredom as she continued to shovel food into her mouth. She kept her gaze on the marbles of rare fat on the prime corpse on her plate as he stalked towards her, wondering what sauce would best compliment the refreshing taste of blood.

“I think father is truly growing old,” Bacchus commented, voice humming through his parted lips like a warm caress the way it always did. Her brother needed more friends and fewer lovers. “Especially with how he’s placed the two of us to sit together at such a grand event. And by God is your dress hilarious- you almost look as if I had dressed you up.” Aislin's unusually large eyes widened a fraction more as she pressed a hand to her chest, feigning abject horror.

"I look like a prostitute?" she gasped.

"Forgive me, your highness!" The shrill voice leapt from the foray of bickering utensils. Aislin turned to it, seeing a young servant girl an empty seat away - where in Raena's name was Ildant? - dabbing madly at a dark shadow only to jerk away. She clutched the lonely neck of a bottle in one shaking hand and a piece of square cloth in the other. "Please p-punish your s-s-simple servant, y-your excellency," she stuttered, falling to her knees to cower apologetically and simultaneously retrieve the remains of a shattered bottle. Aislin rose to her feet, walking around to help the poor girl. Or she would've, if the corset allowed her to bend at the waist, or breathe. Just as well. Her father might've had her hung had she helped a servant under scrutiny of Xiral's most self-important nobles. Instead, she touched the girl's shoulder, nearly instigating a stroke.

"Pr-r-r-rincess," the servant squealed.

"That is I. Royal. Regal. Reptilian," Aislin said. The girl's jaw unhinged. It wasn't quite the burst of laughter and camaraderie Aislin had been expecting, but she supposed a life-long friendship in a moment of shared humour might've been a bit too much to expect anyway. She spared a glance over her shoulder in search of Bacchus, sighing inwardly. He alone appreciated her repartee. She returned her attention to the servant halfway curled into a fetal position. "Why not take the fragments to the kitchen? I can tend to the royal highness," Aislin suggested lightly. The servant stared up at her from her perch on the floor, mouth gaping and shutting, gaping and shutting like a drying fish. Eventually she nodded her gratitude and apologised profusely before scuttling away.

"Now, what seems to be the" - butcher - "problem?" Aislin had turned as she spoke only to lay eyes upon whom was possibly the most beautiful man she had ever seen. His dark hair cascaded along the arch of his wiry back, framing translucent eyes embedded with flecks of green and gold. His skin was polished marble, a stark juxtaposition to the obsidian garments that veiled much of his skin. He was stunning, but that did not dampen the hiss of contempt that transformed her blood into lava. The Butcher. The beautiful, savage Butcher of her people. Aislin solidified her smile into stone and her panic into pulverised dust. This was to be the man she would marry. She was expected to sell her body and soul to a mass murderer, a merciless beast, a rapist and a thief, the Butcher. The black he wore suited him. It was the absence of colour, the colour of mourning and the darkest moment at night, where the unknown thrived and nightmares breathed, leaching air from the lungs.

"I see she dropped the" - butcher - "pitcher on your lap," Aislin said, lifting the cloth where the servant had left it in her haste to escape the wrath of Xairal's most feared generals. If he were this brutal now, what would he be like when time aged him? "I" - butcher - "wager you must have quite the fearsome reputation for your servants to despair so woefully the" - butcher - "future ramifications should they incur your wrath with these slight blunders."

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Aislin Serafaena Anarane Character Portrait: Elizabeth Kashatir Character Portrait: Rosalina Seraphine Xairali Character Portrait: Bacchus L. Anarane
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ophia lizabeth ashitar

▪ i. wisdom ▪ ii. oath of god ▪

❤ єℓ∂єѕт ∂αυgнтєя σf тнє нσυѕє σf кαѕнαтιя ❤
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Elizabeth stared down at the perfectly cut out chunk of meat on her equally perfect shaped plate. Four different shiny silver forks placed on the left side of her plate and four different shiny silver knives placed neatly on the right. It sometimes bewildered Elizabeth to even think that some people out there eat off of non-polished, chipped plates and only eat with one of each eating utensil. She has gotten so used to her way of eating and her way of living her life that she often forgot that there were other different types of classes out there that may not be able to afford the things she can.

She slowly grasped her small fingers around the fork nearest to her plate and switched it off to her right hand and grabbed the knife in her left. It had always been an odd mannerism of hers; cutting with her left and holding the fork with her right. The knife's tiny blades began cutting into the meat as she slowly began cutting into it. It didn't take too long before Elizabeth was chewing on a bite-sized spicy piece of meat. Her face scrunched up momentarily, feeling the spices beginning to burn her tongue. She quickly let her face go back to it's normal expression afraid that if anybody were to see a princess scrunching her face up, she'd be the towns gossip for the next week. She slowly set the fork and knife onto the plate before bringing a napkin up to dab her face free of the juices and spices the meat had on it. Elizabeth glanced to her side while doing so, only to see her younger sister there as well.

"You look exquisite in that gown of yours, Rosalina." She said softly, but hopefully loud enough for her sister to hear. She set the napkin she was finished with on the side of her unfinished plate. "The colour suits you well." She said with a slight smile. Elizabeth wasn't very fond of her sister. If you wanted to see a stuck-up obtuse blonde girl, you could look at Rosalina. She seemed to have no worries in the world. Everything was cut out for her perfectly. It somewhat annoyed Elizabeth; how immature and inconsiderate her sister has grown to be... but she had to remind herself that she was still her younger sister. The blonde hair and blue eyes were there to tell anybody so.

Her attention soon came upon one of the Anarane princes - arriving late like the other Anarane princess had - being announced at the door. Her eyes squinted, wanting to get a better look at him and not being able to see him from afar. Something clicked inside Elizabeth's head once his name was announced. His name came in her ear and bounced about inside her head. She had heard that name before. She had spoken to father about him. Remember. Remember. Remember...

Then it clicked. His name hit the memory part in her brain. That was the man she was going to marry. The man that would soon be waiting at the end of the hall in a big church with a big crowd of people for her. The man that would have to see her approach him in a big white traditional gown with a white veil covering her face and her high piled perfectly on top of her head. Speaking of hair, his hair was - if not - the same colour as hers. Why, they could pass for siblings. Though, his facial features were a bit different and he had gotten the taller gene like much of the Anarane children... but he was still handsome in his own unique way. Hey eyes followed him as he came up onto the dais and sat down beside Aislin. A shuttered breath escaped between her red lips as she felt the nervousness come into her nose as she breathed in. She felt her breathing slowly uneven and her hands become clammy and a bit shaky. She didn't know why she was having a panic attack... especially now. Why was she so nervous?

She looked over at her sister, who had a blush creeping on her cheeks from God knows what and God knows whom. She saw her sisters cheeks redden as she felt her own drain of colour. Elizabeth looked down at her unfinished boar of meat still lying there on her plate as she felt her heart beat go faster. 'Stop it, Elizabeth. You're overacting over nothing.'. She saw a picture of a boar flash in her head and in front of her eyes before she saw an arrow pierce it in the back. It squealed out and tried to run away before thousands of more arrows came piercing through it's skin, ripping and tearing it to shreds of... meat.

"I need some air." Elizabeth abruptly said as she quickly stood up from her seat. Eyes landed on her as she stood there, lacing her sweaty fingers together. Her eyes wildly gazed around until they landed on a nearby butler. "Please escort me outside." She said politely but simply. The butler only nodded before he pushed in her chair and began guiding her to a nearby door leading outside. She caught eye with Aislin trying to comfort another girl for some unknown reason. Elizabeth quickly gave a slight smile and looked away, not willing to face and meet the gaze of Bacchus. Elizabeth stopped for a moment, looking up at her father.

"You'll have to excuse me for a couple moments, father. I need to leave for a brief minute." She said as politely as she could, not wanting her father to hear the fear in her voice. His father looked confusingly at his daughter, but somehow knew what she was going through. Elizabeth had had panic attacks at big occasions before. Mostly from the stress from trying to look and seem perfect and the big crowds of people cheering and dancing and talking loudly. But now she was thinking it was coming from the worry from something else...

"Sophia, please hurry. It would disappoint me not seeing you at this gathering for the rest of the night." Her father said quietly... only for her to hear. He also chose to use her given first name too, which Elizabeth was used to her close family calling her by her real name. Elizabeth gave a tight and forced smile before continuing being led outside by the butler. She hated to keep bouncing around everywhere and ending up at one place for a moment then the next, but she has never really gotten use to having to sit down for many hours stuffing her face with whatever delicious meal the served on her plate. She can't seem to stay in one place even for just a bit of time.

Elizabeth gave a slight nod of thanks to the butler who had now escorted her to another door at the back of the large room to allow her to go in a small, gated area outside. He held the door open for her as she went out. Her blonde locks flew slightly with the small breeze and she could immediately begin to feel herself calm down. It was different being out alone rather then being squished into a large room with crowds of people. She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling a shiver go down her spine. There's just some things people don't get use to.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Aislin Serafaena Anarane Character Portrait: Elizabeth Kashatir Character Portrait: Zandyr Kashatir Character Portrait: Rosalina Seraphine Xairali Character Portrait: Bacchus L. Anarane
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#, as written by Taunbon
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"I planted some ras...berries this morning! The servant helped me. I had to make hole with my finger to put the seeds in but Lady Vigdis wasnt happy and said 'A young prince should not be walking around with dirty little fingers!' They werent that dirty. Maybe Sophia will want some rasberries?

Raspberries. The door man said there was a p in rasberries but why is there a P there?" - Nine and a Half




It seemed his chalice was going to be his confidant for the night as it was far more interesting then the gathered assembly which was no large feat. Zandyr let his hazel eyes scan down the table to see his youngest sister, Rosalina, who was almost certainly the only one attending that was happy, if not gleeful, to be here as to the why, he had not the faintest idea. Perhaps she envisioned a handsome prince coming to dash her off her feat and into a make believe fairy tail of love, exhilarating swordplay, and terrible dragons, or she was merely excited by the prospect of garnering international attention. Either way, he almost wished he could share her blithe nature.

Losing interest in staring at his youngest sister from across the room, he reclined back in his overly adorned wooden chair that was covered in various engravings to the point where the chair passed the threshold from fashionable to entirely uncomfortable; he could almost feel the winding and twisting vines digging into his skin, but life did have a method of solving such minor problems in the form of the bitter red liquid that rested within his chalice, seeking asylum, he lifted it once more to his lips but stopped as his hazel eyes examined the dark red liquid suddenly drawn to the image of that hideous red dress that was something he expected a small child to pick because 'it was just so pretty'. Casting aside the sigh of contempt that tried to fight its way from his lips, Zandyr set the chalice back down on the wooden table, keeping his face neutral as his eyes made the effort to scan the room to feign interest.

He had only seen his dearly beloved once, and yet she had already managed to make drinking lose all its allure. Perhaps if he gave her a few hours, she could make life, itself, seem rather pale and lackluster? The sudden announcement of the youngest princes arrival snapped his eyes back to the very spot the overripe tomato had gifted them with her presence at, he was met with the sight of a prince in far too much blue, but, at least, it was better then the sheer amount of red his sister had met, but now that he had seen the third child, he could not stop the small smile that spread across his lips. It seemed their father should have asked a few questions of the pure queen for it was a little too suspicious that all three children looked nothing alike. Perhaps the Queen enjoyed entertaining nobles or handsome peasant boys?

But it seemed the younger prince was determined to equal his sisters entrance, if not with vibrant garish clothing then with his endearing personality. Not only had he not bowed, he had apologized to his father rather then the host. Zandyr let his chin rest on his hand as his hazel eyes watched the unruly boy speak as he checked his nails, but he noticed something rather odd, there seemed to be an earring, a small little thing on the prince. Zandyr raised a dark eyebrow, his interest caught by the little piece of jewelry, did the prince confuse himself with a young maiden hoping to appear rakish to her squealing friends and admires? His far from kind musings were cut short at the mention of his older brothers, of the one that fell in battle, of Riven. Zandyr's eyes glazed over for but a moment as he was no longer seated in that suffocating hall of ego and etiquette, but instead, a field of tarnished grass as lightning crackled and rain cascaded daring to obscure the carnage and hide the screams... the man glaring at him with defiance, of the blade that separated flesh and the flash of blood. His body running on instinct as his mind was far adrift, Zandyr raised his glass with the toast and brought it to his lips, only to stare once more at that dark red. The color of dresses, hair, and blood. He could almost see those defiant eyes glaring out at him from beneath the ruby surface daring him to do it, to drink to peace, to drink to his younger brothers mocking toast, to drink to bedding his sister. With a barely concealed grunt of disgust, Zandyr shoved the chalice away and back to the table.

His mind taunting him with memories better left forgotten, he searched for something to fixate on, something real from which to return to the world, turning his head, his eyes latched onto his sister, Sophia, say something to their father and then leave out the door to the balconies. Odd. She was never overly fond of crowds, but he hadn't expected that. Pushing the image of his crimson destiny out of his mind, he started to rise intent on checking on her as if he did not, it was more then likely no one would and while he may not admit it, he needed someone to speak to as well. Not about what happened, but merely to converse with, but it seemed fate eternally conspired against him.

Just as he pushed himself up to stand, a serving girl had bent down to fill his chalice once again, and they met in the middle with disastrous results. His shoulder bumped her arm sending the pitcher falling and spewing its ruby contents all over his body. That inferno dark liquid, the color of tomato dresses and blood drenched over his dark pants. The warm liquid seeping through the cloth and sticking it to his legs, the smell of musk and berries filling his nostrils as well as the squealing of apologizes from the frantic girl filled his ears.

He had not the faintest idea how she produced that cloth, or from where, but her frantic dabbing at the front of his pants was doing him no favors, and his temper already short, he sliced his hand down knocking away her hand and sending her recoiling back in fear of further violence. Zandyr closed his hazel eyes as she fell on her knees and started to pick up the shards from the pitcher still begging forgiveness but this time in the form of a punishment, her terrified stuttering and blabbering doing far more harm then good as out of the corner of his eye he spotted more then a few nobles smirking at him. Her little stunt was gaining for more attention then it should have due to her antics and, worse, her reaction to him.

Taking a moment to gather his wits, his mouth opened only to close when his hazel eyes were assaulted by a large quantity of tawdy red. His mind reached a dismaying conclusion far before the young serving girl did as she spluttered the title of the tomato women who graced them with her presence. Royal, Regal, Reptilian. How very clever. The dastardly, reptilian princess who enjoyed making young serving girls nearly faint from shock, but she couldn't be that clever if she willingly picked such garments. All the annoyance from before seemed to have been replaced with something new, curiosity, if he had to place a name on it.

Zandyr raised an eyebrow at the small, red woman, raising an eyebrow at her bold declaration that she would handle him, but when she turned to look at him, a transformation seemed to have taken place. Her shockingly intense eyes seemed to harden, her face set, and any warmth that her hair and dressed suggested was crushed as she questioned him and while he could not say for sure, he could almost feel her disdain which was to be expected, but expecting it and coming face to face with it were two different things, and he felt his own disdain grow in response to her's. No little tomato would get the best of him that was for certain.

He opened his mouth to respond, but once again, she seemed to be quicker on the draw then him coming to the, rather obvious, conclusion of what had transpired moments before. Her observational skills were just so stunning, able to come to such an obvious and apparent conclusion only minutes after even the most dimwitted would have, but she took it a step further. Zandyr narrowed his eyes at her tone catching her transparent insult for what it was.

"I am afraid so. Servants tremble at my approach and faint with solace at my passing, all praying for the garishly dressed reptilian," Zandyr paused, widening his eyes in a show of mock apprehension, "Apologies, I meant regal, princess to come riding to save them from the dreaded prince of butchers."

Zandyr paused for just a moment before motioning to his soaked breeches, "If I may have that lovely piece of cloth you seem to be clutching onto, or perhaps you would enjoy to, how did you say it," He paused making a show of thinking back to exactly what she said, "Tend to the royal highness?"

His face remained blank, but his fierce hazel eyes screamed the unspoken challenge to his tomato inspired adversary, oblivious to whatever scene or even scandal this may be causing as his attention was concentrated on his crimson adversary, his dearly beloved.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Aislin Serafaena Anarane Character Portrait: Elizabeth Kashatir Character Portrait: Zandyr Kashatir Character Portrait: Rosalina Seraphine Xairali Character Portrait: Ildantxhe Anarane Character Portrait: Bacchus L. Anarane
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Bacchus’s laughter echoed throughout the hall- no one could bring such joy to the young Prince as his little sister. Raising his wine glass, Bacchus tried to drain down the giggles that shook his body but they would not leave. “You are too harsh on yourself, dearest princess Aislin, and on my taste of fashion! But no, you look ravishing and I am sure that father is most pleased-,” Turning back to his food, Bacchus picked at it with his fork before placing his utensils down. He felt full, but for what reason the prince did not know, for he had been denying himself food for a long time. It would had made more sense if he had immediately dug in, but the elaborate feast only caused his stomach to sink within itself and his tongue to dry up. Instead, Bacchus picked up his wine glass and took a tiny sip; yet, again, the alien liquid almost got stuck in his throat. Sighing, the prince placed his cup down as well and reclined back in his seat, his eyes half closed as he allowed the din to fill his senses. All the interactions in the court proceeded as usual, as the young women tried to find themselves probable suitors and the men vied to prove themselves the stronger amongst many. Eyes constantly flickered towards the royal table, with murmurs and judging glances flying towards the two royal families in high frequency.

They were like animals being judged; yet at the same time, they were the coveted animals that ran two different nations. Stifling a yawn, Bacchus pushed back his hair and picked at the fruits on his plate, popping tiny piece by tiny piece in his mouth. It was no doubt that he was utterly and horrendously bored. But the prince did not complain but rather observed what was in front of him, noting which minister was sitting next to whom, talking to whom, watching whom, for it would be interesting to see all of the political environment in court be developed in the most simple of settings ever: a ball. But his attention was caught momentarily as the woman he recognized as his fiancée excused herself from the table, face as pale as a sheet. Raising his eyebrow once again, Bacchus allowed his eyes to follow the back of the princess before turning them back once again to the scene in front of him. She intrigued him, really, Princess Sophia, for he was to marry her in the end. Bacchus had protested, had shut himself in his quarters for ages, yet his father had not allowed the prince to worm himself out of the engagement. Rather than for his own skin, Bacchus knew he had to push off the engagement for the woman whom he was to marry- for her happiness and her name. For even Bacchus could not tell how much a marital link between him and Princess Sophia Elizabeth Kashatir would be able to tarnish the name of the beloved princess.

Enough, probably, for his associates were far and plenty and his sensual nature rather known throughout the land. It didn’t bother Bacchus, obviously, but he wondered how the known to be rather timid princess would think. However, something about her leaving figure piqued Bacchus’s interest, and his blue eyes trailed behind her until she vanished from sight. Intriguing. Chuckling to himself lightly, Bacchus once again sat back in his seat in a posture of leisureliness; in his mind, Bacchus contemplated following after his bride-to-be, wondering if the tales of her beauty could be true. However, just as he raised his hand for a servant, Bacchus suddenly noticed the deafening silence that had fallen across the hall. Turning his head slightly with a bemused look on his face, Bacchus watched as Aislin rushed to the help of a maid whom had somehow managed to spill wine across the Xerali Prince’s pants. Stifling his laughter once again, Bacchus watched with an amused look on his face as the two exchanged jibs and at the horrified look on his own royal father’s face.

If only brother were here to deal with this. However, the thought of Riven and Ildant caused Bacchus’s mood to immediately darken, for both were never late; yet one was and the other unable to attend. Standing up, Bacchus let out a sigh and walked over to his sister, picking her up from the ground and plopping her on her feet. “Remember that you are in front of a royal assembly of two nations, Aislin. Princesses do not tend to the needs of others- nor do they get on the floor on their bare knees.” He whispered in her ear as he let go of the smaller princess, his smile kind though the look in his eyes warned his sister to not engage in more tomfoolery. For though he admired her wit and courage, Bacchus knew that the setting they both were in was too grand, too dangerous to act as they did when there were only Ezean citizens present. Turning to his father, Bacchus noted a look of slight relief before turning to the prince in front of him, his smile growing slightly more strained as he stared at Prince Zandyr. “Prince Zandyr, I will, in place of the servant and my sister,” Bacchus paused here, wondering if Aislin would flay him later for commenting on her transgressions, “apologize for the incident that has befallen on your pants. I am sure that with how resourceful your palace has been as of recent during our stay here, that you will be able to be fit with a new pair of clothes immediately? I believe Aislin, as your future,” a muscle on Bacchus’s neck twitched (no one, he believed, would be good enough to have his beloved little sister), “will be willing to see to it that you are presentable once again. And now, I believe I will have to be excused, for I sense that my own fiancée is much in distress- and I must send for a servant to check on my brother.”

Placing his hand on Aislin’s back, he gave her a small pat of encouragement- Bacchus knew that she, like him, felt more the urge to give the Xirali prince a black eye than carter to his needs- before heading off where he had seen Princess Sophia disappear to. Without a second look back, Bacchus exited the large ballroom and looked left and right. Though he hated the place with a passion, Bacchus could not help but admire the architecture of the Winter Palace. Extravagant, beautiful- Bacchus felt disgusted by the castle that had been built with the lives of innocents. But he shook the thought out of his mind as he immediately walked up to the first servant he saw and inquired for the whereabouts of the princess. Following the directions of the servant, Bacchus navigated through a few corridors until two large glass doors greeted his sight of vision. A view that reminded him of home- of the prison he had given himself from days long past. A greenhouse. His eyes flickered left and right before his hands reached forward and pushed open the large glass doors, warm air immediately rushing forth to greet the young Ezean prince. Sure enough, Princess Sophia immediately came to his eyesight as Bacchus stepped in, sitting at a pagoda in the center of the dense mass of flourishing flora.

“Princess Sophia?” Bacchus called out, walking up with his head tilted to a side, watching his former fiancée with a look of concern on his face. “I hope you are not feeling unwell? And excuse my sudden intrusion- I was just a bit worried for you since you did not look too well while leaving the dining hall.”

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Character Portrait: Aislin Serafaena Anarane Character Portrait: Zandyr Kashatir Character Portrait: Bacchus L. Anarane
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#, as written by Layla
A I S L I N.
1544, Thirty-first of December | Night.

Zandyr Kashatir resembled the carpet on which she'd walked earlier, and she concluded this with all the cordiality a princess could muster for her nigh inamorato. Dimples teased the corners of her mouth as her suitor spoke with all the pleasantry of acidic poison seeping meticulously and with agonising slowness from a battered oesophagus.

"I am afraid so," he replied. "Servants tremble at my approach and faint with solace at my passing, all praying for the garishly dressed reptilian. Apologies," the Butcher said, not apologetic at all. "I meant regal, princess to come riding to save them from the dreaded prince of butchers."

Oh no, garishly dressed reptilian is quite alright, she mused. The sentiment was malevolent but not untrue and if he were someone else, she might've even appreciated his gall. Still his black attire could not hide the crimson that she was knew to hiss beneath his skin, a spiderweb forged of the blood of innocents that stained his body with the map of their two kingdoms, scattered with the bodies of his victims. No amount of wit or brazenness could return the blood to corpses or enable it to flow once again.

The Kashatir Prince gestured to his own regal self. "If I may have that lovely piece of cloth you seem to be clutching onto, or perhaps you would enjoy to, how did you say it, tend to the royal highness?" She did not miss the sensual indignity his question implied, a heat rising from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. He'd made her blush, just as surely as if he'd lifted the paintbrush himself and flicked a splash of red across her cheeks. The heat that rose by her ear as a familiar voice brushed warm air across her naked collar bones.

“Remember that you are in front of a royal assembly of two nations, Aislin," Bacchus whispered. "Princesses do not tend to the needs of others- nor do they get on the floor on their bare knees.” Her brows furrowed momentarily in confusion. Her knees? Why in Raena's light would she be on her knees? She noticed his hand wrapped around her arm then, and cursed her obliviousness. It seemed embarrassment rendered a person a limp mule. Another day, she might've broken Bacchus' nose. She observed then as Bacchus chattered that she was... Lower, somehow. Aislin stared at the Adam's apple bobbing in Bacchus' throat, her head cocking to the side. She was normally much taller during court events due to the small houses her ladies in waiting insisted on strapping to her feet but now her head barely brushed the top of his shoulder. She wiggled her toes. A small huff of a half-chuckle escaped her mouth as she turned a full circle, searching the floor around her for the foot-weapons. Seeing no telltale glimmer of gold, she lifted her skirts an inch, two inches, three inches - Gods, how long was this dress? - four inches, until finally at five it hovered high enough above the floor for her to see her bare feet and the missing nail on her left pinkie toe. Alas, no shimmering planks hovering atop needles could be seen.

The white corset beneath her garments protested as Aislin struggled to bend beneath the long table, digging its teeth into her ribs, but her shoes glinted underneath the deep ebony wood. Blind determination forced an arm beneath the table as she waved aside a servant that rushed to her aid, blindly fishing for her footwear with her head propped beside a fine bone platter. "Ahah!" she thrilled as her fingers hooked around the ribbons attached to her heels. Plates jostled as she unraveled half her body from beneath the table with a violent flailing of limbs. Aislin slapped a shoe over her left foot, her leg swinging out to clip the edge of the wooden surface. The silk ribbon of her right clog escaped her grasp as her arm swung violently backwards to tighten the ribbons around her left shoe, leaping in an arch through the air to collapse in a noble's bowl of pea soup. The momentum forced Aislin's body backwards, the heel's narrow sole sliding across the smooth finish of the dais, and the ground slipped from beneath her.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Elizabeth Kashatir Character Portrait: Zandyr Kashatir Character Portrait: Rosalina Seraphine Xairali Character Portrait: Bacchus L. Anarane
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ophia lizabeth ashitar

▪ i. wisdom ▪ ii. oath of god ▪

❤ єℓ∂єѕт ∂αυgнтєя σf тнє нσυѕє σf кαѕнαтιя ❤
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Elizabeth's chest heaved up and down slowly now. She had finally felt her panic decrease as soon as she opened the doors to the greenhouse. It had taken her awhile to find the greenhouse though. Different mazes and different routes to take confused Elizabeth, and she sometimes ended up turning the wrong way only to find out that it leaded to another place she didn't want to go. These buildings were big, and the outdoors sometimes bigger. Even though Elizabeth had gotten use to the many different roads that led her down to different places, she sometimes forgot about them. With so many other things to worry and think about, memorizing different routes weren't one of them at the moment.

She had put a hand on her chest, feeling her heartbeat go back to normal. The rush and atmosphere of the dining hall overwhelmed Elizabeth and worse, made her feel like she was the centre of it. Even though she knew the other princes and princesses were also there, she somehow felt all the eyes were always on her. Watching her every move, watching if she accidently set her fork down on the wrong side of the plate or one of her blonde curls were out of place... only to make it the towns gossip the very next day. She knew gossip spread like wildfire in these areas and that it probably wouldn't go away for another two weeks after that. She thought about how silly she must of looked running out of the chaos like a scared little girl. No doubt that would make some nice gossip for the townspeople.

She sighed, still making her way around the greenhouse. It's been a mere twenty-one years and she was still so unprepared. Her toes still curled up and her hands still got sweaty every time her father mentioned that there would be a gathering. She still thought that she didn't look the part for a princess. Maybe too short. Maybe too much hair that seemed like it was always unorganized. Maybe she simply just didn't look the part, despite hearing others admire her beauty. She still didn't feel like she was good enough. She often wondered if the others felt like that. Being self-conscious. She was told to be proper and polite, which she tried her best to do at all times. She sometimes wished she could be a little bit more like her sister... even though it sounded odd. Her sister acted freely and, was a bit snobby, but still got what she wanted when she wanted it. Elizabeth couldn't act that way even if she tried her hardest.

She couldn't deny loving her family though. She had a well-mannered and admired father. She had gotten her mothers beauty... and her mother was always very kind to her. Her brother had grown up to be proud and strong... despite his cold appearance. Her sister was the pretty and innocent, but wasn't afraid to speak up if she had to. She somewhat felt blessed and very pleased. And, well, happy.

After what seemed like hours of searching, she finally found a small wooden bench that she could sit on. She gently grabbed her skirt and brought it up a bit to avoid getting it dirty. Despite this, she still dragged her sore feet over to the bench. She sat down, smoothing the ruffles of her dress out with her hands. She was surrounded by colourful flowers and plants that seemed to grow around her, trapping her in it's warm beauty and embrace. Pinks, greens, oranges and many other colours swirled in her vision. The smell of fresh plants filled her nose, making her sigh out in relief. Decorated pots hung low high above her head that were filled with healthy green plants. Everything seemed perfect.

She gave out an exhausted huff as she kicked off her shoes from beneath her and slouched back into the back of the bench. She could feel her corset tightening underneath the layer of dress, telling her that she shouldn't slouch and instead sit up. The corset didn't bother Elizabeth like it did for so many other women. She wasn't going to listen to a stupid piece of clothing anyway.

“Princess Sophia?"

She heard the concerned voice echo throughout the pagoda, but didn't bother to turn her tilted head to observe who it was. She didn't recognize the voice and her mind just thought it was another butler coming to tell her it was time to go back inside. She sighed. For a girl who had gained lots of patience throughout the years, she felt like she was ready to snap at any moment and tell him that she wasn't ready to go back yet. She turned her head to face the man just to tell him so, and to tell him it was Elizabeth, when she came eye-to-eye with someone she wasn't quite expecting.

“I hope you are not feeling unwell? And excuse my sudden intrusion- I was just a bit worried for you since you did not look too well while leaving the dining hall.” Prince Bacchus said with a look of concern across his features and worry in his voice. Elizabeth's eyes got wide and she immediately began to feel a blush spread across her cheeks. She stood up quickly, a little too quickly, and hit the top of her head on top of one of the hanging pots. She yelped, but quickly regained her posture while rubbing the top of her aching head. She let out a small chuckle.

"I am gratefully sorry, Prince Bacchus. It seems like my clumsiness has taken over." She said embarrassingly but with a small chuckle still coming from her lips. She quickly smoothed out her hair and brought her hands down to smooth down her dress. Oh gosh, she was already making a fool out of herself in front of her future husband. Future husband.

She looked up at him, finally truly getting a good look at him. He towered over her, almost seemingly a couple inches short of being a foot taller then herself. His shoulders were broad and seemed to perfectly match up with the handsome features of his face. His face was smooth and calm, despite the concerned look on his face. His eyes were bright and seemed to of gotten her lost in a never ending blue ocean while she continued to stare at him unknowingly. He had slightly longer hair for a male, but the blonde locks were tied back neatly. He defiantly was handsome. Very handsome...

She shook her head, getting herself out of her daze. She put her hands on her cheeks to try and cover up her blush. Cold hands were met with overly-warm cheeks as the warmness heated her hands up. She turned around quickly, trying to gather herself up again as she slipped her shoes back on her feet. She turned back towards him again, bringing her arms down by her sides. Why, she was all over the place. Turning that way then turning the other way. She felt like a dumb mess. She straightened her posture a bit more and bowed down slightly with a curtsy.

"It is an honor to finally meet you. Sorry for my lack of proper welcoming." She said with her voice finally steady while performing the short curtsy. She looked up at him and shook her head again, placing her head on her forehead. "Oh, I'm quite alright. I just needed a little fresh air. That's all. Thank you for your concern, though." She said politely with a slight smile on her face. How she wished she could of met him under much better circumstances. Being out in the cold garden wasn't the first place in mind that she had wanted to meet him. Maybe instead they could've been introduced later that night by her father or maybe they just could've been introduced in the dining hall in general. She cleared her throat, feeling a bit awkward. She didn't believe in love at first sight, even though many others did. She was one of those people that needed to get to know someone before truly falling in love with them. She didn't know why she felt this way though. Her head just wasn't quite with her.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Aislin Serafaena Anarane Character Portrait: Elizabeth Kashatir Character Portrait: Zandyr Kashatir Character Portrait: Bacchus L. Anarane
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#, as written by Taunbon
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"One of the soldiers, Castus, was caught stealing food rations. They weren't able to find what he was doing with them, but I suspect he has been handing them out to a family in the nearby village. From what members of his company have told me, he is fond of one of the women there, and the war has not been kind to her home and family. I am not sure how long he has been stealing, but the punishment is clear. Ten lashes that I will give out in the morning and left on the post for the rest of the day.

Ten lashes and the risk of infection for a girl. I hope she was worth it... I have already spoken with the apothecary; Castus will have some tyrin weed to help with the pain and cut off the infection left on his bunk. Hopefully he doesn't do it again, or at least, is better at not getting caught." - Seventeen




Hazel eyes traced the reddening face with some measure of satisfaction. Her embarrassment was obvious and apparent, and in some ways, it was refreshing as most women of court did not blush so easily either used to such conversation, trained and schooled to hide their thoughts, or far more deviant then his comment. Zandyr almost desired to see if her face could ever match her hair in the sheer intensity of crimson, but any such desire was cut short by the appearance of the boy.

As if from the heavens, the golden haired boy who looked nothing like his siblings appeared to aid his over-stimulated dearly beloved. A dark eyebrow raised at the comment on her being on her knees which was certainly an idea, one almost worth entertaining, but had she truly gone limp and was she sinking down? He hadn't noticed and the fact that he hadn't surprised him. It seemed he had been utterly consumed with the transformation that was taking place with her complexion.

Zandyr lifted his gaze up to the boy once more trying to meet his eyes, but that little piece of jewelry in his ear once more caught his attention. For the life of him, he could not understand the purpose in it, was it some odd fashion in Ezea? He had long assumed the fascination with jewelry came from the combination of the childish love of shinny objects and the need to prove how much more wealth they had compared to others, was that the case here? Or was it as he assumed earlier and akin to how a young girl gets such a piercing in order to appear rakish and daring to her giggling cohorts? His mind being concentrated on the little stub of metal sticking from the side of his head, he only processed small parts of what he was saying, and simply gave a dismissive ways in place of words. He had no desire to reply to the disrespectful, pierced boy who was marrying a woman far superior than he. While he did hear the word 'apologize' he didn't put value on its sincerity.

The boy took his leave to chase after his sister, something he intended to cut in its bud as he had no desire to leave the disrespectful prince alone with his sister when movement caught his eye. His hazel eyes flicked back over to Aislin to see her... turn slowly in a circle, staring at her feet. Whatever actions he had planned were abandoned as he observed something... he had no idea as to what it was, but it was.. something. He held his tongue, his mind trying to decipher what was going on in her infernal crimson head as she lifted her dress, inch after inch, but he couldn't tell what for... he also noted that she still held the cloth in her grasp and still had not decided to give it to him.

What was strange became bizarre as she leaned down over the table, a slow process, to the point where her head was pressed against the surface and it seemed only by luck that her hair hadn't strayed into nearby dishes as she searched under it waving an arm randomly beneath it that would have been quite comical in another setting. Her antics were so great that she even had to wave away a servant. Zandyr wanted to ask her what madness possessed her, to see if they had given her a dimwitted bride, but the words would not come out. His tongue seemingly just as baffled as he was to her actions.

He was well aware that they had long since become the focus of attention, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the puzzling creature in front of him, and he nearly jumped with surprise at her sudden shout of... accomplishment? Zandyr couldn't believe his quickly widening eyes as she came out with... shoes? She... was she not wearing shoes? How... why? His mind struggled with understanding the sheer mindless sequence of events and then it happened. She stumbled, her foot caught on the table, and one of the hard fought shoes was sent flying. His head turned up, his eyes following the shoe in its arch as it gracefully descended... into a noble's soup, splattering him and everyone nearby with its contents. If he had his wits about him, if he could process something so bizarre happening, he would have found it hilarious, but he couldn't... and in his shock, he didn't see her coming.

It seemed among what very, very few talents his bride-to-be had, balance was not one of them. She had stumbled back, and while he had been watching the shoe's flight, her body had been coming right at him. The unexpected force caught him by surprise, and with his surprise, he reached out and grabbed the only thing close to him... which just happened to be the crimson tide that had smashed into him in the first place. His long arms wrapped around her, his hands clasping behind her back as his head bent down to tuck beside hers as he stumbled backwards.

But, as always, fate conspired against him as a small crack in the floor, something usually unnoticed which had gone on unnoticed for centuries had its moment as it caught the back of his boot and took away the only thing keeping him, and his lovely beloved, upright. Tipping backwards, his arms full of fumbling Princess, Zandyr couldn't stop his fall. Crashing down onto the crystal floor, his eyes exploded in pain and stars as his head smacked against the floor. His arms tightening in pain and surprise around the warm body on top of him as his eyes blinked away tears of pain.

As he lay there, his mind still trying to process what happened, his arms wrapped around a warm body, and the back of his head rather sore from the impact, a fleeting thought passed through his mind, 'I am never going to obtain that piece of cloth...'

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Aislin Serafaena Anarane Character Portrait: Elizabeth Kashatir Character Portrait: Zandyr Kashatir Character Portrait: Rosalina Seraphine Xairali Character Portrait: Ildantxhe Anarane Character Portrait: Bacchus L. Anarane
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#, as written by Layla
A I S L I N.
1545, First of January | Zero dark.

The clock chimed, alabaster bones aligning before an onyx face as it watched the flamboyantly dressed figures amble beneath its nose, its body spiralling upwards in a blister of wiry glass that punctured the black sky a short distance behind the Winter Palace's main structure. Its silhouette gleamed before the light of the pale, round disk hanging in a wash of oblivion, the impenetrable darkness scattered by a river of starlight. Twelve echoes of sound swam downhill to tap its restless fingers on the shoulders of a winded heir - hurry, hurry, it cooed, before spinning on its heel to penetrate the clear walls of the palace greenhouse. It brushed its fingers over the Prince and Princess standing in the midst of the lush greenery, only to skate beneath the double doors to trail its wispy breath over the shocked inhabitants of the great hall and dagger the tangled source of surprise - a Zandyr Kashatir and Aislin Anarane stew of indignity and dishonour.

To say the Only Daughter of King Mirus, Nigh Crown Princess of Xiral, Clumsiest of Nobles and the Bane of her Court, was mortified, would be to say the sun was a little bright. Aislin's heart leapt from its socket, tearing a ventricle or two before slamming face-first into the rigid limbs of her rib cage, stuttering and hammering faster than her own mare could gallop. Her jaw unhinged as she stared into a set of dilated pupils framed in pure hazel, her eyes inches from his where before her lips had been inches from the apple bobbing in his throat, her head tucked in the crook of his smooth neck. Never had she been so grateful for the impracticality of her billowing skirts as then. But whilst the cloth muffled her awareness of his long legs on either side of her, it did nothing to veil the sinewy arms holding her tight against his body. Aislin was so close she could count the dark lashes framing the Crown Prince of Xiral's eyes and the perfect arch of a cupid's bow on his upper lip, his full, soft, luscious...

Aislin scrambled upright, using the Prince's body as a propellor and kneeing him between the legs in her haste. She skittered backwards until she could go no further, brazenly gaping at the sprawled body she'd recently departed from and half expecting smoke to rise from her warmed skin. She clutched the servant's cloth to her beating chest to still the tremor in her hands.

"How dare you?" a shrill voice boomed. Aislin was jerked from her stupefaction by Queen Vigdis' wailing voice and made horrifically aware of the cacophony of outrage that had descended upon the room. She could do nothing but stare at the flurry of blonde hair so pale, it was almost white, as the Queen hissed with thinly veiled fury before her. All of Aislin's snarky repartee had fled from her, melting so far into the floor where she'd landed atop the Butcher that she feared she might never again retrieve it. Chairs squealed against polished marble as more stood to either tackle the Princess of Ezea to and into her grave or garner a better view of the court drama.

"Vigdis," King Aegnor warned. "Do not be haste." He caught Aislin's gaze over the Ice Queen's shoulder, the teasing glimmer in his eyes clenching her heart in both irritation and abasement. Each word he spoke dripped with slow venom but was masked with a mastered pleasantry. "Princess Aislin is our honoured guest and our future daughter, is she not?"

"Aislin," King Mirus said slowly when she did nothing but crumple the cloth in her clenched fists. Her skin burned red for reasons unrelated to humiliation. She was livid.

Swallowing the lava in her throat, she squeezed out the words that seemed to trickle from another's mouth. "Yes, your majesty." When the King of Xiral did nothing but stare blankly at her, she ground her teeth and sank into a curtsy before the entire court. "I am grateful for your generosity and am deeply apologetic for my ineptitude."

"Rise, child. It is no matter," King Aegnor announced with a short - fake - laugh. "My boy," he continued after a pause, lowering his voice so only the few closest could hear as he spared a quick glance for his son. "Should know better than to tarnish my name with his antics." It was a jab to both her and Zandyr, but she kept her lips pressed tight lest she rediscover her snarky repartee. "But where, pray tell, is your boy?" he asked King Mirus through a tight smile. Aislin shrugged imperceptibly as her father glared at her through his periphery. He was certainly... Not in the best of moods. He rarely called her Aislin, even in court, it was always "daughter" or "séphling." Worry for her brother wound its way through the haze of anger and indignation as Aislin's gaze conducted a futile search of the great hall for Ildant's familiar gait. It was extremely unusual for him to be late for anything, much less an event as important as this. Her heart faltered as panic wiggled into her chest. It reminded her uncomfortably of the days and nights spent waiting and waiting for news of Riven from the battlefields.

"Ildantxhe had some urgent business to attend to," King Mirus explained patiently. "He is responsible for much of Ezea's affairs now that Riven is unable."

"Pity, that," King Aegnor replied.

"Perhaps we should officially introduce our children to one another," Mirus suggested after a tense silence. "Ildantxhe will arrive soon enough."

"Yes, what a brilliant idea," the other king said, turning to see the royal court stretched out before him. "Now where are the two more tolerable of my offspring?" he asked with just enough mirth to incite a shiver of laughter from some nobles.

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Character Portrait: Aislin Serafaena Anarane Character Portrait: Zandyr Kashatir Character Portrait: Ildantxhe Anarane Character Portrait: Bacchus L. Anarane
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Character Portrait: Aislin Serafaena Anarane Character Portrait: Elizabeth Kashatir Character Portrait: Zandyr Kashatir Character Portrait: Rosalina Seraphine Xairali Character Portrait: Ildantxhe Anarane Character Portrait: Bacchus L. Anarane
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"Dig the dirt, til the fields, leave the dead behind."




The crux of the whole event was something that Lucius could not really stand, a bleating arrangement of voices and instrumental clamoring that could assault the senses if one could not sort one from the other. He so hated doing all this, just to keep up appearances and to make sure he was still in with the powers that be in the land. Though he was a lord in this place and it had been some years since he arose to this power. It was still treacherous and unforgiving day in and day out.

Ildanthe's arrival was the last of the evening for all that he could tell and it appeared from the measure that he arrived, he was having more or less a fun time of the event. A thought that caused a cursory smile to smooth across Lucius's features for a breif moment, before retuning to his wine. He spent most of his time at the celebration alone and near the small orchestra playing for all to hear, it was this place that seemed to fit his mood more. While he could enjoy the musical arrangement, their placement barley a stones throw away from the royals allowed for him to occupy his time with watching them. Only for a pretty young maid to catch his attention, stealing it away from time to time. As was usual with him in such occasions, knowing that such a distraction was always more interesting then the bureaucratically beating of chest.

Not more then a few minutes of being here did he already tire of the usual business that comes with this place. He had already forged one new relationship and destroyed two others in the process, but all was the same as before. In the end he would have to make good on several deals and bargain with another house to ensure that alliances would be kept. As the line of wine in his glass kept getting closer to the bottom, he would cast a glance back an forth across the great hall to ensure his notice of the other lords is taken.

It was then that he caught sight of Allister coming his way, most likely through the advent of a side door. The look on her face of calm surrender and the glaze she casually wiped from the edge of her mouth was a sign that she took a detour through the kitchen at some point. Allister was not the most typical of woman in Lucius's employ, being his right hand at most times gave her a powerful stance with the other houses within the kingdom. Though it was unsure of where she came from and how she became his steward, she was most obviously more then that to the people in the know.

She stood more then six feet tall herself and chose to dress more like a male counterpart then anything else. Her features were strong and narrow, with high cheek bones and very white skin. Someone accustomed to the fields she was not, but it was suspected that she came from the far north and her bright orange hair was another testament to this. However were it not for her facial features and her long singular braided hair. Many would mistake her for a rather effeminate man in the first place.

He looked on as she approached and spoke, placing herself to his ear "Everything is set and the men have been sent home my lord, would you like that I wait in the castle." Lucius took the last sip from his glass and gave her a rejecting gesture. "No, tonight is a celebration after all. Just go on about your own business and I will send for you if need be." Allister did not return with words, but simply nodded her head quickly. Causing the braid of her hair to swing wide, revealing a large silver ring that was looped with the end of the braid itself. She backed away before turning and disappeared in the same direction from whence she came.

Lucius was ready to break the ice with the royalty now and gave the empty glass to a passing waiter, primping himself, one final time. One could not chance of tainting a first impression and though he despised the idea of schmoozing it was a necessity and baiting gods with golden smiles and silver tongues, had somewhat become a favorable pass time for him. Though as he approached the young prince began to leave. Unfortunate was the thought that struck in Lucius's mind, of all the royals he believed him to be the most grounded by proxy alone. The amount of hearsay and testimony from other lords saying so, though such words can be just as easily made into conjecture.

He stepped his way up the ascension towards the King on his throne and gave a slight bow. "Your majesty, I would like to not only offer my praises for what is transpiring between the two kingdoms, but I have also come with an offer." The King weary of Lucius not only from prospect, but from knowledge of his reputation arches an eyebrow. Still the lead of curiosity's proverbial carrot was enough to entice him to edge the lord on with a nod and bade him continue. "My King having recently rebuilt my family home, it is not lost on me that it was rebuilt far larger then I could required all by myself."

"I simply suggest that if the royal family could have use for my hospitality, I would be oh so eager to give it."
He motions to the visiting royals as well and makes mention towards them "That hospitality is also extended to our friends from across the river as well. In all hopes of ensuring mutual bonds of friendship and cooperation." He gives a small bow to them as well when he speaks, looking back up to meet their individual gazes as he rises.