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Rosalina Seraphine Xairali

Youngest daughter.

0 · 723 views · located in The Two Kingdoms

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


Primadonna Girl - Marina and the Diamonds.
”I cant help that I want it all"

【 Full Name 】
Rosalina Seraphine Xairali

【 Nicknames 】

【 Age 】

【 Affiliation 】

【 Role 】
Youngest daughter

【 Gender 】

”Let us be grateful to the mirror for revealing to us our appearance only."

【 Height 】
5'5 || 165.10

【 Weight 】
130lbs || 58.967kg

【 Hair Colour 】
Platinum blonde

【 Eye Colour 】
Emerald green

【 Voice 】
Her voice is very sweet and innocent sounding in tone even enough to maybe have someone think she is kind for a short moment but as soon as she actually starts using words the mask of innocence is broken with her self-obsessed nature.


”If everybody likes you, you’re pretty dull.”[/center]

【 Likes 】
    Herself || She is incredibly self obsessed.
    Dancing || As a princess she is required to learn dancing and she has been dancing since she was old enough to walk she enjoys dancing at any time especially at balls and galas as she gets to be a center of attention.
    Singing || As a princess she is required to practice singing she has been singing since she was able to talk and even then she was humming as soon as she could make audible sound, she enjoys performing ballads in front of an audience.
    Dresses || She loves dressing up in all sorts of gowns and beautiful dresses the more elegant the better even if she is just wondering around the castle she will dress up to look her best.
    Attention || It is pretty obvious that she enjoys attention the thought of people watching and admiring her makes Rosalina smile and giggle to no limit she adores that people can look up to her and feel envious.

【 Dislikes 】
    Not getting what she wants || Rosalina has been very spoilt from a child since of course she is a princess but as she has grown up she has started to demand more unrealistic things and as she has always been given what she wants she gets extremely upset when she is denied.
    Work || She hates having to do anything that requires a fair amount of effort to be put in because doing work requires ruining her hard worked on appearance for the day the hours she spends on her hair,make up and dress.
    Being up staged || She cannot stand when people upstage her and take away her limelight since she wants to command the room and be able to have people adore her when someone else gets that attention she will start to become grumpy and annoyed.
    People with no manners || Since Rosalina has been brought up into a royal household when people do not respect the basic rules of etiquette she gets very annoyed when people do not follow the social graces that she is used to it makes her feel uneasy and she will quickly avoid anyone who proves to be uncouth.
    Animal abuse || She has a hatred for people who are mean and vile to animals she sees animals as wonderful creatures and anyone that would dare harm them must not be trusted as a nice person.

【 Skills 】
    Dancing || Description (Optional)
    Singing || Description (Optional)
    Sewing || Description (Optional)
    Etiquette || Description (Optional)
    Painting || Description (Optional)

【 Fears 】
    ⦿ Dying alone || Her want to find a perfect prince charming is so strong that one of her worst fears is that she will never find that Mr.Right and that she will be left alone by herself when her looks have left her and she is no longer a beautiful young girl. ⦿ Atelophobia || This is a fear of imperfection whether it be in her art,dancing,singing or herself she is absolutely terrified that perfection will not be able to be achieved she strives for it constantly and hates that she might never reach it.

Perfectionist|| || Confident || Creative || Passionate || Sophisticated || Tasteful || Youthful

”My past paints the pathway for my future"

【 History 】
0-5: From ages 0-5 she was guided by her leading lady in waiting who was Lady Jane Pesley, Lady Jane was very neat and tidy and she constantly would talk about what a perfect princess would be like how she would be graceful and elegant in every move she made and every task she performed. She would also project her personal thoughts on to the little princess Rosalina the most prominent being that a princess should be perfect and without flaw, till this very day Rosalina insists that she must be perfect to be able to be a princess and that anything less makes her not worthy of the position. Rosalina was a very quiet child, she didn't cry because she was told that crying meant ugliness since it scrunched up your face and made it look all red like a massive tomato, she would remain silent unless she was spoken to or giving orders to a ladies maid.

5-10: This is when Rosalina really came into her training to become what a model princess would be since she was still young and impressionable, she would continue to follow the footsteps of Lady Jane mirroring her moves and making sure she did everything just as she saw not leaving one detail out. This is how in the end she became so use to the etiquette as she would pay attention at the dinner table to the mannerisms that everyone else was showing, noticing that her mother was very much similar to how she saw Lady Jane. She would often feel more attached to her lead lady in waiting than her actual mother seeing as she was not often in contact with her except in social settings, where she would be more focused on gather the attention of the kingdoms subjects.

10-15: During her teenage years Rosalina began to master her skills and during the timely death of her treasured ladies maid she worked even harder to perfect who she was in honour of the woman who had raised and mentored her. Also being that she had demanded that her ladies maid be given a royal burial to signify how important she was to Rosalina, and even going as far as to insisting that she be given a spot in the royals cemetery so that they may meet again with in the afterlife. During the period where she mourned Rosalina would seclude herself so that she would have even more time to perfect her talents, but after realising that she was failing Jane by not performing her duties as a princess she through herself out into the social scene in the hopes that she would prove herself a perfect princess by finding the perfect prince.

15-20: This is the behaviour of the current day Rosalina she has practised and polished herself she feels as though there is still more to improve but at the moment people can still adore the person she is currently, not to mention that she intends so much more for herself and the kingdom whether she has to demand it or hire someone to do it for her! Rosalina despite her dislike for putting in effort is a very driven girl if she is passionate enough about the task at hand and even though she is a handful she very much wishes to connect with people and find her prince.

”I will force this world to change."

::Writer note I apologise if the code is a little off I am still a beginner but I tried my best.::

So begins...

Rosalina Seraphine Xairali'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: [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

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 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: 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 ❤

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

"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.”

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 ❤

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: 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.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Aislin Serafaena Anarane Character Portrait: Elizabeth Kashatir Character Portrait: Zandyr Kashatir Character Portrait: Rosalina Seraphine Xairali
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#, as written by Taunbon

"It is my name day today! Nothing ever really happens on it, but I got a present this year! Tullin, one of the cooks, gave me a small apple cake!" - Twelve

'I am never going to obtain that piece of cloth...' that lone thought floated around in his mind, wandering aimlessly in the fog of his vacant mind caressing the barriers. The dull, throbbing pain in the back of his mind pulsed sending waves of pain throughout his fog clouded mind each new wave of stabbing pain pushing the fog further and further back; the fog receding at the assault. Through pain, his mind was clearing to a large amount of deep ruby red.

Zandyr's long lashes descended as he tried, once more, to blink away the dulling pain and get a grasp of his surroundings. It seemed that color was going to be the death of him. Crimson was going to spell his doom, and he could only hazard that, someday, he would be buried in that color. Those startlingly ruby eyes traced his face, and he could almost feel the heat from the sheer intensity they held. His own far more mundane hazel eyes traced her face even as he felt her gaze running over his. Her puzzled unblemished, heart-shaped face was inches away, her full, red lips inches away from his own. Her luscious crimson hair spilling around his head, a curtain cutting them off from the outside world and secluding him into their own private world. He could feel her shallow, warm breaths caressing his face, tickling the small hairs that had sprung up along his jaw since the morning, but it was those eyes. Those shockingly ruby adorned eyes that caught his attention once again. Even now, pinned under her, her small body wrapped in his arms, her small breast pushing against his chest and her hips sitting too comfortable between his own, fitting so well that not even the garish dress could hide it did not take away from the unnatural allure and forbidden promises that lay within those eyes of hers.

Whatever issue he had with her or this mockery of a gathering could not take away from his begrudging admittance that her eye's were startling beautiful. His pain-dulled mind seemed to have abandoned him as he couldn't think of a single witty thing to say, in fact, his mind had stopped entirely. Zandyr was not aware his hand was moving until his elbow moved over that insidious crack in the crystal floor, but it seemed his treacherous hand wanted to brush back that deeply crimson hair that acted as a curtain to their secret world, their hidden moment, but as what seemed to be a running theme, she was quicker then him.

Her small hands used his chest as a spring board pushing out what air he had managed to breath in and a sharp, intense pain exploded between the fork in his legs as her knee found its way there by 'accident'. The air left his lungs in a stifled grunt as Zandyr fought to control the pain, to overcome the desire to hold his wounded pride and wither upon the ground for such a thing was unsuitable for a crown prince. If he wasn't fighting the urge to display his pain in a childish display of rolling and swearing, he would have been minorly impressed in her ability to stand up so fast despite being weighed down by the garish dress.

The high pitched scream of indignation and oh, so familiar voice snapped him out of his pain, allowing his mind to push it all away with practiced ease. A chill rand down his spine at the voice of Lady Vigdis, how dare you. That line was one Zandyr had heard repeated to him more then a few times. His shoulders sagged even as he pushed himself to his feet, standing straight, head lowered, despite the pain in the back of his mind, the much sharper pain in the fork of his legs, and his pants clinging to his legs from the drying wine. The force of repetition forced his head lower, his hazel eyes falling to the floor as he waited for the Lady to tear into him once more for his mistakes. His mind never made the connection that it could have been Aislin that was the target.

At his father's fake laugh, Zandyr lifted his head to meet his father's eyes, noting out of the corner of his eye that the other nobles had stood up, no doubt hoping to get a better view of the spectacle unfolding before them. He could only imagine how excited the servants were as their expectations for juicy gossip was met, and perhaps, exceeded.

His fathers tone, the way he said boy... once more... caused an involuntary flinch as if he had been struck. It wasn't the word that caused it, Zandyr was always boy. His father had never once deigned to call him by any other name, but it was the way he said it. He pictured the other nobles hearing the scorn, but Zandyr could almost hear a note of triumph in his father's voice as if he was secretly relishing this slip-up by his crown prince. It... surely it was not the case. He was imagining it. Surely.

Zandyr did not reply, nor answered, he merely lowered his head slightly as he wasn't meant to speak. His father had never intended for him to reply, merely take the beratement with silence and to salvage what dignity he had remaining. Through concentrated and practiced effort he managed to hide the second insult his father threw in. His two tolerable children. He, was not even tolerable? After everything, he was not even tolerable? No, it was a jest. Yes, a barbed jest at his expense but a jest. He was being childish to as assume the worst in a comment.

Ignoring the way his pants were clinging to his skin, Zandyr moved forward and slid back into this chair, not sparing his dearly beloved a second glance as he sought to salvage what was left of his reputation and pride.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Aislin Serafaena Anarane Character Portrait: Zandyr Kashatir Character Portrait: Rosalina Seraphine Xairali Character Portrait: Ildantxhe Anarane
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Characters Present

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

A stream of violet parted the monochrome earth of the large room to settle before the 'King on the Glass Throne.' Aegnor spared the noble's gifts a cursory glance before dismissing the wiry figure and Aislin acknowledged then that the Xirali men possessed greater beauty than most of their women, whose jewels gleamed so viciously they obscured the wearer. Her glare found the shadow the Butcher had retreated into and her lips found each other as they settled into a firm line of disapproval. The Prince gave his father no protest, choosing instead to tuck his tail between his legs and settle in some forgotten corner like a well-trained dog. "A true prince," others would say, but she called him a coward.

Aislin had ignored the cry of the trumpet as it sounded again, the words that followed coalescing into a gurgling mess atop the drunken roars, and thus had failed to hear her brother's arrival. She scrambled upright where she'd been sitting when a disheveled Ildantxhe appeared before the kings, chair toppling onto the polished floor. Her eyes widened as they darted from the weary strands of hair that escaped its restraints in narrow coils to the blood splattered across his tunic.

"Papi!" she gasped, her nails sinking into her palms as the words spilled from her lips in a whispered staccato, all pre-tense of formality slipping from them. "Can't you see he's hurt?" The King ignored her as he continued to address his son, the warm chestnut brown of his eyes withering into the dark hues of burnt wood.

Her body lurched forward and fell over the raised dais with a profound thunk that sent ripples of horror through the watching masses. She nearly knocked the Crown Prince of Ezea off his feet as she crashed into him, gripping his biceps and shoving him backwards into a small blonde clad in pristine white. The youngest child of Anarane hardly registered her Kashatir counterpart as she manoeuvred her brother behind the giggling nymph etched into an alabaster pillar and through the nearest archway, pressing him firm against the cool stone. Her sinewy arms found his waist as she moulded herself to his body. "You made it," she mumbled against his chest. The sharp tang of blood scraped her nostrils and she drew back, staring at the blood that blossomed at in patches across his chest and stomach. Her relief melted quickly into a frantic worry that bubbled into fury at his utter stupidity.

Aislin frisked him from head to toe, hurtling criticisms and expletives no woman of any rank should should know. Any wounds he might've had were systematically prodded and any aching joints jostled. What bruises he lacked were made as she bared the collar of his shirt to stare at a smudge of metallic paint, slapping the hard muscle that joined his neck to shoulder when she saw it was not his.

"What in Raena's name were you doing, camel hind?" she growled. "Cleaving an army of wild boars? You look like a buttered mongrel laid victim to emaciated beasts in a Jelian bathhouse on a new moon! Where were you? Do you know the time it is? Are you in any pain? How many were there? What happened to you? Why didn't you defend yourself? How did you get here? Where is the carriage? What happened to your guards? Father was livid- I thought- Boots- He even- Prince- Find- Walking- You- Eggs- Eel dance!" The thoughts came faster than her lips could move as she subjected Ildantxhe to her unintelligible lectures, chest heaving as she gasped for air between the running sentences.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Aislin Serafaena Anarane Character Portrait: Zandyr Kashatir Character Portrait: Rosalina Seraphine Xairali Character Portrait: Ildantxhe Anarane
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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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"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.