the darkest part of the woods; advanced roleplay discussion
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| True Name | Robin |
| Physical Age | 20 | Actual Age | 2209 |
| Face Claim | Federico Massaro |
| Fae Imperfection |
Pucks canine teeth appear longer and more pointed than any mortals teeth should be.
| Biography |
Puck was born in the Spring lands, to a family of wild fae. The last of the wild fae, before the Princes hunted the down the wild fae forcing them into courts. Pucks family was one of tricksters. They were known for the tricks they played on mortals, on other fae. No one trusted the last of the wild fae, and fae like Puck made sure they never would. His child hood was spent all over the known world, spreading chaos and mischief. He couldn't stay in one place for to long, that was far to dangerous.
People don't like someone else getting the better of them. He personally has tricked every Prince into something that they never wanted. The Spring Prince had been the easiest, the arrogant prick had barely even bothered checking to see if the gift Puck had given him was actually a gift. Puck excelled at what he did, playing with mortals and fae alike.
When he arrived at court everyone knew why he was there, to spread mischief and chaos. He'll joke that the two are his best qualities. Well he spent centuries trapezing across the four courts and the lands beyond, until he insulted one to many people. He angered the fae king of the undersea, tricked him into marrying all his daughters to a fish. Not his best work but it pressed the right buttons.
He fled the sea, to the courts and pleaded his case to each prince. He had tricked them all to many times, played with them and their courts and so summer, autumn, and winter all turned him away. They'd Laughed at his misfortune, the trickster you had played to many tricks. He didn't expect anything different from the spring prince, he'd made that male look as much of a fool as he did the rest. So when he begged for protection he fully expected to be turned away again. All the others had why wouldn't Connall?
So when he was given asylum, he hardly believed his own ears. Of course there was some conditions. He would join Connall's court as the trickster, the jester, the entertainment. He could never again play his tricks on those under Connall's protection. Though that wasn't all, Connall saw the opportunity his fellow princes didn't. Puck had made fools out of every single one of them, what was to stop him from doing it to them again. He saw a way to keep his other princes on there toes, for with Puck spring had more than a couple tricks up it's sleeve.
| Personality |
Puck is always laughing at some personal joke, a frown has never crossed his handsome feature. He thinks people take everything to seriously, for what is life without laughs. Boring and completely worthless in his opinion. So he fully intends to laugh his way to death. The crueler the joke the more he will laugh, and the more he laughs the crueler his jokes become.
No one is safe from his tricks, well at least most aren't safe. He'll think up some prank or joke in seconds after meeting someone, finding their exact pressure points that will make their downfall as amusing as possible. He doesn't care for anyone enough for them to be truly safe from him, for their is always something worth laughing about in a person. Their flaws, their fears, anything that can be exploited will be. Most tend to keep away from him, and his mocking laughter.
Though there is always some unfortunate soul that gets drawn in. Someone who get's caught up in the game, in his amused smile. The only person who seems to have any hold over him at all is the only one he won't dare cross, his prince, the only reason he isn't dead beneath the sea. He values his safety far more than he'll let on, and he won't allow his amusement to get in the way of it.
Life is full pleasures, an immortal should have time try them all no? Puck is always finding his boredom growing and he tries new things to keep himself excited, it his own drug. Without it, he isn't him. He has an eternity to live and he intends to dance and sing to sunset and feast with abandon. Without excitement why is he even alive?
| Miscellaneous Information |
Puck is always looking to sow chaos and mischief, to alleviate his boredom. He's always thing up some scheme or another, most of which are never actually carried out but he likes to have back up plans.
| Playlist |
Come Along - Cosmic Sheldrake
The Wolves and the Ravens - Rogue Valley
Blood//Water - grandson
Mod
Puck is amazing.... I can't wait to see him in action... I wonder how he would interact with Pandora....
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Mod
((Sorry, I know Sebastian and my last character have not been as good as my characters usually are. My next ones will be better.))Sebastian J. Wells - Part One
Name: Sebastian John Wells
Nicknames: Seb, Bastian
Age: 26
Gender: M
Species: Human
Court: Spring Court
Appearance: Sebastian’s curly, light brown locks normally tumble about his head in a messy fashion like he just awoke from a restless slumber, and he usually makes no effort at all to tame it into any kind of presentable shape. His eyes are rich, dark hues of chestnut brown with a couple specks of dusty brown in each iris, and his height is roughly 5’11, making him among the shortest of his brothers. He has a slightly softer face than the angular, sharp ones of his siblings, but he does possess a broad forehead, high albeit smooth cheekbones, medium-sized ears, and a defined jawbone. Fortunately, he has been blessed with a perfectly straight, Greek nose, long, ebony eyelashes that any girl would envy, and smooth, sunkissed skin. While his complexion is far from ever being considered velvety, it remains significantly softer and more even than that of any of his other siblings, though they refer to it as the curse of the white collars (despite the fact that Sebastian is not one). He has a moderately muscled build with an elongated neck and wide shoulders, and his back and arm muscles are clearly the most defined. His calves and abdominal muscles are evident as well, but the rest of his muscles are either unnoticeable or not defined at all. His hands and fingers are slender with short, neatly clipped fingernails, but the skin on his hands differs from the rest and is rough and calloused from the forge, gardening, and other manual labor. As for his feet, they are average for his height and weight, and his toenails are always kept short. He possesses no birthmarks, and the only scars on his body are on his hands and shoulders. He also has a small tattoo on the underside of his right forearm with his siblings’ initials: J, J, W, and M.
Sebastian’s clothing is nothing extravagant or impressive. Most of his clothes are worn or at the very least, plain. When he works in his herb garden or mixes medicines, he wears cotton trousers in light and neutral colors, though most of his pairs of pants have mismatching patches of cloth on the legs where his sister or one of his aunts have had to mend holes and tears. He also dons his plainer shirts, some of which have calico or other patterned patches from repair jobs as well, and white, stained smocks or aprons over his clothes help to protect his trousers and shirts from chemical and herbal spills. In addition, he has leather tool belts fastened around his waist with gardening tools and other, useful items for mixing herbs and medicines, and his copper-colored, leather boots with brass buckles are his preferred shoes. However, he owns lighter, plainer shoe wear as well. When he isn’t tending to his herb garden or doing other messy work, he wears button-down shirts and normal belts along with the cleanest pair of trousers with the least amount of patches he can find.
Personality: Sebastian is a quiet-mannered and polite person. He is typically very laid back and relaxed to the point that some people have mistaken his attitude for indifference or apathy. This makes little difference to him, but if someone were to say that he didn’t care about his occupation, then the passion that lurks beneath his mellow, outer shell becomes evident. The truth is, Sebastian cares immensely about several things in his life, and chief among them are his family and job. He just doesn’t usually act like it and tries to be as flexible as possible, giving off the vibe that nothing much matters to him. In reality, he acts that way because he cares about others and desires to do what he can to accommodate the people that he loves in his life, even if it means going out of his way or rearranging his schedule despite any inconveniences he may cause for himself.
Around most people, he is not overly talkative, and over the years he has had to learn how to make the minimum amount of conversation necessary when he is with a patient. Bedside manner, however, was the most difficult for him to master. He is not by nature an especially articulate or comforting person, and at times he accidentally says the wrong thing, which makes things worse instead of helping them. However, he is an exceptionally good listener since he prefers to say fewer words. Around his family and very close friends, he is much easier to have a discussion with and talks considerably more, willing to converse about even the most inane things if it means being with his siblings or cousins or uncles and aunts. He is oftentimes more concerned about the quantity of time spent with his family than the quality.
While Sebastian is not a perfectionist like some of his other family members (namely his father and sister among others), he handles stress and pressure just as well, if not better. Being a dependable and responsible person, he also is in possession of good time management skills and a strong work ethic. He has never needed anyone else to tell him to do things, and he has no issues with self-motivation. He does all this quietly, not usually flaunting his better traits. Nothing about him has ever been ostentatious or attention-seeking. He prefers to just go about his work with his head down, only truly opening up around his siblings, cousins, and favorite uncle.
Family:
Father: Frederic Wells
Mother: Clara Wells (deceased)
Brother: Jean Wells
Brother: Johannes Wells
Brother: Wolfgang Wells
Sister: Mia Wells
Uncle: Robert Weiss
Uncle: Joseph Wells
Aunt: Maria Anna Wells
Cousin: Felix Wells
Cousin: Maurice Wells
Cousin: Georges Wells
Uncle: Richard Wells
Aunt: Francesca Wells
Cousin: Claude Wells
Cousin: Christian Wells
Occupation: Apothecary
History: Sebastian was born the third of five children to his parents, Frederic and Clara Wells. He was one of the more reserved siblings, even from a young age, but he was just as happy to be running after his two older brothers, Jean and Johannes, on their make-believe adventures. Although he wasn’t as loud and hyper as Johannes, he didn’t enjoy being left alone while his father worked in the forge and his mother completed the more strenuous household chores. Being the eldest, Jean was usually in charge of Sebastian and the other siblings, and he led most of their pretend games despite the continual attempts of Johannes to depose him from his imaginary throne. Most of their games revolved around slaying evil dragons, killing kings, destroying wicked sorcerers and fiends, and sailing the high seas on pirate ships. Jean most often was the courageous army general or the cunning pirate captain or the good-hearted king of a crumbling kingdom or the resourceful expedition leader, and Johannes typically played the extraordinarily strong soldier, the audacious knight, or the fierce first mate to Jean’s wily pirate captain. Sebastian was sometimes a soldier, a lowly messenger, a squire to Johannes’s knight, or second mate on their imaginary pirate ship. Jean had chosen the name Blue Phantom for the pretend sea vessel, although Johannes had campaigned hard for many ridiculous-sounding titles. Up until that point, Jean had made most of the decisions unless he could be persuaded to change his mind, but Sebastian didn’t mind much. He didn’t share Johannes’s penchant for arguing and admired Jean too much to ever enter into any disputes over their games. Besides, as long as he didn’t do anything irritating or severely mess up Jean’s plans, his eldest brother let him play his characters however he wanted. But when they had to decide what to name the pirate ship, Johannes whined and complained about how unfair it was that they couldn’t all choose the name. Finally Jean became fed up with the incessant complaints and let the three of them take a vote. Jean voted for Blue Phantom, and Johannes voted for his own title of course, leaving Sebastian as the tie-breaker. In actuality, Sebastian didn’t have a strong preference for either choice, and Jean wouldn’t allow him to nominate his own title since there wouldn’t be a winner that way. In the end, he voted for Jean’s name, probably more out of respect and loyalty to his eldest brother than anything else, and from then on, the pirate ship was always called Blue Phantom.
When Sebastian’s younger brother, Wolfgang, was born, he was happy not to be the youngest anymore. Once Wolfgang was old enough to join their games, he wouldn’t have to play the parts of messenger boys and other similar roles any longer, and everyone else in the family would stop treating him like a baby all the time. Maybe Jean would finally let him do more than just hand him hammers and screwdrivers while he, Johannes, and their uncle, Robert, built a mock pirate ship in their small backyard. Not everything Sebastian hoped for ended up happening, but he didn’t get treated like the baby of the family anymore and got to play more important parts in their games once Wolfie was old enough to participate, which wasn’t even a year after he was born. Of course, being less than a year old, Wolfgang couldn’t do much, and sometimes Sebastian felt more like his little brother’s babysitter than the learned, wise enchanter he was supposed to be playing. But at least he didn’t have to be a servant or a messenger boy or anything else of the sort in their games anymore. As most boys do, they played rough with each other. Johannes in particular showed little mercy to either Sebastian or Wolfgang despite their young ages. At the time Sebastian never wondered why his mother allowed Wolfie to play with them since at least one of the boys routinely got hurt while they played, but much later he realized she probably didn’t have the time to entertain Wolfgang all day between working and taking care of the house.
The youngest of Sebastian’s siblings arrived a few years after Wolfgang. The entire family had been expecting another boy, but instead Sebastian’s mother delivered a little girl, smaller than the other children had been when they were born. She was named Josefina, though the family usually preferred to call her Mia, her middle name. At first, Sebastian’s father would not allow Mia to play with him and their brothers. Frederic told the boys that they played too roughly and might hurt their little sister, and though Sebastian was disappointed, he followed the example of Jean, who promptly obeyed and left the matter alone. The brothers kept on playing their imaginary games, and Sebastian got to act out more interesting and important roles the older he got. Sometimes he took breaks to play quietly with Mia, hoping she would soon be old enough to join him and their brothers. Even though Johannes teased him for helping and entertaining their sister, he continued to do it anyways in attempt to demonstrate to his father that he could be gentle with Mia.
When Mia was four years old, significantly older than Wolfie had been when he started playing along in their imaginary ventures, Sebastian again approached his father to ask if Mia could participate, but to his dismay, Frederic denied his request. Feeling rejected and hurt, Sebastian went to Jean, unable to comprehend why his father wouldn’t allow his sister to play with them altogether. He would never do anything to harm Mia. Hadn’t he proven that he could be trusted around his baby sister? Indeed, even his mother permitted him to watch over Mia and put her down for naps. He relayed all this to his eldest brother, hoping for an ally. Jean was reluctant, but Sebastian added that Mia would be able to play the damsel in distress or the queen, which was enough to win his brother over.
Sebastian J. Wells - Part TwoHistory cont'd: Frederic trusted Jean the most out of the children, and it was no secret that Sebastian’s oldest sibling was his favorite. Consequently, Jean had the most pull with their father. But Frederic was still not to be persuaded, and Jean informed Sebastian and their other brothers that their father thought it wouldn’t be right for Mia to be roughhousing with them even after Jean had tried to assure him that they would play gently with her. But their father had decided, so that was that.
However, some years later when Sebastian was assisting Captain Jean and First Mate Johannes in holding a naval captain’s ship hostage, Mia burst into the backyard and demanded to be included. Johannes and Wolfie both shooed her back inside, but as it turned out, that was only one of many similar occurrences. No matter how many times they shoved her away, she continued to return and pester them until finally they let her play with them. The few times their father happened on them all together in the yard were unpleasant, but Sebastian at least did not bear the brunt of Frederic’s rebukes. That was the birthright of Jean. Still, the brothers could not manage to be rid of the littlest sibling, but ultimately it was for the best.
Sebastian’s mother became ill. It wasn’t threatening at first, and Clara was still able to manage several of the household duties, although the more strenuous tasks fell to Sebastian and his brothers. But after a time, his mother’s condition grew worse to the point where she was confined to bed. Sebastian, his father, and his older brothers slaved away day and night at the family forge, attempting to create a blade perfectly balanced and rivaled by none in elegance and beauty to trade for an enchantment that would heal Clara. While Wolfgang, Mia, and their Aunt Maria Anna took care of Clara, Sebastian assisted his father and older brothers in any way he could, mostly handing them tools and making sure the fires were hot enough. Jean and Johannes had already been trained in the basics by their father and were able to help with the actual creation of the blade that would soon be a work of art, but Sebastian had not been taught enough yet to be adequately competent in skill or knowledge. When the broadsword was completed, it was indeed a work of art, perhaps one of the best pieces to ever emerge from the flames of the Wells’ forge. Sebastian’s father along with Jean had no difficulty finding a buyer and returned home with a glass vial halfway full of amethyst liquid. The potion was immediately administered to Sebastian’s mother, and the next day, she was on her feet again and steadily recovering. Sebastian spent part of the day in the forge being instructed by his father while Jean and Johannes worked on their own, but in the evening he was free to talk to his mother and help her prepare the evening meal.
All was well for the time being, but Clara’s health started to deteriorate rapidly only a few days after she had seemingly regained her strength. After two days of being bedridden and drifting in and out of consciousness, she passed away. Sebastian refused to leave her side and was grasping her hand in his little one as she drew her final breath to tell him she loved him. He was devastated beyond measure, not able to believe that she had truly left this world at first. He called out to her, squeezed her hand, and prodded her arm, crying all the while and hoping that she had only slipped into another bout of sleep, but Maria Anna heard the commotion and held a mirror under Clara’s nose. No fog appeared, but Sebastian would not permit his aunt to drag him out of his parents’ bedroom. Instead, Maria Anna departed hurriedly to fetch Sebastian’s father and inform him of the grave news.
There was little time to play after the passing of Clara. Sebastian’s father kept him and his brothers busy sweating in the forge until dusk, and even Wolfie had no choice but to tag along and begin training as an apprentice sometimes, leaving Mia and Maria Anna to tend to the house and chores. In the late evenings, Jean corralled Sebastian and their other siblings into the living room or the yard to continue their make-believe adventures, even including Mia voluntarily. Unfortunately, Sebastian’s little sister was not satisfied being the kidnapped princess and aimed to oust Jean from his position as pirate captain. Her campaign was ultimately very unsuccessful against Jean’s sly ploys, and Sebastian and Wolfie both sided with their eldest brother. However, nearly all of the siblings except Mia were of the opinion that Jean still would have won if it had only been him and Sebastian or him and Wolfie pitted against the remaining three siblings. Even Johannes reluctantly agreed with the majority, having learned by now that Jean was the most intelligent sibling, though he still had a habit of pushing the boundaries as much as possible. Sebastian’s father hardly minded when Mia played with them; he was far too busy with work and convincing Maria Anna to stay longer.
Their aunt was married to one of Frederic’s younger brothers, Joseph, and though she lived nearby, she had three boys of her own (Felix, Maurice, and Georges) to look after. Before Clara passed away, Sebastian’s cousins had visited every now and then, but once his mother was gone, they came over much more often to see Maria Anna and to help her and Mia around the house or Frederic in the forge. Felix assisted Jean, Johannes, and Sebastian at the smithy and caught on swiftly while Maurice and Georges took on the more administrative portion of the work. Sebastian ended up liking Felix; his older cousin made the forges a more enjoyable place to work with his goofy antics and harmless pranks, and the smithy was not Sebastian’s favorite place to be. He didn’t interact with Maurice or Georges much since they managed the porch where contracts were negotiated and commissions were made, but Wolfie and Mia spent a large amount of time with them. Wolfie preferred to help the younger cousins because he could lounge about on the rockers and couches on the porch without doing a lot of strenuous work, and Mia joined them when she managed to escape Maria Anna’s watchful gaze and endless household chores.
Sebastian ultimately became the one responsible for teaching Mia forge safety. She wandered into the building on a frequent, multi-daily basis, and both Sebastian and Jean were worried she might cause an accident and hurt someone or herself. Johannes was less concerned since he thought avoiding getting burned was common sense, but he complied and went along with it anyway, assisting Sebastian and Jean in keeping an eye on the youngest sibling. Luckily they never really had to worry about Wolfgang. He was mostly repulsed enough by the heat and hard work to even go anywhere near the door, which Sebastian was thankful for. It was too distracting already just taking care of Mia, and he had nearly burned himself once. After that, Felix and Johannes started barricading the door when Frederic wasn’t around to keep Mia out. She practically threw a fit and pleaded with Sebastian to be let in, but he ignored her, not wanting to risk burning his hand or something worse happening.
After another month, Maria Anna returned to her own home, though she still visited often. Sebastian saw less of Maurice, but Felix and Georges remained at the forge as they were before. The house was in a static state of disarray, and Wolfie often had to be sent home to help Mia with the chores, fetching Maurice to replace him at the “front office” porch on the way to the house. Occasionally Sebastian went instead if there was not as much work to be done, but it was a rare occurrence. Meals were infrequent and at odd times of the day whenever time could be spared to cook something simple, though after the first few times Mia cooked, Sebastian started taking sandwiches to the forge instead of jogging home for lunch. He couldn’t think of a kind way to describe his sister’s cooking; it was just terrible, but it did improve the more she practiced. Fortunately, the brother of Sebastian’s mother moved in with them a few weeks after Maria Anna departed, and things around the house at least got better. Uncle Robert proved to be much better in the kitchen than Mia and ended up doing most of the cooking once this was discovered. He liked to gripe about it to Sebastian, but he knew his uncle enjoyed being in the kitchen, especially if the alternative was doing the laundry in yard with Mia and the youngest cousin, Christian. Robert also divided up the household tasks and assigned weekly jobs to everyone, including himself. Sebastian, Jean, Johannes, and Felix were responsible for the fewest chores since their days were spent almost entirely at the forge completing commissions and a few, personal projects on the side, and Robert and Mia were responsible for the brunt of the work along with the children of Frederic’s youngest, gallivanting brother, Claude and Christian.
Richard Wells decidedly did not inherit the Wells work ethic. He travelled all over spring often, leaving his wife and two children alone to figure out ways to support themselves, and never missed a revel, equinox, or any other celebration. He was unfaithful to Francesca, his wife, and was the laziest person Sebastian had ever had the misfortune of meeting. As a result, Sebastian’s father sent small portions of the forge’s earnings to Francesca to help her get by, and in return, she oft sent both her boys to help out at Sebastian’s home. The elder of the two was Claude, and Sebastian came to like him almost as much as he did Christian once Claude was earning his keep around the house. When they were younger, Sebastian hadn’t been very fond of him and thought he was annoying, but after the passing of Clara, Claude was considerably kinder to him and evidently the most vigorous rug-beater of the family.
Sebastian’s chores usually involved assisting Uncle Robert in the kitchen – especially once Felix and the rest of his cousins were constantly around the house and forge – tidying up his room, and weeding the garden with one of his siblings or cousins. If he had a choice, he preferred to do the latter most task with Jean or Felix, but both boys were normally off completing other tasks and would be too exhausted from the forge to help him afterwards, though Sebastian, being alongside them in the smithy himself, understood. Instead he was typically stuck with Mia or Wolfie, neither of whom were very hardworking or all that reliable.
Things trudged on in a nicely consistent rhythm for the next several years. Mia tried everything to intrude on their work in the forge, Sebastian crafted piece after piece after piece, Mia and Christian brought him, his brothers, Felix, and Georges sandwiches from Uncle Robert at noon every day, and somehow he made time while the sun was still out and about to tend to the garden. In the evenings, Uncle Robert taught him to read along with any of his other siblings and cousins who were willing to learn, and once he had adequate skill, he started reading anything he could get his hands on, which was usually nothing of much interest but still. It was something to read and better than nothing at all. He did, however, manage to find a book on herbs and other plants, and it fascinated him. He sold some of his personal creations from the forge and used his earnings to purchase seeds of plants from his books that interested him and enlisted the help of Claude and Christian to help take care of the garden while he was at the smithy. Uncle Robert encouraged his interest, sharing his vast knowledge of botany. Sebastian soon learned that his uncle had been an apothecary and subsequently possessed a wealth of information about medicine as well.
Sebastian J. Wells - Part ThreeHistory cont'd: To Sebastian, this was more interesting than being a blacksmith, and he spent more and more of his time asking his uncle questions and bothering the man until he showed Sebastian how to make some ointment or other.
When Sebastian announced that he planned on becoming an apothecary like Uncle Robert, his father was far from pleased. As a member of the Wells family, Sebastian was supposed to become a blacksmith. He had an obligation to the rest of the family and the forge, or so his father constantly reminded him. There was no choice as long as he lived under his father’s roof, so Sebastian acquiesced and slaved away at the forges as usual, although he never ceased increasing his medicinal knowledge. He just bothered Uncle Robert when his father was out of earshot.
The next few years flew by mainly uneventfully. The one memorable thing that happened was by no means pleasant. It was one of the rare times Sebastian got to spend the evening in town with Mia doing nothing besides enjoying the spring breezes and the smell of coming rain in the air. Mia skipped by his side, twirling and dancing around, and he rolled his eyes and shook his head at her silly movements, not bothering to warn her to look where she was going because there was no one else near enough. Accidentally, she tripped and went sprawling across the cobblestone, landing on top of the leather boot of a faerie. Immediately Sebastian moved to apologize for his sister, but he only got half the apology out of his mouth before he recognized the man before him. It was the same one who had bestowed his father with the potion that had ultimately killed his mother. Somehow he scrambled to get the rest of the apology out, but Mia dusted herself off and came to the same realization Sebastian had. Unfortunately, Sebastian saw the glimmer of recognition in her eyes too late, and his fearless sister demanded an explanation for what had happened to Clara. The faerie attempted to walk away and ignore her, but Mia was not to be spurned, not until he answered her. Her youthful spirit and energy was just behind or in front of him at every step and every turn, and she danced between each of Sebastian’s desperate attempts to catch her and carry her back home. Finally, the faerie was so put out with her that he answered, although it was not an answer that neither Sebastian nor Mia ever wanted to hear. Apparently, the potion he had traded for the Wells’ blade gave the recipient the energy of their youth for a few days but at a terrible price: death. Mia was angry, but the faerie was unapologetic and strode away, leaving a distraught girl in the arms of her equally disturbed brother.
Sebastian planned on remaining silent on the matter, but Mia was not to be consoled, eventually causing everyone to wonder what was wrong with her. The both of them had no choice but to relay the conversation they had with the faerie to Uncle Robert, their father, and their brothers. Maria Anna was also present as she had come over for a visit, and Felix was with her as well. The rest of their cousins were at home in their beds, although when Sebastian retired to his room later he would find Georges asleep and tangled up in his sheets.
When Sebastian was old enough and a sufficient amount of money from the forge saved up, he bought the supplies to build his own home next door. The project went along hideously slowly because he was still continuing to work in the forges, but Uncle Robert, Jean, Johannes, Wolfie, Felix, and Claude all helped whenever they had the time to spare. Once his home was finished, he moved the few belongings he owned into it and cultivated a large garden of herbs and other plants in the yard, planning to set up shop as an apothecary once the sprouts had grown. His father still disapproved of the idea, but Sebastian lived in his own house now. He was free to pursue whatever craft he wished, and the one he desired most of all was to grow his own plants and mix medicines. It didn’t take terribly long for him to become the most respected apothecary in town. He was the most skilled and knowledgeable, and somewhere along the line, his father held some sort of grudging respect for him, though Sebastian would never have known if Mia hadn’t told him some of the things she had overheard Frederic saying about him to customers of the family forge. Speaking of Mia, she had grown into a different creature after he had left, and she even worked in the forge, not just on the front porch with Georges and Wolfie like when they were kids. Sebastian hardly knew what to make of it, but both of them became good friends again, even closer than when they were children. It was a friendship he cherished more than anything, even more than being an apothecary. Of course, he was still very close with his other siblings and cousins and obviously Uncle Robert, who was always there to advise him if he needed it, and he was exceedingly grateful to have been blessed with practically everyone in his family. Just not Richard, though if there was no Uncle Richard, then he supposed there would be no Claude or Christian either. Oh, well. He loved his cousins too much to wish away his foolish uncle.
As far as mortal lives go, Sebastian’s has proceeded fairly unremarkably thus far. Really the only matter of any intrigue was his mother’s sudden passing, but with whispers and rumors of the faerie queen’s return to power, his life might suddenly become a lot more fascinating.
Other:
❝i'm so far behind i thought i was first❞
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kim jaeyoung . imperfection wings of pure white sprout from his back
fannar llewllyn has never been a people person, not spending time with
others and rather opting to spend his time training and reading throughout
his entire childhood. although he was seen as a very smart and capable
child, he never cared much for people and how they thought of him.
instead, he always felt like words couldn't matter less. this has led him to be
a person of few words himself. a very aloof person, fannar is very blunt if
asked anything and can be very sarcastic and dismissive. he is very
stubborn and extremely prideful, not one to depend on others and instead
preferring to solve things his own way, by himself. fannar has a very regal
appearance, showing his easily recognizable royal status. he has pale skin
and naturally black hair from his father. this coupled with a handsome
features and almost glowing black eyes has resulted in many people telling
him that he is very good looking, although his face is often showing a
disinterested scowl or raising of eyebrows in exasperation. when it comes
to clothing and style, fannar cares more about these things than one might
think. he refuses to be seen as classless and wouldn't be caught in anything
less than a perfect appearance, regardless of what he is doing.
Aja, Ace, Jade, Lin, Lain, etc.True Name: Acelin Jade Alain
Age: 18
Species: Human
Court: Inconsistent
DOB: February 20th
Sexuality: Panromantic asexual
Face Claim: Isabelle Fuhrman
Raven black hair that goes to below her shoulder blades, thick and wavy. Deep silver eyes she does her best to hide when interacting with people. 5’5” and 120 pounds.
Personality: Acelin is kind, gentle, caring, and easily concerns herself with other peoples well being. She will go out of her way to help others, whether it be solving a puzzle, or getting them something. She has sympathy galore and can understand people's difficult situation. She works hard, and is patient with those who need help, doing her best to help people grow and develop as living beings, and overcome weaknesses. If she knows she can do something to help, she will do her best to do it, and she won't stop until she is finished.
Acelin likes solitary hobbies. She likes to wander in places of nature, such as the gardens or woods in the kingdoms, as well as reading and writing. She can be found sometimes in the library doing this, but more often than not she does it outside.
But alas, this is only when she has been forgotten about. More often than not she is tasked with writing, painting, or drafting something for the fae. Although she find tremendous joy in those tasks, she has found her ordered work is much less heartfelt than that which she creates of her own volition, which she does in any spare moment she can find. Between teaching herself and keeping herself sane, Acelin has amassed a small and secret horde of poems, stories, paints, and drawings in a handful of sketchbooks. All her bigger works are for the fae, and she can only afford a light collection.
But these tokens of her soul are guarded with her life, and she keeps their existence as much of a secret as possible.
History: Acelin's mother, an infertile widow, offered her first born up to the fae when she went to ask for a promising marriage proposal from a certain man she fancied. She thought her infertility caused by a major accident would keep her from having to pay the fae back, trying to trick them. Eventually after not having paid them back, an unknown fae secretly bless her mother with fertility. By the time she gave birth she had forgotten about the deal, and could only watch as Acelin was taken away.
She was blessed as a quick learner, and was taught to read and write young. She was then taught by other humans how to draw and paint, and by the age of 5 she was being passed around by different fae people who wanted an artist to be able to do quick work.
The cycle would often go she was sold or gifted to a fae by another, and they would work her day and night painting and by commission for writing. The cycle would continue when her master was either given an offer they couldn't refuse, tired of her or her work, or just flat out didn't want to sell her work anymore.
She was taught early on why she was in this position, and she never held resentment against her mother, as much as she disliked her situation.
Mod
@Hailey
Since I'me trying to keep this an advanced rp I would greatly appreciate it if you added at least five more sentences to Ami's personality.
Welcome to the group and thanks for joining :)
l
lavinia is full of personality; fun loving, a bit kooky and full of life. she may often be seen as strange or unusual, but she doesn’t mind the side comments or second glances her way. another thing to take note of is her heart, she loves so dearly and loves so many people that she finds near and dear to her. she likes to go about her days with a bright aspect of life, wanting to make others’ days for the better. often, she sees the best of people, even if there’s little to be complimented on and trusts very easily. she’s a bit naive in that sense. either too smart or too naive, there’s no in between for her. she’s without doubt a feeling person; a person that takes comfort in expressing her emotions. she would also like to try to help other people with expressing their emotions if need be. unfortunately, she’s aware of the fact that not everyone can be the same way. sometimes, it can seem as if she’s being overbearing or too involved, but she means well through and through.
l
when you first see lysander, he's usually fighting something or somebody. never still, always moving, it may take you a while to notice but when you do it's always in your mind - he never makes a sound when he moves, not unless he wants you to hear him. he's often out at the night, especially when it's blisteringly hot, and you won't see him up and about before noon. his body language makes him seem older than he looks - of course, he is - and if you look into his eyes, if you look closely, you can see three-hundred years within them. lysander is smart and honest. he gets bored easily and is nearly always doing something new, or trying to, and loves the feeling of freedom more than anything. nicknamed nocturnal by some, he spends most of the night hours awake, sometimes staring at the sky, and adores the heat of the night. he's confident, sometimes too cocky, and never really creates a detailed plan for anything. instead, he follows his instincts and waits to see the adventure. lysander's loyal to a fault, especially to his subjects (and superiors) of the court. at times, he can get aggressive and when he gets angry, he either gets violent - well, more violent - or cold. a gifted liar and actor after three-hundred years of practice, whenever he gets insecure about something he lies his teeth off - examples including his age and family. his morals are... slightly skewed, he doesn't have any problems with stealing or the like, but most of the time he'll have good intentions.
c
cynthia nabozny . imperfection pointed ears hidden by her voluminous hair
cordelia was born at a time after the fall of the queen alongside her brother benvolio. the two were trained in the art of fighting soon after they took their first steps. a childhood of toys and magic was out the window because their mortal mother found their safety much more important than having fun. as one can assume, it took a while for cordelia to adopt the idea of anything less than strict schedules and training regimes when she first arrived at the courts. at the age of ten, she and benvolio already possessed the maturity level of young adults. with the help of their half-siblings and newfound friends, cordelia eventually began to warm up to the idea of fun and what it meant to truly smile and laugh. much of cordelia's personality today is shaped by the childhood she endured. bustling crowds make her uncomfortable and a lack of order puts her out of her comfort zone. her biggest weakness is that she falls victim to doubting herself and her decisions. this comes from her mother's incessant words saying that she always had room to be better. much has changed from the cold emotionless child cordelia once was but she is still very protective of those around her and fiercely stubborn. she can often time be found giving young fae the praise and acceptance that she hardly ever received as a child. she is still very honest and sometimes a little strict, but at the end of the day, she is sure to let even the runt of the pack know that they did well. cordelia still sometimes struggles with fae culture, but she always tries her best to improve and fit in within the courts, mortal body and all.
b
nick pervak . imperfection claw like nails on both of his hands
benvolio isn't known to be the nicest, most open person in the world. he's quite the opposite of both. shocking. in the early years of his life, he felt free and grew up just as a normal kid would. it wasn't until around the age of five when his mother started to come down more onto the twins, more importantly, ben. when benvolio first arrived at court, it was safe to say that his childhood shaped the boy he was then. emotions were not common to ben, except those of the negative nature such as anger, pain, and hate. to have seen benvolio in a happy, or tolerable mood, is often uncommon, though it happened more than he would probably have liked to admit. in the more present times, he tries to leave behind the thoughts of his childhood and the way he was "raised" to behave, but a lot of it sticks with him, whether he likes it or not. ben has come quite a ways from the day he first arrived at court to now. the thought of letting someone in still bothers him, but he tries. no matter his feelings, if he cared for someone as a friend, or rare case more than that, he would do anything in his power to protect them and keep them safe. benvolio was born in the winter court alongside his twin sister cordelia. the two are fraternal twins, meaning they don't look alike but the two share quite a few of the same defining personality and phyiscal traits. from the day they could walk they were taught how to fight and defend themselves. their childhood was far from normal, though benvolio constantly wished it was. whether it was phyiscal or verbal, the twins grew up fighting each other. healthfully and respectfully, of course. around their 13th birthday the two twins were brought to the courts by their mother. once they arrived in the spring kingdom, their mother wasted no time in taking them to court and prince. her reasoning behind her decision was unknown to the twins, and still is till this day. they both grew up knowing about their half-fae heritage so why they were taking to court at that time was confusing for them, mainly benvolio.
Template made by the lovely fiendE I R A A D A L W U L V
Acelre Shrarozrash
[ e ] ven for the Winter Courts, Eira is a unique beast. She is not often seen around the physical courts, preferring instead to roam the woods alone, hunting for herself to survive. She comes to court when summoned, but doesn't speak much, simply watching the goings on with a predatory alertness, ready to fight or flee at a moment's notice.
With her unconventional housing and upbringing, she as seen as almost feral by the other more formal, uptight fae. She wears leathers and furs, carries antlers from animal hunting trophies and rings as human and fae hunting trophies. Most know of her by reputation, but few know specifics, leaning to most simply referring to her as Wolf or Hunter, of course implied by the wild company she keeps and the wolf pelts she wears. Many grew up with the legend of the wild wolf hunter, staying in the forests but loyal as a dog to the prince.
She doesn't exactly do anything to stop the rumors of her being as feral as a wild wolf, and why would she? She is frequently underestimated by those who laugh at her reputation. She lets them laugh, and when the time comes, she proves herself. With all the instincts of a predator and the knowhow to use it, she is incredibly smart. Not in anything like book smarts, but in fighting, in battle, in hunts, and in the wild her knowledge is unmatched. There is a vicious intelligence behind those cold wolf eyes of hers, and she doesn't hesitate to use it to defend herself or her court.
At her core she is, after all, a hunter. A predator. Whether her prey is deer or man, she pursues with a relentless savagery, intent on her kill. When there is a fugitive that isn't enough to warrant a full Wild Hunt, but still needs captured, Hunter is the one they send after him. She has an uncanny ability to track, and while she can use that to find the best wild prey, she can also use it to track down her more human quarry. With the preference for a spear and an axe as her weapons, few stand a chance to escape the mighty huntress.
with dark blue eyes and dark hair, and almost always warpaint, the hunter is a sight to behold. her teeth are sharp, like a wolf's, and on her left forearm seems to be a scar from a wolf bite - however, she was born with this mark. on her left hand, in the center of her palm, is a wolf paw print. her hair grows white, turning to black. in her true form, antlers rise from her head, truly showing the duality of hunting.
[ f ] rom the start, it was almost destined she be a hunter. With the antlers quickly sprouting from her head and the wolf mark on her arm and hand, it was clear that Eira had been born to inherit her father's position of the hunt master. And so, she was raised as such. Her parents raised wolves to hunt along side them, and Eira was quickly apart of the pack.
Her parents taught her to hunt and track, to be relentless. She was left in the woods with nothing but the wolves for company, made to track her own prey to survive and find her own way back home. As she grew older, she grew more skilled, and soon even the princes were aware of her, knew that one day, she would replace her father and be the one to hunt down their enemies.
Eventually, the time came, though far before anyone had expected it. Her father, beloved and trusted by the princes, betrayed them. He refused to hunt down a threat, a child rumored to be related to the queen. After all, it was only a child. He was instantly considered a threat, and he went on the run with the child. Then, it was Eira's turn to step forward.
Her mother begged her not to, to refuse her destiny and not take the title. But it was all Eira had been raised to do. She had been raised to hunt, and to obey the princes. And so, she did. She took her title and hunted down her father and the young child he protected. She was the one who struck the final blow, impaling her father with a spear and dispatching the child, removing the potential threat to the princes. It was later proven the child had no relation to the former queen and was just a child, but the deed was done.
Her mother was sentenced to death for daring to try and protect her husband, and she ran as well, perhaps not truly believing Eira would dare go after her. Of course, she was wrong. Eira and her wolves hunted down her mother, with the wolves tearing her apart. Rumors say that the wild-hearted Eira tore her mother apart with the wolves, but in truth, she simply didn't stop the beasts.
Of course, this grew her feral reputation. However, she was the newest hunt master in centuries, given that her father had held the position for so long, and many doubted her. They were swiftly proven wrong. She may have been short when directing other members of the hunt, but she was very good at it and a brilliant tactician.
The first official hunt she led, after her parents of course, one of her men was tackled off his horse. Not ready for an attack so abruptly, Eira was without weapons, but leapt to his defense. When their prey pinned her instead, she utilized her wolf's teeth to tear out his throat. She gained a fearsome reputation, and the respect of the hunters.family : mother - deceased ; father - deceased
friends : open
infatuations : open
Ari F. Melamed - Part OneName: Ari Feivel Melamed
Nicknames: Lion, Fei
True Name: Eliyahu
Physical Age: 20
Actual Age: 876
Gender: M
Species: Fae
Court: Autumn
Title: Harbinger of Autumn
Appearance: Ari has a thick, golden mane of hair that more often than not looks unkempt, though in a neat, organized chaos sort of way. There is very slight reddish tint to the ends of his hair, and so in certain, bright lighting, it appears as though the tips of his mane are alight with flames. This might actually have something to do with why he claims Summer is his second favorite court. His irises are vibrant, pearlescent dark green with miniscule tendrils and flecks of amber that are only visible under close and careful scrutiny, an oasis of color in comparison to the monochromatic yet very bright whites of his eyes. He has a broad forehead and high prominent cheekbones along with a defined, square jaw to form an angular, sharp face shape. His eyebrows are much thinner in comparison to his wild locks of hair and also have a more conspicuous reddish hue, but they arch over his eyes softly, contradicting the sharp angles of the rest of his face. His ears are moderately sized and slightly pointed, though usually they are either partially or mostly obscured by his hair depending on how thoroughly and recently he ran a comb through it, and his eyelashes are ebony in color and moderate in length. The bridge of his nose extends smoothly with a barely noticeable dent near the middle and turns up ever so slightly at the end. The few times he truly smiles and pulls back his unnervingly, naturally cherry tinted lips are the only occasions when his pearl white fangs become completely evident since at all other moments he is careful to keep them as concealed as possible, but they are large enough that he can’t fully hide them when he speaks, only partially. His complexion is not the traditional pasty pale of most nobles and royals, and it exhibits an evenly sunkissed tone, though not dark enough to brand him as a member of the working class. Despite being a tad unusually tan for someone of his position, his skin retains a smooth, silk-like quality that marks him as someone belonging to the upper tier of society. Likewise, his build is especially broad for someone of such high class and prestigious pedigree, but he does not possess thick enough sheets of muscle to be mistaken for a professional athlete or manual laborer. He has a long neck that transitions seamlessly into wide shoulders, and both his chest and back are a tad slimmer than his shoulders but still considerably broader than most other people of his status. His legs are not quite proportional to his torso, being longer and slightly leaner but with an equal amount of predatory grace, and his build combined with his height of roughly six feet grants him an impressively intimidating figure. In accordance with his imposing frame, he is in possession of large feet and hands, not the dainty, useless ones his peers have. He takes care to keep his toenails trimmed short and neat, but his fingernails he allows to grow out a bit more, preferring to be able to use them to pry things open or to scratch other people with them if necessary. He possesses no tattoos or birthmarks, but he does have several scars raking across his back, chest, and abdomen and a single, faint and crooked, diagonal line on the right side of his neck.
Although he may not be the finest or most fashionable dresser, Ari is never seen in worn, dirty, or wrinkled clothing. For more casual occasions, he sticks to lighter or neutral colors and normally wears silk skirts, trousers, and a pair of boots in autumnal tones with brass or gold buckles and expensive fur lining on the insides. He also adds jackets with bronze or brass buttons or light cloaks with a fastening clip in the shape of an autumn leaf for especially chilly days. When he is required to attend something more formal, he dons suits or vests in crimson, emerald, or fiery gold with matching cufflinks, fine, leather shoes, a miniature version of the Autumn Court crest pinned to one of his jacket lapels, and a tiny lion pinned to the other.
Personality: Ari is generally a likeable person. He can be charming, polite, gracious, and humorous, but he has no desire to be anything more than acquaintances with most people. Unfortunately it is essential to his duties to remain on good terms with the nobility and appointment holders, so he finds himself being more than just casual acquaintances with far too many people. He can and does flirt at social functions but never truly means it. The idea of marriage, love, and courtship is utterly ridiculous to him, and in his opinion, it is a distraction, a waste of time, and a perfect recipe for heartbreak and tragedy. Besides, his life is much too busy, and he serves a higher purpose that relieves him of any need to stoop to love and romance for meaning. The only person he doesn’t mind being close with is his sister, Tali. Family is one of the most important things to him, and he is especially protective over the remaining, living members of his family and would do almost anything for them as long as it didn’t involve betraying the prince or the court. He does not usually demonstrate much affection for them with the exception of Tali, but he cares and looks out for them in his own way.
Normally he maintains a calm, dignified composure, even when he is being insulted. He can be passive aggressive in delicate or social situations when it’s appropriate to get his point across, but he would much rather just punch someone. However, he is a very disciplined person and can exercise a high degree of control over himself no matter how infuriated he is. When the occasion does call for it though, he has lightning fast reflexes and a frightening temper. His lion-like build aids him in intimidating people when necessary, but it also means he has to work a bit harder than most to appear gentlemanly and respectable. Since he often has to refrain from outright threatening people and beating the crap out of them, he volunteers to do a lot of his own investigative work himself, especially if it means he gets to interrogate someone. He isn’t entirely dishonorable and has his own moral code. He also believes the ends justify the means and will do whatever has to be done in order to protect and serve the prince as long as the ramifications of his actions won’t cause a bigger problem than the one he was originally trying to deal with. Typically, he is a methodical and practical person, and prefers to weigh his options before doing anything irreversible.
Internally, he is quite eloquent and thoughtful, but this side of him doesn’t make many appearances. The few extended times it has become apparent was during the funerals of his father and younger siblings, but most of the time there is no reason for him to express his more poetic, inner musings since the core of his work is pragmatic. Every now and then, some of this part of his nature shines through in an observation or remark he makes to someone, usually at some social function or other, but it disappears just as quickly as it materializes.
Ari is not obsessed with his reputation, but he does realize it is important that he is not perceived in the wrong way. After all, his character is a reflection on the prince since August was the one who appointed him in the first place. He does his best to ensure that others respect him, not caring as much if other people like him or not, and above all, he does not tolerate anyone – especially the people who work under him – calling him weak, incapable, or unintelligent.
Family:
Father: Malkiel Melamed (deceased)
Mother: Adira Melamed
Brother: Tevya Melamed (deceased)
Sister: Tali Melamed
Brother: Issachar Melamed (deceased)
Brother: Tanchum Melamed
Sister: Eliana Melamed (deceased)
Brother: Menashe Melamed (deceased)
Aunt: Raisa Saloman
History: Born Ariel Feivel Eliyahu Melamed, Ari was the eldest child of the second Harbinger of Autumn and his wife, Lady Adira. Together, his first and middle name meant bright lion, which his father hoped was indicative of what he would become. Since his father was the Autumn Prince’s right-hand man, Ari grew up in the castle in the comfortable apartments appointed to the Harbinger of Autumn’s family. There was no shortage of servants and attendants to ensure all his wants were met, and his mother lavished attention on him at every possible opportunity, although she was often away at various social events, resulting in Ari remaining relatively unspoiled. He saw his father less than his mother in his younger years, but his father did make time occasionally to help him with his studies if there weren’t any pressing matters that needed to be dealt with.
By the time he was about four years old, his mother delivered a second baby, a boy she named Tevya, which meant good. Ari was ecstatic to have a brother since it meant he would have someone else for company besides the servants. His mother also remained in their rooms more often while Tevya was an infant, so Ari had the privilege of spending more time with her as well. Even though Adira was often tired from sleepless nights and caring for two boys, Ari enjoyed the time he did get to be with her and tried to be on his best behavior in order to avoid scoldings when Adira was having a rough day. He sometimes was tasked with entertaining his younger brother when his mother was in desperate need of a rest, and since Tevya was so little, it was easy to keep him amused with picture books or simple games.
Three years after Tevya was born, Ari received a sister. His mother had longed for a daughter ever since her marriage to Ari’s father and named the girl Tali, meaning dew from heaven. Ari was responsible for looking after her from time to time, just like he did with Tevya on a near-constant basis, but he didn’t mind entertaining or watching over either of his siblings as long as they weren’t too contrary. However, once Tali entered her toddler years, she made a sport out of doing the opposite of anything Ari told her, which frustrated him to no end. He tried not to be too bossy with his little brother and sister and let them play how they liked, but if they were in danger of hurting themselves or others, then it was his responsibility to step in and keep them safe if their parents weren’t present. Eventually, he resorted to using reverse psychology on Tali, and it worked well enough until she was older and able to at least avoid any obvious physical danger.
As Ari grew older, he spent more time with his father, being instructed in various skills and academic subjects. He was never privy to the details of the work Malkiel supervised and carried out for the prince, but he learned many useful bits of information and was on the receiving end of endless, excruciatingly detailed history lectures. At the time he was too young to actually appreciate it and would have disregarded most of it if he could, but his father created assignments related to the lectures to ensure they were cemented in Ari’s mind. While the lessons were usually boring and painful, in the end he possessed a comprehensive and intricate knowledge of the various histories of the courts (but particularly of autumn) that was difficult to come by in anyone else or any place other than a library.
Even though Ari had no knowledge of what was going on at the time, he was old enough and perceptive enough to know that something was wrong. He saw less and less of his father and was forced to be confined in the family apartments nearly all the time. He didn’t terribly miss the daily lectures in his father’s office, but he would willingly suffer through them with a more pleasant attitude if it meant strange things would stop happening.
Ari F. Melamed - Part TwoHistory cont'd: Not even his mother was immune to the confinement and was with them in the family’s rooms except for a few occasions when she was presumably visiting Malkiel or her sister, Raisa. Tevya, who was also old enough by now to sense something was not right, asked Ari if their father had done something bad, to which Ari had no answer. The days and weeks dragged on, and Ari and both his siblings were tired of being cooped up and were getting on each other’s nerves. Tali was more contrary and difficult than ever, and Tevya went out of his way to antagonize her, making it nearly impossible for Ari to get any studying done. Just when he thought he was going to smack both his younger brother and sister into next week for being such intolerable brats, a message came for Adira. After reading it silently, his mother shared some of the contents of the letter. It was from Ari’s father and detailed the reasons for the unusual happenings. Apparently there had been an assassination plot against both the prince and Malkiel, and until they had arrested the traitors, Malkiel had worked around the clock and ordered the castle guards to keep his family safe in their apartments. Until then, Ari had never thought that his father’s title might expose him to danger, but despite that, he decided that one day he wanted the privilege of being the Harbinger of Autumn when he was grown up. His father had always said that nothing of assured safety was much worth doing.
Almost exactly nine months after the assassination plot was foiled and the traitors were arrested and executed, Ari’s mother gave birth to another child. Both Adira and Malkiel agreed to bestow the name Issachar, meaning reward, on the newest addition to their family. Issachar was easy to like as he grew. Ari’s youngest brother was always gifting him and the rest of their family little trinkets and objects he either found or made and found great delight in sharing any of his possessions with his siblings if they would play with him. Ari allowed him to tag along when he explored the castle and let him sit next to him while he studied, not minding his brother’s company when he was at his desk as long as he was quiet. Later on in his life, he liked to entertain the fantasy that Issachar would have become the most pure and innocent out of all of them.
The incident occurred only a few years after Issachar was born. Ari took no pleasure in leaving his youngest brother behind since Issachar did not like to be left out of anything, but in that instance, it just wasn’t possible to allow him to come along. He promised to play with Issachar when he returned and brought out some of his favorite books and things for Issachar to borrow, and then he left the apartments with Tevya and Tali. The three of them departed from the castle together and went swimming in one of the autumn lakes. Tevya was more interested in splashing them and dunking them under the surface of the water than actually swimming, so eventually Ari and Tali were forced to participate in a splash fight. Fortunately, Ari was bigger and stronger than Tevya and didn’t end up getting held underwater (though Tevya certainly tried hard), but Tali was much smaller than either of them and fell victim to Tevya’s roughhousing more than once. After enough pleading on her part, Ari was persuaded to shove Tevya’s head underwater as punishment for picking on their sister too much. The three of them were so preoccupied that they never noticed Issachar’s presence until it was too late. Issachar had followed them to the lake and tried to swim out to where they were in the middle, but he had never been taught how to swim and drowned before either Ari or Tevya could reach him.
Ari was the one who had to bear the burden of carrying his brother’s horribly still, little form back home. Both he and Issachar were dripping wet and left a trail of water all the way to the apartments since he had not bothered to dry off in his hurry to get home. Adira crumpled to the floor in a sobbing heap when Ari entered the room and explained what had happened and would not be comforted. Tali clung tightly to Ari and cried softly into his damp tunic, and Tevya promptly disappeared. When Malkiel came home in the evening, Ari and Tevya both got the most painful lecture of their lives. Even though Adira attempted to interject at times to say that the servants should have kept a closer eye on Issachar and not let him escape the apartments, Ari took full responsibility. It had been his fault. If he had been paying more attention, then he could have gotten to Issachar in time, and none of this would have happened. Tevya was much less mature about it, but he didn’t dare protest his innocence in front of their father. Instead, he griped about none of it being his fault to Ari and Tali after both their parents had retired to bed. Ari mostly ignored him and tried to go to sleep, but the memory of Issachar thrashing around in the water and slipping beneath the surface kept him up for the entirety of the night.
It took a long time for things to return to any semblance of normalcy. For over a month Ari was not summoned to his father’s office for lectures and had to complete his lessons on his own. He hardly saw his father except on a few occasions, but even then, such times were brief and tense. His mother tried to maintain her composure around Ari and his siblings, but he knew she barely slept and spent most of the nights walking outside through the gardens. Tali refused to go anywhere near the lake ever again and stayed in her room or elsewhere in the castle most days, and Ari often kept her company when he had finished his schooling for the day. Tevya was usually nowhere to be seen, so Ari hadn’t the slightest inkling how his brother was dealing with the tragedy – or not dealing with it.
After the first year without Issachar had passed, life had gradually started to fall into a new rhythm, though it was not one that any of the Melameds had wanted. Ari had resumed his lessons with his father as usual, and his mother was slowly attending more of the social events she used to adore. Family dinner was made mandatory again, and Ari even saw significantly more of Tevya. Tali still remained adamant about staying away from the lake, but she decided she would swim again if it was somewhere else. Upon hearing this, Ari persuaded both her and Tevya to find another lake to swim in, and after some exploring, they chanced upon one that they all agreed was suitable. Just as Ari was saying they should remember the spot and come back another time, Tevya shoved him into the water from behind. Not about to be the only one in sopping wet clothing, Ari snatched his brother’s ankle and tugged him into the lake alongside him, but Tevya had made the mistake of trying to grab onto Tali, who was dragged along with him and ended up just as drenched. As revenge, Tali splashed both Ari and Tevya, and before long, the trio was engrossed in all-out war for the remainder of the afternoon. That was the closest the three of them had been since Issachar, and over time, the seams of their friendship were sewn back together.
About four years after Issachar’s death, Adira conceived and delivered another child, whom she named Tanchum, her consolation. Tanchum was not as cheerful and magnanimous as Issachar had been. There was a melancholic quality about him, but still he was an innocent child and brought Adira much joy. Ari was unable to be as present in Tanchum’s early life as he had been in Tevya, Tali, and Issachar’s. By now his schooling was more difficult and time-consuming, and he spent far more time with his father, being mentored and instructed in all manner of things. He got the odd sense that he was being groomed for something, but what that was exactly was unclear to him. At least Tali seemed to have a fondness for Tanchum and spent some of her free time with him when Ari was occupied elsewhere. Ari felt guilty for not treating his youngest brother the same way he had treated his other siblings and thought it was unfair to Tanchum to be deprived of something everyone else had received. He told himself he didn’t have much of a choice and had to obey his father first and foremost, but it didn’t help. The guilt from what happened to Issachar was not wholly gone; some of it had transmuted into something else. Instead of feeling guilty for not being there for Issachar, he now felt almost just as guilty for not being there for Tanchum. Sometimes when he looked at his littlest brother, he saw Issachar instead and could hardly breathe.
After years of dashed hopes, Adira finally gave birth to another girl and named her Eliana. Now that she had been blessed with two daughters, Ari’s mother felt her family was complete, so it came as a surprise to everyone when she became pregnant barely a year later. However, more pressing matters were at hand, and the arrival of another sibling was the least of Ari’s concerns. He did love Eliana and how she lit up every room she entered, and he was sure he would be just as fond of his next sibling. But there would be time for that later. At present, events had been set in motion that needed dealing with.
Ari occasionally carried out minor parts of his father’s work. Malkiel had many people who worked for him and carried out his orders to help accomplish whatever the prince wished, and once Ari was old enough and adequately trained, he was permitted to complete a few, mostly insignificant tasks. His father had always said that he would not be allowed to handle anything delicate or of consequence until he was much older and more experienced, which was why Ari knew that something was going on when his father started giving him secret assignments and stressing their importance. He didn’t know the details of what was keeping his father up at night, but he did know that Malkiel was afraid of something. He’d never seen his father this disconcerted by anything before, not even during the investigation of the assassination plot several years prior. Whatever was alarming his father was extraordinarily serious.
It all came to an end a few months later. Ari had noticed his father acting increasingly strangely for the last few weeks but initially brushed it off as stress over whatever was happening. Looking back, he sorely wished he hadn’t because after those few weeks, his father collapsed in his office and fell gravely ill. After ensuring that his father made it back to the family apartments under the care of Adira and the servants, Ari spent the rest of the day in his father’s office, riffling through every document and scrap of paper he could find to determine the details of what his father had been working on the past few months. Nothing provided any clue, and once he stumbled upon the waste bucket of ash, he correctly predicted the rest of his search would be fruitless. He planned to speak with his father in the morning and ask what had been happening in the grand scheme of things all this time, but he never got the chance. His father died in the middle of the night less than 24 hours after his collapse.
Both the funerals were sorrowful affairs. One was held in public for all the citizens of autumn to pay their respects, and the other was a private service for family only. Ari gave the eulogy at both funerals, somehow managing to keep it together for the duration. He locked himself in his father’s office until he had written it, which took days since he often had to stop when the grief became too overwhelming. It actually took him a day less to write it than he claimed. The last day in his father’s office he spent copying the records in case he had missed some clue or other. There was no doubt in his mind that his father’s death had been intentional, and someday, somehow, he was going to punish the responsible parties for murdering a good man, a loyal servant, and a dedicated father.
Ari F. Melamed - Part ThreeHistoryn cont'd: After the funeral, Ari, his mother, and his siblings vacated their apartments in the castle and traveled to Malkiel’s old estate. Before becoming the Harbinger of Autumn, Ari’s father had been a nobleman in the Autumn Court, but his title and land went into abeyance when he was appointed his late title. Now that he had passed on, Ari was granted the title, land, and estate and some extra territory in addition. He was roughly thirty years old by now but still too young and inexperienced to even be considered as a candidate to replace his father. Instead, some other fae was appointed to take his father’s place, and Ari became the head of the Melamed household, which had joined the ranks of the nobility once again.
The Melamed estate was situated on several acres of land and had been maintained by a small staff well enough to be suitable to live in even though the family had not visited it in centuries. Even Ari had never seen the manor before, which meant Adira was the only one familiar with it. Rooms were assigned, and the servants, Ari, and his siblings were tasked with uncovering the furniture. Since the manor was fairly large, it was too much work for the staff to do it all themselves in as timely a fashion as Adira desired. The rest of their luggage arrived roughly a week after their departure from the castle along with a few extra servants, and it was Ari’s duty to oversee everything while the family became accustomed to their new home and life. He tried to keep an eye on his mother when he had the time, but she spent most of the days in her room resting since she was in the last months of her pregnancy. Tevya once tried to joke that at least they knew there wouldn’t be any more surprise siblings after this one to lighten the mood, but no one thought it was very funny. Personally, Ari just found it to be in bad taste and made with terrible timing, and he was glad that Adira had not been around to hear it.
A few months after Malkiel’s death, Adira delivered her last child and named him Menashe, her cause to forget. Ironically, he ended up looking more like Malkiel than any of the other siblings, but Ari never pointed it out. The other nobles did enough of that whenever his mother attended social events. He was unable to spend much leisure time with either Eliana or Menashe now that he was in charge of the family and had to deal with all kinds of boring and dreadful obligations and duties, but he was present enough to notice that Adira locked herself away more and more as the two youngest children grew older. Even though he was the head of the house now, he was not his mother’s equal (she had made that very clear in no uncertain terms) and couldn’t persuade her to leave her rooms, so he delegated the task of watching over Eliana and Menashe to his other siblings, mainly Tali. It worked well enough for a while, but Tali began gaining her own responsibilities as the eldest daughter, leaving the two youngest siblings in the care of the servants more often.
Eliana was without a doubt the cheeriest of the siblings. She hadn’t developed much of a personality at yet at barely two years old, but she was the favorite source of comfort when anyone was having a tough day, which was only one of the many reasons why her tragedy hit everyone hard. As had become normal, Eliana was playing upstairs under the supervision of one of the servants. Adira was sitting in her room with the doors locked again, and Ari was in his office, corresponding to one of the other nobleman in autumn. Tali was paying a friend a visit at court with Tevya, and the rest of the siblings were elsewhere around the estate. All of a sudden, Ari heard a faint thud and then a frightened shriek, and at once he put down his pen and hurried outside in the direction of the commotion. The sight that greeted him was a gruesome one. Eliana had fallen from one of the upper balconies and lay lifeless and contorted on the cobblestone. Ari refused to let anyone else pick up his littlest sister except for himself and carried her inside. After questioning the servants who were nearby, he learned that the maid who was supposed to be watching Eliana had failed to notice the doors to the balcony were open while she was reading a novel and didn’t notice anything else was amiss until Eliana screamed as she fell. He immediately dismissed the servant responsible for Eliana’s death and sent a messenger to court to fetch Tali and Tevya at once. As soon as they returned, he convened a family meeting in the sitting room to inform everyone what had happened, though he spared them most of the details. Later Tevya, Tali, and Tanchum approached him to ask for a more thorough understanding of what had happened. Tali and Tanchum both insisted on helping plan the funeral, but neither of them protested when Ari decided he would write the eulogy. He wanted to arrange the entire thing by himself to shield his siblings from the whole of the painful process, but there was no arguing with Tali this time. Mainly he focused on writing the eulogy and outlining the funeral, and Tali and Tanchum made more specific arrangements for flowers and a coffin and such. However, he did not allow either of his siblings to select where Eliana would be buried without him. He wanted his mother to have some part in planning the service, but she could barely utter a single word. So, he left her alone and ordered the servants to make sure she ate and remained as comfortable as possible.
The funeral was a semi-private service. It was held on the lush grounds of the Melamed estate within walking distance of the burial plot, and the sole way to attend was by invitation only. Ari’s family of course was all in attendance, and a few of their friends had also been invited. Tali had suggested that Ari extend an invitation to the prince as well since their father had served him so loyally and so well for centuries, but after some debate, Ari decided not to. From what his father had told him about the prince, it seemed unlikely he would have the time to travel to the funeral of a child he’d hardly known, and Ari didn’t want to bother him unnecessarily. The service proceeded without a hitch, and Ari spoke elegantly and calmly as usual. The eulogy had been difficult to write, especially since Eliana had only just turned two years old when she died and there wasn’t as much to say as there was in the case of his father’s funeral. But almost everyone present for the service complimented him on it, so apparently he had at least done a decent job.
Daily life went on fairly normally after that, or at least as relatively normal as possible. Ari’s mother confined herself to her chambers for the first couple months after the funeral, but no one was surprised by that. Ari kept up with his normal duties, but both he and Tali spent significantly less time at court and stayed home most days. The majority of the nobles were understanding of their seclusion in the ensuing months, and Ari conducted as much business as he could through messengers and correspondence, preferring not to leave the estate grounds unless he absolutely had to. Sometimes when it was just too painful to do any more work, Tali dragged him, Tevya, and Tanchum to the lake near the edge of the property. He hadn’t really swam for fun like this in years, not since relocating to his father’s old house and assuming his former title. Occasionally Tali would coerce either Tevya or Tanchum into going with her, but Ari had never had the time until now. His siblings had also set up an archery range nearby, so every now and then, the four of them would engage in a little friendly competition. Tanchum was the worst shot with a bow and arrow that Ari had ever seen, and both Tevya and Tali teased him incessantly. Ari had pretty good aim himself, but Tali was just as skilled as he was, if not better. In the first few months after the funeral, he lost a significant amount of his pocket money to Tali.
Fortunately for the Melameds, nothing particularly eventful happened for a long time after Eliana’s death. Adira still suffered from depression, but she kept up a good mask in public. Ari went about business as usual, enlisting Tevya’s help more and more, and Tali spent an increasing amount of time at court with them, though she was there on the basis of social calls and such. Menashe was a teenager by now and usually pestered either Ari or Tali into letting him tag along, and Ari always gave in since he didn’t get to see much of his youngest brother. Tanchum did not share the desire to attend court and be sociable, so he usually only went to shut Tali up. By now, all the siblings’ personalities had become apparent, and some of them caused more trouble at court than others.
Tevya had become an arrogant jerk, even for a fae. To make matters worse, he was clearly the most attractive of the siblings, somehow managing to be both handsome and beautiful at the same time, and he was well aware of it. He never failed to have at least a handful of admirers at any one time and flirted shamelessly with any girls he found pretty enough, but he never seriously pursued any girls who weren’t of a suitable noble lineage, although his version of serious was closer to the definition of casual. At times he could have an insufferable ego and acted like he was better than everyone, including Ari and even the Autumn Prince. He often criticized the prince and thought he could do a much better job, but he wasn’t a complete fool. He never expressed any such thoughts in public, only in the privacy of the Melamed estate where he exasperated the life out of Ari and everyone else. Ari warned him multiple times to keep his mouth shut in the inevitable event that he would slip up and say something foolish in front of someone less forgiving and understanding, but Tevya brushed him off with a condescending look and an indifferent wave with one, clawed hand every time.
Tali was much nicer than Tevya and very sweet as well when she wanted to be, but she was also perfectly capable and intelligent. She was among the more trustworthy siblings and consequently, Ari’s closest friend and confidante. And to sweeten the pot, she regularly told off Tevya and was oddly the only one of the siblings that he respected and would listen to. Ari was never able to fully understand it, and after a while he just gave up and let it be, not wanting to risk ruining a working system. His sister displayed a great a deal of spirit and loved any kind of party or social function, and one of her major weaknesses was the inability to resist attending any such event. She enjoyed watching tournaments and sports and dragged Ari and anyone else nearby into going with her, but she was easily bored with chess and strategy games, which Ari preferred. He attributed this to her short-ish attention span.
Tanchum remained the quietest sibling and could typically be found reading fictional literature in some corner of the house or estate grounds, only leaving the property if it was necessary or if Tali wouldn’t quit bothering him. He was repulsed by Tevya and saw Ari as more of an authority figure, but he did like talking to Tali and tried to push books on her. Sometimes Ari had to reprimand him for only thinking of fun, useless stuff, being antisocial, and neglecting his duties, and then Tanchum would seek out Tali to accompany him to court. His intentions usually started out honorable, but ultimately, Tali dragged him into doing something even more frivolous, like attending parties and snooping through other people’s things and houses.
Menashe would have made an excellent court jester. He was a mischievous fool but unfortunately not always very clever. His foolhardy ideas almost killed or seriously injured him on more than on occasion.
Ari F. Melamed - Part FourHistory cont'd: He was one of the more rebellious siblings and gave Tali a run for her money concerning who in the family possessed the most spirit and energy, although he pulled dangerous stunts instead of partying like Tali when he felt like pushing the limits of Ari’s authority. Even though he didn’t always get along all that well with Ari, he hated Tevya more because his more arrogant brother had a giant stick up his butt and not much of a sense of humor. Tevya hated him too, which is what Menashe told Ari when he was trying to justify the pranks he pulled on Tevya when he got in trouble. Menashe was also the one who dumped a bucketful of water onto Ari’s head once to “put out the fire” when the sun cast a fierce glare onto the reddish ends of Ari’s hair.
No matter how many times Ari punished Menashe for being so careless, his younger brother never learned. One afternoon, Menashe and one of his several, young friends from court saddled up two of the family’s horses and went out riding on the farthest edges of the property. As usual, Menashe was fooling around and performing stunts on his glossy, black stallion, Ellidyr, not paying attention to much else around him. As a result, he didn’t see the snake wriggling towards him on the ground, and Ellidyr panicked, throwing him off before he ever had a chance to realize what was happening. He went flying into an outcropping of rock near a cliff and fortunately, died instantly. His friend rode back to the house with his body, and the servants fetched Ari at once. After hearing the tale of Menashe’s death, Ari ordered the servants to unsaddle and brush both Ellidyr and the other horse, and sent Menashe’s friend home after dinner.
Sadly, funeral planning was something all the Melameds were unusually skilled at by now. Ari wrote and delivered the eulogy for this funeral like he had at all the others (with the exception of Issachar’s funeral; that eulogy had been given by his father), and Tali and Tanchum spearheaded most of the planning. Tevya was absent for most of the process, and Ari could only conclude that Menashe had been right about Tevya hating him. To his youngest brother’s point, Tevya was hardly distraught when he died of blunt force trauma to the head. Ari imagined that if there was some kind of afterlife, Menashe was probably laughing hysterically and saying “I told you so” to every single other dead person whether they wanted to listen or not. He said as much to Tali and felt just slightly better when it teased the faintest of smiles out of her.
Several years afterwards, Ari noticed that Tevya had been doing all manner of favors for the prince and those highest in his employ, and he was fine with it at first. There was no harm in it, and it could only help the family. Eventually Tevya ingratiated himself with the prince. Sort of. Ari thought Tevya was delusional if he believed the prince liked him, but Tevya had grown far too arrogant to listen to anyone but himself. Not even Tali could coax him back to reality. He also thought he would be the next Harbinger of Autumn if the current one retired or something happened to him. He was so convinced that he was the obvious choice and the most qualified for the position that he murdered the Harbinger of Autumn that had replaced Malkiel, certain that he would be the successor. Unfortunately for him (but fortunately for literally everyone else), Ari figured it out when Tevya entered the house through the back servant’s entrance late one night with something red staining his shirt collar and claws. At first, he didn’t think much of it, but when he was at court the next day, the announcement of the Harbinger of Autumn’s murder was made. And everything clicked into place. That evening, he confronted Tevya in the sitting room after he arrived home from court and didn’t have to press his brother too hard for the truth to come out. Tevya thought his actions were something to be proud of and readily admitted to his crime once Ari made it apparent that he knew what had happened. However, when Ari did his brother the courtesy of informing him that he was going to turn him into the prince, the conversation turned hostile rapidly. Tevya did not want to be turned in, so he used his claws to fight off Ari, one of the only advantages he had against his bigger and stronger brother. Ari came close to dying that night, but both Tali and Tanchum overheard the commotion and were able to knock Tevya unconscious from behind. Ari ended up being fine, though Tevya had left scars on his back, chest, abdomen, and neck, and most of the furniture in the sitting room was ruined beyond repair. Tanchum and Tali helped Ari restrain Tevya until they could travel to court early the next morning and hand him over to the prince.
On the way to the castle, Ari had to knock Tevya unconscious to stop him from scratching at anyone and anything in reach, but he awoke just after they reached court and struggled the entire time they were giving him over to the prince’s guards. Tevya was found guilty and executed within a week for his crimes, and Ari held a private funeral service for his brother on the Melamed estate grounds. Only he, his mother, Tanchum, Tali, and a few servants were allowed to attend, and his brother was buried alongside Eliana and Menashe. A couple of weeks after the funeral, a messenger arrived on the estate with a message bearing the prince’s seal for Ari. Puzzled, Ari broke the seal and read the contents, but it proved to be an unnecessarily difficult task with Tali trying to tug his arm down so she could read the letter as well. Finally, he gave up and let her read it aloud to him and Tanchum. It was a summons to the castle to speak with the prince at once, and having no choice but to comply, Ari had the servants ready his stallion. Tali begged and pleaded to come along, but he ordered Tanchum and the servants to make sure she didn’t follow him.
Once he reached the castle and was permitted to see the prince after waiting nearly half an hour, he was informed that he would be the new Harbinger of Autumn. It came as a surprise to him, but after some consideration, it made sense. He was already familiar with the workings of the castle and court and had worked under his father, who was arguably the best Harbinger of Autumn in the court’s history, and he had proven his loyalty to the prince by turning in his own brother. Ari thought that aiding in Tevya’s arrest and execution might not have proven much since many nobles would have turned in their friends and even their family whether they were innocent or not to be rewarded with such a coveted title, but in his case, Tevya actually had been guilty. And if he had been doing it to just to get his father’s late position, then he either would have killed his brother before he could claim innocence to eliminate the risk of him not being found guilty or he would not have insisted on a private investigation and execution. Obviously, he would have been a fool not to accept the position, so he did and returned home to pack his things and sort out his affairs before moving back to the castle permanently.
Tali and Tanchum were both stunned at the news and helped him make all the arrangements. It was decided after much debate that Tali would accompany Ari to the castle and Ari would cede his noble title, estate, and territory to Tanchum. Once everything had been settled, Ari and Tali departed from the Melamed estate and were given apartments in the castle. Ari served the prince faithfully, dutifully, and effectively, determined to be as good at his position as his father was. He had multiple inside sources to keep him apprised of the goings on at court, especially among the nobility. One of his primary sources was Tanchum, who corresponded regularly with Tali. Ari barely talked to his brother and kept his distance, but Tali informed him of anything important that Tanchum disclosed in his letters, which turned out to be a problem. Tali only willingly told Ari whatever she thought was most relevant, even though Ari needed to know everything, and about half of their arguments stemmed from that. His sister also got plenty of information herself because she was especially sociable and never turned down an invitation to anything.
Ari has been the Harbinger of Autumn for approximately three hundred years now. Being a practical person, he appreciates the prince’s thirst for knowledge and benevolent rule, but he has never underestimated the prince’s desire to stay in power. In fact, he rather appreciates it. If the prince remains on the throne, then Ari stays in a comfortable position in the castle.
Other:
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Pt. 1
♦ вєℓℓα ℓуии ∂σиαнυє ♦ вєℓℓѕ, вℓυє ♦ ѕρяιиg ♦ яσуαℓ нєαℓєя♦ 21 ♦
⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯
"ωнαт нαρρεηs ωнεη ρεσρℓε σρεη тнειя нεαятs? тнεү gεт вεттεя.” ~ нαяυкι мυяαкαмι, ησяωεgιαη ωσσ∂
⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯
♦ ««┊❁┊𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕝 𝕀𝕟𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟┊❁┊»» ♦
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⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯
“үσυ мαү sαү ι'м α ∂яεαмεя, вυт ι'м ησт тнε σηℓү σηε. ι нσρε sσмε∂αү үσυ'ℓℓ נσιη υs. αη∂ тнε ωσяℓ∂ ωιℓℓ ℓιvε αs σηε.” ~ נσнη ℓεηηση
⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯
♦ ««┊❁┊ℙ𝕙𝕪𝕤𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕝 𝕀𝕟𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟┊❁┊»» ♦
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⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯
“тнεү sαү α ρεяsση ηεε∂s נυsт тняεε тнιηgs тσ вε тяυℓү нαρρү ιη тнιs ωσяℓ∂: sσмεσηε тσ ℓσvε, sσмεтнιηg тσ ∂σ, αη∂ sσмεтнιηg тσ нσρε ғσя.” ~ тσм вσ∂εтт
⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯
♦ ««┊❁┊ℙ𝕤𝕪𝕔𝕙𝕠𝕝𝕠𝕘𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕝 𝕀𝕟𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟┊❁┊»» ♦
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⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯
"кιη∂ηεss ιs тнε ℓαηgυαgε ωнιcн тнε ∂εαғ cαη нεαя αη∂ тнε вℓιη∂ cαη sεε." ~ мαяк тωαιη
⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯
Mod
Pt. 2
♦ ««┊❁┊ℍ𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪┊❁┊»» ♦
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⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯
“тнε εмσтιση тнαт cαη вяεαк үσυя нεαят ιs sσмεтιмεs тнε vεяү σηε тнαт нεαℓs ιт...” ~ ηιcнσℓαs sραякs
⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯
♦ ««┊❁┊𝕊𝕠𝕔𝕚𝕒𝕝 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝔽𝕒𝕞𝕚𝕝𝕪 𝕃𝕚𝕗𝕖┊❁┊»» ♦
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⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯
“үσυ σηℓү ℓιvε σηcε, вυт ιғ үσυ ∂σ ιт яιgнт, σηcε ιs εησυgн.” ~ мαε ωεsт
⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯
♦ ««┊❁┊ℙ𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕝 𝕀𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕤┊❁┊»» ♦
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⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯
"ωнεяεvεя үσυ gσ, ησ мαттεя ωнαт ωεαтнεя, αℓωαүs вяιηg үσυя σωη sυηsнιηε." ~ αηтнσηү נ. ∂'αηgεℓσ
⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯╍⌯
♦ ««┊❁┊𝕄𝕦𝕤𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕝 𝕋𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕤┊❁┊»» ♦
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Template designed and created by rαdíαnt rσчαl rєѕpєctαвlє rσѕє
Mod
*excited bc there are more summer Fae for Vex to annoy*
Mod
Mod
Just edit that and your good to go! It’s all good!
Mod
Thank you!
Age: 21
Species: Human
Gender: Female
Sexuality: Straight
Court: The Autumn Court
Appearance:
Personality: Amy is kind most of the time but she is known for being quite moody and sarcastic. She is at times unintentionally rude and a bit snarky. She has a sense of humor but uses it mostly with people she knows. She has a bad temper and does not appreciate incompetence laziness. She despises the faes and regards them as lazy and incompetent, however she is smart enough not to mention these things out in public
History: Amy Clarice Jones was born to Emaline Daniels, a seamstress of the Autumn court and Fredrick Velmen, a craftsman of the Autumn court. Emaline was best friends with Fredrick's youngest sister Adele, who had been conspiring since the age of twelve to escape the Autumn court.
They met on a Saturday, when Emaline delivered soup to an ill Adele. Fredrick, smitten by his the fifteen year old's kind heart asked her out on a date and they were married several years later.
During their courtship however Adele's sickness worsened and she died a week before her brother's wedding.
Emeline had always suspected that a fae had cursed Adele with the sickness after she declared in public, how much she loathed the Autumn court and the faes that ruled it.
Emaline and Fredrick had three children during the span of thier marriage. A son named Percival. Another son, who was born blind named Harry. And their final child, a daughter named Amy.
Amy spent most of her time, tending to her brother Harry, as her parents worked and her brother was schooled by one of the town's elders. Around her ninth birthday, her father Fredrick became violently ill with what everyone assumed was pneumonia. Growing desperate as her husband weakened Emaline made a deal with one of the court's faes.
The deal went that if the fae healed her husband Fredrick, Emaline would leave her family and work as the fae's slave for the rest of eternity. Fredrick was healed immediately but woke up to find his wife gone.
Amy never gave up hope that one day, her mother would return and even went searching for her a few years later.
It was then that she was informed by one of the town's elders that Emaline had grown ill, after demanding to see her family one last time. Emaline died two weeks later and it is Amy's strong belief that the fae's had something to do with it.
Likes: Sponge cake, walks in the rain, the color orange
Dislikes: People who can't take no for an answer, faes liars and cowards.
Playlist: Borederline-King Krule
Billie Eilish-Ilomilo
Mod
Welcome to the group :)
└─── AIN | CAGAIRT AN T'SAMHRADH BUAIREASACHE
FAE OF THE SUMMER COURT ───────┐
Lady of the House of Ash
─── PERSONALITY
AIN IS AS FAR REMOVED FROM HUMANITY AS POSSIBLY IMAGINABLE. Even moreso than other fae, which is saying a lot. She wastes no time and energy in appearing pretty, playing nice, or twisting her words - those were indicators of weakness, of how the fae have become so drunk and reliant on the mortals' works to survive, even though they had been doing just fine without them in days long gone. Ain will say what she wants to say, no filter, regardless of what other people think, gaining her a reputation of being very brusque at times. Even in bargaining, she will not use clever wordplay to deceive; whoever dares to make a deal with her should either take the plunge or stop wasting her time.
She is as unfeeling as the wildfire that ravages the poor farmer's fields in high summer, and she does not hide that fact. Others might describe her as cruel, but she is not cruel - cruelty implies intention, vengeance, feeling, and she has none of that. Her deadliness is much like the hidden ditch in the road waiting to catch a traveler unaware, the unattended candle left a little too close to the bedsheets, the unassuming bush of moonseed bearing juicy, luscious berries right next to a child's playground. If she kills, it will be in retaliation, or in boredom, or in a slip of the hand; there is no telling with Ain.
Many fae find her scary. After all, how could such a creature exist in the summer court, of all courts? Benevolence? One might even think she doesn't know the word at all! Not a day goes by without whispers flying behind her back, all pointed stares and disdainful comments. She pays them no mind; they are young, oh so very young, and she has seen countless of their same kind in her life. It wasn't envy or fear that let her live this long. Soon, her antagonisers would die, and she would watch as their bones bleach in the sun and scatter to dust with time. She would laugh - except she wouldn't, because that means nothing to her.
The 'courts' are not to her taste. They were full of pretenders, wearing faces and titles like cheap jewelry, stripped off and changed in a second should they not appeal to the wearer. They were cowards, acting like humans because they feared eternity. She has no respect for the nobles and lords and princes and she will not pretend that she has any. Nor the queen - she remembers when the queen still lived - the queen was as weak and fragile as those who came after her, though that did not come as a surprise.
Just like that, she holds no loyalty to anyone. It's not uncommon for fae and mortals alike to come to her when they need something done - usually the dirtiest of deeds they deem too filthy for their own hands - because they know she will do whatever they ask, as long as they agree to her price. Even if someone asks of her to do something as treacherous as overthrowing the current prince, she will have no qualms doing it. Just as she has no qualms telling the current prince that someone was out to get him and exactly how they plan to do it. Whoever offers the highest receives the best.
─── HISTORY
AIN REMEMBERS THE OLD DAYS. Before the princes. Before the queen. Some daresay before the era of the wild fae, even.
She remembers the days where summer was not all fun and games and trips to the seaside with pleasant sunshine and an iced drink in hand. She remembers the days where fires roared unchecked, plumes of smoke and ash choking the air, where nature grew unreigned, racing and tangling, swallowing the landscape with no end in sight, where rot festered and split the trees like great sludge monsters, the rot of summer, hot and wet and sticky, not the sweet, rather refined rot of autumn. Things were savage. New. Alive.
Her age is apparent in her name. She does not have a true name, or at least not one like the ones the fae these days have. Her true name is her descriptor, her being, her very existence: Whisper of the Turbulent Summer. So destructive true names were back then that everyone took on new names, pathetic shadows of the real things, and she named herself Ain, the heat of day, the fire, the light.
Ain did not have parents. Or perhaps she did - not that it mattered anyway. Things back then were wild, not crazy wild, but old wild, where there was no concept of mother, father, brother or sister. Blood meant nothing unless it was spilt on the ground, a dash of colour and an offering to the brutish forces of nature.
Hers is the House of Ash. The write-grey motes gliding on the wind, the smoldering wood in the fires, the blackening bark of trees. She is a reminder of all things past, still lurking in the shadows, deep in the forest between the roots fuzzing with mould. She is the fierceness in the back of everyone's minds, the feralness in anger, and the brutality in war. She is the thoughts that spring up unbidden, those that one would immediately be struck by fear with the knowledge that one would even think of those things. Wild was the world and meek were its inhabitants, so scared that they had to lock their true calling deep away.
When the queen arose, she submitted. To live under the rule of another was never a problem for her; she knew the true nature of time: order does not last forever. Every reign would be a blip in her life, a tiny drop in the great expanse of ocean that was her lifespan. She didn't desire to be out of the queen's rule, either. Ain did not hate, did not plot, did not gnash her teeth in impatience like a lot of others, simply because she did not feel. After living so long, it becomes clear that feelings were fleeting at best and a complete show of weakness at worst.
The queen was nice to her. If she remembers correctly - she hasn't cared to go through her memories much. The queen was willing to give up a lot if it meant that Ain didn't harm as many people physically or emotionally, so Ain complied with her requests. There was a time where the fae thought that the queen had tamed her; what fools. She was never untamed in the first place - to tame means to change in a way, and Ain is unchanging.
Then came the princes, who killed their queen without the guilt that many expected them to have. She almost applauded them for that, being able to get in touch with their older, truer ways. Soon she discovered she was wrong, however, because the princes were just as fake as the queen was, just as fake as the rest of the fae had become. Yet still she cooperates, because there's no harm in that.
The times will change, and the great wheel of order will spin once more. Ain knows, because she has always known. She's sure the princes know too - they couldn't be that stupid if they were shrewd enough to form the courts.
Perhaps she will help the wheel turn. It has been a while, she must admit. Cagairt an t'Samhraidh Buairesache was growing bored, and the boredom of such an entity is not to be ignored.
─── PHYSICAL
AIN DOES NOT WEAR A GLAMOUR. Her true form is her true form, and to hide that would be a disgrace to nature itself.
She stands tall above most others, a collection of long bony limbs and overly sharp claws. Dark hair tumbles down from her head in a snare of nettles, a constant sea in turbulence, rolling with thorns and leaves. A pair of watery yellow eyes set in a sallow face peer out from under that thick veil - at first glance they look sickly, but upon closer examination one would find that they are ever changing, acidic pupils ablaze in sclera the colour of ink. Pale yellowing antlers curl out from the sides of her head, curving up front and interlocking to create a crown of bone.
She is clad in robes of ashen leaves, still smoking and smoldering, their tips glowing red hot in the wind. They rustle as she moves, crackling and popping, whispering and sighing. Through the shifting cracks in the long garment one can sometimes see her legs and feet; sometimes cloven like those of a coat, sometimes taloned like those of a hawk, or sometimes clawed like those of a dragon.
Mod
@adeline ~ APPROVED! what a wonderfully done character!
winter's rose ~ wrote: "@adeline ~ APPROVED! what a wonderfully done character!"Thank you! I was worried there would be something wrong.
Do I look for a RP partner in 'roleplay requests' or 'collaboration'? I see similar things happening in both threads.
Mod
yes, so, for the collaboration thread, you can use it to plan relationships and dynamics between other characters ahead of time. you can plan how you want to interact with other members and such.
for the the roleplay requests thread, you can use it for when you're ready to write with someone you've previously collaborated with, or just wing it and ask if anyone is interested to write with your character and see where it goes.
i hope this helps! if not, let me know!
winter's rose ~ wrote: "yes, so, for the collaboration thread, you can use it to plan relationships and dynamics between other characters ahead of time. you can plan how you want to interact with other members and such..."
You've been very helpful, I thank you.
Another character because I can't help it-
└─── ISTOIRE | LǏ SĪGǓ
WANDERING HUMAN ────┐
Poet (Recital) | Calligrapher | Painter
─── PERSONALITY
ISTOIRE IS A WANDERER. Physically, he can't stay too long in one area because he starts to look longingly to the sky and dream of the world beyond where he is staying. Mentally, he is ever-changing, trying to seek some meaning to his life, trying to follow the words of many, but his soul never quite settles on any of the teachings. He wishes for stability, but he wants that stability to be comforting and suited for him when he finds it, so he doesn't necessarily resent the feeling of being lost at the moment. Being lost is part of life, after all, and it is sometimes that only by being lost that one can find what one really needs.
Art has always been a great part of his life. It is the blood of being, holding everything that words and gestures can't convey, hiding secrets and double meanings that serve as a cosy hideaway from the harsh world outside. People are sad, or upset, or discontent, and Istoire wants to help; he often offers his services to those who need them. That doesn't mean he tries to cheer them up or anything - sometimes there is solace to be found in sorrow, pouring out in a stream of ink onto pale sheets of paper in the form of art.
He feels especially bad for the fae, who have lived an eternity compared to him. Immortality is a curse, he knows, and there is no escape from it except death, which is a hard decision to make for such folk who have lived so long they only know how to fight to survive longer. They have seen countless generations go by, worlds change, lovers die, and ever they stay constant, only watching, unable to do anything. Thus, he considers it a great honor to be able to perform or create for any member of the courts, be they noble or peasant.
His art differs slightly from most of his contemporaries. While people call him a poet, he never really writes any poems; he calls himself a reciter, a storyteller. He is a great scholar of the poetry of past writers. He makes sure that he understands every word, every choice made in those poems, and the hundreds, perhaps thousands of years of history behind them. When he recites a poem, it comes to life, unfurling its details around him and bringing breath to the cheeks of its long dead poet.
He also practices calligraphy. His style is wild and fierce, capturing the spirit of the words being transcribed, instead of trying to look beautiful, as many calligraphers strive to do with their fountain pens, precise curves, and sharp edges. The only pen he uses is a brush - soft bristles of animal hair set in a handle of bamboo and jade, dipped in ink ground from his personal inkstone.
There is much to see in his paintings, even if they are minimalist. A dot, a splatter, a dash, and a line of geese are flying over a desolate snowscape. A curve, a droplet, a scrape, and suddenly a lone little house sits on a prairie while its inhabitant drinks in the stars above. His works are entirely of white paper and black ink, but there is something about the way the ink glides and dances and bleeds across the paper that makes them so breathtaking to look at.
─── PHYSICAL
ISTOIRE LOOKS NORMAL, BUT THERE IS ALWAYS SOMETHING DEEPER TO HIM THAT EVERYONE CAN SEE BUT NOBODY CAN DESCRIBE. He's a medium tall man of a slim build, with shoulder length black hair tied into a low pony tail. His skin is beige-yellow, the colour of the skin of the people from his country. Never has he dressed in any colour other than black or white or some shade in between; his garments hang off of his frame as if he has been starved for years, although that's just the style he goes for. He has large sleeves that he sometimes waves around for dramatic effect.
His face, although usually graced with a soft smile, shows sign of wear and tear. His eyes crinkle too easily when he shuts them, as if they are used to holding tears in the deep pockets under them. And even though he smiles, the motion is an uncomfortable one, as if his mouth is more accustomed to another expression.
His deep brown eyes turn honey gold when they are struck by light at just the right angle; they are glimmering, full of clarity, and as sweet as chocolate. But, if one cares to look more closely, one might see the bitterness and sorrow of the past in those brown depths.
He is always seen with a brush. A simple, not too flashy brush of bamboo and jade. It's always close to him, and he never lets it out of his sight; he breaks down if he thinks he's lost it, although that's not a common sight since he watches it as if that is the very thing keeping him alive. Such a treasure must have a proper handler, and Istoire is the perfect man; his fingers are long and gentle, frail almost, able to coax the tiniest of movements out of his precious brush.
His most significant feature is not a physical one: it his his voice. His voice has the quality of rumbling thunder, though not as deep but just as resonant. One word spoken from him can capture the attention of an entire room. His voice is as warm as molten gold and shimmering amber, smooth as silk across bare skin, and enrapturing like song captured in spoken form. Though he never sings, the way each word is modulated and inflected makes listening to him sound like listening to a never before heard piece of music. As beautiful as his voice is, however, it also carries whispered undertones of steel against steel, bones left in the snow, and the scream of a young boy separated from his parents as buildings burn under a night sky.
─── HISTORY
HIS LIFE STARTED OUT AS NORMALLY AS ANY OTHER PERSON'S. Istoire had a family. He had a home in a small village. Things were alright. His family wasn't exactly middle class, so often they lacked money and he would have to work along with his parents in order to scrape by. His parents would often tell him to go study, to hone his skills so that he would have a better life than theirs when he grew up, but he always tried his best to squeeze in and help them whenever he could.
From a young age he became a lover of literature - his family's meager salaries went directly to buying more books as soon as they could afford more than the basic necessities for life. His father had a wondrous voice that boomed and echoed as he told stories and read works while young Istoire - SiGu at the time - watched and listened in utter enrapturement. His mother had a singing voice as sweet as sunlight rippling over a clear pond in spring, one that even the birds outside would quiet down to hear. It was like this that Istoire developed his own recital skills - nobody other than his father and mother could come close to the rises and falls, rumbles and rolls, and pure emotion in a voice.
They were content to live like that. Even with what little they had, they never complained, never looked upon others with envy. Family was enough, and their stories and songs embraced them more warmly then the best made blanket every would.
Of course, though, constancy is only something the ageless have access to. Unbeknownst to the small family, war had come upon their country. Outside invaders had arrived, demanding tribute and lives, stealing and killing when they were denied. As people in the countryside not far from the border, they were among the first to be hit by such terrors.
It was too late when they heard. Relatives and friends from nearby villages had run over, raising an alarm and calling everyone up in the late hours of the night. In the distance, between the rolling hills, were the faint flickers of fire and the muted rumble of hooves against grass. Everyone had to evacuate. Istoire's family didn't have enough money to buy them a way out, or sustain a life after that. His mother and father decided to find someone to take him away from the village.
Luckily a bureaucrat from the city had visited a week ago, and had been impressed by Istoire's skill in reciting at one of his performances at the village's meeting hall. It was the bureaucrat that came to his parents, asking if he could take the young Istoire with him as he returned to the city. Istoire's parents quickly agreed, shoving together what meager belongings they had, all fit into a tiny rucksack, and packed them away with him.
Why the bureaucrat couldn't take more than just a young, somewhat malnourished boy would be forever a mystery. Istoire certainly didn't understand, and he fought everyone, trying to get back to his parents. He screamed his voice hoarse cursing and crying. Finally he was mounted on a horse with the help of his parents, and he was away, galloping into the streets with the wind racing through his hair.
He will never forget the faces of his parents on that night, illuminated by the flickering torchlight, eyes glittering with tears above sad smiles. They held hands as Istoire was taken away from them, not even bothering to wave as they resigned themselves to the fate of the coming invaders.
Istoire arrived at the city quietly. People tried to speak to him, but he would not open his mouth. The only sounds he made were grunts or hoarse coughs, to which others quickly brought water and food over. The bureaucrat was nice enough, giving him warm living quarters that were far bigger than any house Istoire's family could have owned in their life. He expected Istoire to recover quickly and find his voice, but as the months passed, he grew disappointed as the possibility of that happening waned and waned.
People about the estate began to whisper that Istoire was a dumb village boy who didn't know how to talk. He ignored them, content to stew in his own misery in the corner of the garden where the thin willow branches weeped in rhythm to the wind. The bureaucrat seemed to understand his grief, and gave him plenty of space and consolation, but Istoire could see the frustration underneath - it wasn't an unkind frustration, but rather one that stemmed from impatience. He'd expected a boy with the ability to move a rock to tears through his recital and all he'd gotten was a boy who refused to speak. No amount of poetry or books could change that; he tried to give Istoire old works, new words, everything in between, but the boy wouldn't spare a glance at them.
Years passed like that. The bureaucrat became like a surrogate father to Istoire, though never as close as his real father. There would always be a miniscule distance between the boy and the rest of the world, it seemed, ever since he was torn away from his only true family on a night of quiet and fire.
Finally, the bureaucrat decided that letting Istoire grieve forever wouldn't do anybody any good, certainly not Istoire, so he brought another artist into his household - people of high standing tended to sponsor and house their chosen artist - in hopes that the new artist would be able to bring out some of the old life in Istoire.
The artist's name was Xi Wen, and she was a prodigy painter and calligrapher. She had travelled the country for most of her life, learning from the greats and selling her works, before catching the eye of the bureaucrat who now sponsored her. Wen definitely had seen war and destruction before - too many times - and she had developed a rather positive view of them. Not of war and destruction themselves of course, but more the response to them. She saw them as proof that people could be strong and persevere. Humans were hearty animals, and they should be proud of that, and always try to make the world better. War always ended, one day or another.
At first Istoire didn't like her. She was too optimistic for a boy who'd lost his parents due to conflict, and she was the only one who would persistently attempt to interact with him, even though every one else in the bureaucrat's estate had long since given up on him.
When it became clear that he wouldn't respond to her, she took to carrying out her art supplies and sitting down next to him near his favourite corner of the garden. She would stay there for hours, working on her paintings of the garden from that one specific angle, all the while talking and chattering to Istoire about recent court gossip, or the weather, or how beautiful the wildflowers were on the other side of the wall. She didn't mind that she was the only one talking.
A few months passed of her talking to him. Istoire's annoyance at her eventually subsided and he became brave enough to at times look over her shoulder while she painted. Wen didn't mind; the first time he did that she smiled brightly and began to talk about the techniques in her painting, the way she captured the shapes of the world using a few brushstrokes, or the way she could tastefully stain the paper by first wetting it with water and then dotting in the tiniest drop of paint. Istoire didn't respond to her, but he was intrigued by the process.
Her art was so colourful - emerald greens for the grass, blazing red for the peonies when they bloomed. Istoire appreciated it, but he felt that if he was to ever draw, he would never be able to bring himself to use colours like that.
One day she arrived humming a small tune. Wen had never done that before; she was all silence or talk, never music. That tune speared Istoire straight in the heart. For some reason, he gasped and broke down, crying for the first time in over five years. He had blocked away most of the memories from the past, only remembering the looks on his parents' faces when they watched him ride away, but this song brought it all back, crashing through the walls he had built around himself.
Immediately he left the garden, despite Wen's confused and concerned asking after him, and locked himself inside his room. He didn't come out for a week, and didn't eat any of the food brought to him.
Wen came to him many times, knocking on his door and asking if he was okay. The bureaucrat came to ask if he was okay and if he needed anything. Servants tried to enter to give him new clothes or give him a bath. He turned them all away in silence, refusing to open the doors.
Eventually Wen started talking to him through the door, continuing her habit of babbling about the various little going-ons of the world, just as she had done in the garden. She could tell that music and song were touchy subjects for him, so when she did talk about them, her voice grew gentle and patient. She started off by explaining what the tune had been - it was a simple celebration song of the arrival of spring after winter. Istoire had remembered what it was by then - the people in his village were never happier than the time when snow melted and plants regrew.
Wen told him that she was sorry that she had sang, and that she wouldn't do it again, because she knew how much it hurt him. For some reason, unable to control himself, Istoire had thrown the door open at that and in his voice all scratchy from disuse, whisper-cried for her not to stop singing. His hair hung all scraggly over his face and he looked like he hadn't been part of civilisation for hundreds of years, but still he begged her. Some part of him needed that music - maybe it was a sign of a heart that was healing, maybe it was a sign that he was ready to face the horrors of the past.
His outburst surprised Wen, and also all the attendants in the hall at the time. They had screamed and run off to get the bureaucrat, while Wen had stepped forward and caught him as he fell, gently embracing him in a hug. It will be okay, she told him. It will be okay.
He came out of his room later that day. The bureaucrat came by and was overjoyed that Istoire was recovering. He insisted, with the sternness of a father, against Istoire's struggling, that the boy get a proper bath before he go anywhere. After the bath he brought by a stack of books, and this time, Istoire didn't refuse them.
Istoire still refused to talk to anyone, though, but he did open up toward Wen. He returned to his corner of the garden, watching the little creek go by, and when nobody else was there, he would talk to her. A few words at first; barely a sentence.
She was patient and would never push him. She responded to everything he said with earnest and elaboration, and didn't ask him any questions because she knew he wouldn't want to answer them.
Eventually she taught him to paint. Istoire didn't find any meaning in the colours and preferred to capture the bare bones of the world around them. Black, white, and grey. Wen told him his preferences were of a specific minimalist style, and that they had a nice artistic flair to them. Every now and then she would correct him on how to hold the brush or how much ink to take into the bristles so it wouldn't damage them, but she never corrected what he painted. Even if his drawings were crooked and removed from what he saw, she said nothing, having only encouragement.
He didn't start off good, of course; he'd never painted in his life before. He understood nothing of proportion of composition or the likes. But he was trying, and he was getting there. The first time the bureaucrat saw his work he laughed, ruffled his hair, and told him he was doing a good job even though the ink on the paper resembled nothing of the tree he was trying to draw. The bureaucrat said maybe with some training he could become a painter.
─── HISTORY CONTINUED
Wen sang to him at times, and he would close his eyes, tip his head back against the stone wall, and immerse himself in the music. Her voice was nowhere as good as his parents', but he doubted anyone in the world would be able to reach that level, not even himself. Plus, his voice was ruined; all the screaming and years of disuse had rendered it into a scratchy whisper, scraping like a poorly made mattress of hay.
The average day became her singing and him painting, or her painting and him watching. He grew closer to her - she was the older sister that he never had. They talked about simple things: the blue of the sky, the taste of berries, the swaying of grass. He still wasn't ready to take on the world about him; to speak of other people and other lives was foreign territory he didn't want to tread upon just yet.
The bureaucrat summoned him one day and sat him down in front of his desk. He asked Istoire how he was doing. Istoire responded with a half-hearted shrug. The bureaucrat asked him if he had read sorrow poetry before, the poems that tore out from the poet's hearts at their times of most pain. Istoire had not. All the poems he and his family had read were regular poems about the turning of the seasons, about the harvest, about the contentment of life, about love. The bureatcrat gave him a thin book and asked him to consider it.
Istoire discovered an entirely new facet to the artistic world that day. Hundreds and thousands of poets sand out their sorrows into their poems. He found reading those poems comforting in a way, as if his own sorrows were seeping into the words he read.
He read the books with the hunger of a lion that hadn't eaten in days - he consumed them one after the other, slipping in and out of the library to get more books, some of poetry, some of history. He wanted to know more. Who were these poets? What had made them so sad that they sang the song of his own heart?
It was a big step forward for him; no longer did he spend his time solely between the gardens and his rooms. Wen accompanied him everywhere, amiably discussing the poems with him as depressing as they were. She understood, of course. She had her history as well.
She taught him calligraphy when he wanted to write out the poems for himself. Regular print was boring, she said. Through calligraphy, your soul bleeds into the ink. And it was true - her characters were bold, crisp, open to the world like a pair of welcoming arms. Istoire's were wild, crying, lamenting something he wishes to forget while still wanting to remember.
His calligraphy was an instant hit - the members of the bureaucrat's estate loved his work and so did the members of the court that the bureaucrat belonged to. Soon he was receiving requests by the hundreds, asking him to write phrases of good luck, or poems, or congratulatory messages. He only accepted some of them; he had to write what he felt. Many left disappointed without a work by Istoire, but those who received thanked him so much that the estate's doors were crowded with gifts at times.
Wen supported him through everything. Each work of art she would hold and scrutinise before loudly announcing to nobody in particular how beautiful it was, how immaculate the workings, as if she were a presenter in an art show with only Istoire as her audience. Istoire found it amusing and even found it in him to smile at her small shows.
He had begun talking more by then, communicating with people other than just Wen, and his voice was returning to him. He tried to recite a poem. It went badly, but Wen and the bureaucrat could hear the promise, and they encouraged him to continue.
The bureaucrat brought over one of the most famous storytellers at the time to help Istoire. Day after day they would perform vocal exercises, loosening and rejuvenating the vocal chords so strained and broken at a young age.
His audience gradually increased from Wen, the bureaucrat, and the storyteller to the staff of the estate. Then it went on and out, beyond the walls of the estate.
His first recital outside was in front of a town square, with more than a hundred people watching him, pinning him down with their expectant stares. He was to them, after all, a stranger they'd never seen before. At most they knew him as the dumb village boy who didn't speak from the bureaucrat's estate.
He blew them away. He recited "In the Garden a Strange Tree Grows", a short poem, but a poem with a subtle sorrow in its words that not everyone could capture. He spilled his own heart into it, telling it as in farewell to his parents.
The square was hushed that day, full of people reminiscing their goodbyes and holding eyes full of tears.
More and more he was asked to recite. It bothered him slightly; his best performances did not come to him on demand. Sure, he could recite a regular old poem every now and then, and his voice would carry it perfectly, but they never matched up to his recitals when he truly was feeling the emotion behind the words.
He found that he performed better when he was facing a person or a small group of people who were deep in sorrow. They understood each other then - one heart to another, connected by the medium of poetry.
Time had gone by, and he had grown up to be about 15, almost 16. It was the time of another great goodbye in his life: Wen was leaving. As an artist under a patron's sponsorship, she never should have stayed too long in the estate. Her job was to go out and do her patron proud in her works. She had only been allowed to stay because Istoire was lonely and broken. Now that he'd healed somewhat, she was to resume her regular work.
They shared a heartfelt goodbye with hugs and tears at the gates, and she gave him a calligraphy brush that he forevermore held dear to his heart. It was a simple thing, a medium sized brush with soft white bristles set in a handle of yellow-gold bamboo. A rim of jade encircled the end.
Istoire continued to work locally, in the city where the bureaucrat worked and lived, but he felt a part of him had left. His sister had gone to explore the world, why couldn't he? She had told him the stories of rolling meadows and sharp jutting mountains dusted with snow. She had told him about deep green forests and lakes so clear one could see straight to its deepest depths.
When he brought this up to the bureaucrat, the bureaucrat had denied, but told him that he could leave after another year. Istoire's voice still needed work, as it got strained easily, and he still had to fully heal.
Istoire left that conversation grumpy and sad, but took it into stride, working his hardest to improve his situation. He read a lot more, filling is mental library to the brim with poetry and stories. The warmth in his voice during his childhood was returning, and that only meant good things for everyone listening to him.
A year later, the bureaucrat finally let him go. Istoire got his papers and a small medal that marked him as this specific bureaucrat's sponsored artist, a smooth circle of gold emblazoned with a sparrow holding a willow branch in its beak.
The world was so new and exciting to him. His heart pumped with happiness - the first time in as long as he could remember - and he set about spreading his art. Villages loved the stories he told. Local lords and nobles bought his calligraphy and art by the tens. They offered to buy his paper for him; good xuan paper was hard to come by.
The country seemed to small for him, eventually. After a few years, he had travelled the place so thoroughly it felt like he was bursting at the seams. He had hoped to find Wen in his voyages, but there was no sign of his older sister.
So he went further. With a quick note to his patron, he left the country. He sailed the seas, hiked across mountains, rode across deserts on the backs of camels. He quickly discovered that the people outside of his country spoke other languages. He'd heard snatches of other languages in the city when foreigners came, but the foreigners then had also spoken his language, even if a little accented.
His guides and hosts along the way were more than happy to provide him with books and teach him a little of the language. Perhaps they saw the sorrow set deep in his eyes beyond his smile and friendly body language.
Istoire was a quick learner. After all, he had learned his language from books alone in his childhood. He didn't go to school back then. It was only through books and communication. And so he accumulated a multitude of languages, and along with them, the many poems and stories in them.
As he travelled further, the tastes of the people around him changed. The foreign lands liked lavish, detailed paintings, each item practically rolling off of the page. Istoire didn't have a knack for that, and didn't want to paint like that, so he set aside his painting for a while. He would draw for himself only during those times, relying more on his speaking and reciting. The people loved his recitals. They often requested more than just the stories of their own lands - they were curious people - so he would recite poems and stories from all the different countries and kingdoms he'd travelled to.
It was in one of the countries he gained his other name: Istoire. They told him that a true name had power. Strange, though, because in his native country everyone spoke of each other in true names; perhaps people out here had something to hide. He picked up his name with a smile, as it prided him to be close to the people he performed to, and it was an honour to be called "History" itself.
At 22 he grew homesick. He had been gone from his country for over five years; he wondered how Wen was doing, or how his patron was doing. Much to the disappointment of his crowds and patrons in foreign lands, he made his voyage back home.
It was a long and arduous journey back, only to be met with... nothing. Charred buildings and collapsed beams, saddled with snow sagging down the remaining roofs.
A long time has passed, and war waits for no one.
He's not sure how he responded at the time. It's all a blur - white, black, and grey ash, the howling of wind and the soft pattering of snowflakes. The garden he'd lived in for so long seemed smaller, the dark willow in by the creek gnarled and keeling over with age. The skulls and bones between the rocks and paths are either bleached white or charred black.
Again, he would have to leave. His life is an endless cycle of leaving, settling, leaving again.
He hopes Wen is okay.
With nowhere to stay, and the cold biting at his heels, he knows he has to voyage out again into the foreign lands. There is nothing left here for him - the city was gone, just like his village. He had passed many other settlements on his way here, but he fears that if he stays, war might come upon them too. As if it were a curse on him.
─── HISTORY END
So he strikes out again, heading to the foreign lands where names hold power and strange creatures live forever.
As he leaves, he tells his the ashes that had once been his home one last tale-I drive my chariot up to the Eastern Gate;
From afar I see the graveyard north of the Wall.
The white aspens how they murmur, murmur;
Pines and cypresses flank the broad paths.
Beneath lie men who died long ago;
Black, black is the long night that holds them.
Deep down beneath the Yellow Springs,
Thousands of years they lie without waking.
In infinite succession light and darkness shift,
And years vanish like the morning dew.
Man’s life is like a sojourning,
His longevity lacks the firmness of stone and metal.
For ever it has been that mourners in their turn were mourned,
Saint and Sage,—all alike are trapped.
Seeking by food to obtain Immortality
Many have been the dupe of strange drugs.
Better far to drink good wine
And clothe our bodies in robes of satin and silk.
The dead are gone and with them we cannot converse.
The living are here and ought to have our love.
Leaving the city-gate I look ahead
And see before me only mounds and tombs.
The old graves are ploughed up into fields,
The pines and cypresses are hewn for timber.
In the white aspens sad winds sing;
Their long murmuring kills my heart with grief.
I want to go home, to ride to my village gate.
I want to go back, but there’s no road back.
True name: Helia (the sun) Greenriver-Galathynius
physical age: 20/ actual age: born somewhat before the fall of the queen
Human/Fae
Lady
Summer Court
bisexual
Fae imperfection: cement-white skin marking her as a noble Fae
Face claim:
https://images.adagio.com/images2/cus...
golden eyes with a shimmer of blue
white hair
pale skin, as all royals
A scar on her right wrist from her training master. He broke her right hand to force her to learn mastering a sword with her left hand.
Personality:
Helia is very hot headed, straight forward and devious as every assasin. She has suffered and is able to endure a lot, but never lost her empathy. She wants to revenge the death of her mother by helping the queen rise again and seeks every opportunity to harm the Princes from the Underground
History:
Helia was raised in a noble Fae Family faithful to the queen, however she was the bastard offspring of her father taking a human woman. He tooke her into his house though as she was about 8 years old. To her strue blood iblings she always was kind of the black sheep in the family and therefore felt neglected. In her younger years she had to attend school but was never intersted in politics and only a little in history. That is why one day she fled from the land of the courts over the sea by the sandy shores. She hid and became a huntress, not aware that the queen was overthrown. In oversea she was found by a human underground assasin lord, who recognized her but kept it a secret. He trained her in everything she needed to survive. Helia travelled around the world to learn from every tribe of assasins what skills they had to offer. She now returned unrecognized under the name Lara Sardothien to the land of the fae, where she fell in love with a Fae and learned about the fate of her family: as loyal subjects to the queen they were killed too. Currently, Helia is learning to control her powerful fire magic and to hide her origin.