The peace that formerly reigned in Terra Nova has eroded, now little more than a memory. War ravages the continent. Disputes divide kingdoms; ideals divide families. The quest for power consumes absolutely and indiscriminately. None are immune to its allure.
Who will rise and who will fall? Only time—and ambition—will tell.
UPDATES
05.26.2023
2 month character creation hold for all existing members begins 6/5/2023. Ended 8/5/2023.
10.29.2023
Change in how times flows. Was 4 IC seasons, now only 2 IC seasons per 1 OOC year.
5 whole years of Heir Apparent goodness! When I started the site, I knew I was hunkering down for the long haul, but I never could have predicted the numerous twists and turns this roleplay site has seen. Hundreds of plots, characters, and members have come and gone, all leaving marks on the site. I am so very thankful for those who have invested. Because you keep coming back, keep getting on, and keep writing, Heir Apparent has the legacy it does today. Three cheers to us!
As Grissa accepted his offer, Ber settled back into his seat with a nod and took no issue with listening to her invitation to eat. Having spent much of his life without the luxury of choosing his food, he had a beggar’s willingness to eat whatever ended up in front of him, and this mountain goat stew was no exception. After a somewhat tentative first bite, the soldier made a noise of appreciation and ate the subsequent spoonfuls with more enthusiasm.
Her concerns about them feeding him enough echoed similar statements he’d heard before from Temperance and Melody. The reminder had some bittersweet fondness for the people left behind warming his chest.
When Grissa spoke again, he glanced over at her, quickly thinking back over the course of the conversation. No, apparently he had not introduced himself. It had fallen by the wayside in his curiosity about mountain goats and focus on the letter. “Oh, uh, sorry. Berengar Stormcrest,” He offered with a half-shrug, a combination of a little awkward and a little sheepish. “Stormcrest is fine though.”
And Nevermere? Ber swallowed a couple more spoonfuls to buy himself some time to think. “Well, there’s more trees,” He began, mind still partially with Temperance and her cottage on the fringes of Skia; they had walked many a time in the forest beyond the city limits, either taking Artos for some exercising or searching for potion ingredients. “And it’s usually pretty cloudy.” He ended his rather lack-luster answer with a shrug and another spoonful of stew. “Do you want to know about something in particular?”
Grissa smiled with a small chuckle as the soldier began to dig into the meal, pleased that her cooking would not be wasted. Food was the way to the heart, as Grissa always told her daughters, and conversation was much better over a full stomach. Hopefully this instance was no different: she would feed the entire Nevermere army if that's what it took to uproot Isolde from her position.
"Berengar Stormcrest," Grissa slowly enunciated the name with an amused chortle. "I forget how long you Nevermere like your names. If I'm recalling correctly, the latter half is to keep track of lineage? I am sure you do your family and ancestors proud, Stormcrest."
She was not sure if the people of Nevermere revered their ancestors as much as Cambria did: they certainly had very little concept of the All-Mother and her guidance.
"I do see many of your people squinting as if they have never seen the sun," Grissa nodded with a tsk. "No wonder you lot are so pale."
The elder thought for a moment: what could she glean from the boy without putting him on the defensive?
"Here in Cambria all of our daughters are trained as fierce warriors," she began, spooning up a bit of the stew. "Is it the same in Nevermere? A soldier named @warren told me there were many new recruits this season."
Last Edit: Jun 29, 2023 21:43:15 GMT -5 by Deleted
At the sound of her clearly testing out his name for herself, Ber glanced up and over at Grissa, reminded of Neela repeating his name to herself upon learning it as well. Mildly amused, he wondered if that was a Cambrian thing. In a way, the practice was a little endearing in the same way that a child might test out strange words, though, of course, he knew better than to believe that the woman sitting across from him and all of her fellow Cambrians were as harmless as children. Swallowing a bite, he nodded a confirmation to her question and merely offered a, “Thanks,” in lieu of diving into how his name belonged to his orphanage rather than a family.
Grissa’s observation of the newcomers, Ber undoubtedly included, had him offering a sheepish smile. After spending the first part of their time on the ship marveling at the sky and the sun, he couldn’t deny the novelty of sunlight, and he didn’t think he would ever get tired of looking up to find a bright, clear blue instead of gray. “It’s bright when the sun comes out,” He defended himself, though the words didn’t carry any heat, and ignored the unintentional accuracy of Grissa’s statement. “It’s nice though, too.” All of the Cambrians showed evidence of spending their lives in the sun, and even among the Nevermereans one could generally distinguish who had been stationed here and who had just arrived from how tan – or burnt – they were.
Spooning more stew into his mouth, he listened as Grissa began to talk and managed to keep his sigh internal when Woodwick’s name made an appearance. It did not escape him that she had referred to him as merely a soldier rather than by his rank, but Ber, funnily enough, felt no particular urge to correct her. He highly doubted the captain would discover his disrespect-by-proxy, though thoughts of him had Ber recalling the woman who had sat across from him at yesterday’s meal. The ambassador had warned him to watch his words around the Cambrians, and friendly though she was, Grissa was still a Cambrian.
“Ah, yeah, we’ve got a lot of new recruits,” Ber confirmed with a nod, choosing to capitalize on his two years of seniority by not including himself in that number. A fair number of them were discharged, too, due to the assessments, though that was neither here nor there. Mandatory training, however – was that something that could be shared? He wasn’t sure, so he sidestepped the question with a half-answer. “They’re all trained like the rest of us. I think I met some of your, ah, daughters last night. They were sitting with @neela .” A pause as another question struck him then. His next words came somewhat hesitantly. “They’re not, uh, all actually your daughters though, right? There’s too many of you. Some of them have to be someone else’s.”
Grissa chortled at his question, shaking her head with pursed lips. "No, young soldier, not every woman in Cambria came from my womb or Isolde's. Our people are a family, and we are all sisters and daughters under the All-Mother. Mother is typically a title reserved for your birth mother, and the Chieftess...when we had one," her expression soured a bit before sighing. "That good days may return to Cambria once again."
"You know, you remind me much of my youngest daughter," She looked back up at Ber with a faint smile. "She was far too serious for one so young as well. Remember to let yourself relax once and a while, Stormcrest. Not everything is a task or a mission to complete. For example, I have invited the soldier Warren to enjoy a fresh feast. I do hope you two are friends, he seems such a charming and respectful young man, much like yourself. Whatever you catch when I teach you to hunt, we three can enjoy together."
Perhaps the soldiers would be more comfortable in each others' company and let a few more things loose. Even if not, Grissa rather enjoyed the attention and listening ears. Every woman in Cambria had long since heard all of her stories and wisdom. But some of these new Nevermere soldiers were the perfect entertainment and company.
"Before I forget," Grissa turned, reaching over to open a small wicker basket. Her wrinkled hand rummaged among the various bone trinkets, finally pulling out a particular charm with a nod. "Here, young Stormcrest. I would like for you to have this. It was one that I carved for my youngest daughter, but it sits here collecting dust with far too many like it. I would be honored if you would wear it as a symbol of our friendship and in honor to her memory."
Even if they apparently used the term with far more flexibility than the average Nevermerean, a metaphorical family made far more sense than an actual family, and Ber nodded his understanding. Presumably that meant that they all looked out for one another as if they were related, which did not bode particularly well for removing Isolde, but it did remind him a bit of how Zevran had described Dresmond. A Dresmondi caravan was like an extended family, where everyone took care of each other. With its ruling class of untouchable nobles in their ivory tower who looked down upon everyone else merely struggling to survive, Nevermere was the exact opposite.
When Grissa spoke of how he reminded her of her youngest daughter, Ber paused and glanced over at her, something of a sheepish smile on his face. He had been called many things – only some of them flattering – but he couldn’t remember the last time someone had told him that he was too serious. Her example, however, had the amusement dying in his chest and the smile freezing on his face. Hunting and sharing his catch with Grissa was not a problem. Doing so with Woodwick, however? Ugh. Hiding his reluctance with a spoonful of stew, he nodded. “I can try to relax, ma’am,” Ber said, only half intending to attempt to do so. “And yeah, a meal with you and, uh, Warren sounds nice.”
He had chosen call the captain by his first name merely because he knew he could get away with it, but Ber decided almost immediately that it felt too wrong on so many levels.
Curiously, he watched as Grissa turned and searched for something before producing a little bone trinket. Setting down his spoon, he reached out and took it, unable to stop a genuine smile from spreading across his face as he admired the little howling wolf. He still considered gifts a novelty, and to receive one that was hand-carved— Ber looked up at her. “Thank you, ma’am,” He said, earnest, gaze dropping to the trinket once more. Once he went back to the barracks, he would find some string that he could slip through the top and use to hang around his neck. “This is really good. You said you made it yourself? That must’ve taken a long time.”
"Perfect," Grissa smiled, not noticing any reservation on part of the soldier. "It will be the most company this old woman has had in years!"
Her birth daughters, after all, had been far too busy with daughters and granddaughters of their own. They hadn't spoken much too her since she had bonded with Kore...Grissa had always been confused by their clear envy and jealous, so unbefitting of daughters of the All-Mother. Kore's death only led to a greater divide between Grissa and her birth daughters, who said she spent more time mourning the dead than existing with the living. They did not understand the depths of Grissa's devotion to the All-Mother and her chosen daughter Kore, that was all. They would see in time. Then, they would be proud to call her Mother.
"You are most welcome," Grissa was pulled out of reminiscing by Stormcrest's words. "Carving has been a passion I've enjoyed since I was a little girl...I was your age once, if you can believe it," she chortled. "Anything to keep my hands busy for the mind to work. And what are a few hours when I soon look to the All-Mother's embrace for eternity?" Grissa paused, sobering with a nod. "I've lived through many seasons, my child. I hope to see one last rebirth of Cambria before I depart."
It was a little sad to think that two people would be more company than Grissa had hosted in years, especially given that one of them would be Woodwick, but the old lady seemed to only see the positive side of her statement. Considering how amiable she had been throughout this conversation, Ber couldn’t help but find it a little strange that the Cambrians apparently avoided her. Maybe their absence was more a side effect of something else rather than a deliberate intent to not socialize? Grissa was the oldest Cambrian he’d seen by many years, and Ber could hardly blame people for preferring the company of those their own age. He did as well, if only because just about everyone older than him tended to be an officer, which was a headache and a half to deal with at the best of times.
Grissa, however, reminded him a little of Temperance with her hospitality and homemade food, and that made interacting with her a little easier.
“I can believe it,” He said in response to her self-deprecating joke about her age. A little white lie that they could both recognize as such. “You don’t look that much older than me.” She was certainly stronger than him despite his youth. “And I think you’ve got a little longer before you, uh, head for the All-Mother, right?” Although Grissa was old, he thought she still looked in better shape than many of the old women he’d seen in Nevermere.
But carving— that was cool. He looked down at the wolf again, tracing the lines of the little figure with a finger. “How do you get all the details?” Ber glanced up at Grissa. “The fur and the trees. A little knife?” He paused as a thought struck him: what if he could make gifts for people back home? Nothing so intricate - he didn’t have decades to master the craft - but something recognizable, at least. Once he pictured a little Artos and Edith for Temperance and Thom, Ber’s mind was made up. “Can you show me how to start sometime?” He asked, assuming that he could probably figure out the rest on his own. Belatedly, he realized that maybe this was something that ought to be offered rather than asked for. “Only if you want to, that is.”
Grissa politely chuckled, closing her eyes for a bit with a smile. "I am glad Nevermere raises its youth right, at least. You are too kind, Stormcrest. Yes, I do hope to be granted at least a decade or two more...my mother was blessed one hundred and five years of live, though I do not imagine I shall make it that long. No matter what, it is all in the All-Mother's timing."
She was quite pleased with Stormcrest's reaction to the carving, clearly taking time to examine and appreciate it. The authentic interest was refreshing: nearly all of her Cambrian sisters had seen Grissa's work by now, a few wearing some, but certainly none impressed by them.
"Small files and picks I made myself," Grissa said, beaming with pride. "I would be more than happy to show you...I believe every warrior needs to carve a trinket from their first kill. It is a difficult and long process, but I believe you will find it quite rewarding as well. I will only ask that, when you are old as I, you pass what you have learned on to the next generation as well."
One hundred and five? Ber’s eyes widened slightly at the revelation. Even if Grissa never reached that age – truly, he had no good estimate for how far away she was, but he did know better than to ask – lasting beyond the seventy or so years a Nevermerean noble could expect to live was impressive. As a commoner and a soldier at that, Ber himself highly doubted that he would survive the next decade, let alone ever make it to Grissa’s age.
Still, he nodded his agreement to her request despite having no way of actually seeing it through. “I can do that.” Who would he teach? Would he have any particular skill with this craft actually worth passing on? He had decades to find out, if one felt particularly optimistic, which he rarely did. After looking back down at the carving in his hand, he set it aside before grabbing his bowl of stew again and spooning the remainder into his mouth before it got too cold.
Despite the unfamiliarity of the main ingredient, he did rather enjoy the stew, Ber decided, and he welcomed the prospect of returning for something similar and homemade tomorrow, even if it came with Woodwick’s presence. Belly full, he leaned back in his seat and let out a contented sigh. A good, warm meal always had a way of erasing every desire to move, but he knew that he couldn’t rest here forever. “So we’ll go hunting tomorrow after the meeting, then?” Ber confirmed, looking back toward Grissa.
"Indeed," Grissa nodded. "The earlier the better, before the heat of the sun drives our prey into hiding."
She wondered what the meeting would be about. A typical announcement of the changing soldiers, a futile attempt at trying to bring the Cambrian women to love their oppressors? Or something more? There was no doubt the Nevermere dogs were planning something, otherwise they would not have brought so many more soldiers...were they going to send further expeditions out into the mountains and plant another city?
"I don't suppose you know anything about what this meeting is about?" she tried, then shook her head with a chortle. "I doubt you would be allowed to share anything if you did. Tomorrow will bring what it brings, young Stormcrest. I look forward to our hunt."
With a small shrug, Ber shook his head and replied honestly, “I don’t, ma’am.” Though he would have appreciated having some clue as to what to expect, the military had a habit of leaving soldiers like him ignorant of such information until the orders were shouted in their faces, and nothing he could do would change that. So Ber let himself rest for another heartbeat before pushing himself to his feet with an offer to clear his spot at the table. “I’m looking forward to it, too,” He said while making his way to the door. “Thanks again for the stew.” Then he opened the door and stepped back into the village, once more a single face in a sea of new Nevermereans.