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!
Ozias walked through the street as if Nevermere had never existed. As if this were the Coheed of old, the Coheed of Cryil Jaggason and his forefathers. He was old, yes, but still strong—covered in sweat from the day’s training two of his sons followed: Oskar, the youngest, and Orin. They ragged on one another as they walked, Orin giving Oskar a playful shove which elicited a sharp correction from his father. Orin apologized, though the spirit of playful comradery remained. Ozias too was in an exceptionally good mood. Though many days his thoughts were clouded, today he felt uncharacteristically clear.
Not that he’d admit that to anyone. And not that anyone would comment on it either.
Ozias’s sons were happy to have their father—the one they’d grown up with—back for the day. They joked with one another, strutting about as if they owned the whole of Gilead. They took a turn out of the main way, toward the river, heading back to the compound when he saw…
It was Oskar who saw her first. He tapped Ozias on the shoulder and pointed, whispering something lewd in his father’s ear. Looking, he found the girl’s little blonde head and laughed, shoving his son affectionately. The Coheedsman undressed her with his eyes. The girl carried an unwieldy basket of washing, as many a woman did in the heat of the day. It was when clothes were most quick to dry, after all, so it was no surprise that she was headed toward the river.
What was a surprise was that Ozias had never seen her before. For surely he hadn’t—if he had, he would have remembered. He whispered something to his sons who fell back, as his father hastened to approach the woman.
“Looks like a heavy load for you to carry, little one,” Ozias said, “Here—allow me…” He’d seek to take the laundry from her hands without waiting for her consent in the matter.
It was laundry day, and it was Yrsa’s turn to wash it. It wasn’t her favorite chore to do, but someone had to do it. She’d spent the morning gathering everything that would need to be washed, blankets, spare clothing, small clothes…all of it. The warm season would not last long, and she wanted to get as much done as she could while she could. There was nothing more unpleasant than scrubbing clothes in a weather-chilled river. When she was finally ready to make the trek to the river, her basket was piled perhaps a little too-high with laundry and other washing things that she would need.
Perhaps if she had considered that she would be accosted by a supposedly well-meaning, elderly warrior, she would have reconsidered her choice to bring so much laundry at once…or perhaps she would have considered asking her sister, or perhaps one of her brothers to come with her. However, doted on as she was by her father, it didn’t occur to her that she ought to have kept her load light in case she needed to make a quick getaway. She didn’t notice the older man with his sons ogling her, or hear any lewd comments aimed her way even with her enhanced hearing. One minute she was walking, the next, the older warrior was snatching her basket from her. Her mother would have been so disappointed in her lack of awareness.
She blinked up at the man with her big, green eyes, not needing to feign the surprise in them. She just remembered to avert her eyes, looking demurely at the ground instead of directly in his eyes. Her heart beat a little faster with the beginnings of fear. What did he intend to do with her? Young and sheltered as she was, she was not naive enough to think that he was actually wanting to help her for the sake of being helpful.
“Thank you,” she said just loud enough for him to hear even as she wanted to snatch her basket back. She’d not seen this man before, and even the most pleasantly-tempered of Coheedsmen would lash out if she fought back. She’d been warned of this many times by her mothers. Her mind whirled on what to do…she’d not been caught in a situation like this before. She really was ill-prepared for something like this, “Surely a warrior that looks as important as you has tasks more worthy of him than helping someone like me carry my basket,” the sentence was clumsy, but she hoped it was simpering enough that this man wouldn’t think to harm her.
Post by Ozias Sorenson on Sept 9, 2023 10:02:45 GMT -5
Ozias’s smile could almost pass as polite. Handsome, even, had the years not weathered it beyond repair. The little dove was even prettier up close. Her green eyes were almost wide enough pools to swim in, and how Ozias would relish taking a dip in her. Her deference, her demure demeanor—Ozias softened to see a glimmer of the Coheed he once knew, the one where he was a formidable warrior instead of a worn-out relic of the old world. Ozias cursed that he had not had a glorious death in battle and instead wasted away in the ruins of what Coheed had become.
“Nonsense,” Ozias said, in almost a mockery of Nevermean manners, ‘I’d be a fool to pass up the opportunity to make your acquaintance…” Ozias would seize the basket from her and, whether she followed or not, would start to make his way to the river. His sons would not follow. They’d watch their father retreat, snickering as if he were telling the greatest joke there ever was.
His words were sweet, almost considerate, but Yrsa could not shake the feeling that she was a little rabbit been stalked by a famished wolf. Again, she wanted to snatch her basket back and run home and to her father’s protection as fast as she could. She did not do such a thing. For one, as much as her father loved her, she knew that he would not spare even her if she offended a warrior over such a thing. For another, this warrior—old as he appeared to be—might just catch her. She didn’t want to think about what would happen to her if that happened.
Instead, she would follow after him, telling herself that she at least didn’t need to balance that heavy basket in her arms. She pretended not to hear the distant sounds of the younger men’s laughter, not wanting to let on that that was one of her little gifts. It was better to not let them know your weaknesses, after all.
“Thank you,” she didn’t need to make her voice small since he already intimidated her, “That’s very kind of you to do,” she braced herself for what was to come. She highly doubted that he would set her basket down by the river and leave. He’d likely stick around. He’d stick around, get bored, and then…she didn’t know what.
Post by Ozias Sorenson on Oct 3, 2023 7:53:02 GMT -5
Ozias grunted in acknowledgement. Yes, it was quite kind, and being kind is not something that men of Coheed were known for, and certainly not ones like Ozias. He looked in her laundry basket, trying to determine from its contents the woman’s marital status. But, boring quickly, he decided for a more direct approach.
Her stomach dropped at the man’s question. He was trying to see how off-limits she was, although she wasn’t sure how much being married would protect her from the lustful wishes of a warrior. She’d brought her knife with her, but she knew that she’d have no change against this man. Her knife was small, more fit for cutting stubborn plants from the ground than for fighting. He was also much bigger than her, and far more skilled. Again, she wished that one of her brothers would have come with her, or even one of her married sisters. But she was alone, and had to tread these dangerous waters on her own. She would try to steer them to an area at the river that had lots of other women doing their washing once they reached the river. Surely that would keep him from doing something horrible to her.
Post by Ozias Sorenson on Oct 26, 2023 18:35:46 GMT -5
Ozias grinned, making no effort to hide his satisfaction. Unmarried. What were the fathers of Coheed thinking nowadays, leaving their daughters unmarried for so long that they ripened and rotten on the vine? This little one was perfect for the picking, and Ozias couldn’t believe his luck in having discovered so.
“At your age, a girl should be married,” Ozias said instructively, as if she were one of his own daughters, “Your father must be a negligent man indeed.” He looked Yrsa up and down, continuing his course to the river.
Yrsa did not feel good about that grin. She’d painted a target on herself, she knew it. But what else could she have done? She supposed she could have lied, but then again, how long would it have taken for him to see through the fib?
“My father shares your thoughts,” she said, trying not to show her irritation of his implication that her father was negligent. Familial pride nearly had her glaring into his eyes in a challenging way, but she fought down the urge. No, that wouldn’t do, she told herself as she fisted her hands, digging her nails into her palms as she did so. She knew her physical limitations. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t try to scare him off from her, “He’s actually promised me to three different men. Sadly, they all died before they could claim me,” cursed, one of her step mothers called her, and the word danced on the tip of her tongue, begging to be let out.
Post by Ozias Sorenson on Nov 20, 2023 11:04:56 GMT -5
While Yrsa attempted to steer them to a habited part of the river, Ozias (intentionally or not) took them in a different direction. It was upstream, a place with a current a little swifter than the women usually care for when it came to washing. But Ozias, not a man who’d ever touched laundry in his life, cared not.
When he mentioned the deaths of her former suitors, Ozias raised an eyebrow of interest, eyeing the girl as if she were livestock ready for auction. It was not an inherently lascivious gaze—not quite. Instead, it was how one would look upon an object. Something to be bartered for and possessed.
“Perhaps the men he’s dealt with have been too weak to deserve your hand,” he offered, looking away and heading forward, “Though perhaps it’s not such a surprise. In these times, even the workers can wed—a foul practice, if you ask me. Only serves to further weaken us. Women like you should be bearing sons for warriors.” She was older than he’d like, but looking at her again, he decided his former assessment had been the correct one: she was a fine thing.
What Ozias would not notice was his son had decided to follow them. At a far distance, too far to draw attention, but still tracking their movements.
Last Edit: Nov 20, 2023 11:06:39 GMT -5 by Ozias Sorenson
Her attempts to go to a populated area were completely in vain. Would it be a horrible idea to just bolt? It probably would. He might just kill her for the insult. Still, it was tempting to just run deep into the woods or anywhere that wasn’t near him…
…of course that would also put her in the path of the person she heard following them from some distance. She dared not look directly toward the source of the footfalls, but they were heavier than what she’d expect of a woman. Perhaps it would be best stay near the the geezer. He might save her the trouble of running away from the one stalking them.
She’d made another mistake by revealing her dead suitors. Where her stepmothers saw a curse, he saw a challenge. She would have slapped herself it if wouldn’t have drawn more of his interest.
“Father would agree with you on that, too,” although why her father kept picking men that were on the verge of a natural death was beyond her, “I do not know why he keeps picking those kinds of men for me. I’ve often wondered if father does not wish to part with me yet.”