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.
New gifted family of Lorendale added to the Families of Importance, the Decarlos!
At the beginning of February 2022 the site will experience a 5 year time jump! The IC year will jump from 822 to 827! This gives us about 8 months to prepare our characters for that jump. We plan to host very intentional planning sessions to help everyone get their plots and characters ready for this! As of this moment, one thing you should all start considering is making sure the threads your characters are in are furthering your character's stories.
Post by Othello Allemeade on Feb 24, 2021 22:35:56 GMT -5
Othello scoffed as if he had to spell it out, "I re'kin she dunnit cuz Imma male and her people innit anyfing like us civilized folk, I mean her people huntin me crew down like houndies doggos chasin' foxes," he chuckled, "And I would re'kin yer definition of SAFE and SOUND is mightee differen' yer Highness 'cuz I was anyfing BUT safe'n'sound!"
'Hurry up broad!' he was screaming in his head and inside Othello was feeling that calmness dissipate, they were toying with him and Nyx wasn't dead. Other stole a small glance around the room knowing already exaclty who was in the room.
"I think it changed when she slaughtered those guards, at tha' border," somehow he was able to moisten his eyes playing the ragged victim, "It was hell it was! She kill them men wifout a second thought, like it was a job...I'm gifted and ya know what a gifted can do...what I can do is bend metal to my will....half tha fuckin world uses metal....and that woman beat me like I was an Eldiour headed step child...I think tha'incydent and being in Lorendale served me purpose...I can't speak for tha' dead of course...."
Othello looked around now and willingly trying to get noticed, "I can argue wif facts if tha' courts haf any...?"
Post by Marjolaine Rainecourt-Teake on Mar 16, 2021 9:26:24 GMT -5
Listening—Marjolaine, for all her shows of outward indifference, was always listening—the queen regent sank to a seat against the edge of her desk. One eyebrow canted a fraction higher than the other. She had edged her way toward a verdict already, fitting the various pieces of the story laid out before her into some semblance of order that made some semblance of sense to her. Still. Marjolaine was not entirely convinced of the picture she had formed in her mind, or of the role Othello and this apparently deceased Cambrian had played in it.
Slowly, Marjolaine shifted her gaze to the marchioness. It was a wordless gesture, but the arc of her already lifted brow served as an invitation. If the old woman had anything to say on the matter of her prisoner’s purported defense, now was apparently the time.
Post by Helena Kane on Mar 18, 2021 16:01:33 GMT -5
The truth was that Helena Kane would likely have killed the man and likely for much less than the crimes he was accused of. He could have had the best lawyer in the lands, an airtight defense and Tybalt in his corner proclaiming his innocence and she wouldn't have listened to it. In that respect, she could be just as vindictive as Majorlaine.
The woman sensed the regent's gaze shifting to rest upon her. She took her cue, stepping forwards. "At the end of the day, only she and you will ever know what occurred between the two of you. Your testimonies more or less directly contradict one another and unfortunately, we can't cross examine now that she's dead." That much was spoken with a certain amount of detachment. Her next words however would be far harsher, a condemnation of the man who had been in her custody this past while. "What I can speak of with some certainty is that he has behaved like an animal during his imprisonment and has shown nothing but contempt for the Royal Guard."
Post by Marjolaine Rainecourt-Teake on Mar 18, 2021 16:53:53 GMT -5
Well, now. That hardly required a stretch of the imagination. Marjolaine pulled in a long breath, eyebrows lifting as her lungs filled. What to do. What to do. She did not, for one second, believe the man—Othello—innocent. It was, admittedly, possible he was innocent of the slaughter that ravaged their soldiers at the border. He was a Lorendaler, after all. And the kingdom had already lost more than its share of good soldiers to the women of Cambria. Still, he had that look about him.
Marjolaine’s gaze drifted from Kane matriarch to collared gifted, raking in a slow, considering sweep down the length of him. What to do. What to do. It occurred to her that she could simply leave the matter to the courts to sort out. The thought had its appeals. And yet—
“In my experience, marchioness,” Marjolaine clipped, voice dipped in haphazard indifference, “most creatures behave like animals under the weight of a collar.” There was a debate to be waged there, one of chickens and eggs and whether collars made the animals or whether animals necessitated the collar. But Marjolaine was far too tired—and far too sober—to bandy about truisms; she had no intention of belaboring the point. Instead, her eyes worked their way back up to survey the prisoner’s grubby visage. What to do. What to do.
“So. Allemeade was it? Tell me. What is it you intend to do with your freedom if, say, I were to find myself in a particularly merciful mood?” It was another thoroughly academic conjecture. Mercy was not a stock Marjolaine traded in. Potentialities, however, potentialities were another matter entirely.
Post by Othello Allemeade on Mar 18, 2021 17:56:28 GMT -5
The Allemeade bore holes through the side of the old battle axes head, 'be glad i'm not getting the chance to plant your little baby boy six feet deep you old prune! because I would gulp his bleeding beating heart right down me gullet after I skull fu-'
"What is it you intend to do with your freedom if, say, I were to find myself in a particularly merciful mood?"
Othello hadn't heard all of the question but he had heard with absolute positive selective hearing, "Freedom. If. Merciful mood?"
For once the bleak blue eyes of Othello's lit up brightly, "Queen if yer mercy saves a soul like mine from swangin' onna rope or losin' my head, I'd me knee right here right now and swear nuffin but fealty to tha' crown," then he looked toward the old battle axe and weather she looked at him he didn't care but he was laying his oozing charm on thick, "And if holds a snowballs chance in hell I'd offer my sincerest apologies fer me actions while in yer care lady,"'but I wouldn't piss on yer guts if they was fire you hag, ' he thought at the same time rubbing his hands together like a school boy who just got paddled, "I'm not a particularly big arsehole and ya' 'ave to look at it like this I've been a prisoner of somebody fer better part o'year! Never had this," chained hands flipped at the collar, "Nay I've never been so's oppressed. But if I wrought yer mercy I can be whatever you need yer Majesty..."
Post by Helena Kane on Mar 19, 2021 15:32:39 GMT -5
Helena couldn't help but let out some air through clenched teeth. It was the only way for her to avoid snapping something a good deal harsher. She couldn't believe what Majorlaine was, by the sounds of it, even contemplating right now. If she'd ever had cause to question the monarch's sanity, this was it. The woman remained well-versed in self control however. She didn't snap or ask the regent just what in the name of God had possessed her. Instead, she stiffened, considering the man before her as if he were a rodent.
"Highness, I would caution you about listening to this man. His words aren't even worth the air he used to speak them." Her eyes narrowed, contemplating whether or not to end things right here and right now and spare themselves the trouble and headache later on. She held off only for the sake of duty. "You would get more loyalty out of a drunk picked out of Lorendale's gutter. As soon as he has the opportunity he will flee and be back to his former life or what passed for one."
Post by Othello Allemeade on Mar 19, 2021 16:47:30 GMT -5
"But ya don't know me," Othello countered doing his best to continue playing innocent, "Let me prove I'm YER man and a functional adult yer highness. Sure I gotta rough lookin' exterior and I look like sum pheasy but I can be what ya need me to be..."
Othello wasn't about to beg, he would argue and counter argue with the battle axe, but in the end he wouldn't beg and the Queens decision was hers to make...
..."Put me onna probation o'sorts? Trial period of good behavior," he would serve her. It was his final offer. She could leave the collar on and he would be her lap dog... he could bide and bide his time... The little roach who did...
Post by Marjolaine Rainecourt-Teake on Mar 19, 2021 23:01:23 GMT -5
Marjolaine was vaguely aware of liking the aged marchioness a fraction more than she should. Still. The woman had her moments, which was more than the regent could say for her son. Perched on the edge of her desk as if it were the throne of Lorendale itself, Marjolaine smirked. She happened to know her fair share of drunkards. Smelly sort, but generally willing to follow the glint of a coin. It was more than she could say for half of Loren. The noble half, at least.
Still. Marjolaine was not so foolhardy as to turn the foul-mouthed creature loose on his own. How would that serve her? She was poised to say as much when the collared oaf interrupted. Over the course of their amusing little spat, Marjolaine’s brows had receded to their usual perch over her eyes. They arced again, this time in tandem with a subtle ghost of a smile. Now, then. They were finally making some progress.
“I could think of more than one use for your…particular set of skills,” Marjolaine mused, brown eyes flicking from the collared Allemeade to his jailer. “What do you think, marchioness? Shall we put this drunkard’s talents to good use? Give him a chance to fall of his wagon and prove you right?” It was an intriguing notion on a number of levels, not the least of which was the prospect of actually wearing a sister ring. She should have reviled the idea. And yet—
A collar around the right neck did have its appeals.
Post by Helena Kane on Mar 20, 2021 2:50:31 GMT -5
Helena's patience which, even on the best of days could be decidedly limited was being pushed to about its limit with this man. Throughout her lifetime, she felt as if she had come across his type far too often. As such, the woman was convinced that she could more or less see how all of this was going to play out. She pursed her lips with displeasure but said nothing else as once more Othello promised to be a "good boy". Her mind made up and impossible to change.
What distressed the woman a good deal more was the regent's willingness to listen. Would she have been so patient with another if they weren'(t gifted? The marchioness had her doubts about that particular question. As for giving him a chance, well the probation period would have to be a lifetime. She would wait until spoken to before expressing once more her doubts. "He would pose a considerable threat to anyone not gifted. The rest of us rely on metal armor and metal swords to keep us safe." Then again, the way that things were heading, Helena wouldn't have been terribly surprised if Majorlaine intended to replace the entirety of the Royal Guard with powerful, unpredictable, undisciplined gifted.
Post by Marjolaine Rainecourt-Teake on Mar 21, 2021 10:43:30 GMT -5
“That is why he will simply have to live with his…present circumstances,” Marjolaine agreed, keen eyes dropping to the collar that lay around the man’s neck, as if to illustrate her point. It was the only solution, as far as she was concerned. Of course, Marjolaine supposed she could have him killed. But what good would that do her?
The Rainecourts would see her deposed in an instant. Of course that much, Marjolaine was certain. And there were others too—leagues of non-gifted nobility who grumbled behind closed doors, yearning for the bygone years of unchallenged supremacy. Her seat of power rested on the shoulders of gifteds. Eldouirs and Allemeades and the unrivaled powers of persuasion they each possessed. To sentence the beast standing before her now to a summary execution would, at best, be a waste of his particular talents and, at worse, invite the wrath of her base, those gifteds whose support she required to go on ruling and—more importantly—to go on living.
“Probation it is.” Marjolaine stood from her perch against the desk, an air of decision coiling about her. Her gaze fixed on Othello. “You are not to leave the palace and that collar is not to leave your neck. You will have a gifted escort at all times. You will come when called, and you will do as you’re bid. Should you prove yourself to be the animal the marchioness believes you to be, you are welcome to return to her kennel. At which point, Lady Helena, you are more than welcome to do with him as you see fit.”
There. It was done. Marjolaine’s thoughts were already churning with how she might turn this little ‘probationary period’—the one that had, rather conveniently, been assigned no end date—to her best advantage. “In the meantime,” Marjolaine added, “I should like his sister ring delivered to me personally.” A sister ring. On her finger.
Post by Othello Allemeade on Mar 21, 2021 18:09:34 GMT -5
The man couldn't explain but he felt like it was all going to be alright, the weight of certain death suddenly lifted and nay the blonde haired and blue eyed Allemeade wouldn't be swinging from a rope but instead seemed to have been given the biggest promotion of his entire life. The slaver pirate turned weapon, of course it wasn't said outright but Othello assumed he saw danger in the Queens eyes, for royalty.
He would take it!
He would wear his collar with dignity, why not? What said threat more than, 'hey this guy has a collar! He is a badass!'
The small scene of victory faded and for a moment his boyish charade dropped and that wolf smile reared its dangerous head. Blue glazed eyes turned to look upon the old battle axe... she was right, Othello would one day possibly bite the hand that feeds him... But when? Where? How? Would it be the Queens hand? That was unknown, but for now...
Othello looked away from the battle axe and back upon the Queen where he dropped to one knee. Dropping his head, "Thank ya for yer mercy Queen..."
Post by Helena Kane on Mar 22, 2021 3:20:29 GMT -5
It was probably a good thing that Helena had some company right now, otherwise she might just have gone and slammed her head into a brick wall. She felt that it would likely be more productive than indulging any particular fantasy that anyone here was actually listening to her.
Instead, she kept her back straight, rigid, the same soldier that she'd already been. Appointing such a waste of space to any position at all struck Helena as being the worst sort of decision one could make. Even regardless of the danger that he posed, what sort of message did it send to other troublemakers? Don't worry, if you make your way around the world pillaging, raping and killing don't you worry about it, if you are caught, all you'll have to put up with is a little community service... The woman couldn't help but wonder somewhat cynically whether or not the regent would have shown the same amount of generosity and mercy had the offender not been a gifted.
It wasn't her place to judge. Not yet at least. She silently hoped that a time would come when Majorlaine was held accountable for her actions. For the time being however, Helena would remain stum.
"I'll see to it that it's done within the day." Helena promised the regent and to be fair to the aging marchioness, it would be. No matter what she thought privately right now, she wasn't about to refuse a direct order from the country's ruling authority.
Post by Marjolaine Rainecourt-Teake on Apr 6, 2021 20:20:00 GMT -5
“Good.” Marjolaine dipped her chin in a gesture that was as close to thanks as anyone was likely to receive from the regent. If the old bat’s son was gone much longer, Marjolaine was liable to replace him with his mother. The woman did get things done. And with considerably less argument.
It was perhaps the first time Marjolaine had genuinely entertained the idea, and the notion was just striking enough to give her a moment of pause before turning a more expectant look upon her newly liberated captive. ‘Liberated’ in Othello’s case was, admittedly, a rather generous application of the term, but the beast was free to roam about the palace under guard and collar. A far cry from the dank of the cellar, and the look Marjolaine leveled upon him suggested her leniency did not come cheap. It was a bargain they had struck, whether Othello realized it yet or not. He would, of course.