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!
Gifted - Luck magic, in certain situations, if Amien "needs" something badly enough he can either consciously or subconsciously pull at the fabric of reality to get what he needs (a means to escape, etc.).
Luck is inherently unpredictable, however, and rarely manifests itself in an expected manner.
Post by Amien Lysander on Aug 21, 2022 19:05:09 GMT -5
Ever the soldier, Amien Lysander marched down the length of one corridor after another, taking each corner with a sharp turn of his heel. There were Allemeades within their walls. The legionnaire, the murderer, and the queen’s trusted confidant. Honora Allemeade. If their paths had crossed, it had only been in passing, two figures maneuvering the queen’s halls to disparate ends.
She was the worst of them. A creature capable of emptying minds. And anything that could do that could do worse. Amien had seen it for himself. There was no end to what gifteds were capable of; the horrors they knew, the nightmares they saw, those were just the mistakes. The precursors. Every single one of them was capable of worse, whether they knew it themselves or not.
The former ambassador and the legionnaire were known entities. Honora Allemeade, for all her proximity to the Crown, remained an understatement. A shadow. And he had lived under the yoke of Marjolarine Teake for long enough to know just how dangerous shadows could be. That she had the queen’s ear was all the worse.
Behind the thick of his beard, Amien snarled. He was not a man prone to easy smiles or casual grins. The grimace he wore as he stalked the halls was the one he carried with him most days. It was the same one that turned mid-stride in search of the flash of gold in the corner of his eye.
Post by Honora Allemeade on Aug 22, 2022 7:12:35 GMT -5
The confines of the palace were suffocating. How was it that she had once called this place home? The library, whose labyrinthine stacks once felt endless, now felt like a cramped maze. The gardens, whose flowers and fountains used to bring peace, now felt like gold leaf on rusted metal. Something to give the illusion that this was anything other than a prison.
Honora had decided that whether Iliana intended it to be or not, this was very much a prison. She was no safer here than she was anywhere else. Fischer Wyndham’s allies could be anywhere, but it was foolish to think that the Sons were the only threat that roamed these halls. Anti-gifteds were becoming more vocal, visible, and violent. Lorendalers who may have at one time kept those opinions to themselves now felt empowered to speak. Fischer may have fanned the flames, but he was not the one to start the fire.
She’d started to use the queen’s old study as a sanctuary. Honora had suppressed her power all these years through regimented meditation, a habit that had lapsed since coming to the palace. It made the void harder to still, made the memories that she’d neatly tucked away shake free of their confines. But the study made it easier. Its landscape was familiar, full of bright memories and girlish laughter that Honora could hear still.
Turning a corner headed down the hall toward the study. The door was already open, inviting sunshine coming through the window to bathe everything in golden light. She paused for a moment in the doorway, smiling softly before walking in and going straight to the bookcase. The door remained open as her fingers brushed the dusty spines. Honora smirked, thinking Iliana had likely not touched them since the day their lessons ended.
Gifted - Luck magic, in certain situations, if Amien "needs" something badly enough he can either consciously or subconsciously pull at the fabric of reality to get what he needs (a means to escape, etc.).
Luck is inherently unpredictable, however, and rarely manifests itself in an expected manner.
Post by Amien Lysander on Aug 23, 2022 18:33:58 GMT -5
He hadn’t been sure at first. All he had caught was glimpse, a flash of gold in the corner of his eye, and by the time he turned, her back was to him. Allemeades were not as easy to pick out as Eldouirs, and the woman he’d seen could have been another passing countess, a figure of little interest and no so-called ‘gift’ to speak of. But if it wasn’t, and she was an Allemeade—
Amien waited a beat, watching the figure disappear around the corner of the room she entered. When the door remained open behind her, he crossed the hall. Her back was still to him by the time she reached the threshold, but he had always been a patient man, not someone who reveled especially in the thrill of the hunt, but someone who excelled at it nevertheless. Leaning against the doorframe, Amien crossed his arms over his chest, looking from the bookcase on the opposite wall to the woman who perused it.
“I always wondered what they kept shut away back here.” Despite the gravel in his voice, it was an almost amiable observation, made all the more so by the way he looked from the bookcase to the desk to the window in the corner, as if admiring the picturesque trappings of the sunlit room.
Post by Honora Allemeade on Aug 24, 2022 12:40:46 GMT -5
Honora startled. The void lurched, a series of images flashing before her eyes in rapid succession. Her wife’s blood on her hands, as taken from Baldovino. The sound of Lyssa’s neck as she snapped it, as taken from Zahaela. And the feeling of hot breath and laughter on her skin, as taken from Bryce’s mind. As vivid as they were, they were gone in an instant, and Honora was herself, back in the sunlit study again. After clearing her throat, she smiled as if nothing at all had just occured.
“Her majesty used to take her lessons here,” Honora responded with passable affability as she slid a book from the shelf, “Though I dare say it seems she’s lapsed in her studies.” Honora brushed the dust off of it, looking at the cover with a smile before her eyes turned back to the man.
“Is there something I can help you find?” Honora’s voice was just as friendly as before, but her question made clear she wasn’t looking for further conversation. She’d come here to escape, and this man, whoever he was, had derailed her in that pursuit.
Gifted - Luck magic, in certain situations, if Amien "needs" something badly enough he can either consciously or subconsciously pull at the fabric of reality to get what he needs (a means to escape, etc.).
Luck is inherently unpredictable, however, and rarely manifests itself in an expected manner.
Post by Amien Lysander on Aug 27, 2022 16:34:10 GMT -5
Leaned against the frame of the door, arms crossed over his chest, Amien grunted, watching the spray of dust rise from the book under Honora Allemeade’s hand. It was clear now that he had been right: it was her. The queen’s governess, returned to court under suspicion of erasing a man’s mind and laying waste to vagabonds setting fire to fields of corn. A disproportionate response if ever there was one.
Still, his smirk lingered, a subtle curve behind the thick hairs of his beard. “You were Her Majesty’s governess, were you not?” Amien pushed himself from the doorframe to step inside the room, ignoring the woman’s inquiry entirely. “Marchioness Allemeade, if I’m not mistaken.” Entering the room, Amien paused not far from the door, bending at the waist in a manner befitting her station as well as his. “Count Lysander,” he offered, straightening with another easy half-grin.
Post by Honora Allemeade on Aug 27, 2022 16:59:15 GMT -5
Honora’s question went unanswered, and her solitude was denied her once again. A prickle crept up the back of her neck, one of alarm and irritation beyond what was rational given the circumstances. Now, everyone—known and unknown—that was not of Allemeade blood was worthy of suspicion. The void hummed in the background like a swarm of bees. She could know. All she had to do was reach and she could know just who this was, what his intentions were—
“I was, yes,” Honora curtsied, dipping her head and rising with a half-convincing smile on her face. Her eyes tracked over the count with neutral curiosity. “Forgive me, Count Lysander,” Honora said, “Your name is unfamiliar to me.” It was another invitation to state his business, however, he took it remained to be seen.
Gifted - Luck magic, in certain situations, if Amien "needs" something badly enough he can either consciously or subconsciously pull at the fabric of reality to get what he needs (a means to escape, etc.).
Luck is inherently unpredictable, however, and rarely manifests itself in an expected manner.
Post by Amien Lysander on Aug 27, 2022 17:25:34 GMT -5
“That’s hardly surprising.” Amien sucked in a long breath, turning his attention from the Allemeade in front of him to the room she occupied. “I never cared much for court.” It was the truth, one he offered freely as he turned, crossing from the door to the desk in two long strides.
“I wager you’re not especially fond of it either, right about now.” He ran a hand down the length of the desk, reaching its corner to lift a pointed look at Honora. It might have been possible to mistake his impassivity for empathy, but ultimately unlikely. Amien was not prone to fits of empathy, particularly where her lot were concerned. He was merely stating another fact, another truth.
It was a tactic, one he’d used before. A level setting, of sorts.
Post by Honora Allemeade on Aug 27, 2022 20:20:03 GMT -5
Honora was taken aback. Whether he be friend, foe, or neither, the truth so bluntly stated was refreshing. She did not mistake his observation for empathy. It seemed to her Count Lysander was simply brushing away the clutter to get to whatever it was he’d come for. For he had come for something—of that Honora had no doubt. Her expression didn’t change, but her eyes did brighten with new interest.
“No,” Honora stated with equally inexpressive bluntness, “I can’t say that I am.”
Gifted - Luck magic, in certain situations, if Amien "needs" something badly enough he can either consciously or subconsciously pull at the fabric of reality to get what he needs (a means to escape, etc.).
Luck is inherently unpredictable, however, and rarely manifests itself in an expected manner.
Post by Amien Lysander on Aug 27, 2022 21:06:31 GMT -5
Another hum cleared his throat, one that confirmed he expected as much. Amien had played the soldier for far too long to rush his speech now. Standing behind the corner of the narrow desk, he considered the Allemeade woman a beat longer, weighing one response against another, and then another.
“We have that much in common then.” And little else, Amien suspected. He rounded the corner of the table, dragging his hand across its surface until his fingers came away stained with dust. “Shall I be frank with you, my lady?” His gaze moved to the marchioness, throwing the dust from his fingers with a casual flick.
Post by Honora Allemeade on Aug 27, 2022 21:21:39 GMT -5
Honora watched his hand as he dragged it along the desk, the feeling on the back of her neck prickling anew. Perhaps she had no more right to be here than Count Lysander did, but she’d never stopped thinking of this room as hers. Honora had the urge to smack his wrist, as a schoolteacher would an unruly student. But she swallowed, maintaining calm, relying on her curiosity to sustain her.
“I welcome it.” This time, Honora was unsuccessful in keeping her tone casual. There was briskness reminiscent of the efficient governess who had once given lessons in this room.
Gifted - Luck magic, in certain situations, if Amien "needs" something badly enough he can either consciously or subconsciously pull at the fabric of reality to get what he needs (a means to escape, etc.).
Luck is inherently unpredictable, however, and rarely manifests itself in an expected manner.
Post by Amien Lysander on Aug 27, 2022 22:13:15 GMT -5
It would not have been the first time a governess slapped his wrists, but he had been little more than an insolent boy then. He was a soldier now. A chancellor. Twice over responsible for the safety and security of the kingdom he called home. Amien lowered his hand, letting another decisive beat of silence pass between them before he broke it.
“In that case,” he began, letting each word settle between them before he offered the next. “It would be easy to mistake what it is I came here to say, so I want to be clear: I bear no ill will toward you or any gifted. But you have to understand the danger you pose by simply being what you are.” His voice had lowered, not to a whisper but not far off. It was possible, perhaps, that someone listening just outside the door might overhear what it was he had to say, but those passing indifferently through the hall surely would not.
Post by Honora Allemeade on Aug 27, 2022 22:24:26 GMT -5
It was Hiram that came next.
The cold of the collar on her neck. The tender kiss of butterfly on her fingers. The fear. The blood, the rage, the power—such power—
And then it was gone.
Honora was back in the study again. The only hint that anything was amiss had been a momentary shift in her features, like a cloud passing over the sun only to be swept away again.
She needed him to leave. She needed to be alone.
“And what is it that you came here to say?” Honora asked, maintaining politeness but rising with a challenge.
Gifted - Luck magic, in certain situations, if Amien "needs" something badly enough he can either consciously or subconsciously pull at the fabric of reality to get what he needs (a means to escape, etc.).
Luck is inherently unpredictable, however, and rarely manifests itself in an expected manner.
Post by Amien Lysander on Aug 28, 2022 11:11:49 GMT -5
As intently as he was watching her, Amien saw the ripple that washed across her features. A flicker of something, there and then gone again before he had a chance to put a name to whatever it was he saw. Presumably, he’d struck a nerve. He’d landed on something the marchioness herself knew to be true: that she was a risk, a danger to those around her. She had to know it. They all did.
With the dust mostly gone from his fingers, Amien clasped his hands behind his back. “That you should ask yourself who it is you’re protecting.” He answered simply, without pause or reservation. It was a matter of fact as far as the count was concerned, that every gifted had—at one point or another—avoided the question he posed to her now. Because sooner or later, they all realized the answer—the real answer—was a selfish one.
“I don’t claim to know what happened with Baldovino, and I don’t care to. But if even half the rumors are true, I have to ask: what happens the next time you make a mistake? Who gets hurt then?” Amien mouth opened again, but he closed it again a moment later, swallowing the argument on his tongue for the time being.
Honora Allemeade, whatever else she was, did not strike him as the sort to prey intentionally upon the innocent. He had seen plenty of her kind before. Good men and women in impossible situations, clinging desperately to some thing they received through the mere accident of the birth, a thing that enslaved them, twisted them into a monster they were never meant to be, a villain they could be free of if only they would take the collar. If only they would trust.
Post by Honora Allemeade on Aug 28, 2022 11:42:07 GMT -5
“Who is it you’re protecting?”
A sharp cold in her abdomen. Blood slick on her fingers as her own guts spilled into her hands. Her own heart stopping. Luna’s heart—beating no more.
“What happens the next time you make a mistake?”
Jed’s labored breathing. The thrill of his screams in the dark. The warmth of Hiram’s grin on her lips. The thud of the shovel as she dug the man’s grave.
“Who gets hurt then?”
Honora swallowed, blinking back the images that lingered before her eyes. For a moment, she looked at the man as if she didn't recognize him before fully dropping back into reality.
“Forgive me, Count Lysander,” Honora answered coolly, “But you are swift to pass judgment on a matter you confess to knowing of only through rumor. Rumors that have been industriously circulated by the same fanatics that killed my sister.” The lines in Honora’s face hardened as her hands dropped to her sides. "Though a dead Allemeade perhaps does not make your list of concerns."
Gifted - Luck magic, in certain situations, if Amien "needs" something badly enough he can either consciously or subconsciously pull at the fabric of reality to get what he needs (a means to escape, etc.).
Luck is inherently unpredictable, however, and rarely manifests itself in an expected manner.
Post by Amien Lysander on Aug 28, 2022 17:16:37 GMT -5
“On the contrary.” Despite the gravel in his voice, there was a note of genuine empathy buried beneath the words. “I am sorry to hear of your loss.” His brow creased, furrowed over a softened stare. “I know what it is to lose a sister.” For a moment, he considered leaving the woman to her misery. His account of recent events was admittedly limited and did not yet extend to a dead Allemeade. But if the marchioness really had lost her sister…
It could only exacerbate an already tenuous situation.
“But do you mean to say the rumors surrounding Baldovino are untrue? That the marquis’s memory remains intact?” Amien shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Honor would have compelled him to leave the woman in peace, to give her the time she deserved to grieve. But duty compelled him to act, to hold course, his own reservations be damned.