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!
Rhidian and Cypha knew they could only claim but so much of the rations that Ermir received from time to time to distribute to the masses, so they didn't bother going in every day, or even every other day. They spaced it out as best they could, but the chill of Hiems was particularly frigid when they woke up that morning. The blanket of woven vines, foliage, and leaves was hardly warm enough to keep them cozy throughout the night, so they'd been sitting outside waiting for the tavern to open since before sunrise.
When it did open, they were the first to make their way inside. They took a table nearest the kitchen because warmth radiated from that area, and both of them rubbed their hands together. Without asking what they wanted, the kid serving them brought out some warm tea and brothy soup for Rhidi, and a scorching hot plate of meat and veggies for Cypha. "Thank you...you're--" the kid had heard it a million times and had no time to hear it again. They'd already disappeared, so Rhidi and Cypha (who was ON the table) began to eat with a greedy messiness that had others who were walking in look away.
When they finished, Cypha laid back across the table with her full belly up to the ceiling and Rhidi rested back against the chair, a contented sigh. Already the raccoon was snoring, little movements in her sleep making her come curiously close to the edge, until one arm was already hanging over. Rhidi paid her no attention. He bundled up, his arms inside of his sweater, and began to drift off just as quickly.
Ermir was a kind man, and that made her all the more suspicious. Friendly and welcoming, he gave away food that he could have used to feed himself, ostensibly with no strings attached, and she could not understand what he got out of it. Or what he wanted. No one did anything for anyone unless they expected something in return. The way Ermir never seemed to want the usual suspects nor anything else set her on edge every time she snuck into the tavern for food. At least those that tried to kill her were up front about their intentions.
The other problem with Ermir was that his tavern was too warm and the promise of a hot meal lured her in like a moth to a flame: one day, she knew, she would get burned, but until then, what he offered so (seemingly) freely was too good to turn down.
Upon reflection, that was probably more of a Citra problem than an Ermir problem. With no small amount of wariness, the teenager eyed the occupants of the tavern as she stepped inside and found, to her dismay, that all of the tables were already occupied. When the weather was nice, she had no qualms about grabbing her food and fleeing to the relative safety of the side of the building, but the frigid air that had bitten at her this morning urged her to stay in the warmth. After a few quiet words, she acquired a bowl of soup before turning toward the open spot at a nearby table.
Dark eyes considered the person sitting there. A raccoon, as fat as the man beside her was thin, lay passed out on the table, and her human seemed fast asleep as well. They may have been stupid enough to sleep in the open, but that made them safer to sit with than anyone who was properly coherent. And, Citra thought, hand adjusting the dagger at her thigh, I could probably stab that dyr before either one of them could do anything to me. As quietly as she could, Citra slunk over to the table, sat down with her back to the wall, and with a final distrusting look in the man’s direction wherein she determined that he was actually asleep, started inhaling her meal.
Even in her sleep, the raccoon's snout began to twitch. The smell of the soup this new girl had brought to the table had floated over and began to prickle at her senses. A minute or two might have passed before she finally began to wake, and as she woke, she rolled. Rolled just enough that the bulk of her weight no longer found the flat of the table, but the edge of it instead, and with wide eyes she flopped entirely over and landed on the floor with a loud thump.
The thump woke Rhidi up, startling him to the point that he almost fell out of his chair as well. "Cypha?" He said, glancing around, not even noticing the girl at the table. Leaning over, he looked to the floor and found his raccoon, nerves immediately calming at the sight of her.
"You idiot. You total goon. You fell asleep!"
You were asleep, too! You're the one that fell off the table, why are you mad at me?!
"You should have caught me! Pick me up, I'm losing all my warmth. The floor is cold. Come on, come on!" She stood on her back legs, little arms and hands reaching up toward him like a child asking for it's parent to pick it up, though in a much...meaner way. Rhidian reached down and lifted the raccoon with more than a grunt of effort, huffing as he settled her down into his lap. She wasted no time climbing up into his sweater, curling into a ball at the base of it. He tucked it under her while she grumbled, but she was snoring after another second had passed.
"What a menace..." he mumbled to himself, looking up to the table to see his empty bowl and cup, Cypha's empty plate, and then...as his gaze widened, an entirely new person at his table. He jumped slightly, startled yet again. "Iron and wood," he cursed, hands pulled off the table quickly as if to retreat from the girl. "How long have you been there?"
Citra, whose attention had been split between her soup and the Dresmondi with whom she reluctantly shared the table, noticed when the fat raccoon started to twitch awake. As a point of caution, she had taught herself how to perform basic tasks, like using silverware, with her non-dominant hand, which left her other hand free to quietly slip toward the dagger on her thigh for moments like this. She needn’t have worried, however, for even as she silently watched, the dyr rolled off the wooden surface and thumped to the floor. Citra peeked under the table to see the creature momentarily stunned by the course of events before movement in her peripherals had her sitting back up to watch the man jolt to life.
There was a notable silence as he turned his attention toward his dyr without ever seeming to notice the teenager at the table, and Citra recognized that a silent conversation must have been happening between the pair. Sure enough, he bent over as if hefting the fat raccoon into his lap before he finally looked up and saw her staring at him with poorly disguised shock. Eyeing him in lieu of providing an immediate answer, Citra hesitantly determined that he did not seem overly threatening even while awake. If his utter lack of situational awareness was anything to go by, he was sand where she was stone.
“Long enough,” She said finally, glancing down to scrape the rest of her soup into her mouth before shoving the bowl aside. Her voice had the tell-take roughness of one who did not speak very often. “You were sleeping.”
"What's that?" Cypha grumbled as Rhidian was startled a second time, and he frowned as the girl spoke to him.
Just another Dresmondi, he told her, and she ceased responding, apparently returning quickly to sleep. He looked around the tavern and found it fairly full. He hadn't expected it to be, but with the cold, it made sense. There weren't that many tanners or fur-traders anymore, considering how bad the hunting had gotten and how many marks you needed to venture out far enough to find larger animals. Everyone was probably cold, especially since those who did have furs had likely handed them over at tribute.
He watched her finish her bowl and push it aside, his arms still tucked into his sweater. "Well, it's too cold to sleep out there," he said, not in a defensive tone, just matter of fact. He looked the girl over, but didn't really recognize her, so he figured she must have been from a caravan other than the Kushti. "I'm Rhidian. And this is Cypha," he said, nodding his head downward, as if she could see the raccoon inside of his shirt. "Who are you?"
He wasn’t wrong. It was cold outside, but that didn’t mean it was any safer to sleep indoors, surrounded by strangers. To each their own, however; it hardly mattered to her if this stranger ended up dead because he’d nodded off in the wrong company. People had died for lesser crimes. Another moment passed where they considered each other before the man introduced himself and his fat raccoon as Rhidian and Cypha. Then he asked who she was.
Introductions were tricky, sometimes. Citra did not like to advertise her solitude, and when Dresmondi made a habit of introducing both themselves and their dyr, the lack of a second name in her introduction was obvious. So she added one. “Citra,” She lied with practiced ease. “And Solus, but he’s shy and doesn’t come out very often.” Who could blame him, when they lived in a place like Elderkeep? Solus never came out at all, but the stranger didn’t need to know that. As she spoke the second name, the teenager copied his movement and nodded slightly downward as if the dyr was hidden somewhere on her person. Lying, cheating, and stealing were all staples of survival in this city, so she was good at all three.
Conversation, however, was a different question. She didn’t know what people talked about when they weren’t picking fights or defusing fights or bartering for something or begging for mercy or singing the Eldouir’s praises or maybe even telling stories of days long past. What happened in those silent conversations from one dyr to another or between dyr and their human? Did they discuss something more? Much of what Citra said was intended to uncover useful information that she could feed into the ongoing mental calculation of a given person’s threat level to her. “What do you and Cypha do?”
As she introduced herself, he glanced about her person. He didn't see the dyr, but assumed it must have been small. Maybe like Aydin's, tiny and compact, capable of burrowing into a pocket or sleeve to keep itself safe from the cold and the other Dresmondi. "Oh, well, good to meet you both anyway," Rhidi said, lifting his hand as if in some kind of awkward wave, before returning it to the bottom of his sweater, resting on Cypha to use her for further warmth.
The question had him shrugging. He was often unsure what to say when people asked this. Cypha had told him time and time again that he should lie about it, but he never knew what to say when people had follow up questions. "Nothing, really," he answered honestly. Cypha wasn't awake to criticize him about it anyway. "We never learned a trade or anything, so we just kind of drift around. Not so hard in Ver and Aestas but the cold months do get to us, since we don't have a wagon."
It was the same story he told everyone when asked. The question itself was common enough but he didn't figure anyone really cared, he wasn't exactly the threatening type, despite his height.
"How about you? You look pretty young, did you even have time to learn a trade before the Eldouir made this place?"
If the awkward wave he offered Citra was anything to go by, Rhidian bought the lie. Good. His answer to her question was not as satisfying. Eyes narrowing slightly, she peered at him. “You do nothing,” She repeated, the skepticism in her voice clear. It was the kind of vague answer she would expect of someone who was keeping secrets and doing a poor job of hiding it. Almost every adult seemed to have some sort of trade or skill they relied on to survive in Elderkeep, and sometimes she could use their answer to narrow down the likely elements that the dyr controlled. Drifting around and relying on the charity of others told her nothing of use except that he wasn’t a soldier, which she could have guessed anyway from the way he sat - and had fallen asleep in a crowded tavern.
Then he returned the question. “Yes,” She returned, somewhat defensive about her age. It wasn’t a complete lie: she had learned a little bit from her mother and Renn, and she even remembered some of it, too. Not that fletching arrows or weaving helped much with her current line of work, which was survival. A more direct question. “What caravan are you from?”
"Yep," he confirmed with a blink, scratching the stubble on his chin and then running the same hand through his greasy hair, which made it stick up somewhat. "Well, I mean, we find things sometimes and trade them, so I guess you could call us...um. What's the word..scravengers?" He shrugged. "It's not the best. I mean, if I could shoot a bow and hunt my own food, that'd be great, but I don't get why they make it so hard to draw the things. The one time I did try, the string hit me across the nose. I still have a scar, see?" He turned his head slightly to point out the narrow line of slightly darker skin on the right side of his nose. "Decided I didn't like it too much after that."
He was used to people being short. It didn't surprise him when she gave a one word answer, so he nodded, his eyes wandering around, usually landing most often on the empty bowls on the table as he thought about asking the young girl serving for another one. "We're from the Kushti. Not much good being from the farming caravan when we can't farm here in Elderkeep, huh?" He said, as if he'd ever done any farming before Elderkeep. "Let me guess, you're from either the Dijila or the Adoi? You're real blunt when you talk, that's classic for them two."
Apparently, Rhidian was a scavenger like her - except he was nothing like her. He freely admitted to an inability to use a weapon to provide for himself and drew her attention to the physical proof of his failure. Dark eyes lingered on the mark on the side of his nose. She had never tried archery herself and had no idea as to its level of difficulty, but if he could t manage a weapon that simply required him to stand there and aim, then she doubted his ability to fight in any close combat altercation. Especially if he was so easily deterred from using a weapon by a string hitting his nose.
But if he was from Kushti, maybe that made sense. Citra’s knowledge of the caravans was informed more by what Renn had told her than her own lives experiences, but Renn had been Kushti. If the teenager had learned one thing from the many tales of happier times she had been told in her younger years, it was that those from Kushti were soft. Citra looked at Rhidian. He looked soft. Weak.
She had no idea how he had survived this long in a world where the feeble were the first to die.
“Adoi.” Citra said, easily admitting to being from one of the caravans whose members could defend themselves. Even if she had spent almost the same amount of time among the Kushti and in Elderkeep as she had in the caravan of her birth, she had no qualms to using that caravan’s reputation for producing strong warriors to boost the perception of her own strength. “Do you know a lot of people from Dijila or Adoi?” Had he survived by living under their protection?
Her confirmation that she was from the Adoi made him nod, lips pursed, as if he had accomplished something by making the guess, even if it had been one born of experience. It was rare that Rhidi knew anything, so when he got something right, he was very obviously proud of himself. "Adoi, I figured," he nodded still. "You have that tough vibe to you."
Her follow up question was reasonable, though the answer seemed obvious to him in a way. When the caravans had combined, the Adoi had joined the Kushti. He didn't remember ever seeing Citra and Solus, but he hadn't really paid much attention back then. Many had, though. He recalled some of the Kushti trying to learn from the Adoi, learn how to defend and protect themselves. Now that they were all mixed up in Elderkeep, most people of one caravan knew of others from the other three. So to any other Dresmondi, her question might have inspired a 'duhh' look, but to Rhidi, he could shake his head, then shrug, then move his head from side to side as if he weren't sure.
"Well, yes and know, I guess? Maybe?" He pushed his hands up under the lump in his sweater, causing the raccoon to stir. "I was born in the Dijila, actually. My parents and siblings were there. Haven't seen 'em since I got Cypha and got sent off to the Kushti. But I was there for twelve years, ya know, so you get to know the attitudes of people. You seem nicer than my family, though, so I figured Adoi first."
He wasn't the kind of man smart enough to come up with his own questions for the girl, so asking the same ones back to her seemed as easy as anything. Mostly, he just wanted to look busy so he wouldn't be forced to give up the table and leave the warmth of the tavern. "Is your family around? From the Adoi?"
Even if the satisfaction didn’t show on her face, which hadn’t ever shifted from its serious if not slightly suspicious expression, it was gratifying to hear that she seemed tough. After years of doing so, Citra knew she could handle herself, but it was important that other people understand that, too - it meant the predators in Elderkeep were that much more likely to leave her alone in favor of picking on weaker, easier prey. Even in idle conversation like this, survival was the name of the game.
Initially, Rhidian seemed unsure as to whether he knew anyone from Adoi or Dijila, but his answer clarified any confusion: no, he did not know anyone from either caravan. Family whom he hadn’t seen in decades - he looked old - did not count. If he didn’t hunt, didn’t have a trade, and had no one from either of those caravans fighting for him, how had he lasted so long in Elderkeep?
“Yes,” She responded shortly, falling back on another well-practiced lie. “They’re around. I don’t know what Dijila’s like, but my family is all close to each other. We’re all from Adoi, and we all look after each other. My dad and older brother are especially protective.” With his hands tucked into his sweater, Rhidian didn’t seem quite like some of the other men and women who had taken advantage of Elderkeep’s lawlessness to indulge their taste in teenage girls, but one could never be too careful.
"That's pretty impressive. Your family must be really tough," he commented, thinking of all the so-called families that had been torn apart by now for one reason or another. "I guess I don't really know what the other Dijila were like, just mine. Maybe some of them were like your family, strong and stuck together. That's real fortunate, huh? Considering how hard it is to take care of one person, much less a whole family."
He eyed the area around them, checking to see if anyone was ready to push them out of their seats. So far, everyone seemed content to keep the peace and those without spots could be seen moving to sit on the floors by the wall. Anything was better than being outside. He moved somewhat, adjusting his leg to rest his foot against the leg of the chair, which made Cypha squirm. Suddenly awake and moving, she climbed her way up Rhidian's sweater and stuck her head out the top, sharing the neck-hole with him as she looked around, eventually resting her dark eyes on the girl.
"Who's that?" She asked, clear irritation in her tone. "That why you're moving around so much? I'm trying to sleep here, and you keep moving and nudging me and yapping."
That's Citra and Solus, there was nowhere else to sit so they sat with us.
"Who is they? I only see the girl. Where's the dyr?" Without coming any further out of the sweater, she craned her neck.
Probably hiding in her shirt, like you are, but obviously smaller.
"Obviously smaller," Cypha mocked, her claws tearing at the front of the sweater. "Whatever. Keep it up. The longer we act busy, the longer we can stay in here in the warm."
"So, um," he tried to think of something more to ask her, and Cypha's fur brushing his neck gave him the only thing he could think of. "What's Solus do? I mean, the element? We're plant, not very good with it, though."
"You aren't very good with it. I'm more than very good, thank you very much."
Then maybe you should use it to help us more often?
"...no, because you're ungrateful. It'd be a waste."
“We look after each other,” Citra reiterated in response to Rhidian’s compliments toward her fictional family. She didn’t care what he thought of the non-existent people as long as he walked away believing that she wasn’t alone and vulnerable. Though given how their interaction had gone thus far, she couldn’t even be sure he was worth the effort; the man seemed to accept everything she said without an ounce of reservation or suspicion, and it spoke to a certain level of gullibility that had her wondering if he would completely believe her if she claimed to be the best fighter in Elderkeep and then proceeded to walk away.
The raccoon, Cypha, woke up and poked her head through the neck of his sweater to stare at her. That customary silence indicative of the silent communication between dyr and human followed, and Citra fiddled with the spoon in her empty bowl as it passed. Then Rhidian spoke up, helpfully providing an answer that she’d had yet to weasel out of him. Dark eyes flicked from his face to the raccoon’s. “Fire,” She answered shortly, borrowing Agini’s - her mother’s python dyr - element. “If you control plants, then can’t you grow your own food?” Instead of, you know, going to the tavern and taking food off of Ermir and owing the tavern keep some amorphously horrible debt for accepting his hospitality.
That was the question everyone asked. If they controlled plant, couldn't they grow their own food? But it wasn't that simple. At least, Rhidian didn't think it was that simple, and Cypha had been sure to always inform him that it wasn't. "Well, see, before, maybe," he said with a shrug. "But now it's not so easy 'cause Elderkeep is just...it's just dirt."
That much couldn't be avoided. Most Dresmondi didn't feel comfortable openly using their elements for farming, not unless the Eldouir had specifically instructed them to. And without the Kushti aiding in the growth of the lands, the land in Elderkeep had begun to dry up. It wasn't the lush, fertile land it had once been. "See, we can change plants, sometimes, but not always. Depends on the plant. And something has to be there to begin with. If it's just dirt...it's nothing. And people sell the seeds for real high price so it's harder than you'd think."
"Fire is useful, though. Not like you. Maybe if you could steal or barter us some seeds, we could grow something. But nooo. I bet she can do a lot more than we can."
Last time I stole some seeds, you refused to grow them. You said they would taste funny.
"It's not my fault you stole bad seeds."
"Fire sounds cool, though. You can always be warm, and it's a lot easier to use for fighting. You must be real tough. Is all your family fire, too? Have you ever burned yourself or...accidentally started a fire somewhere...oh, can you put fires out with your element, too?"