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!
Post by Elodie Atwood on Jan 18, 2023 19:17:47 GMT -5
[ For @torsten ]
Elodie was not accustomed to being scolded. She was used to praise, as it was the natural consequence of aiming for perfection and achieving it. And Elodie had achieved, both as a student and as a young woman twirling the ballrooms of Nevermerean society. So even though she’d traded in her dancing shoes for leather boots, Elodie supposed that the same pattern would remain true in this arena: do well at—well—everything and receive compliments in return.
How entirely wrong she’d been.
Elodie was in trouble. Again. This time she wasn’t even sure what she’d done. The best she could figure, her superior officer was trying to make an example out of her. Yes, she’d spoken out of turn several times over the past few days. Yes, she’d made little cosmetic adjustments to her uniform that turned out where not strictly "regulation". And yes, she’d offered unsolicited advice to another recruit on their form which was, as she was reminded, “not her job.” But this time…honestly she wasn’t sure.
Not that it mattered. She’d suffer the consequences anyway.
Elodie was alone, scrubbing pots in the back of the kitchen. She’d never scrubbed a pan in her life, so the going was slow. Just when she thought she was reaching the end, a soldier brought in a whole new set of dishes before taking his leave. Watching his back, Elodie felt tears welling up behind her eyes. Furious with her own weakness she turned, and redoubled her efforts on the pans, a single tear dropping down her cheek.
Elodie wanted to make her family proud. That had been so easy to do before. Why was it so hard now?
Being tired was no excuse for sloppy training and Torsten knew that, but he also had no one to blame but himself. He'd signed up to be a soldier like his father, and the generations of his family. From an early age, he'd had the endless lecture that an able body and mind should make you eager to protect others. And if you had strong powers or a strong back, you were the arms of the military, the strength that people counted on. Being tall and strong are blessings not to be wasted. His family were born tall and strong so they could be dependable, be put first into battle, to have the brains, brawn and determination to keep going. He and his family strongly believed they were obligated to join the military because of their exceptional physique and will power.
Torsten could still hear the metal of his sword as it had clanged loudly to the ground, echoing off into the air, shouting out his weakness. That the larger you are, the harder you were pushed; continually there was more expected of you automatically just for existing. You don't try to hide with that height. You embrace it, stand tall and be that meat shield when called upon. Too tired wasn't an acceptable reason at the barracks.
Somehow, he had to find a balance between trying to make friends with the barracks mates going for a drink, but still getting enough sleep for the next day. Torsten picked up the stack of dishes in the bucket, mounding it to the top and walked toward the kitchen. He had to get his mind out of this circular pattern of failure and excuses, he really needed to--
The smallest female he'd ever seen was washing dishes as he crossed the threshold-and almost whacked his forehead into the doorframe. She had to be the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in his entire life! As casually as he could, Torsten set down the enormous stack of heavy dishes next to her. He turned on his heel in an about face and instantly heard a small sound from her. Torsten turned his head to peek a look at the witch. Her petite frame was rigid with some strong emotion and she scrubbed at the dishes in a determined way.
Then he realized that he hadn't actually emptied the dishes from the bucket and it would be far too heavy for her to lift easily. Feeling stupid on top of tired, He went back to Elodie's side and started taking the dishes out of the bucket and stacking them next to her. Moments like this made him feel ike such an oaf.
"Sorry about that. I should have unloaded the bucket..." his words drifted off awkwardly, trying not to feel ike a too tall, babbling idiot next to her.
Last Edit: Jan 18, 2023 19:58:49 GMT -5 by Deleted
Post by Elodie Atwood on Jan 19, 2023 13:32:57 GMT -5
Elodie, wrapped up in the wallowing melancholy of her own despair, didn’t notice the newcomer until he was right beside her. She startled, hand flying up to her cheeks to brush her tears away. Moping was neither dignified nor ladylike. What would her mother say if she saw her in such a state? Elodie’s frustration sprung up anew as she turned to the new soldier with a pretty smile. The dazzling white of her grin sat in stark contrast to the shining tears in her eyes.
“Oh, it’s no trouble at all,” Elodie said with a wave of her hand, voice dipping and winding like a song, “I thought perhaps the lieutenant was using this as an opportunity for me to build up my strength. I dare say the grease on these pots is as formidable as any enemy we’re likely to face.” It was easy to slip into her role as a courtier. Playful banter was a comfortable set of shoes Elodie was all too happy to walk in.
Realizing her rudeness, Elodie dropped her scouring pad and stood, dipping her head as if this were a ballroom and not a dingy kitchen. “Forgive me, I don’t believe I’ve made your acquaintance. Elodie Atwood,” She lifted her had and smiled up at him—which took a great tilt of her head to do. He was tall, handsome by any measure, which lit a mischievous sparkle in Elodie’s eye.
The woman instantly moved a hand to her face and eyes at his comment and he had no idea why she would do that. A fleeting expression crossed her delicate features but it was too fast for him to identify properly. Elodie's entire stance and demeanor changed as well and he felt the air of casual go directly to formal and well rehearsed. He got the feeling he'd interrupted something, but he wasn't sure exactly what that was.
A literal breathtaking smile up at him had him lose every functioning brain cell he'd ever owned and for a long moment, all he could do was stare down stupidly at Elodie. Spots started forming before his eyes and he finally remembered to exhale. Wow. Torsten figuratively shook his head, trying to get his thoughts back in working order but that knock out smile alone had floored him.
Before he could ponder anything further, she'd fully turned to face him and her shining eyes and wet eyelashes gave a clue as to what he'd interrupted. She'd clearly been crying! And something was clinging to her face.
The gesture to her face had left a smudge of soapy bubbles on her cheek and for the first time in a very long time, Torsten was tempted to smile. He gestured with a large hand to his own face and he answered quietly,
"You have some soap on your face."
With a graceful curtsy showing years of longstanding practice, her posture, voice and introduction were instantly stamped with refined nobility. Elodie. A perfectly beautiful name for the most gorgeous woman he'd ever seen. After an awkward pause, his manners finally kicked in and he bowed formally while answering in measured tones,
"It's a pleasure to meet you Elodie Atwood. I am Torsten Mosse." For once, his voice stayed smooth, and he was as close to smiling back at someone as he hadn't done in ten years.
Post by Elodie Atwood on Jan 20, 2023 15:51:14 GMT -5
“Oh—” Elodie dried her hands hastily on her pants before carefully flicking the bubbles from her face. She giggled, shaking her head. How absurd this all ways. Elodie Atwood: darling at court, promising young debutant, future wife of some high-falutin nobleman, scrubbing pots at the back of a dingy kitchen. She redirected her gaze to Torsten, looking him up and down with pleasant curiosity.
“Well, Mister Mosse,” She said with a playful purr, “As you can see I’m quite out of my depth. I’m afraid you’re to be burdened with a less than-skilled compatriot in this endeavor.”
She actually giggled and spoke in the most charming way, as if the grungy place was some kind of upscale castle and nothing bothered her in the least. It was that kind of presence of mind that he strove for most; and usually failed badly at it.
The woman's elegant manners and elevated speech made him quickly remember he was addressing a noble. Out of her depth? She seemed to know all the proper things to do and say in such a way that he wasn't sure exactly how to talk to her. He guessed, you could put Elodie in any situation- like a kitchen full of dirty dishes and she still came across as delicate and well-bred at the very first impression.
Torsten's shirt was totally covered in slime from the countless filthy full buckets of dirty dishes he'd been lugging for hours and it amazed him how Elodie could still look composed and fresh, both physically and mentally. What was her secret? And how could, should he answer her elevated words? There was no way he could match her refinement.
"Your presence would never be a burden Miss Atwood, I assure you. Discipline in all its forms is the main subject they teach here. Find the determination to see a task through, and that's all they ask of us." he replied, trying desperately not to sound like an idiot in front of her, and clasped his filthy hands behind his back to hide them.
Last Edit: Jan 23, 2023 16:27:32 GMT -5 by Deleted
Post by Elodie Atwood on Jan 22, 2023 20:00:30 GMT -5
Years and years of training. That’s how. The military strengthened physical endurance, and created soldiers capable of marching miles through the snow and rain, but it was finishing school that taught you how to smile even when your world was falling apart. How to bat your eyes just so and look like a lady even when covered in muck. Now and always, Elodie would do that training justice.
“Well, put, Mister Mosse, and—” She smiled, teeth glittering even in the low light, “Please, call me Elodie. We are comrades in arms, are we not?” With a huff, the tiny witch lifted the now clean soup pot, nearly teetering over before gaining her balance and shifting it over to join its washed brethren.
"It would be an honor Miss Elodie. Please call me Tor if you wish."
What was he saying? No one had called him Tor except his family and he knew he was verbally and mentally floundering. But she kept flashing that incredible smile at him and every brain cell disappeared, clearly out looking for the others.
When Elodie was nearly overturned by the weight of a single pot, he had a ridiculous urge to rescue her.
'Get yourself together man! She's a fellow soldier and a noble to boot, so rein it in!' Tor scolded himself sternly, reluctantly keeping his gaze from her smile.
After a long stupid pause, he rememberd to get back to the mound of dishes needing to be unpacked from the large bucket. It was nice to at least be standing beside her and be tall enough to automatically just see her in his field of vision.
Post by Elodie Atwood on Jan 27, 2023 16:35:35 GMT -5
“Tor…” Elodie turned the nickname over in her mouth, tongue lingering on the syllable as if it were hard candy. She decided she liked it and carried on, dropping the pot to the ground with an exhausted thud. She turned, smiling triumphantly before she saw the mounds of dishes still left that she had somehow forgotten. Her smile wilted and her shoulders slumped before she remembered herself.
She was a witch of Nevermere, dammit. She wasn’t about to be defeated by a few dishes. Blowing a loose strand of hair out of her face with a little huff, Elodie went back over and took her place by Tor.
“So, Tor,” She purred, scrubbing with a scouring pad, “Why on Terra Nova have you decided to join the great legion of dishwashers?” Elodie meant the military of course but delighted in her own playful jest.
The way she said his name, it was a wonder how it could sound totally differrent coming from the beautiful woman next to him. Essentially his parents started calling him that because it literally meant Hill. She made it sound interesting instead of just true to fact. He continued unpacking the dishes and stacking them beside her. Elodie flashed that breathtaking smile that had him dazed and it took him a long moment to realize her sudden disappointment. Catching himself almost smiling, he simply nodded his head at her while his dark eyes lingered on her.
His dimples almost showed in the start of smile and he shrugged before answering her joke,
"Why not? My whole family's always been military-- and tall, so it's simply what all of us have done and do. If we're going to be a family of giants, then we put it to good use. And what compelled you to join up for all this Elodie?" Tor gestured with a large hand at the room like it was something magnificent as he returned the query.
Last Edit: Jan 27, 2023 17:57:17 GMT -5 by Deleted
Post by Elodie Atwood on Jan 31, 2023 19:29:43 GMT -5
Elodie nodded. Legacy military families weren’t unusual—both in common and noble circles. The same could be said for any number of trades, she supposed. It just so happened the war was Nevermere’s primary business. She giggled at his joke, looking up at him as if gazing up a mountain pine reaching for the sky.
With a chuckle, she returned to her pot.
“I am fortunate enough to be born a Nevermerean,” Elodie answered, “Perhaps I’ll never be a great warrior like others, but I think that service for service’s sake is a noble enough calling.”
A calling. Is that really how she felt about this whole endeavor, or how she wantedto feel? Elodie wasn’t sure.
She just kept smiling and giggling and he liked being around someone that showed she was more than just another pretty face. Tor nodded and gathered up another stack of dirty plates and set them beside the sink. He thought for a moment about what Elodie answered and replied,
"I hadn't really thought of it as a Legacy thing. For us Mosse's we're notoriously awkward and gawky the millisecond we turn twelve, so the military is absolutely the best idea possible. I'd hate to think what we'd be like as adults if we were running around with height, strength and all that excess energy as teens with nothing to channel it into."
Her question and answer made him think even more than he usually did when she'd mentioned service being noble. "Anyone has the potential to be a great warrior Miss Elodie. We all train in the beginning, it's rough and kinda ugly at first. But having the determination to work through even the grubby or boring stuff like this, is what it's really all about. Have you put any thought to what you want to specialize in? Your magic training could give you a solid edge if that's what you're looking to pursue."
Post by Elodie Atwood on Feb 3, 2023 18:37:06 GMT -5
Elodie had now forgotten all about her task. Even though she was scrubbing the pots, it was starting to feel less and less like a chore. It was good to have someone that wasn’t telling her that she was doing too much or too little, or knew nothing but was also too much of a know-it-all. The interaction was nice. Simple. Sweet.
“Rough and ugly are two things I’ve never done well,” Elodie sighed, “But I suppose I’ll have to learn to bury my pride. At least for a little while.” She sighed, a resigned smile spreading across her face. “Potions have always been my strong suit, which doesn’t do me much good here. I’m more comfortable with the kind of witchcraft that can be done in a library or greenhouse, not on the battlefield. It’s…strange. I’ve always thought myself a natural at magic, but I’m discovering there was just a whole half of witchcraft I’d been neglecting.”
She set down another pot, before picking up another. “I’m sorry—” Elodie said suddenly incensed, “Just listen to me, feeling sorry for myself. Mother would be so…” Disappointed. She couldn’t bring herself to say the word.
Torsten made his way through another stack of dishes and encouraged Elodie.
"I don't think rough and ugly can be the same for each person. You're a noble right? Personally rough for me, would be spending several hours overdressed in a stuffy suit, smiling politely at a party, talking to the same boring people who are just as bored with you. I don't think I could stand a minute of it. I'll bet you handle it easily with a smile and perfect manners. And well, you're tackling an ugly amount of dishes just fine."
She lacked the hard edge that most of the girls around his neighborhood had and he thought her elegant polish was something for the woman to be proud of, not embarrassed about. Tor nodded in agreement as she commented about her potions comfort and training changes. It was a huge adjustment that most of them had to make at some level from commoner to noble, from combat to casting. Every one of them was pushed to be their best and then driven even harder.
She suddenly apologized and looked pissed at the same time, and it made him a bit confused. Tor set down the plates and turned to face her directly.
"Miss Elodie, you stop that right now. Firstly, you're only venting like every other person on Terra Nova. We all have those moments and it's just something you go through. It's being an adult, I guess." He caught her eyes with his and said with gentle emphasis,
"And your mother would be proud that her daughter is so dignified and determined, no matter what it is, to see a task through to the end. I don't know her, but what mother wouldn't be proud of their child putting their mind to something and accomplishing it, right?"
Post by Elodie Atwood on Feb 9, 2023 19:48:53 GMT -5
Elodie, who had wilted like an underwatered flower, perked up throughout Torsten’s little speech. By the end, she was giggling, scrubbing at the ugly dishes as if they lived up to their name. When he turned to her, she put down her pot in surprise. It was only then that Elodie fully appreciated how tall he was. She had to crane her neck to look up at him as he gently chastised her.
“Being an adult,” Eldoie repeated, giggling again, “My, my, don’t you dare let my mother hear you. If she thought she’d have me married faster than you can say—” Elodie plopped the final pot on the heap, “Done.” She looked back over, noting there was a small stack that they hadn’t yet touched.