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 Azazel Eldouir on Jan 19, 2023 14:06:41 GMT -5
[For @alistair]
While the majority of Eldouirs were not exactly 'nice' there were a select few in which Azazel actually admired. Hiram was one, of course, who couldn't love a guy who could kill with such ferocity and violence...and gore. Mmmm, it was glorious. The other person who he particularly liked to watch work with Alistair. He had no mercy and his methods were intense as hell. It was a pleasure just to watch him.
Azazel helped with training on occasion but he was still young enough that he wasn't top of the list for people to do so. Plus he tended to be not quite as helpful as he might like to think. Something about how breaking legs just for fun wasn't actually going to help them learn or something stupid like that. Whatever. It was work anyway and Azazel would much rather be out messing with anyone who was unlucky enough to cross his path than to spend the day trying to train them to be better.
Regardless, today he had ended up at the edge of the training field sitting on a large boulder with his legs crossed beneath him and watching with glee while Alistair worked to train some of their little underlings.
It had been months since Alistair had actually set foot back in Elderkeep. Over the past few years, really ever since Hiram seemed to step out of the light of both the family and the city, Alistair had grown. Physically, he seemed larger than he was even back in Lorendale, but that wasn't the growth that was striking. A level of maturity and leadership became one of the newly rotating faces that he shifted in and out of on a moments whim. While Hiram made his appearance at the annual sacrifices, before toddling off to who knows where, the 'queens' and other family were content on strolling through the streets making the Dresmondi life hell or heaven depending on the mood. Alistair, however, simply disappeared in various ways. Figuratively, he had been impossible to find outside of the training field as he beat the Dresmondi into a military. If he wasn't training, he would only be seen long enough to pull more Dresmondi from the streets into his, er, the Eldouir's army. The brief moments of respite from the constant state of war were typically behind locked doors in Elderkeep as he helped propagate the redhead clan. As of late though, he was literally gone. For months at a time, taking larger and larger portions of the new Eldouir army with him to do who knows what out in the wilderness.
So having him back suddenly in the city was definitely a surprise. Even so, he was at his usual, training with a group of younger Dresmondi in the fields outside Elderkeep where the military stationed and practiced. This particular group was nearing the end of their 'reconstruction' phase of his training. The last year of their lives was spent stripping their identities from them, and reforming them into weapons that were so rabidly loyal to Alistair, er, the Eldouirs that they would soon seem more like machinations of war than any sort of human.
In the middle of the training field a large circle of the youth was formed, some with dyrs, and some without, a group of five individuals fighting. Rather, four of them were fighting a large redheaded man in the center, Alistair. Sweat and blood beaded on his bare chest and caught the dust being kicked up in the air as he elegantly, viciously, defended himself against their attacks with a pair of cudgels. Admittedly, his 'defense' was more of an offense. As one of the young Dresmondi approached, he slammed the club against the dark haired girl's ribs with a crack that echoed across the courtyard. Immediately a boy behind him was caught in the head by another, dropping him to the ground limp as the dervish assault continued. As soon as one of them hit the ground, another from the circle sprinted into the fight, like some sort of ritualistic suicide run against a raging grizzly.
As ribs cracked, bones broke, and blood spewed forth the only thing absent from the gruesome display was the typical sounds of pain. Whimpering, crying, groaning. Not a word. As one young Dresmond had his elbow bent out of place, he fell to ground rolling, popped it back in himself with a look of anger and charged back at his trainer. The only sound were occasional grunts of anger, bellows of rage, or war cry as another Dresmondi charged in. Alistair himself was in his happy place, while his mind was focused on where his attackers were, how they were proceeding and what to do next. Completely unaware that anyone outside the training group was watching him. Deep in the recesses of his mind, in his subconscious, a song was playing. One with lyrics about a lusty bar maid from Lorendale, ripe with euphemisms about genitalia. Subconscious Alistair laughed and hangered for an apple. Or cheese.
Post by Azazel Eldouir on Jan 20, 2023 12:58:37 GMT -5
Oh this was better than any other entertainment he'd had as of late, at least anything that wasn't his own doing. Alistair was a beast and Azazel was obsessed with watching the way he held nothing back from his group of little dresmondi soldiers. It was honestly pretty damn impressive to see the way they didn't complain or whine or even cry out in what must have been quite a lot of pain. Alistair was a master. Though Azazel did love hearing those sounds. Still, it meant that he was being quite successful in creating little monsters for the Eldouir army.
In spite of the fact that some of the dresmondi had dyrs, none were currently using their magic and Azazel wondered if they were specifically focusing on hand to hand combat today or if there was another purpose for the practice. Use what you have was Azazel's frame of mind. Though it was also different he supposed for them because the actual dresmondi had no power, only their nasty little animals. Probably smart to train them to be able to take care of themselves if for some reason their dyr couldn't perform.
At one particularly vicious beating Azazel started to laugh but he made no moves to get any closer, keeping himself out of the way. There was a big part of him that itched to join in, but his own methods were far more for the purpose of doing as much damage as possible and not actually teaching them anything.
The torrent of brutality seemed to have no end as child after child rushed the titanic Eldouir only to be met with pain and darkness. Those that could still move their limbs would stand and charge for more, against all instinct, only to be broken and tossed aside once more. There was no mercy, no remorse, no breath of time to recover. Like ravenous beasts they charged with complete disregard for pain or death.
That was until a soft cry was heard, if only just. In fact the noise could have easily passed unnoticed if the entire spectacle didn't seem to freeze in an instant. Alistair, with his clubs still at the ready, turned to face the noise. A young man, likely only sixteen or younger, was on the the ground holding a disgustingly twisted ankle. Tears streamed down his face as he fought back the sounds of pain, each one that crept out only caused him to lose more control. Alistair didn't move, but the Dresmondi around him stared on in what could only be described as... hatred. Not for the Eldouir, but for the boy.
Some picked themselves off the ground holding broken bones, glaring at the youth, while others closed in and actually began beating him themselves. In fact, in moments it looked like nothing lose than wolves descending on a wounded animal. Alistair let the beating go for a moment before raising his hand, causing them to freeze immediately, "Weakness is not held by the individual, but shared by the army. For your weakness, your regiment will have no rations tonight, or in the morning." Some of the Dresmondi in the circle were visibly restraining tears at the news, having not eaten in two days, "Instead of rest. Tonight, everyone will be on competing teams between myself and Zeke for war games outside Elderkeep. Winners will earn their rations. The wounded... will only be brought back to consciousness, and be expected to fight with their injuries."
In the first months of exercises like these, they would hate Alistair. He wanted it. As time passed memories of comfort were wore down and replaced with willpower, anger, and determination. Alistair then became the man providing comfort, it was those among them that took it away. Soon, Alistair became a father, a giver of life and mercy. He doubted this young man would make it through the night before his own brothers and sisters killed him. As the young Dresmondi slowly moved off the field, helping the wounded (except for one), Alistair snapping his head to a young redhead sitting a ways off, not unlike a predator that just saw a meal. Showing he was rarely unaware of his surroundings he called out, "Enjoy the peep show, ya little pervert?" Alistair had a way of making insults sound like terms of endearment, and compliments sound like swear words.
Post by Azazel Eldouir on Jan 26, 2023 11:47:04 GMT -5
Azazel watched with increased joyful fascination by the whole situation. The way that a tiny little noise of pain could cause such an abrupt reaction was fascinating. There wasn't an ounce of pity for the weak little dresmondi boy, not even from his fellow comrades. In fact, they seemed to be far more angry at him than even Alistair was. And then the most delightful thing started to happy. They actually began to attack him. Azazel leaned forward with wide eyed glee and a devilish grin. What delightful little monsters!
It only got better. In spite of the revenge that the dresmondi were trying to take against the boy, Alistair punished all of them as a group. Azazel's heart raced with excitement and his mind was in the same place as the dresmondi kids. Kill the weakling. Though Azazel would want him to suffer as much as possible first. He was fantasizing about exactly how he'd do it when the group began to depart.
Azazel hopped off the rock as soon as the older Eldouir called out to him. His wide grin stretched across his whole face, his eyes alight with sparkling delight that was anything but contagious. This expression usually caused discomfort in others, especially any non Eldouirs. "More than you could know," he joked back with a laugh as he walked towards Alistair with a bounce in his step. "How many of them do you think will actually survive through the rest of their training?" he asked. He knew he should hope that the numbers were high, because a large army would benefit them; but he couldn't help but wish for as much death and destruction as possible.
Alistair smirked at the young Eldouir's comment. In truth he didn't know Azazel very well beyond what his gift was and the rumors that surrounded him about his... violent... nature. With Alistair's almost twenty-four hour commitment to training this army at every level, he had mostly only seen the boy from a distance; always creeping on his training sessions. The boy posed what should have been a good logistical question, but the darkness in his eyes suggested it wasn't in the interest of good for their budding nation.
"Typically less the half. Of those that don't make it, about half of them die, typically killed by their own kind. The other half that don't make it, and don't die, get tossed in to forward formation training... They will be the front line fodder." Alistair said grimly. Sure, he loved to torture and maim as much as the next; but bloodshed for the sake of bloodshed was boring after five years of non-stop freedom to cause whatever madness he wished. What he truly wanted was warfare, glorious combat of armies against armies. Torturing ants only satisfied him so much.
"What of you? I hear you're going to be fodder for me..." Alistair said, alluding to the boys power of heat and flames. Most of the younger Eldouir had rarely even seen Alistair's gift; they had only heard stories of the devastation he caused in Lorendale. A gift like his wasn't easily practiced to its full capability without mass slaughter and death.
Post by Azazel Eldouir on Feb 7, 2023 11:22:26 GMT -5
It was true, Azazel had not been there when the Eldouir had caused so much destruction in the city. He was too young, though he had protested and begged to attend with the others. Instead he'd been stuck at home in the estate. Still, he'd heard the stories and it was impossible for the younger man to not admire someone like Alistair, somehow who shared a similar foundation of their gifts as well as their thirst for destruction of their enemies. Though Azazel was still very much enjoying the torturing of ants method.
His dark eyes lifted in a smirk at Alistair's comment. He liked the idea of being fuel for the older man but he didn't understand Alistair's gift enough to know if that meant he would destroy Azazel in the process. "I'd be enough fuel for you to decimate an entire army," he said proudly. In spite of what it might mean for him, Azazel was ever loyal to the family and if it came down to it, he'd do whatever was necessary to win, even if that meant he'd die in the process.
Alistair lifted his head up a bit, an almost confused expression spreading across his face as his eyes narrowed at the response of the young Eldouir. Fuel to decimate an army? Surely the boy realized that when Alistair used his gift, people died. There was little teamwork, just death. What was shocking was that he didn't offer alternatives of 'yeah, I could light stuff on fire', or 'I could throw burning rocks', it was 'I would be enough'. Outside of Alistair, there were very very few Eldouirs that were suicidal in their intentions of engaging combat.
He was all at once annoyed and interested in the boy. Why didn't he argue to live? Did it matter?
"You know if I ever used my gift on you, it would probably kill you right? It would probably kill everyone, if we're being honest." Alistair said, directly addressing his curiousity.
Post by Azazel Eldouir on Feb 15, 2023 10:46:44 GMT -5
"Oh yeah, I know!" Azazel confirmed with a far more happy tone than one should expect of such a conversation. "Just try to direct it at our enemy instead of our family," he joked, even laughing at it. "It would be a damn epic way to win a war." His eyes glossed over with distant dreams of such death and destruction. It would be unforgettable, that was for sure, a war that would become legend.
Shaking his head from the thought he looked back over at Alistair. "Look, I prefer to live of course and cause destruction myself. But if the situation ever called for it and the choices were my death or a loss, the choice would be a simple one." It was clear he meant every word. His upbringing pounded into him so heavily that it had always been family over self.