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!
Rumors of Alistair's arrival back to Elderkeep had crept through the halls of the Eldouir estate only a few hours before a Dresmondi soldier arrived outside the gates. Even though he had actually been back for a few days, he and his soldiers had kept a fairly low profile (which was an absolute achievement for Alistair). Sticking mostly to the training grounds outside the city. However, now feeling a bit more frisky and fresh, he sent one of his soldiers to bring a message to the estate that Alistair was indeed back and interesting in a sparring session with one of the family. A strong note was to be made that it was a sparring session, not training. Being in charge of the the instruction of their army at large had definitely made him interested in his own family's talents as well. Finally understanding why Hiram punished and challenged them all so much back in Lorendale.
It was early in the morning, the sun hadn't even entirely risen over the horizon yet. Golden streaks of light crested trees in the distance, and in the middle of the training grounds a large fire was burning. Alistair had his bare foot up on a burning log of wood, far enough back that his pants wouldn't burn, but close enough that his bare chest shimmered and danced with the light of the flame. He was warming himself against the flames and wrapping a thin, bandage like cloth around his knuckles.
Truth be told, it was early enough that he hardly expected any of his family to be awake. Those that were more energetic like him were probably already out. Regardless, if someone answered it would be a great randomized test of Eldouir training. If no one answered, he'd just go punch the training log behind him until either his fingers, or the wood under them, broke.
Yeva was awake, probably to the not-delight of most of the other early risers in the family. Without someone who could handle her energy and be a buffer for others, she was much to handle one on one when she was brimming with whatever ideas she'd had in her sleep and wanted to experiment with. When you could manipulate and alter your own body in the way that she did, dreams were sources of inspiration instead of unobtainable fantasies.
She'd drained her tea, finished her breakfast, and slipped out only to come across a soldier she didn't recognize. If it hadn't been for the missive from Alistair requesting a spar, then she would have had some bit of fun with the man. But he was Alistair's, therefore not hers to mess with, and so she merely gave him an unsettlingly wide grin, halfway across her face with the note pinched between her fingers. She was claiming this spar for herself and no one else was going to butt in on it.
Grin still stretched across her face as she traipsed down to the training grounds, she flexed the joints in her fingers, then hands, then arms one by one. She hadn't seen this particular member of the family in some years. So she was very, very excited. Finally seeing Alistair for the first time in years, her grin split across her face wider as she rocked up on her toes.
Have you ever had the feeling where you walked out of your room in the morning and the chair that was always in the same spot in the kitchen was suddenly, and inexplicably, on the wrong side of the table. You don't even notice right away, but it just feels... off. Well that was the instantaneous feeling Alistair got when he subtly glanced over his shoulder at the young woman approaching his training grounds. Maybe it was her smile, or the strange gait of her approach, or the way her shoulders sat. It was normal, but it was... off. Just like that damned chair someone kept moving back at Elderkeep! Whatever, he was over it.
He turned his attention back to his hand that he was tightly wrapping with cloth, forming a makeshift glove to protect his knuckles. After a moment he could still feel the girl staring at him and realized she wasn't passing through, she was here for him. Without taking his eyes away from his deeply scarred hands he spoke loud enough for the young girl to hear, "Listen, I know my bosom is quote voluptuous, but there is no milk in these tits for you to suck on. The wet nurses are back at the estate kid..." Alistair was calling out her apparent age, and perhaps hinting that he was hoping for someone more interesting to answer his call.
Objectively, Yeva was pretty even with all her tiny pinpricks of oddness lurking in the corners of her mouth and eyes. At least they were pinpricks on a good day. And today was slipping away from that good category quite suddenly. Yes, she was short. Could she grow taller? Maybe but she quite liked her height so she just... stopped it. Reset her own height until she was happy. And now she was being called a child. Not being taken seriously.
The grin that had been spread across her face quite gleefully pulled thin into more of a pressing of her lips to hold back something more angry, if the curl of her lip was anything to go by. Being underestimated and overlooked by anyone else was fine, it gave her an advantage, but dammit she was not a child. Her lips curled slightly.
"Don't give a shit about your tits. Wouldn't want them or any part of you near my mouth anyway." The words were just a touch mean, a little bitchy, and a bit dismissive. Except the words were coming from the mouth that ripped open along the side of her neck.
Alistair still hadn't turned to face her, the greatest portion of his body still only inches away from the large bonfire in the middle of the empty training ground. The firelight illuminating the canvas of scars across his torso like he had been painted by a brutal artist. There were very few Eldouir's that could kill another member of their family with only a mere thought, the deep scars on Alistair's neck from the collar his own family placed on him was a reminder that he was one of them.
"Good, because I wouldn't know what mouth to put them near. The one on your face, or the one speaking out of your ass." Alistair was not above petty and childish banter. Finishing the wraps on his hands, he stood to his full height and finally turned to face the... incredibly small... Eldouir. He was fairly certain his arms were larger than her chest, "I don't remember your name... You're the one who grows all the extra genitalia, right? Well why don't you trot off, kid. I'm here to make sure the family is keeping up on their training... those in the family that are useful that is." Large muscled arms folded as he stared down at her with golden eyes, barely visible in the faint morning light, the only noise on the training ground being the large crackling of the fire behind them. His words were meant to hurt.
"How about no, hm? And really, genitals? That's bor-ring." The word was dragged out as she wrinkled her nose. That wasn't to say that certain extra bits weren't fun but that was only in very specific circumstances, thank you very much. Her limbs stretched a little longer as she tilted her head with a sly look in her eye under the building bitchiness. "Unless they have rows and rows of teeth, because then things get much more interesting and the screams are fun."
It was almost like her skin was shifting, ever so slightly. Almost like a barely there shiver as muscle groups tightened and built under the surface. Did the useful comment hit a spot? Maybe. She was aware of who her mother was and she was not going to wind up like her. But was she going to address that comment? She could, and show that she annoyed that not many were taking her seriously, though she was certainly above the help with her Gift. Or she could see just how long she could last against someone like him who had a collar scar, that ugly deep thing that showed that he was tougher than hell. Because she wasn't stupid enough to think that she could win in a spar against him. Didn't mean she would back down though.
"If you want me to fuck off, you'll have to force me to." Both mouths spoke in tandem.
The mental image of normally appealing orifices filled with teeth definitely sparked some ideas for torture into Alistair's mind, along with a hidden shudder at imagining a sudden chomp. Besides her use as a prostitute from hell, that was very little to prove her usefulness to him. Though he did notice the slight shifting of muscles under her skin. At first thinking that she was tightening them to prepare for a strike but they weren't tightening correctly they were... bubbling? Moving? He didn't know what the hell was happening, but he knew enough to see when someone was getting ready to fight.
Arms still folded and eyes still locked on the young Eldouir, he listened as she began to speak again. Well, barely listening. At first he was distracted by the fact that... both mouths... were speaking, but quickly recovered. At the words "...want me to fuck...", he subtly dug the tip of his boot into the dirt, upper body still relaxed and arms folded. At the word 'force', Alistair didn't wait for her to finish. Using his boot like a shovel he kicked a spray of dirt at her face, along with an immediate cloud of dust.
As he right foot came down from the kick, his left foot stomped on the end of a burning log behind him, launching the flaming wood into the air toward Alistair's own face. He quickly grabbed it and made a mad dash at the young Eldouir with a speed that was not befitting his large size, before swinging down his makeshift flaming club at her head. The speed and ferocity of the movement, and attack, was not something that would be found in training were a focus was made on how to read your opponent, use your gift, or defend yourself. Taught by Hiram, Alistair's sparring was similar to his former trainer; you learn, or you die.
If her Gift was anything else, there would have been scars on her body. Stretch marks and twists and burns and much much else. But when you can alter your body as you please, there's only so little that can't be changed.
Her head twisted back from the sand, second mouth twisting into an eye. Then. Yeva bent, body twisting when there should have been snapping as she simply moved out of the way of the impact, almost skittered like a three-legged spider. Like her bones were as flexible as yarn, much less skin and muscle. She knew how to dodge a heavy hit, something with weight, when everyone was bigger and stronger than her (even if it was by conscious choice, but it gave her so much more ways to mess with people who expected her age to match her height.) Azazel was a favorite of hers for a reason (or more) and she learned quickly about the dangers of heat and fire.
Her head twisted back to face him, focused and intense but not quite feral. A third and fourth and fifth arm stretched out of the skin on her back. Longer than they should be. She ran back, hadn't skittered that far, with one long arm to block the log as she punched at his shoulder and side with the other two.
Adrenaline spiked. That sweet, sweet focus and clarity that rushed in when a battle started. It spiked when the young Eldouir avoided his attacks. That was an instant indicator that she wasn't going to be a pushover, and this morning wasn't going to be a waste. Why? Because why he swung that flaming, smoking club, he didn't swing it to hurt; he was trying to kill her.
As his focus narrowed, the tiny details of the changes of her body were lost or of no concern. Disturbing as they were, Alistair grew up in a disturbing family, a few extra limbs or eyes here or there wasn't enough to stop him. She was good though, fast, very fast; something he appreciated. The momentum from his swing prevented him from stop her fluid growth and attack of limbs to his torso. The hit to his shoulder and side stung, but he spent most of his life being beat, the pain was ignorable. Ignorable enough that he made a mental note of critique for her.
Alistair slipped a step back and brought the club back up into a guard, the flames on it dancing on his face, "Good." He complimented on her reaction time, "But your punches lack force. They require weight, or leverage, to make an impact mean something. Twist your torso into your fist, force you weight behind it and swing from a greater distance back, that momentum will give you power." He instructed, immediately moving for another attack before he finished.
Bent over backward like a spider, Alistair immediately closed the distance and made a move like he was going to attack with his club overhead, but quickly pivoted his momentum into a hard kick toward her legs. He followed through with the vertical momentum of the club downward after the kick, aiming it to the bulk of her backward bent torso.
Every fight was a learning moment and in this family, it meant that there were many such learning moments. Day in, day out. Spontaneous lessons, planned ones. Deadly ones. If you didn't know how to roll with the pain, to either harness it or to let it roll off of you, then it was a failure. Pain was motivation, it was something to show where your weaknesses were to fix them, or it was something to brush off. And when you could manipulate your own body at will, pain was something that was common enough to not even register with the high pain threshold that was natural with her Gift.
She took the advice and took it immediately. Advice that she hadn't received before, hadn't thought of herself. She took the advice, hoarded it and equipped it.
She saw the club, was braced and already twisting to the side and pulled upwards. Saw the redirect to her legs too late but even with the hit, she was already in motion out of the way of the club and reaching up with those extra arms to grab and yank him down by the head face first to the ground.