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!
The halls within the military wing of Rainecourt Castle were ever filled with the sound of heavy boots thudding against the stone floors. Warren liked the sound of it. It was clean and crisp, except for those times the soldiers drug their feet and the noise made was more of a squeal than a thump. Usually, though, the soldiers knew to pick their feet up when walking by an officer. No one wanted to sound to lazy to lift their own feet up when they walking by their superiors.
As he left his office, he trailed through those halls, nodding to superiors and examining soldiers who passed by. As two soldiers came toward him, heading either for the mess hall or barracks most likely, he took note of each. They had been walking side by side, and he knew both of them well. When they'd seen him, they'd moved to single file to allow him by, each of them nodding their heads to one another as they passed.
It was only once they passed that the noise caught his hears. Something different from the thudding sound of boots. "Mr. Stormcrest, Mr. Bayle," Warren said, turning to look at them, his arms crossing over his chest.
As it often was, food was on Ber’s mind. He and Duncan were headed to the mess hall to fill their empty stomachs and entertaining themselves along the way by debating the merits of using potatoes as a weapon, given that they had proven their versatility as a food. One could boil them, mash them, stick them in a stew - why not pelt them at one’s enemies, too?
When he noticed Woodwick’s appearance at the end of the hall, Ber nudged his friend to draw his attention to the new arrival. The conversation between them died. Ber stepped back behind Duncan as Woodwick drew near. They acknowledged him - politely, accordingly - when he passed, and the brief interaction, which was truly the best one could hope for with the lieutenant, was already fading from Ber’s mind when the sound of their names had him pausing.
What did he want? Clearly the man hadn’t been out to find either of them, because he had walked right by, but as Ber turned around, he saw the lieutenant standing there with crossed arms and an unreadable expression that did not bode well for either of them. Beside him, Duncan shifted slightly as he reached the same conclusion. The good mood had evaporated; funny how quickly that happened when Woodwick appeared.
“Yes, sir?” Ber couldn’t think of anything either of them had done to garner this unwanted attention.
Warren nodded down toward the boots of the two men he'd called out. One of Duncan's boots was untied, and the string had been hanging down, scraping the floor as he walked. The other string appeared to be short, like it'd been ripped, which explained why they might not stay tied. "Mr. Bayle, you've got an untied shoe string." He explained, a brow lifting.
"Go to the uniform supply closet and retrieve a new one." With that, he was about to turn away. He'd even begun the movement to do so, his arms dropping back to his sides, foot pivoting once more in the direction he was walking. Then he turned his head back. "Take Mr. Stormcrest with you. The two of you can check all of the boots for faulty strings and replace them." Now he was done. He said nothing more and waited for no response, merely continued on his way down the hall.
Last Edit: Jan 24, 2023 12:17:00 GMT -5 by Deleted
As the lieutenant drew their attention downward, Ber simply stared for a moment at the offending shoe string on his friend’s boots. That was why he’d stopped them? How had he even— The thought was interrupted by Woodwick telling Duncan to get a new shoe string. His friend nodded and gave a quick, “Yes, sir,” and when the officer turned away again, they both made to leave too.
Until a follow up had them both freezing again.
What did Ber have to do with any of this? Immediately annoyed, the young man in question looked at Duncan before directing his gaze back to Woodwick, who hadn’t even waited for any sort of acknowledgement before walking away himself. He looked back at Duncan, who only offered a helpless shrug. Why did it matter that his friend’s boot was untied? The two of them had been coming from training, so they weren’t even in uniform, which was what Woodwick normally picked on as if that had any effect on their ability to do their jobs. And now they were supposed to spend their evening digging through the mountains of bolts in the equipment room? What an asshole.