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 Regan Lassiter on Mar 31, 2023 13:58:39 GMT -5
[ For @berengar ]
In moving her belongings from her and Othello’s room into her new officer’s quarters, Regan had discovered more than a few of her training uniforms were singed beyond repair. Or at least, singed enough for people to start to question why they were that way—which was equally important. With recent revelations about a certain witch, she thought better safe than sorry.
So Regan, eager to take care of any task that would require her to interact with as few people as possible, opted to head to the supply room. She thought idly about the time that she’d taken Othello to get outfitted for the first time. Seemed a lifetime ago now.
Regan picked at the chest of her tunic where her scar was, a habit that was developing into something of a tic. Probably should be concerned about that, but no matter. First thing first: new training uniforms.
Regan opened the door and marched into the storeroom, damaged tunics under her arm, all grumbles and bluster. It wasn’t until she was in its center did she realize just who it was that was staffing it.
The week that Ber had spent in the infirmary had grown increasingly boring, to the point that he had started thinking he didn’t even mind being put indefinitely on staff duty if it meant he had something to do other than sit there and stew in his own thoughts. Then he had actually returned to work, and after the first day, he changed his mind entirely.
Staff duty sucked.
Day two found him manning the supply room. When Regan marched in, he had his back turned toward her as he sorted through uniforms that were salvageable those that were not - the pile of the former was already too large for his liking, considering it would also fall on him to salvage them - but he turned at the sound of the door opening to see who had entered. Then his stomach sank.
Even with the scarring, the Huntsman was easy to recognize. Although he’d been grateful to hear that she’d survived the werewolf attack, Ber had been in no real rush to actually see her again, and he hadn’t realized until now that their paths might cross due to work. The surprise was likely evident on his face. “Um. Hi,” He said, awkward. The words of their last encounter hung in the silence between him. “I’m glad you’re not dead.”
Post by Regan Lassiter on Mar 31, 2023 19:05:08 GMT -5
Berengar too was the last person Regan expected to see—which was a rather silly assumption. She liked to think that the mere thought of her bringing Othello to Ber the first time they’d met was what had called him. For a moment, Regan just stood, staring, not entirely sure what to do. But Thankfully Berengar spoke first.
The silence only grew more uncomfortable in the wake of his admittedly rather lack-luster declaration as Ber tried to get a read on exactly how angry she was at him. He let her question linger for a moment while he worked up the nerve to do what he knew he had to do.
Apologies had never been something he was good at on account of having very few people he cared enough about to genuinely apologize to. He discovered now that Regan, inexplicably, was still one of them. Perhaps because she hadn’t actually done anything wrong to him. Any premature conclusion to their tentative friendship was his fault alone, and given that she hadn’t immediately ripped him a new one the moment she laid eyes on him, he thought maybe something could be pulled from the wreckage.
“Um, no, it’s not.” He took a breath and looked away, fiddling with the shirt in his hands. “That night, I was angry, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you or said what I said to you. I know you were just doing what you were told, and I made it personal.” A brief pause as he glanced back at her to see how she was taking his genuine, though distinctly awkward and unpracticed, apology. “So. I’m sorry. For all of that.”
Post by Regan Lassiter on Apr 2, 2023 8:04:51 GMT -5
With narrowed eyes and a still annoyingly arched brow, Regan considered her decision for a long moment, letting Berengar squirm under her gaze. She was fully prepared to be angry, and perhaps on some level she still was, but Berengar was just a boy. Little more than a kid. And on seeing his still healing wounds, she wondered if he had suffered enough already.
Regan sighed, still annoyed but resigned. A slight smile pulled at her lip as she gestured to the bundle of clothes under her arm.
“Where should I put these? They’re no good anymore.”
Strange that a bundle of dirty clothes should be a peace offering.
Ber was very tired of people looking at him without saying anything, and he stamped down on the beginnings of an irritation that rose to fill the void left by the incredibly uncomfortable silence. Picking a fight with the Huntsman was unwise on multiple accounts, if only because he was actively apologizing for picking one before.
Then, finally, she sighed and presented the most unpretentious offering of a truce - possibly the dirtiest, too.
“Uh, yeah, ok. I can take them, or uh, over there’s fine.” With the ghost of an answering smile flicking across his own features, Ber turned and pointed to a sad little pile in the corner. He would either watch her deposit them on the pile or toss them there himself. Scratching the back of his neck with one hand, he asked after another moment, “Are you okay now? We were worried - well, Othello and I were, anyway - but no one knew how you were doing.”
Post by Regan Lassiter on Apr 2, 2023 17:48:47 GMT -5
Regan snorted with a single chuckle. Othello, Othello. If only he would have known what he’d become—a mother hen, worrying after her chick. Regan would find it annoying if it weren’t so goddamn touching. She smiled awkwardly and gestured vaguely to her face.
“I mean, yeah. This is as good as it’s gonna get, anyway,” Regan cleared her throat, looking at Ber now with honest concern, “You?”
Unlike Regan, Ber had never been one to put much stock in his appearance. He’d noticed the scars spreading down one side of her face - it was impossible not to - but he hadn’t thought much of them, too relieved that she still had a face to put much value in how aesthetically pleasing it was.
As she gestured, he offered her a slight shrug. “Scars just mean you’re a survivor, right?” He started rolling up his right sleeve, revealing freshly healed marks along the outside of his arm where the werewolf’s claws had hooked and thrown him. While effective, the work of Nevermere’s health potions was likely crude compared to that of Arynn Frey’s enchantments, but just as he hadn’t thought too much about Regan’s scars, he didn’t much consider his own. He rolled his sleeve back down and shrugged again. “But yeah, otherwise, good as new.” Physically, at least.
Glancing down, he scratched his arm absentmindedly. “Hey, um, you were paired before you became the Huntsman, right?” A pause. “Is that… what it’s usually like when someone’s turned?”
Post by Regan Lassiter on Apr 3, 2023 12:37:59 GMT -5
Ber also had the good fortune of not being born a woman. But that was neither here nor there. Regan had no one but herself to blame for her ugly duckling complex. It had started out as a protective measure; Regan knew what happened to pretty girls at the orphanage. She knew the kinds of ‘entrepreneurs’ that came looking for new ‘daughters’ at gutter-trash establishments like Lassiter Home. So, Regan had chopped her hair and turned herself into something intentionally unfeminine. Unwantable.
Given the context, it was silly to now get worked up over a few scars. But Regan was, in some respects, a silly woman.
Her lips pursed as she looked at the scars on Ber’s arm. Ber had acted like (and perhaps was) a bit of a twat, but that didn’t mean he deserved what he’d gotten. None of them did. Regan sighed, brow momentarily pinching in concern before it furrowed into curiosity.
“Yeah. With, uh, Grant Delaney.” Why was his name so hard to get out of her mouth? “It’s…sort of like that. Wolves don’t listen automatically—it’s not as simple as that. You have to keep asserting yourself, keep pulling at them with magic so you don’t lose them.” Regan shrugged. “I guess…she had no interest in doing that.”
“Oh.” Pleasantly surprised curiosity colored Ber’s voice as the possible coincidence momentarily distracted him from the more sobering topic at hand. “I think I met him once, a while back.” He thought back to their conversation in the mess hall line. It felt like a lifetime ago. “Really tall, knows a lot about how everything around here works, and, um, really enthusiastic about it, too? I didn’t know he was your partner.”
What were the chances?
The rest of Regan’s words chased away the brief respite of discovering a mutual acquaintance. Ber quietly nodded his understanding. They’d always said that werewolves needed to be kept under control or else they were dangerous to everyone, but until this past week, he hadn’t fully understood what that meant. To think that every man his age could be turned into one… “I guess not.” He glanced over with what he hoped was a casual shrug. “Just wondering. I hadn’t seen one before, is all.”
Post by Regan Lassiter on Apr 4, 2023 9:51:07 GMT -5
Regan snorted with a single laugh, though there wasn’t much joy in it. “Yeah, sounds like Grant,” She said in what was little more than a mumble, rubbing the back of her neck. Grant was a touchy subject for Regan nowadays. They used to be inseparable—and eventually, in ways that extended beyond friendship.
But now…seemingly Grant was nowhere to be found. Few sightings, and not a word to her as to why he’d vanished. All she had was rumors…and the rumors were that Brenna Delaney would soon see her son wed. She’d hastened that operation…for reasons Regan didn’t know. Though ones that should, perhaps, be obvious.
“It’s…it’s something,” Regan said, not really sure what else could be said. It was frightening and awesome all at once. The first time she’d shifted Grant she was pretty sure her heart had stopped beating for longer than was healthy. She paused for a moment, before asking casually, “So are you, Alys, and Zevran all buddies then?”
Yeah, a werewolf certainly was something. Something Ber planned on avoiding as long as he could.
”Well, not exactly,” He said in response to Regan’s question, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t really know Alys. I never spoke to her before the ball, but Zevran? Yeah, I met him shortly after he came here. He’s a nice guy, a good one, too.” Those types of people, especially the latter kind, were few and far between in Ber’s opinion. But maybe he wasn’t supposed to be complimenting Zevran anymore. “We’ve been sparring together and hanging out really since we met.”
Shoulders rose and fell in a shrug, and he bit the inside of his cheek and glanced away. Officially, he and Zevran weren’t supposed to be friends, and he hadn’t actually seen the other man since the night of the ball… but it wasn’t that easy to just stop caring about someone, especially when that person had become such an important part of his life. Ber looked down at the shirt still in his hands and idly fiddled with the collar. “Turns out the captain commander isn’t too happy about that. So, uh, not supposed to do that anymore.”
Post by Regan Lassiter on Apr 5, 2023 13:48:51 GMT -5
Regan listened with a neutral expression, still not entirely ready to be friendly to the boy who’d help create such a spectacle. She furrowed her brow at the mention of the captain commander, but it quickly unwound again. It only made sense, she supposed. Regan was glad she wasn’t the one who made such decisions, but obviously the Dresmondi had made himself quite comfortable in Nevermere. She still remembered the sound in Alys’s voice; the way she’d growled at her when she’d gone to take the Dresmondi from the ballroom.
“A piece of advice,” Regan started, pretty certain that whatever she was about to say was entirely unsolicited, “There’s no fallback plan for people like us. No manor you can stay in to twiddle your thumbs or family coffers you can dip into until you get back on your feet. This is plan A, B, and C. Nothing is worth compromising your career here,” Regan paused, “No one is worth it.”
Regan was right. Her advice was entirely unsolicited, but that didn’t mean she was wrong. Or stating anything that Ber hadn’t silently come to realize himself, even if he didn’t want to admit it. No one was worth it. Not even Othello? He wanted to snap, to see if she would so easily stand aside if the king suddenly turned on her foreign-born friend, but he managed to bite the words back before they slipped out. Instead, he took a deep breath to try to quell the prickling irritation at the unwanted lecture.
If anyone understood how precious real friends were, it would be Regan, but if anyone understood exactly what Ber had to lose, it would also be her. She was trying to help, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t received the same warning from the captain commander. Putting himself first had been easier when he had been the only one he cared about. He looked over at her. “You’re right. I know I can’t afford to throw this away, and I’m not going to.” It just would’ve been nice if it hurt a little less to do so.
Post by Regan Lassiter on Apr 6, 2023 11:01:33 GMT -5
“Good,” Regan nodded once, satisfied, “You get a second chance here. They’ll be examining people on staff duty. Come back stronger and you’ll do just fine.” If Regan were more self-aware, she might have noticed how annoyingly patronizing her tone was, but the witch hadn’t a self-aware bone in her body. She managed a little bit of a smile though, which softened her somewhat.
“In the meantime…I need some new uniforms. If you can help a girl out.”