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!
It came as no surprise that soldiering was bloody work, but Ber had to admit, when he considered his job in that context, he thought more of an enemy’s blood on a battlefield than he did porcine blood in the little area behind the kitchens. An army marched on its stomach, even if that marching was just around the military wing. Meals had to be prepared, and when the meat stores ran low, that meant that animals had to be slaughtered.
With accusation in their eyes, the unfortunate pigs in question seemed to understand what was about to happen to them, which hardly made the job any easier. Arms crossed, Ber considered them for a moment before sighing and turning away. In preparation for what promised to be both bloody and tiring work, he had rolled up his sleeves despite the Hiems chill, but as he waited, he found himself absentmindedly rubbing some warmth back into his arms.
Someone else was supposed to be joining him, but he didn’t know who they were. It would be nice if they showed up soon, though; in his opinion, this was the kind of unpleasant task that was best completed as quickly and with as little thought as possible.
Post by Elodie Atwood on Apr 14, 2023 11:58:20 GMT -5
Elodie had been remanded to staff duty. She’d seen it coming, of course. While many of her peers had risen to the occasion, Elodie had continued to stumble. The ball had shaken her, made her question what she’d been so certain of before, and in these times one couldn’t afford to hesitate. And Elodie had.
So, staff duty it was.
It was her second day. The first she’d gotten off easily—washing uniforms and hanging them to dry—but today, not so lucky. Elodie was sure she’d visibly blanched when the staff duty officer had informed her of her task. But there was no way to protest without surely being shown the door, so Elodie nodded wordlessly and set off to the slaughterhouse.
The smell was a mixture of fear and feces. Elodie swallowed with a dry click as she rounded the corner and approached who she assumed was to be her partner in this venture. He looked like a boy rather than a man; cute, she supposed, but not handsome like the men she’d come to know at court. But Elodie was here as a soldier, not a debutant. It didn’t matter what she looked like or what he looked like; their rank or status or manners. Elodie was sure that the pigs didn’t care.
“Hello,” Elodie said, extending a hand to introduce herself to the scrappy-looking boy before her, “Elodie Atwood.” She smiled or tried to, focusing on Ber and not the pigs that stirred about their pen.
Had they met on the street, the witch who rounded the corner was not someone Ber would have expected to be a soldier. Though he had only been to one such gathering and it had ended horribly, he thought her comportment suggested she felt more at home with the marble floor of the under feet than the muck of almost anywhere else. And the expression on her face as she approached him, which had the trappings of nobility but looked distinctly more apprehensive than confident, did not bode well for the endeavor ahead.
Pretty though, he’d give her that.
“Hey.” When she reached out her hand and introduced herself, Ber did the same, giving her a solid handshake, a small smile, and his name. “Berengar Stormcrest.” His own expression transformed into more of a grimace as he glanced back at the pigs. “I take it you’re here for the same reason I am. Ever do anything like this before?” It would’ve been really nice if his partner had been the child of a farmer or a butcher, but somehow Ber suspected that Elodie Atwood had never set foot in either of those places before. Still, it couldn’t hurt to ask.
Last Edit: Apr 14, 2023 15:02:26 GMT -5 by Deleted
Post by Elodie Atwood on May 2, 2023 14:07:03 GMT -5
The pigs rooted around restlessly, as if they knew what fate was about to befall them. Elodie watched them in fearful apprehension, slowly shaking her head to give the obvious answer to Ber’s question. No. Elodie Atwood had never even set foot in a barn or a pig pen, or anywhere of comparable filth.
“Have you?” The question squeaked out of Elodie’s mouth as she tried to summon a half-convincing smile.
The answer to his question was written across Atwood’s face even before she shook her head and squeaked out a response. Ber felt his hope for a quick and easy job fizzling away as he, too, shook his head.
“Guess it’ll be a learning experience for both of us then,” He said with a shrug and turned to retrieve the blade resting on a nearby crate. After flipping it around, Ber offered it to her hilt-first. “I figure I’ll hold them steady while you slit their throats, and that’ll be that.” In a perfect world, anyway. A brief pause. “Unless you’d think you can hold on to them?” As the stronger of the two, he had assumed that he would take on the more physically challenging task, but if Atwood had a preference, he had no qualms about getting the blood on his hands instead.
Post by Elodie Atwood on May 21, 2023 16:41:39 GMT -5
Elodie’s face did something very unusual when Ber offered her the blade. She stared at it, trying to think of a way that it made sense for her to be the one to try and contain the animal. But Berengar's assessment was right. Elodie was petite and not terribly muscular, which didn’t lend itself well to wrestling hogs. So, she nodded silently and took the blade. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t taken an animal’s life before. She’d done plenty of curses that required some manner of sacrifice. But it was always neat and tidy—never the kind of bloodshed that she was about to induce upon these animals.
“Alright,” She said with a small huff, trying to brace herself, “I suppose…you select our first victim, Mister Stormcrest.”
Ber watched Atwood’s expression twist into one of the utmost reluctance as she stared at the blade in his hand. For a moment, he wondered if she would actually take it, but when she did, he nodded and stepped back. Neither of them really knew what they were doing, but this couldn’t be that bad, right? Ber was good at thinking on the fly.
Turning to look at the pigs, he considered them for a moment before pointing his choice out to Atwood. “The smallest one, over there.” With a glance back to make sure she recognized their target, he made his way to the pen, hopping the fence and watching its occupants scatter as his feet hit the somewhat muddy ground.
Pig wrangling, Ber soon found out, was considerably harder than it sounded. Not only were they smart and fast, their bodies also lacked any significant amounts of hair or easy locations to get a good grip. If Atwood jumped in to help, it would take a long time to corral the smallest pig into the corner. If she didn’t, it would take Ber even longer. Eventually, however, their efforts found it backed into the fence, eyes fixed on the soldier who approached with his arms out.
A moment passed, then it sprinted forward, along the fence. Ber, who had expected such a dash, lunged to the side to catch it. His foot slipped on the mud. The pig raced past. With one leg covered in mud, Ber grimaced and sighed. He glanced over at Atwood. “This obviously isn’t working. Any better ideas?”
Post by Elodie Atwood on Jun 16, 2023 11:49:46 GMT -5
The smallest one. Of course. Elodie felt a flash of pity for the creature that she quickly disposed of. Pity would do her no good in completing the task ahead. It was an animal; a beast. But slaughtering it for food seemed a much less dignified death than sacrificing a creature for magic. Elodie watched the pig run about and Ber clumsily chase after it. Elodie, who had been looking on in horror, started to soften. A giggle bubbled up as she watched Ber dance about the pen.
The noblewoman did not step in to help. Elodie had successfully been holding in her laughter, but when Ber looked at her it came bursting forth. “Well, Mister Stormcrest,” She teased, “I daresay you’ve found yourself a dancing partner for the next ball.”
With a few words, Elodie shot a paralyzing curse in the pig’s direction. It’s joints locked and it teetered over with a strangled grunt.
Atwood’s laughter was better than her apprehension, Ber decided, even if it was at his own expense. Lips quirking upward, he let out an amused huff and shook his head while climbing to his feet. “You think so?” Light-hearted, the words escaped him while he wiped his dirty palms on his already-muddy pants. He looked between Atwood and the pig. “Not sure she agrees, but I’ll ask next time there’s a ball. Maybe I’ll get lucky and get a dance.”
The atmosphere grew more sober as she paralyzed the pig with far less effort than he had used attempting to do the same. “Yeah,” He commented dryly. “Probably should’ve thought of that first.”
Letting out a sigh, he turned and, scratching the back of his neck a little self-consciously, looked back at Atwood. With one hand, he gestured toward the knife that she still held. “Want me to take care of that then?” Technically, she had caught and immobilized the pig, but more than that, Ber saw no reason to make her kill it when he could now do so instead. Of the two of them, he would weather having the blood on his hands far better than she would.
Post by Elodie Atwood on Jul 12, 2023 14:15:07 GMT -5
Elodie had quickly moved from apprehensive to delighted at their little task. True, no pigs had yet been harmed, but it would take more than some pig’s blood to dampen her rising spirits. Or at least, so she thought. Lit up with a playful smile, Elodie handed over the knife to Ber.
As expected, she handed him the knife, and the grin lighting up her face had a small smile ghosting across his own features. “I’ll try,” He offered, the mud down his leg making him wary of making any more promises.
Admittedly, as he turned back toward the paralyzed pig, the amusement faded from his expression and the blade suddenly felt heavy in his hand. In its paralyzed state, the creature couldn’t squeal in fright, but it stared at him with a primal panic in its wide eyes. Ber saw the understanding there: that death approached. Grimly determined, he tried not to think about it - or, really, much of anything - as he stood over the pig, took a deep breath to steel himself, then drew the blade fast and deep across the creature’s throat.
Crimson spilled onto the ground, and standing upright once more, Ber did his best to ignore the warm blood that had splashed onto the hand that held the knife. He wrinkled his nose slightly, then looked toward Atwood. “Have I redeemed myself?”
Post by Elodie Atwood on Jul 31, 2023 13:26:19 GMT -5
Elodie, watching the scene unfold, saw the same look in the beast’s eyes. But she felt no horror or disgust; certainly, no guilt at the animal’s fate. What she felt was…power. The darkness of witch magic wrapped its fingers around her and eclipsed any empathy she might have had for the lesser being. And when Berengar drew the blade across the creature’s throat, when her eyes went to him, she felt—
“I believe you have, Mister Stormcrest.” She looked at Berengar with new curiosity. After a moment, Elodie sighed and started forward. “Here, help me lift her…”
Focused on the dying pig, Ber remained unaware of Atwood’s shifting attention, and when he asked his question and looked over to meet her gaze, he thought little of why her eyes already rested on him. They were supposed to slaughter some animals, and he’d just killed the first. Where else would she look?
“Glad to hear it,” He said, glancing down at the knife in his hand before moving to set it aside where it wouldn’t end up underfoot. Then he returned to crouch by the pig’s head and shoulders. “I’ll get this side if you get that one.” If she agreed, he would grab a leg with one hand and try to slide the other under its body to hold the bulk of its weight. “Ready?”
Post by Elodie Atwood on Sept 9, 2023 9:39:56 GMT -5
“Ready.”
Elodie huffed as she lifted, the pig’s blood pooling on the ground beneath them. Each step was a struggle, but she was determined not to show it. With the smell of iron in her nostrils she soldiered on until the pig was dropped with a thud on the cart it was destined for.
Slowly, Elodie’s attention turned to the others. They rustled, terrified, having seen their brother so unceremoniously slaughtered. She swallowed before looking up at Ber with a thin smile.
“Shall we?” It was as if she were asking him to dance.