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!
Despite their quiet friendship, Ber had never actively sought out Regan before, and he wasn’t quite sure where to go to find her. He had the suspicion that she was like him, drifting around to wherever was necessary at any given point, but when he tried to consider where might be a better place than the training grounds or the mess hall for a more private conversation, nothing came to mind. It made finding her a rather more difficult and lengthy affair than he had imagined.
When he did eventually find her, he waited until she seemed finished with whoever she was talking to - if anyone - before approaching her and asking, somewhat awkwardly, “Hey, you got a minute?” A glance around. “And, uh, maybe somewhere less… crowded to talk?”
Post by Regan Lassiter on May 22, 2023 0:32:52 GMT -5
Regan was making preparations for Cambria. There was a particularly difficult potion that she needed to get her hands on in some quantity, and the acquisition of the ingredients required had proved challenging. But with all the resources of the military potion master at her disposal, Regan intended to get what she needed. After all, there were plenty of commoners willing to part with, well, parts of themselves in order to make some coin. It was ugly but, in this case, probably necessary.
She finished her low-volume argument with the potion master who ended the conversation with a curt nod. She mumbled something as she headed away from Regan, nearly running into Ber on her exit. Turning and exiting the potion storeroom she’d see Ber waiting for her.
“Uh…hey, yeah,” Regan’s brow furrowed intensely, “Yeah, sure, c’mere—you can help me.” She wasn’t entirely sure what Ber wanted, but her instinct was to be concerned. They didn’t go far, just to the next room over where some of the potion ingredients were housed. It was a long but narrow room, lined with hanging herbs and vials and all manner of spooky animal parts.
Regan would invite Ber in, waving for him to close the door behind him. “You all good?” She asked with a raised eyebrow, picking up a wooden box from the floor while keeping her eyes on him.
Given what he intended to talk with her about, Ber thought it was good that Regan knew a place because he did not - even if that place was apparently inside of a potion ingredient supply room. Nodding an agreement to help her without actually knowing what he’d agreed to, he had followed her easily into the room and glanced around curiously while closing the door, only to do a double take when his gaze landed on a jar full of large teeth. They were too large to be human, at least. A glance down the long and narrow room only confirmed the unsurprising reality that this collection of potion ingredients put Temperance’s to shame.
Regan’s question had him turning back to see her with a raised eyebrow. That his enigmatic request might have resulted in concern about Ber hadn’t occurred to him - apart from Temperance, he was accustomed to being the one doing the worrying, not the one causing the worry - and he hastened to reassure her. “I’m good.” A nod accompanied the earnest words. “Just had a question and didn’t think this would be a good one to ask in the mess hall.” A shrug. “Nothing bad.” Probably. Just— delicate.
But there was no reason they couldn’t walk and talk, so he gestured first to the box in her hand. “What’re ya looking for?”
Post by Regan Lassiter on May 22, 2023 8:30:51 GMT -5
A creeping queasiness started to sit in Regan’s stomach. None of the secret questions her mind immediately conjured were ones she wanted to answer. Perhaps there was something she was missing. Surely this wasn’t—
“Whole host of things. Dried larkspur first,” Regan sighed, emptying the box of debris so that she could put her own ingredients inside it, “I was hoping they’d organized this place since I’d last been here but…” Regan wrinkled her nose as she brushed out the box, “No luck.”
She started to scan the vials on the shelves—Ber was welcome to help her if he liked. “So, you gonna ask your question or what?”
Regan tried to maintain an air of casual indifference, but her heart had started to beat just a little faster.
Shelves of unorganized ingredients and a long list of ones to look for. Never a good combination. At least there were two of them.
“Dried larkspur,” Ber repeated, nodding. He turned to scan the shelves on the other side of the room. “Got it.”
It was fitting, in a way, that Ber would be searching for something while they had this conversation. He’d spent the time since the ball searching for answers, so it only seemed natural that he be looking for something else while finding them. Hopefully.
For better or for worse, the idea and process of investigating mysteries and digging up answers to questions that nagged at him had become a familiar one; he could thank Woodwick and Thom for that. This particular question was one that had been planted in the back of his mind many months ago, but only after the events of the ball had he decided to pay it any mind. After all, he needed something to think about during the long days on staff duty.
Somewhat idle musings had turned into more concrete pondering that led to Ber, in between his chores, starting to ask questions. The rumors had been clear - Alys Delaney was inexplicably a werewolf - but rumors had a way of throwing events out of proportion. With that in mind, he had verified with Aldrich Abbott that the King’s Witch had indeed turned into a werewolf at the ball, and that her werewolf form was likely comparable to that of the usual kind. The lieutenant had suspected that she was strong enough to have stopped Wulfbrand’s werewolf had the soldier not mysteriously turned back into a man.
Ber knew that Regan, for reasons unknown, was unusually strong. He had seen it with his own two eyes the day she had sent the punching bag flying across the courtyard, and when they had talked in the supply room, that memory had reminded him of the way the werewolf had flung him across the throne room with a single strike. Upon reflection, he also recalled the spar between the Huntsman and Woodwick so long ago, and he’d been fairly certain that the larger man had pinned her to the ground at some point. Yet Regan had, somehow, flipped him and won.
There was, of course, always the possibility of magic making her stronger. Curses didn’t work that way as far as he knew, but potions could give boons to their consumer. According to @temperance , however, there were no potions that enhanced strength, and even if there was, Ber couldn’t think of a reason for Regan to have consumed one prior to the ball - or even prior to training that one day all those months back. She could have had something enchanted to enhance her strength, but Othello Allemeade had only known, with any certainty, of whatever let her control his collar. With the amount of time those two had spent in close proximity together, Ber figured that if anyone would know of enchanted objects Regan may or may not have owned, it would be the Champion. So the Huntsman’s strength must have been her own.
With that settled, Ber had thought about the ball itself. Given that he’d been so quickly incapacitated, he had necessarily asked others for what had happened after his own memories failed him - but that in and of itself had sparked an interesting observation. He already knew from his own experiences, but @warren had implicitly verified it when he’d checked: defensive wounds usually sat on the hands and arms because people raised them to protect themselves, like Ber had when confronted with the werewolf. Regan’s were not. Had she attempted to back away from the werewolf in the same manner he had, then its claws likely would not have reached her face and chest, especially because someone like Regan, a skilled brawler and now a highly trained soldier, knew how to defend herself. The werewolf’s initial and immediate attack on Ber would have given her time to react - to raise her hands or use her magic - so it wouldn’t have caught her by surprise either. From that, he had concluded, she must have tried to physically attack it.
And wasn’t that strange.
In combat, witches were trained to rely on what they had at their disposal, which, when unarmed as they had been at the ball, was their magic, something he had confirmed with Zarha Sliva . Indeed, that witch’s first instinct had been to turn to an incantation, and given that Sliva did nothing but train, he assumed others had also turned to similar means to try to subdue the werewolf. Maybe Regan was like Ber and preferred hitting things, but even he had recognized, in that brief instant before he’d gone flying, that he was no match for a such a creature. The only other person who had tried to physically attack Wulfbrand had been the King’s Witch, who must have known she could hold her own against a werewolf because she was one herself.
Therefore…
Ber took a breath. Glanced around. Made sure they were as alone as they seemed. Then looked over at Regan. “I’m assuming you aren’t supposed to tell anyone.” Because no one had known the King’s Witch was a werewolf, and still no one knew how or why that came to be. Because Ber had begun to learn that Othello wasn’t wrong when he’d implied that Nevermere was a kingdom built on secrets. “So you don’t have to tell me I’m right,” He said slowly, evenly, trying to pick his words with care. “But can I trust you to tell me I’m wrong only if I’m actually wrong?” A pause while he waited for her answer.
Then, watching Regan carefully, he stated: “The King’s Witch isn’t the only witch who’s a werewolf. You’re one too, aren’t you. But we’re not supposed to know that.”
Post by Regan Lassiter on May 22, 2023 19:57:52 GMT -5
Regan took the larkspur and tucked it along the inside of the box. She muttered as she checked it off her mental to-do list and moved on to the next item. Ber still hadn’t posed his question. The furrow in her brow only deepened as she waited. Maybe he was having some sort of emotional breakdown. Regan couldn’t blame him, considering what he’d recently suffered, though she hardly thought of herself as a safe harbor for the distressed. Or maybe he’d gotten himself into trouble again. Surely it wasn’t more nonsense to do with this Dresmondi. Or maybe—Warren? No…
She was pulling another vial from the shelf when Berengar posed his question. Regan stopped mid-motion, not making eye contact with Ber as the rest of his proposition materialized. Slowly, she turned to him, doing her own mental calculus as she nodded in agreement. Regan thought this was about one of two things. Either one was not good information to have thrust out in the open, but one was significantly more problematic to have exposed than the other. She held out hope it was the lesser of two headaches, but…
No.
Regan remained frozen for a moment. A flash of rage rippled through her—not one directed at Ber, but one meant for Alys. This was the chain of events she had set into motion. Exposing herself had meant tugging the cover of secrecy that shrouded both her and the king. Regan knew herself to be a terrible liar, and in any case, lying to Ber wasn’t something she wanted to do. He’d given her a graceful out, and so…she’d take it.
“You’re asking the right questions,” Regan said quietly, meeting Ber’s eyes and choosing her words with equal care, “But they’re dangerous ones. And so for your sake—for mine—if anyone else is asking them…I need you to put them off the chase. Please.”
With his attention fixed on her, Ber had noticed the way that Regan had frozen when he stayed his conclusions, and even without the notable absence of a denial, that was telling enough. Satisfied - a little proud, even, that he’d figured it out on his own - the corners of his lips quirked upward in a small smile to himself, though his expression sobered as his friend issued her simultaneous warning and plea. Holding her gaze, he nodded his understanding. In the event that he was correct, he had expected no less than a request to uphold the secret that had started slipping through their fingers like water.
“I was only curious, nothing more,” Ber said, equally quiet and earnest. He had sought an answer and found one; now he felt he could lay the matter to rest, especially if continuing to poke at it endangered both himself and Regan. “I don’t know anyone else who knows or anyone who is asking, but if someone does, I’ll tell them about your gift from Arynn Frey.” If they were going to keep this a secret, they needed a cover story that they both knew. Inconsistencies drew inquisitive minds. “It’s something small, maybe from Prince Akagi because you’re friends. Easy to miss. It’s some sort of enchanted item that gives you strength comparable to a werewolf - that’s what I noticed, anyway.”
And truly, this had seemed the most plausible alternative explanation. Surely, it wouldn’t be too hard to nudge people down this particular line of thought; Ber had no qualms about lying. He’d done so for matters of far less importance. A brief pause. “Do you remember what it is he gave you? And when?”
Post by Regan Lassiter on May 23, 2023 7:44:41 GMT -5
Regan scrutinized for Ber’s face for any reason to distrust him. But she found there was the same naked earnestness she’d worn many times herself. Despite their differences, the sameness between them was still startling. Once she was satisfied, Regan turned to continue her task. She smirked as Ber’s little plan materialized. It was all rather cute.
“Warren brought those hairpins to the party,” Regan joked, nestling another vial into the box, “Could really change my look and go for one of those.” It was a joke of course. She was still thinking.
At the joke, Ber made an amused sound. It wasn’t like she wouldn’t wear them well, but they were very… not Regan. Then the first part of her words actually registered.
“Wait, he brought those hairpins?” He repeated, incredulity lacing his tone as he got utterly sidetracked. Though he’d straightened up all the gifts in the chaos of the party, he hadn’t made note of who had brought what, and he’d noticed a couple offerings that had him shaking his head. What use would an orphan girl have for such accessories when their obvious quality would only make them - and her - a target for thieves? But maybe he should have guessed. After all, the man was a noble, and that had seemed like the kind of gift nobility would offer: aesthetically pleasing, of limited practicality, and completely out of touch.
Granted, his only other experience with giving gifts involved handing Temperance tea stolen from a murderer’s collection, but still. Woodwick - Warren, ew - seemed like the type who would assign extra work and call it a gift. Ber couldn’t picture him wandering through a shop trying to find suitable hairpins for an orphan girl aged five to twenty five. “That’s, uh, an interesting gift.”
Post by Regan Lassiter on May 25, 2023 19:46:13 GMT -5
Regan snorted, slipping another vial into her box.
“Interesting is a word for it,” She chuckled and shook her head, “Oh well, it’s the thought that counts, right?” Regan didn’t really know where she was going with this, so she dropped it and continued to consider Ber’s question.
“Just be vague,” She said, shrugging, “Say you think it’s hidden on me somewhere, but you’re not sure what it is. Keep ‘em guessing.”
Last Edit: May 25, 2023 19:46:26 GMT -5 by Regan Lassiter
“Yeah,” Ber agreed, privately thinking that every rule had an exception and that maybe he’d just stumbled upon the one for this one. “Something like that.”
One day, they would probably have to address the rumors regarding Regan and Woodwick. If they were true, which Ber mostly assumed they were, then his feelings about the captain presumably ran entirely counter to the Huntsman’s own opinions. With that in mind, he made an effort to refrain from badmouthing the man in front of her - if he came up at all - but for his own peace of mind, Ber did his best not to think too much about any of it unless he had to.
And today? Ber made the executive decision that the confirmation of one set of suspicions was enough for one day.
Gratefully, he returned to the more pressing matter at hand. “Alright,” He said with a nod. “I can do that.” Belatedly realizing that he’d been too distracted by the conversation to pay much mind to the ingredients on the shelves, Ber glanced around then eyed her no-longer-empty crate. “Ah, what are you looking for now?” A pause, and then curiosity won out. “And what potion are you making?”
Post by Regan Lassiter on May 27, 2023 12:59:24 GMT -5
Regan looked at Ber mischievously out of the corner of her eyes, grinning.
“It’s a secret. Probably not what you want to hear.” She chuckled, slipping another vial into her box. It felt good to have a friend—that’s what she guessed Ber was, anyway. She didn’t have a whole lot of experience with that beyond Grant, but looking back, Grant had never been just a friend. Furthermore, there was only so much of her he’d be able to understand. The chasm of experiences between them that class had created was sometimes difficult to bridge.
“So, how’ve you been doing? Since the ball, I mean,” Regan said, sounding more like a big sister than ever.
Ber let out a faintly amused huff and shook his head. No, that wasn’t really why he wanted to hear, but he probably should have expected that answer nonetheless. However, he didn’t find the mystery of whatever potion she would prepare nearly as intriguing as the werewolf one, so he let the matter drop - plus he didn’t want to push his luck.
Since Regan never told him what to look out for next, he contented himself with simply strolling along behind her, watching with idle curiosity as she placed vial after vial into her box. It didn’t seem like she needed his help anyway, and truth be told, as he glanced around at the ingredients on the shelves, he didn’t recognize half of them anyway. Ber had drifted over to examine a jar of dried insects when
“Okay, I guess,” He said with a shrug, tone ambivalent as he returned the jar to its place on the shelf. “Busy, but I think everyone is these days.” No one had escaped the crackdown that had come from up top, and though her job probably wasn’t on the line like theirs, he could only assume that Regan had felt the heat like the rest of them. “Arm’s all better though, so I can’t really complain.” A brief pause. “You?”
Post by Regan Lassiter on Jun 6, 2023 12:39:42 GMT -5
“I mean, you can complain. Complaining is fine. I mean—to me. Anyway. Hadrian,” Regan made an ‘ehh’ motion with her hand, tilting it back and forth. Yeah, she’d heard about Ber’s little scolding. Unfortunately, rumors got around. “But I’m glad your arm is better anyway.”
She found something else she was looking for and tucked it in the box.
“I’m—fine. Mostly fine. Trying to manage Othello, trying to…other stuff. Just stuff.” Regan blushed a little, clearing her throat. “Yeah. Fine.”
Ber snorted at the thought of complaining to the captain commander about anything. “Yeah, somehow I don’t think he’d be very understanding,” He agreed with a shake of his head, though he had a small smile on his face.
Eyebrows raised as she stumbled over her equally vague response. “Stuff?” He dared to ask, not quite he wanted the answer if it had her turning pink like that - and changing his mind a moment later. “Nevermind. I mean, if I can help with anything, sure, you can tell me, but otherwise, you don’t need to— Uh, yeah. I’m glad you’re fine.”
He let silence fall for a moment after his awkward offer and backtrack, thoughts lingering on her sort of offer to be a listening ear to his woes. Private by nature, he tended to keep his heartaches close to his chest, but the tone of Regan’s voice when she had asked after his well-being prompted a more meaningful honesty than he typically felt inclined to offer.
“I got used to having Zevran around,” He admitted finally to a jar of dried flower petals on the shelf beside him. Shoulders lifting in a half shrug, he picked that container up off the shelf as well and examined it briefly in his hands. “So it’s just been a little weird…” Hesitant, the words came as he rotated the jar this way and that before replacing it on the shelf. The last time they had spoken, Regan had made it clear where she stood on the matter, whereas Ber’s heart and mind were not in such complete agreement with each other. “But overall, yeah, I’m fine too.”