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 motion of Curran’s hand followed by the light tapping of her nail on the glass drew Ber’s attention to his untouched drink. Dark eyes shifting from the officer to the glass, he reached out and brought it closer to him while he listened to her compare Cambria to Coheed. “Yeah, that’s what I’ve heard,” He said of her statement that Cambrians did not favor men, and perhaps not surprisingly, he did so without any particular amount of enthusiasm. “Don’t know much about how either of them started though.” He didn’t know anything about how either of them started nor, if he was honest, was he particularly interested in a history lesson.
“You have an anniversary coming up, so you decided to come out to the tavern and share your whiskey with the first person you sat next to so you wouldn’t have to drink alone.” Which happened to be him. Yay. “Sounds like a story there.”
Post by Evanthe Curran on Jul 10, 2023 18:34:55 GMT -5
Evanthe would take the time to knock back another shot, not even feeling the burn now, “Dunno how Coheed started,” she looked at him and the room turned with her. Well that was fun, “I think the Cambrians ran off from the Coheedsmen or something like that. Didn’t like how they were treated,” a shrug. She didn’t really know if it was true or not. She’d not paid attention to the origins of different places, “Did you know the Coheedsmen can have more than one wife? Not fair, I say.”
He brought the conversation back to why she was there, “Yeah an anniversary,” she said and poured herself another shot, but didn’t immediately drink it, “And it’s quite a story,” she drank the shot, “Seven years ago, I had a child, and they took her from me.”
“Huh.” Ber hadn’t ever thought about how kingdoms began - they’d always just existed - so it was interesting to think of Cambria branching off from Coheed. Maybe that was why they were all so strong? Though he’d heard the men of Coheed were also just physically large, so that was also— Curran’s question had him glancing to the side, brow furrowed slightly. “Multiple wives?” How strange. Wait. He eyed the officer for a moment, not quite sure he interpreted what she’d said correctly. “Are you saying you want multiple wives?” Even stranger.
Apparently her anniversary was not a happy one, which made his prior congratulations rather awkward. Wondering how exactly one best responded to such a revelation, Ber lowered his gaze to the glass in front of him. He tossed back the shot. “That sucks.” No wonder she bought an entire bottle for the occasion. “Why would someone take your kid?”
Post by Evanthe Curran on Jul 17, 2023 17:24:02 GMT -5
Evanthe burst out laughing at Bernice’s misunderstanding, “Noooo no,” she said when she could talk again, “Just unfair that they get to have all those wives, but the women can’t have a hoard of husbands,” now that would have been an odd dynamic, everyone being married to each other, but they would have had a heck of an easier time taking them over if they were all in marital squabbles with each other.
If she’d been more sober, she would have probably brushed it off and said nothing. But she wasn’t sober, and she was sad and lonely enough to vent her troubles to him, even if what he was about to hear would definitely be considered oversharing, “I had her out of wedlock and my father was a newly-made noble,” she’d probably regret telling someone who ranked lower than her this, but she didn’t care at that moment, “He couldn’t have my misbehavior tarnishing his shiny new title, so after he had me convinced that they would help me raise my daughter, he had my mother put a sleeping potion in my food and stole my daughter away while I slept. She was two months old,” she clinched the hand holding the shot glass into a painful fist, “You can’t begin to imagine the pain and anguish a parent feels when they find out that they’ve failed to protect their own child. I’ve never forgiven them.”
The unexpected burst of laughter had him blinking at her, silently wondering what had earned that response, until her gasping explanation clarified matters. Sort of. “Yeah, I guess,” Ber shrugged. “That many husbands and wives sounds like a lot of work though.”
As the newest shot of whiskey settled in his stomach, he decided that he’d had enough for the night and pushed the empty glass away from him while Curran began to share her story. Almost immediately, Ber regretted asking the question. A child out of wedlock, drugging, kidnapping - all he could think to point out was that it all sounded rather illegal, though he knew enough to recognize that such an observation would not be welcome. But what could he say instead?
Because Curran was right. Ber couldn’t imagine the pain and anguish of a parent who felt that they’d failed their child, nor did he have a particular point of reference for even attempting to do so. Eyeing the white-knuckled grasp she had on her glass, he finally offered a nod. “Yeah, that, uh, that sounds rough.”
Post by Evanthe Curran on Jul 22, 2023 11:16:23 GMT -5
“It would be a lotta work,” she knocked back another shot, “And all the jealousy and squabbles would be a nightmare to deal with…or reaaaally fun to watch depending on your perspective,” she shrugged, “But life’s not fair, huh?”
She poured more whiskey in his glass and pushed it back toward him, but wouldn’t watch to see if he drank it. Instead, she drank another shot. Oh yes, she’d regret telling a private her tragic backstory when she was sober again, but that was only if she could remember it when the booze had worn off. She didn’t like drinking that much though. She figured if she were going to do something stupid while intoxicated, she ought to remember what she did so she could properly defend herself.
“Yeah,” she poured herself another shot, but just looked at the liquid in the glass, “It was rough.”
Life certainly was not fair. Ber glanced at the shot she poured him but didn’t reach for it, instead glancing sideways at the officer as she did the same for herself. She, too, didn’t drink hers. Ber’s eyes slid toward the bottle as he tried to judge how much was left.
Technically, she hadn’t ordered him to stay here and finish the bottle with her. He could just get up and leave. In fact, maybe that was the better course of action: run while he could, before she got any drunker and said anything else both of them would regret.
Mind made up, Ber tapped the top of the bar with his fingertips and shifted in his seat like someone about to rise. “Um, I should probably get going, ma’am,” He broke the silence, making his excuses. “Got work tomorrow and everything.”
Post by Evanthe Curran on Aug 8, 2023 17:16:30 GMT -5
“Riiiight can’t mmshow up for work hungover,” she reached out as if to give him a companionable punch on the arm, but missed entirely, “Good ffffor you,” her words were slurring, but she hardly cared at that point, “You’ll go far, Bernice.”
“But fore you go,” she reached for her cup—still full—and lifted it, spilling the contents on her arm, “One last shot with me?”
As trying to hit him in the arm, Curran made some sort of motion toward him, but off balance and uncoordinated as she was, her blow went wide even without him having to move. Ber watched as she righted herself, silently praying that she remembered none of this tomorrow when— Bernice? Thoughts skidding to a halt, he stared. Bernice. Bernice Stormcrest.
“My name’s not—” He began, but it was a waste of breath. Spilling her drink down her arm as she invited him to take one last shot, she was in no state to hear anything he said, and not for the first time, he wished that she had chosen someone else to sit beside. Would she even be coherent enough to make it home? But then, that wasn’t really his problem, was it. Ber eyed her for a moment, then took the bottle and poured a bit more of the whiskey into his empty cup. “Okay, ma’am.” He raised it briefly in a toast. “To nights we hope to forget.” The tone was dry, an allusion to Curran’s entire tale that he thought applied rather fittingly to this whole experience as well.