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!
Hiram hadn't been in Lorendale for over five years. Then one day, he randomly went back. Well, not so randomly, but randomly to most. The first place he set his feet was the old Eldouir estate, now a corpse of a building. The second place was somewhere on the Allemeade land. The third was smack dab in the middle of Loren, red hair blazing for all to see and fear.
When he'd first discovered he could teleport using blood, Hiram had diligently planted vats of the substance as broadly around Terra Nova as he could manage. These days, however, he wasn't interested in who or what he might accidentally split through. Tonight, for instance, it was a rather expensive looking stallion whose dead eyes he glanced down to as he rose from the blood of the animal, Honora at his side. Had it even had time to cry out before meeting its end? Hiram would never know and never care. The world was his to save or burn, and tonight he intended to make that painfully clear.
"Let's go have a drink, shall we?" He'd waste no time slogging from the stable to the inn, ignoring any he might encounter on the way. He and Honora both were still drenched in blood. It would remain that way unless she made a request, at which point he'd clean them both, leaving the horse's substance just outside the door he enetered.
Post by Honora Allemeade on Sept 9, 2023 10:21:18 GMT -5
There’s no dealing with the devil.
You’ll see.
You will.
Honora emerged from the horse with a sharp inhale for breath. She swayed a little, momentarily dizzy. Though she had been healed, Honora was still weak. She’d stay close to Hiram and let go only when he pulled away to leave the stable. For a moment, Honora would linger. The feeling of surreality that had clouded her since first waking in the cellar still remained. It was Loren. As she took after Hiram, she knew its streets were familiar, but it was as if she were seeing them for the first time.
Honora would let the blood remain. Still naked, the warmth of the freshly slain horse wrapped around her as a comfort. It hid her dark hair and covered her skin like a grotesque garment.
As if in a trance, Honora followed, eyes fixed on Hiram, expression entirely neutral. She didn't stop herself from pulling on the minds of those around her, searching, dragging out their fear to the surface.
Post by Hiram Eldouir on Sept 13, 2023 7:11:55 GMT -5
There were things most people thought about, and then there was Hiram. It didn't matter to him that they were covered in blood. It didn't occur to him that Honora might want to take these next steps clothed rather than as naked as the way she left the womb. It didn't matter to him that he was an enemy of Lorendale, yet walking right into a popular pub. Nope. He was Hiram Eldouir. He did whatever he wanted without a second thought, caution be damned.
Blood leaped ahead of him to open the door, as if for royalty, and in stomped the King of Chaos. The hall they stepped into led past the kitchens and another room or two. Hiram didn't care to be discreet. He took the most obvious path that would lead them to the main gathering room. In they would walk, two figures of blood, one a large man and the other a naked woman. The blood didn't hide his hair and beard color. The fear Honora drew from those that saw them would likely cause most to run, if not crumble, or perhaps even fight. Bring it. Hiram's hatchets were at his waist.
"Who is the owner of this establishment?" His golden gaze ripped over those still present.
Post by Elliot Moore on Sept 16, 2023 15:53:43 GMT -5
He still hasn't recovered completely from having lived as a human with a sheep's head for a couple of hours, but life went on, and so did Elliot. He was extremely angry at the crown because of how they had treated him when he had been the one to identify the Eldouir. It wasn't justified that he blamed the crown for it, but still. Elliot felt as if they had made him the villain instead of the actual villain. He wondered what they had done with the Eldouir.
He was at Mordha, enjoying some drinks and cigars with the regulars in hopes of catching his breath and getting used to having a normal head on his shoulders again.
Elliot then heard gasps and a question, and before he turned around he said: "That would be me." These gaps must mean it was someone important. When he turned around, he was more than unpleasantly surprised. A redhead. Was this... Hiram Eldouir? The Hiram Eldouir? And... Honora Allemeade? Naked? Under different circumstances, he would have admired her body, but the blood distracted him. Elliot choked on his wine and got up from his chair.
The people in the big room left as quick as they could, recognising the danger. So did Elliot, but he was the owner and couldn't leave. He should have invested in more guards. There only were two bouncers, Homer and Fynn. They both stood by the door with wide eyes, stating at Elliot wondering what they needed to do. And Fynn wasn't ready for this, so he ran together with the rest of the people.
It was just Elliot, Lloyd (the barman), Homer, Honora and Hiram in the room now. "C-can I offer you a drink?" he asked, stuttering at first but regaining his flair and theatrics soon after.
Post by Honora Allemeade on Sept 17, 2023 13:40:49 GMT -5
Honora followed Hiram as if in a dream. In a dream, everything was temporary. Actions had no consequences and inhibitions slipped away. None of it was real—or at least it felt that way as Honora reached without a second thought to test the edges of the owner’s mind. They put up little resistance. Honora didn’t tug on anything just yet. She moved carefully, stealthily, familiarizing herself with it. He might not even know she was there.
The bloodied woman stood wordlessly at Hiram’s hide, the faintest fog settling over her eyes.
Post by Hiram Eldouir on Sept 21, 2023 6:21:44 GMT -5
Hiram's eyes bounced over the men remaining. He took a blood profile of each, determining general health, blood type and mobility, and ultimately determining that there wasn't a threat present.
"Sure, pour me one." He allowed with a shrug. As chaotic and threatening as his entrance might have been, Hiram could be singularly focused. Coming to the inn wasn't about killing randomly. It was about,
"Queston." That didn't sound right. He frowned and tried again, "Tin...tin?" Cocking his head, he looked to Honora Allemeade for direction on the name they were after.
Post by Elliot Moore on Sept 23, 2023 4:40:33 GMT -5
Lloyd's hands were shaking while he poured three glasses of whiskey. He pushed them towards Elliot, who was closest to the bar, but took a little sip of Elliot's glass to show everyone he hadn't messed with the drinks. Lloyd had never been so scared in his life. Hiram was like the boogeyman mothers told their children about.
Lloyd would then come out from behind the bar and hold out the other two glasses to Honora and Hiram. If Honora didn't want a glass, he would take it back to the bar.
Elliot took a small sip from his glass, trying to hide the fact that he wasn't exactly at ease himself, and coughed when the whiskey hit the wrong pipe because of what Hiram said. He placed the glass down and cleared his throat. "Q- Quinton?" He nervously scratched his jaw. "Why- what-", another nervous clearing of the throat, "What has he done?"
Post by Honora Allemeade on Sept 23, 2023 16:54:45 GMT -5
Honora stood at Hiram’s side as if she were a shadow, following without a presence of her own to fill the space. Her entire being was focused on the cacophony of psychic energy around her, the weaving melodies that for so long she’d forced herself to be deaf to. Not now. Now, Honora did not hold back. She let the void in her mind reach without tight-fisted restraint.
“Queston.”
“Tin…tin.”
No.
“Quinton? What has he done?”
Honora's gaze sharpened. Her attention snapped to Elliot and she held up her hand—not touching him, but as if she were calling memories into her palm.
“Enough.”
Honora’s eyes went white, and Elliot would drop painfully and entirely out of the present. She’d tear through his mind, searching for the man whose breath she could still feel on her neck. It didn’t take her long. The memory was not too old, close enough to seize and dive into.
She could feel the stubble on her—no, Elliot’s—cheek. Fine wine slipped past her lips as she smiled in satisfaction. Quinton’s words were as clear as his face that she saw through Elliot’s eyes with warm kinship.
“We all wear a mask to a certain degree. Inevitable, but unfortunate when they show you what they truly are—”
Honora could feel it all—Elliot’s irritation and upset. His relief at his connection with the devil at his side. The names Eloduir and Allemeade spit from his tongue as if it burned to have them stay there too long. And Quinton nodded. He smiled. Another name, Ikisina, caught Honora’s ear. She knew her. The schoolteacher that had come to her for aid, that she’d turned away and brushed aside. Honora felt cold guilt in the corner where her own feelings remained separate from Elliot’s.
Again.
The encounter ended, and Honora chased Quinton’s voice like Alice pursing the white rabbit. She dropped into another memory, this one even newer than the last. A milling crowd. Electric air, and Quinton’s cordial smile that filled her—no, Elliot—with warm affirmation. And then…everything came to pieces.
“By the sun and stars! What in blazes is going on here?”
Elliot’s body—her body—twisted amidst the chaos of creatures and witch magic, panic and confusion. Honora felt every ounce of ire, fear, humiliation—everything that Elliot might have taken in. It was the woman that remained the focus; the one with short dark hair that emerged once again as a crone from the sand. Why wouldn’t they listen? Why wouldn’t anyone listen? And then—
Vindication.
Elena Eldouir ’s familiar face and shock of red hair was the last thing Honora saw before throwing herself back into the present. Elliot would have relived every memory with her in excruciating detail that only Honora could summon. There would have been physical pain as well, like someone cutting open his mind with a white-hot knife.
Elliot would likely collapse, though he would still be conscious and aware of his surroundings. Dazed, with his mind frayed by Honora’s invasion. Honora would stand there, trembling with adrenaline as she lowered her hand.
Post by Hiram Eldouir on Sept 25, 2023 7:54:49 GMT -5
Hiram didn't speak. This wasn't his show, really. Honora had made a deal with this devil and he was simply holding up his end of the bargain. He would grab the drink before Elliot's man could take it back behind the bar, tossing a wink at the shaking fellow, fully aware of how quickly the heart pumped the blood through his veins. He downed both glasses with zero appreciation, not even bothering to look at Honora as she worked her magic, and ignoring the likely moans from the tavern owner.
Post by Elliot Moore on Sept 26, 2023 9:49:49 GMT -5
He had only just finished talking when he saw Honora's hand move, but before he could even turn to look her way, Elliot dropped to the ground in pain. He squirmed and gasped for air, and everything around him was pain, and he didn't seem to be in the here and now anymore.
Eventually he started to see the room around him again, or he became aware of it again. He felt exhausted and his head ached. He noticed that he was lying in the floor, slightly against the bar, in a puddle of whiskey from when his glass had dropped when Honora had entered his mind and memories. Elliot could barely speak, let alone move, so he just laid there, slightly shivering.
Post by Honora Allemeade on Sept 27, 2023 20:28:30 GMT -5
Honora looked down at Elliot for a long moment, reconciling the vision of the whimpering man before her with the feeling of having been in his skin. It had only taken moments, but Honora likely knew Elliot better than anyone who met him ever would. After a beat, Honora turned her eyes to Hiram.
"They’ve taken her. Elena—the crown has her.” Honora delivered the words as a detached offering of fact.
Post by Hiram Eldouir on Sept 28, 2023 6:15:53 GMT -5
Hiram rapped on the bar for another drink just as Honora dropped her news. The head Eldouir grew still except for his eyes, those hideous honey things that crept slowly from the man behind the bar to something in front of him. Whatever he was thinking, it wasn't good. Not for Elena, and not for the crown. Maybe he was angry. Maybe he was afraid. Maybe he was resolved. Maybe it was a mixture of those things and more. Whatever the case, after a short pause he raised his brows and took the drink made for him, if the man had done as he'd demanded.
"I suppose we'll have to pay the crown a visit then." He said it as any nobleman might say it, casually and with an air of entitlement. He'd down the drink in one fell swoop and then turn to face Honora. "Did you get what we came for?"
Post by Elliot Moore on Sept 29, 2023 4:00:46 GMT -5
Lloyd quickly jumped to action and poured the most famous Lorendaler to ever live another drink. He wouldn't want to get on Hiram's bad side. With shaky fingers he pushed the drink towards the man, worried about Elliot at the same time. Whatever he had went through, didn't seem pleasant.
Elliot, in the meantime, was still sitting on the floor, catching his breath while trying to not listen to the Gifteds' conversation. It felt like eavesdropping, even if they were standing right in front of him.
Post by Honora Allemeade on Sept 29, 2023 14:16:59 GMT -5
Honora had little concern for the crown. For Elena. For anything other than the promise of vengeance. Iliana had failed to support her when she’d needed it most, and so Honora would not stray from her pursuit for their sake.
“Featherton is the family name. That’s all he knows,” Honora said, “So unless that name means anything to you…” She paused, and then, “Maybe we should pay the Wyndhams a visit.” Whatever Hiram decided next Honora would follow. She'd been hollowed out; nothing left but to seek vengeance to wash the taste of shame from her mouth.
Post by Hiram Eldouir on Oct 13, 2023 8:40:25 GMT -5
Hiram pursed his lips. The name probably should have meant something to him, but he had a habit of not knowing what he should, especially when it came to noble etiquette. He downed the drink he was given, and then stood.
“To the Wyndham estate it is.” The blood that adorned their persons drained to the ground beneath them, joined by the large pool they had previously stepped out of. Should none object or move to intercede, the thick red liquid would rise up and consume Hiram and Honora. One moment they were there, jaws of red around them, and the next they were gone, the stinky red substance sloshing to the ground in their wake, sure to stain the floor and taint the scent of the establishment for many months to come.