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!
Norah’s hand didn’t leave Grant Delaney’s when they sat but she found herself still turning to the woman who had sat by her. Taking them both in, Elodie Atwood and @nithya, before she gave them a slight, very courtier smile and decided a little chit chat wouldn’t be bad before dinner and the likes were served. “I don’t believe I have met you two before,” she started, “Lady Norah Carter,” she really wished to get rid of that last name. But it was what was proper… at least to the public knowledge. As much as she would have loved to be known as Norah Tracey.
A cold vice grip wrapped her heart at the thought and as that laugh of his sounded in her memory, she squeezed Grant’s hand and forced herself to focus on the other two.
Once the guests were seated, Cam's mother waved a hand and the door leading to the kitchen became a leaf in the wind, flapping open and shut on well-oiled hinges as servants came in bearing platters loaded with roasted game, butter-grilled fish, pillars of spiced bread, and artfully arranged mountains of fresh and grilled vegetables imported from warmer climates where summer was already in full bloom.
Cam sat for the meal next to Edith Byron , still reveling in the quick glances and murmurs that her presence and silence elicited. The musicians kept up a soft, soothing stream of melodies as the food came in plentiful waves, dished out by circling servants who also kept glasses topped with wine. He was starting to get nervous as the meal progressed and almost couldn't enjoy his food. The food circulation was starting to slow when he finally gestured to the butler to get the evening's entertainment.
The butler went to the room where Isolde was being kept. Cam stood and clinked a knife against his glass until he got relative silence from the room, even the musicians falling silent.
"Friends and honored guests," he said, "thank you again for coming. The Pyetr family has had the privilege of serving the king for many generations, and in the course of those duties we have, from time to time, been able to benefit from the glorious conquest of the king's army, just as you all no doubt have as well. It is our honor tonight to share one of the marvels that his majesty the king has enabled us to encounter. Nevermere has brought order and progress to the backwards country of Cambria, and one of the spoils the king brought back was a warrior fabled among their people, a killer, a hunter, a legend of blood and mayhem."
He gestured, and the double doors at the roomy end of the hall swung open to reveal Isolde in her costume. Four guards formed a box around her, two in front and two behind. She was still collared, and shackles hung on her wrists, but there was no chain holding her limbs together. The costume she wore was a ridiculous, revealing fabrication of feathers, hides, and chains. She was "armed" with a wooden weapon carved by one of the guards at the Beldam to the woman's specification, whatever she had commissioned. The guards also bore wooden swords painted to look real (though the weapons carried by the two guards that slid into the room on the other side of the hall were real).
Two weeks ago, Cam had told Isolde she would have a chance to demonstrate to him that her treatments were working, a chance to be in public, to earn more food and maybe even a blanket. He'd told her to prepare a martial demonstration, even a few words, if she wished to speak, to entertain his mother's guests. He'd assigned the four guards now surrounding her to be supporting members of her show, letting them spend time with her each day to rehearse. Cam had been too busy elsewhere in the time since to check in and verify the presentation, and his hands were clammy with nerves as the guards escorted her to the open space in the room.
"Lords and ladies, sit back but do not relax--I give you, the barbarian bitch of Cambria!"
Last Edit: Jan 20, 2024 22:34:29 GMT -5 by Cam Pyetr
When the doors swung open, Isolde was revealed. The feathers, furs, and paint that adorned her body were a farce of her Cambrian trappings. Nevermeans wouldn’t fully recognize it for the sheer mockery it was, but Isolde could feel it clinging to her skin like a foul odor. She longed to scrub herself clean of it, just as Cam and the torturers of Beldam had sought to scrub her of her heritage. Of everything she held dear.
The path is long, my child, but a worthy one to walk.
Be patient.
Have faith.
Isolde stepped forward, towering at her full height with her coppery blonde hair sitting like a mane down past her shoulders. Her light eyes stared forward into nothingness as she played her part—the haughty, imperious Priestess captured from a distant land. She held out her arms and the guards started to unlock her shackles. As they did, she started to sing. It was a heartwrenching, beautiful yet discordant chant in the ancient tongue that those gathered would have only heard in notes. It was only @norah, with the time she’d spent in Cambira, that might recognize it for what it was. A plea. A prayer for liberation.
When the chains dropped, so did the chant stop. Isolde started to move immediately, swinging with precision and grace at the guards as they surrounded her. It was a choreographed dance with the appearance of a battle. There would be times when it seemed the guards would corner her, but every time she would evade them only just. Even without her enhanced senses, the training and skill of her standing as a Cambrian warrior were on full display. She took two of the guards, down, then three, but in the last battle, the fourth one rose victorious. All planned, of course, as part of the demonstration. The symbolic triumph of Nevermere over the barbaric tribal women of Cambria.
Some would start to applaud as the guard took Isolde down to her knees and held her head back with the wooden sword across it. Fire burned in Isolde’s eyes as the guard laughed. She did not struggle. Isolde accepted her humiliation, eyes finding Cam Pyetr’s if he could be found.
It seemed once again, introductions would wait. Their attention being taken by the host of the evening. At first, she sat as she always did, back straight, chin tipped up just enough to say she knew the bloodline she came from and they were a proud bunch. But her hand would tighten in Grant Delaney’s and then slowly slip from his as he started to speak on a backwards kingdom. Cambria.
Her eyes flashed with something, for it was the kingdom she lived in. Her tanned skin from the sun spoke of it, the few rare freckles now dusting her nose and the slightest highlighting to her usually dark hair. Not much, leaving it more a warmer brown where the sun had been kissing it. But the moment he mentioned a warrior, dread sunk in her gut like a lead weight. She didn’t even need to hear her name to know… especially as a burst of blonde hair was brought into the room.
While she thought her someone who deserved punishment for what she had done to the women in Cambria… this was not it. This was… Norah‘s gaze found the tall late Governess… Chieftess… and she was to her feet after the first five words had been sung. Startling only those who were not entranced by the idea of the show about to happen as she started to sing. Her feet were no more than a whisper as she held herself together and directly moved for Cam Pyetr. While her face was not twisted in rage, but rather remained the composed, pretty courtier, her eyes were wild.
Was he insane? Things were rocky as it were with Cambria. And she had no doubt that the nobles here would talk. Run their mouths and all it took was one enhanced Cambrian to hear words of what was being done to Isolde. She was to him before Isolde was to the third soldier. “Stop this now. She is not an animal to be played with.” Woman or no, her voice was low and firm. “End this.” She didn’t shout, but the look said she would raise her voice, she would pull her status… if she had to. And she’d answer to the king if she did. But this… this was helping no one.
When Isolde started to sing, Cam lowered down into his seat, transfixed. The meaningless words washed over the room like a chant—he had to remind himself that the witches from Cambria couldn’t cast spells with their voices. Her voice was hauntingly beautiful. Chills rose on his neck as silence fell, followed immediately by her intricate, intoxicatingly graceful dance. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, but he was still hardly able to follow her movements. It was almost painful to rip his gaze away from her to look at the woman who had come to his side.
He swallowed hard when he recognized @norah .
Her family wasn’t all that notable, but she had more achievements under her belt than many noble men, held office in the court even, and was rumored to be influential to several well-known members of the court. Bottom line: she wasn’t someone he could dismiss.
At least, not normally. But given the potential for supreme embarrassment if he were to abruptly abort his own entertainment, what choice did he have?
His eyes flickered from her face to the dance that was still going on at the end of the hall. What was her motivation? Was Lady Carter a foolish woman who valued other witches over her own people? Surely she was not offended on behalf of the Cambrians! He couldn’t afford to offend her, leaving him only with the choice of pretending he misunderstood her intentions.
“Lady Carter, it’s her show to end when she wishes,” he said with a small, almost helpless gesture. “It would be rude to interrupt--Surely you can appreciate a cultural display, even if you find the people . . . animal-like.“
Applause—Isolde had reached the part where, like a lamb at the slaughter, a wooden sword was held across her neck. It was a disturbing image, made worse by the fact that the warrior’s piercing gaze was fixed on him. Cam was relieved to have an excuse to look away, and his eyes held onto Lady Carter’s as he pointedly raised his hands and joined in the applause.
Post by Elodie Atwood on Feb 6, 2024 18:29:19 GMT -5
Elodie was a Nevermerean loyalist. The barbarians in distant lands were just that—barbarians. They did not deserve to be mistreated, but they did require enlightenment. She watched Isolde’s display with the rapture of a child at the circus watching the animals dance. She was on the edge of her chair, gasping when the performance called for it, ‘oohing’ at other times. When it ended, Elodie started to applaud enthusiastically—joining many others. What a delight this all was.
Elodie did not hear or acknowledge @norah. She applauded with the others, turning to @nithya with a smile. “How marvelous,” She said, “A Cambrian, how exotic.”
Post by Paris Bashar on Feb 6, 2024 18:31:29 GMT -5
Paris watched the display with a neutral expression, raising his eyebrows every now and then as the Cambrian’s sword swung in long arcs. His focus, instead, was on Cam Pyetr. He tried to keep his eyes forward but found them glancing at the host as if his reaction to the whole affair was the true display.
When Cam clapped, so did Paris—standing, and hoping is father Ibrahim Bashar would join him.
Nithya could feel her blood run cold when Isolde was brought out. Cam Pyetr worked for the king, in a way, so displaying a Cambrian like a circus animal was a very risky move with all the nobles here. @norah seemed to think so as well, and Nith was a bit too distracted by Norah's words to immediately respond to Elodie Atwood, but she did place a hand on the woman's arm to show she had heard her and would respond shortly. But she didn't.
The sword across Isolde's neck was a horrible display, and she got up from her chair, looking at Cam Pyetr. "Lord Pyetr, this is obscene", she said. "Has the king given you permission to toy with the Cambrian prisoner like this?"
He watched in silence, not sure what to make of this whole ordeal, but didn't object because he simply didn't care enough. Just like Cam and Paris Bashar, he would clap when Isolde finished her act.
@norah and @nithya didn’t understand. Isolde looked at them both as if from a great distance, watching them as they tried to mount a cobweb defense—so easily brushed aside. Not an animal, Lady Carter said. Obscene, the woman with the light eyes chimed. Did they not see that it was their kind who had created the circumstances that brought them here? How could they clutch their pearls at the reality which they’d helped to create? This was what colonialism looked like: the sword of the oppressor at the throat of its victim. They took issue with the metaphor because it lay bare their sins. It illustrated the process that each person in the room had been complicit it. They may protest now, but soon the dinner would be over. Soon they would move on to other matters, and it would be Cam Pyetr left to punish Isolde for whatever happened next.
“Cambrians keep their history by storytelling,” Isolde said, the guard removing his sword from her throat and allowing her to stand, “It is how we preserve the truth for future generations. I was telling a story of Cambrian history, Lady Carter,” Isolde curtsied in Nevermerean fashion, “I apologize if you found it…jarring.” She glanced at Cam Pyetr. Perhaps she’d pay for that one later, but she couldn’t resist.
Cam's collar seemed to be tightening around his neck. He looked over his guests, noting the range of responses--temporarily gratified to see delight on at least one guest, Elodie Atwood --but the number of outraged or uncomfortable faces made him feel sick. His mother's eyes were fixed on him, wide with the silent warning that she would never forgive him if he had ruined her social standing. And that blasted courtier @nithya had challenged him again, asking if he'd gotten permission like he was a little boy. But . . . was she right? Were these blasted women right?
Without realizing it, he set his hand upon Edith Byron 's hand and squeezed, a grip that might look reassuring from afar but that grated the bones of her wrist together. He had to say something. His back was suddenly damp with sweat as he frantically searched for a way to mollify, but before he could open his mouth, Isolde spoke.
His eyes darted to her in terror, prepared for the killing blow to his reputation and social future . . . but when she finished, he released the breath he'd been holding and loosened his grip on Edith's hand. The barbarian had taken his side! The curtsy at the end . . . a break of character, but perhaps a stroke of genius on his behalf as well. It showed her capable of civility, putting the whole preceding performance into the frame of an actress putting on a play. He was no monster, no buffoon. The relief that washed over him was accompanied by a deep sense of pride--Isolde was a second testament to the success of his work at the Beldam.
Cam stood, spreading his arms in a grandiose bow. "Forgive me, fair guests! I should have thought of the delicate sensibilities of our female accessories before bringing out such a disturbing display. Guards, take the fearsome barbarian to the smoking parlor and make sure she's safely chained to her seat. Our braver guests can visit her there to learn more about the wilds of her country and the myths of her tribe. Digestifs and whiskey will be served in the main parlor." He winked broadly. "Let's leave the vexed ladies a moment to recover here in the dining room."
Another cold thought struck him as the guards moved to snap on Isolde 's manacles and usher her out of the room. Isolde had called one of the nobles by name. His smile remained fixed, but his eyes slid uneasily to @norah . Perhaps she had merely overheard him use the name. Dare he hope that was it?
Post by Edith Byron on Feb 8, 2024 14:05:57 GMT -5
Edith managed to put a smile on, making it look like Cam was indeed just holding her hand kindly and reassuringly, but inside she was dealing with the tight grip on her hand. She placed her other hand on top of his to reinforce the image of it being reassuring, so nobody would question the touch. She had to stand by Cam's side, and it seemed like through gestures and body language was better than speaking to. He had taught her well. Don't speak randomly, and especially don't speak louder than Cam. His word was most important.
Gunne would have had big and loud opinions on Isolde's performance, but Edith stood by Cam and whatever he wanted.
If she could, and Cam Pyetr would sit next to her again, or if he ushered her to get up and follow him, she would lean towards him and whisper: "Well done, lord Pyetr. You put them in their place." She would squeeze his arm. She was genuine, and not being sarcastic. She was devoted to him now.
There would be no denying the darkness that swirled in her already dark eyes at Cam Pyetr’s comment. He was mad… utterly mad. A man with a pride that would easily blind him to the rage of a woman. And Norah was convinced it’d be at the hands of one in particular.
She hated in that moment that Deimos had stayed outside in the shadows. But perhaps it was a silent blessing from the Goddess, because the way her jaw ticked would surely have had a deep growl coming from the horse-sized beast.
Isolde was speaking, and though she moved her eyes back to the tall Cambrian… she didn’t believe a word she said as she kept on. Isolde was not a woman to submit and be chained as she was and put on a show? A show for the likes of the people she hated so much that she saw her own people reproducing with them as something akin to treason? Branding them as traitors? No… this wasn’t right at all.
@nithya spoke, and she silently praised the woman. And took in the face of those who seemed to agree. Those who were now put in such a delicate position just being here now. She made note to speak with her later. But more pressing things were at hand, especially as Cam Pyetr went on to insult her and many of the others in the room.
Norah almost bared her teeth at him. But instead her eyes narrowed, suddenly onto the woman at his side. Who seemed to grip him for dear life… “An accessory, Lord Pyetr, can do far more damage to one’s image than you’d think. Pick the wrong one, and suddenly your dress is not favored.” She didn’t hide her voice, but didn’t shout to embarrass him either. She may have been shorter than him, she almost looked down her nose at him. The Ambassador knew her role. An accessory? A woman who not only came from noble blood, from a well known cursemaker, even was one herself, and one trusted by the King to be placed within Cambria itself?
“I’m sure the King will be thrilled to see the dramatic plays you are putting on to amuse guests. Especially with one like Isolde.” Her head tipped slightly, unwavering before she gave a shallow curtsy. One that was meant as an insult instead of one of respect, then turned and headed for the door. Grant Delaney at her side as a pair of burning amber eyes tracked her every move through the windows all the way to the doors that they’d seek to exit.
Post by Grant Delaney on Feb 9, 2024 2:49:16 GMT -5
Grant Delaney had done his level fucking best to turn his brain off and be the pretty trophy husband. Or, fiancee. Fiance? This was some fuckin' political event and he wasn't equipped for the nuances of it--but @norah was, and he had agreed (emphatically) to shackle his wagon to hers.
He'd almost died once someone asked them about taxes, but thankfully Norah was a literal angel and steered them away from that.
Unfortunately for everyone involved, that was not the most eventful thing to come of this evening. He stuck to his future wife's side, dutifully.
The whole. Well. The whole everything regarding Isolde was a handful, emotionally. Grant could recognize choreographed combat--but there was a very clear reining in of power, there. He glanced at Norah after it wrapped up, only to notice she... scooted. He squeezed the empty air that had been her hand, annoyed at himself for not catching on quicker.
He had a lot of aggressive opinions but didn't know how to properly express them in polite company--though he was pretty sure this company had skipped over polite--and decided that he should just fucking shut up and accompany his wife-to-be.
That said she was pretty impressive, from Grant's understanding of the issues at hand. He was willing to admit he was biased, however.
Isolde almost called out to @norah, the woman whom Isolde had come to know during her time as Ambassador to Cambria—frustratingly Nevermerean, but not altogether unreasonable. If only she knew what happened within Beldam’s walls, horrors enough to bend the resolve of the most willful. The fierce priestess made a domesticated beast prodded for sport. But it would accomplish nothing. Serve no one. In Beldam, she’d discovered pride was her cardinal sin. While before she’d worn it like a crown, it was now a thing discarded. There was no humiliation she was not willing to endure, so long as she could keep the flame of hope alive.
Pain is temporary, my child
Do not forget the prophecy.
Do not lose hope.
She watched @norah go with a wounded expression, forgetting her act momentarily as she sought the woman’s eyes as if everything could be communicated in a single look. Then, her expression hardened again. She turned to Cam Pyetr with a vague smile and was led to the parlor. She allowed herself to be chained to the chair, entering what was almost a trance.