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!
Honora had lost all sense of time. She felt like a ghost, living outside her body, aimlessly floating from one thing to another. The initial blaze her revenge and the strength that came with it had started to dwindle. Now, she felt hollow, without direction or purpose. She remembered when she'd been so certain of who she was, her place in the world. When she'd framed everything as a battle between good and evil, light and dark — and believed that eventually, the light would overcome.
But those days were gone. Honora believed good and evil not to be foes but bedfellows, twisted up in one another until the whole world became mixing shades of gray. Honora had been hurt in unimaginable ways. And in her pursuit of revenge, she'd been willing to hurt those who did not deserve it. What justice was there in that?
Sleep was the only escape. The dreams only came in the daylight. In the night, there was nothing but blackness. She spent her days training, walking the grounds, doing anything to exhaust her body so she could rest. Now, Honora retreated to her room. She stripped herself of her clothes and unpinned her hair from its tight bun. The blonde had returned and the dye washed away.
Honora caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she reached for her nightgown. She turned to look at her naked form, studying it as if looking for evidence of what had happened to her. With Hiram's healing, her skin was new. Unblemished. The only thing that remained was the weight of the collar, the sister ring on her finger, and the phantom feeling of Anslem's knife on her skin, of Quinton—
Post by Hiram Eldouir on Feb 8, 2024 7:35:52 GMT -5
Who knew what Hiram wanted when he came prowling? Likely not even himself. He was not a man of extensive thought, but one of sudden action. The only consistency about him was that he lived from one moment to the next, trusting his strength to get him through. One day he would stumble, and the world would take the opportunity to crawl upon his strong back and sink a weapon into his spine. Today was not that day. Probably.
Per usual, if the door was unlocked then he’d barge in, casting the rectangle of privacy open with aggression that would send it crashing against the wall. If it was locked then he’d lift a boot and destroy the thing. Either way, he was coming in, and there wasn’t any hair on her chinny-chin-chin that could stop him.
Post by Honora Allemeade on Feb 10, 2024 11:30:37 GMT -5
The door wasn’t locked. Hiram would easily crash through, and once he did Honora would whirl around to face him. After standing there, wide-eyed for a moment, Honora did not rush to cover her nakedness. Her time locked in the cabin had made her indifferent to her own body and who saw it. It was not a gift to be wrapped as a precious secret, it was just a vessel to hold her unraveling mind.
“You could knock,” Honora said with hollow humor, reaching calmly for the nightgown to slip over her head.
Post by Hiram Eldouir on Feb 24, 2024 9:01:31 GMT -5
Hiram directed excess blood within Honora’s body towards her genitals, almost instinctively. His eyes raked her figure, his take unexpressed, and then to her comment he returned,
“Knocking implies respect.” He raised a brow as he crossed her room, still the room that had formerly been Bryce’s, eying it for anything interesting as he made his way over to flop onto her bed.
Post by Honora Allemeade on Feb 29, 2024 17:40:54 GMT -5
Honora huffed, amused in a mirthless kind of way. “Fair enough,” She felt the stirring of desire in her body, enough that a shuddering breath left her as the nightgown slipped over her skin and fell around her. Honora heard the weight of Hiram’s body drop on the bed. With a curious expression, she turned to face him with her head tilted to the side.
“You still owe me Quinton Featherton,” Honora said flatly, “If he can’t be found, I’d rather search for him myself then stay cooped up in here.” She gestured vaguely to the room before pushing herself off the wall and going to the mirror again. She picked up a brush and started to run it through her hair in long sweeping movements.
“As for the rest, I suppose that’s up to you.” After a few tugs she set the brush down and looked at Hiram where he was reflected in the mirror. The heat in her cheeks as she did was evidence of Hiram’s stirring of her blood.
Post by Hiram Eldouir on Mar 1, 2024 12:05:54 GMT -5
Hiram snorted at what he perceived to be an accusatory response.
“Go look. I’m not keeping you here. Unless you forgot, my gift doesn’t let me dig into people’s minds to find information, so I don’t know what you think waiting for me will get you.” He was entirely dismissive, even a little irritable, whether because he sincerely felt it wasn’t his job or because he was actually wrestling with the guilt of his failure was yet undetermined.
“I did catch wind of something that might give you the perfect opportunity to find your bastard.”
Post by Honora Allemeade on Mar 1, 2024 12:15:33 GMT -5
There was a time where Honora would have flinched at even the slightest irritation from Hiram. But brushing shoulders with death does funny things to you. Any retort she might have had was swallowed with genuine interest when Hiram offered her something. Honora drew closer, arm wrapping around the post at the end of the bed, eyes wide and…hopeful? Excited?
Post by Hiram Eldouir on Mar 22, 2024 8:07:57 GMT -5
“A ball.” He said simply, the corners of his mouth turned slightly down as his eyebrows raised. Balls had never been his cup of tea; he much preferred taverns. If he had been paying attention he might have recognized the name of the man who was hosting it, but as it was, he simply figured attending it would give her some minds to search.
Post by Honora Allemeade on Apr 1, 2024 5:08:24 GMT -5
You can almost taste it.
See how sweet it is?
It wasn’t the prospect of a ball in and of itself that made the wicked twinkle of Zahaela’s malice appear. It was the promise that came with it; the lantern in the distant window that would provide refuge from her pain and fear. Closure that would smother the feeling of wanting to crawl out of her own skin and vacate the body she felt was no longer hers.
“A ball,” Honora repeated, turning the words over, “Well isn’t that perfect?”
Post by Honora Allemeade on Apr 6, 2024 18:04:34 GMT -5
You want him dead, but when that’s done...
How will live?
Will you?
Honora raised an eyebrow at Hiram’s grin, her mind curiously tugging on whatever it was at the surface that had his eyes linger. It’d be a pull he could swat away—Honora would not persist—but if he didn’t his self-satisfaction would swell like a musical crescendo.
Either way, Honora would go to the wardrobe and fling it open to sift through the dresses hanging there. “Anything you’re hoping to find, or are balls not to your liking?"
Post by Hiram Eldouir on Apr 8, 2024 6:53:59 GMT -5
Honora would find a very base lust when she tugged at his lingering, the desire to lick her and touch her and bend her over the edge of the bed and such. Simple stuff, no sentiment or strings attached. It was there, but clearly not powerful enough to make him stand.
“I’m going to go to send a message.” He said simply.
Post by Honora Allemeade on Apr 11, 2024 18:14:22 GMT -5
Honora thrust the feeling away from her as if it were infectious (for that was precisely what she feared it would be). She pushed through the dresses, her back to Hiram, assessing them - considering some, frowning at others. Hiram's answer had her glance over her shoulder and raise an eyebrow. She thought to inquire further, but...she decided she'd rather not know what that would entail. Knowing would require her to grapple with her culpability in Hiram’s methods. Ignorance was easier.
“To the ball it is, then,” Honora replied. She went for a moment back to her exercise but had tired of it. She dragged a dress from the wardrobe, hardly looking at it before she draped it over a chair.
"You never said what you want of me,” Honora said, turning back to Hiram, “For sav—healing me, you never specified what you want in return.”
Post by Hiram Eldouir on Apr 25, 2024 14:51:00 GMT -5
Hiram let his mind lazily drift from Honora’s body and to the ball. The message. He didn’t know exactly what he would do, either. That was the thrill. Living life on the edge, you might say. He did know what he was going to wear.
“You’ll find out.” He said simply. Whether he actually had a plan or whether he was keeping her around until he figured out what he wanted was hidden in his mind, accessible only by someone like Honora, if she dared.
Post by Honora Allemeade on May 1, 2024 6:53:40 GMT -5
Perhaps in the past Honora would have pushed him. She would have—in her haughty school-teacher way—demanded clarity with her hands crossed across her chest. But Honora had changed. She didn’t want to fight, anymore. The further away she drifted from her time in the cabin, the more the fire of her anger turned to ash. She felt nothing, believed in nothing, and had nothing left to lose. Even her life did not seem worth protecting—not anymore.
“So what you have planned for Myla is separate, then?”
Honora didn’t tug on the hidden parts of Hiram’s mind. Instead, the tendrils of her gift spread through the room like invisible, golden vines, wrapping Hiram in contentedness. Feelings of trust and friendship; manufactured closeness and affection. Softly rising like an oblivious frog in a cold pot that had been set to slowly boil.