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.
Our dearest and lovely admin welcomed her new baby boy, Jet, on Sept 7th! We're so happy for her and her family! Congratulations Mama!! Your boys are all so lucky to have such an incredible mom to love them! God bless!
[For Cam Pyetr and Isolde ] — AFTER HER MEETING WITH ODINA, AFTER THE ANNOUNCEMENT
Othello Allemeade had pestered her by telling her that the King also had one of the Cambrians, after she had told him the King should have put him down like the wild dog he was. She had left immediately, in search of this Cam Pyetr he had mentioned, who supposedly had her mother. She hadn't seen Isolde since she was taken. She hadn't known Isolde was here.
After some asking around and some use of her hearing enhancement, she found the tent. If there were guards outside, she would try to push past them. "LET ME SEE MY MOTHER", she yelled loudly, hoping Cam and Isolde would hear her too.
Sól tér sortna, sígr fold í mar, hverfa af himni heiðar stjörnur
Cam had persisted in ensuring that his tent was always directly beside Isolde's, close enough that he heard her singing when she started that peasantly racket. Her proximity was like a burr caught in his collar, but the king's recent unpredictability had him nervous about what liberties the barbarian leader might try to take. He lay awake at night, painfully aware of Edith's soft breathing on the floor next to his cot, ears straining for the whisper of canvas and fur that meant she was finally making her move.
He hadn't slept well this trip, and his mood was chronically sour as a result, his nerves frayed to ragged edges.
When the ruckus sounded outside, it was almost with relief that he jumped to his feet and rushed outside, collar undone and hair unkempt. At Isolde's tent, the two guards stationed outside were trying to restrain a fur-covered savage, their hands on their weapons, one partially drawn, as they loudly and repeatedly ordered her to step back.
So . . . not Isolde trying to escape--not yet, at least. And as much an affront as it was to have a barbarian wandering freely through the king's camp, it seemed the creature was alone. Cam's pulse still pounded, but irritation flared in the place of fear.
"What is the meaning of this?" He demanded. His shout was no louder than the guards', no match for the woman's higher pitch. So he closed his mouth and straightened his spine and simply stared at the blond woman from in front of his tent, letting his contempt show in his expression.
Her behaviour almost resembled a mad dog. Crawling through the hands of the guards, hands pushing them off of her (hands, of which one missed some fingers, thanks Kelder), and a wild look in her eyes. She took a step back and spat at one of the guards. Only moments before, she had spat at Othello as well. It was becoming her signature move when she was cornered and overpowered. A man approached, and Sigyn's piercing blue eyes shifted from the guards to him. He looked unkempt, especially for a Nevermerean man. Sigyn took a step in his direction, squinting her eyes as she stared at him.
"I am Isolde's daughter. Blood daughter. She was taken from me, without a change to say goodbye. I demand you let me see her. If you don't, I will cut you and these guards down, and don't you even try to pretend like you don't know that I am more than capable of doing so." Nevermerean men were weak. Their witches was another story, but the men? Her super strength and enhanced dexterity were no match for them.
Sól tér sortna, sígr fold í mar, hverfa af himni heiðar stjörnur
Saliva was flying, her voice came hurtling next, this time directed at him. Cam shifted subtly backwards in case she decided to send saliva his way as well. He could barely understand her--perhaps it was an accent or the speed at which she spoke, or maybe it was the emotion in her voice. Maybe he was just supremely unfamiliar with a woman giving him orders in that tone of voice and not immediately being struck down by one of his employees.
Cam's eyes slid down to check the girl's waist for weapons before returning to her face. Hard to quantify with all the fur, but he thought he saw the glint of steel. Not that it mattered; all the barbarians had that blasted superhuman strength. If she was really one of them--
Her words broke through. Blood daughter.
Leverage.
He thought quickly. Perhaps that cripple the king had as the figurehead of security, Regan Lassiter, might come in handy--surely the ruckus of an infiltrator in the camp would warrant a turnout of guards.
"No need to make threats," he said, "we are civilized people here and Isolde is our guest. Who told you she was taking visitors?"
A cold smile appeared in her face as she relaxed into her standing pose, putting her weight on one leg/hip. "Guest or prisoner? Cause last time I checked, guests didn't need permission to see visitors, my lord." She was getting impatient, and took another step back in the direction of the guards in front of the tent. "Shall we, then?" Her sound enhancement made it possible for her to hear the movement of someone inside of the tent, and she just knew it was Isolde. Children knew these things. By approaching footsteps, you could tell if it was a parent or a sibling. She didn't need confirmation that Isolde was in there.
She didn't push past the guards, but looked at Cam, waiting for him to give them a sign to move aside.
Sól tér sortna, sígr fold í mar, hverfa af himni heiðar stjörnur
At first, Isolde couldn’t be sure of what she heard. Her daughter’s voice was like an echo of a dream, one sweet and distant that hurt too much to summon. But with each note the jarring sound grew clearer, Isolde standing within her tent as the guards outside shifted. Isolde would step toward the opening of the tent, hesitating just on the other side of the canvas.
“Be still, my child,” Isolde pleaded to herself, though hoping Sigyn could hear with her enhanced senses, “Be still. You do not know what they’re capable of.”
Post by Regan Lassiter on Jun 11, 2024 20:00:00 GMT -5
Oh, yes. She heard the ruckus alright.
Regan had no affinity for the strange little man lurking about the camp, but she had a job, and she’d be damned of any Cambrian went rogue in the camp on her watch. The Cambrian’s weren’t the only ones whose ears were attuned to hear what a regular man—or woman—could not. With a disgruntled growl, Regan charged on to the scene where she’d tracked all the shouting and upset. Two guards would be behind her as the surly witch with the furrowed brow entered.
“What’s all this?” She demanded, looking from Cam to Sigyn.
The little animal gave him a look that would have earned her a week of maggots for meals at the Beldam, obviously still considering herself in charge of the situation. He yearned for a whip, a stick, the security of handcuffs and another collar to pound that little smirk right off her face. He didn't want her "visiting" Isolde, giving that blasted woman company and support. There was nothing feeble women loved more than the company of other feeble minds to echo their simpering ideas against; isolation was the first tool of the Beldam because of it. But he had no chance of overpowering her himself and these guards weren't likely to live long against this unholy abomination of a female--
At Regan's voice, for once, Cam was pleased to see the deceptively small huntsman striding into view. He absolutely could have handled this situation on his own, of course, without a doubt, but it was only fair to have another witch on his side. Not that he needed the odds evened...
He hid a bristle of indignation at Lassiter's tone--King's huntsman or no, she was still of commoner blood; a little deference would have been appropriate--and fastened a button at the wrist of his shirt as if unaffected by the whole scene before him. The girl had made a threat, but perhaps with the additional Nevermerean numbers, she would think twice before acting. Or, at least, aim the first attack at the witch?
"This . . . creature seeks an audience with our esteemed guest, whom she believes we are holding prisoner." He said the last word disdainfully, as if Nevermere would never stoop so low as to take prisoners at all. "I sought to ascertain how the wench discovered our guest was here and meander so freely through the camp in search of her."
He looked up from his sleeve at Regan, his face a mask of blank politeness. "But isn't that your job."
Her eyebrows went up, then down again, and her expression hardened. The words he used to describe her made her blood boil. And who was this other woman that had joined them? She had been near the king when he arrived. "And here I was thinking you all wanted us to be part of Nevermere", she said with a sneer, directed at Cam.
Sigyn turned away from Cam and looked at Regan. "Do you think your king will appreciate him talking about me like that? I am Odina's closest advisor with Willa Wren. I am the Sanctum Guardian and the Witch Doctor. I am Isolde's blood." Her voice was calm, because she had heard her mother's pleas, but she was raging inside. "My mother was taken from me without notice. That dog Othello told me that my mother was here. I wish to see her."
If all these people hadn't been around, she had jumped Cam. Oh, how she would have jumped him.
Sól tér sortna, sígr fold í mar, hverfa af himni heiðar stjörnur
Post by Regan Lassiter on Jun 18, 2024 13:23:48 GMT -5
Regan nearly rolled her eyes at Cam’s use of the word ‘creature’. It was low, and would only make a bad situation worse—and it was not a mess that, at this point, Cam would be tasked with cleaning up. But nobles would be nobles, she supposed. They couldn’t pass up a little pompous dig with the opportunity presented itself. And when a dig—or what she perceived as one—was lobbed in Regan’s direction, however polite, she raised an eyebrow in caution and irritation.
“I’m well aware of that, m’lord, thank you,” Regan responded with the same politeness, though her attempt at it was a little rougher than what Cam had achieved. It was then that Sigyn, the problem at hand, started speaking. While Regan was granted a certain amount of latitude in accordance with her position, this woman? Regan’s raised eyebrow quickly reshaped into a disgruntled furrow that crashed together at the middle of her forehead.
“Be that as it may, your credentials do not carry weight in this camp. Nor do they permit you to move about as you please. Now if you have matters you wish to raise for discussion I’d be happy to direct you to the proper channels outside. If you please…” Regan indicated with an open hand toward the edge of the camp, and would follow closely if Sigyn chose to go.
Sanctum Guardian. Witch Doctor. Regan scoffed at the titles internally. They were badges that had no merit under Nevermrean rule—though they tolerated them. And if this was how the princess’s advisors conducted themselves, perhaps she needed some new ones.
Cam felt a tingle of unease at the little barbarian girl's pompous response. He was a little surprised that she was capable of stringing such an assertive sentence together; he'd been under the impression that Cambrians, being a society of women, had pretty much stewed sense and reason right out of their little heads. Then again, this was the true daughter of Isolde, or so she claimed, and he had to acknowledge the smidgen of respect he had for the older woman's intellectual capacity, pitiably swayed as it was by foolish feminine dreams of rights and liberties.
His neck went hot at her last words. Othello. Of course. The brute would have his revenge, one way or another. Cam knew the man's time at Beldam had done nothing to weaken the rebellious, depraved core of the warrior. Right under the king's nose he had compromised camp security inciting whatever trouble this woman brought. Calling him a dog was too generous--he was a wild, untamable, rabid wolf. There was only one way to control that kind of beast.
He gave a magnanimous nod at the huntsman's answer, pleased that she had not noticed his sarcasm and responded rudely, potentially embarrassing him in front of Isolde's daughter. This was a woman of decorum, if not blood, and that was a redeeming feature. Perhaps the king had found a way to tame such a female and submit her to his will.
Cam nodded along to Regan's words, especially pleased that she was trying to get the barbarian away from his tent. Isolde had no doubt heard the commotion; if he could hold a visit with her daughter over her head as a possible incentive for good behavior, perhaps he could get a good night's sleep for one night of this godsforsaken trip.
Cam couldn't resist offering a slight farewell bow to Isolde's daughter, the hint of a smirk on his face.
To have Sigyn so close but still separated from her was more tortuous than any procedure Cam had concocted. Tears streamed down her face, tears of shame and sorrow. Sigyn showed strength, even at the risk of harm, to see a mother she did not know was only a shadow of her former self. Who had been bent, ready to break under the pressure of Nevermerean force.
“Let no harm come to you for my sake,” Isolde said, begging so that Sigyn could hear, “Please, my child. For my sake.”
Her pale blue eyes looked from Regan to Cam, her lip curled up in anger. "It's good to know that when Nevermere's around, we Cambrians aren't even allowed to be in certain parts of our own territory." She heard her mother's voice and pleas, and although it took every little bit of willpower in her, Sigyn would back down. "I love you, Mother. I don't know how, and I don't know when, but I'll come for you. I promise." She knew Isolde would be able to hear her.
She paid no more mind to Cam. He would get what he deserved. But for now, she needed to leave before she smashed his face in. She turned to Regan. "Very well." She would walk, followed by Regan.
Once they were a little further away from the tent, she would speak again. "That man will die at my hands one day." And she meant it. She would come to a stop right outside the camp. "Who do I talk to to see my mother?" She was aware that there wouldn't be time for it anymore, most likely.
Sól tér sortna, sígr fold í mar, hverfa af himni heiðar stjörnur
Post by Regan Lassiter on Jun 26, 2024 17:20:11 GMT -5
Their territory. Regan bristled, shifting as she scowled at the woman before her. The Cambrians had been all too content to pull the safety blanket of Nevermere’s military over themselves when Coheed was at their door. They benefited from the safety that her kingdom provided and her comrades served. If the Eldouir came to call, it would be Nevermean lives at risk defending what this woman claimed was hers alone. They'd been invited in...and yet this woman showed such little gratitude?
Regan swallowed her bitterness to get the woman out of the camp. That’s what mattered most…until Sigyn uttered the words she would perhaps come to regret: an unambiguous death threat against a representative of Nevermere.
The curse Regan spat would be swift. Sigyn would immediately feel her body stiffen, paralyzed, which would cause her to fall to the ground. Regan’s eyes would be blazing coals and her teeth would flex to points before they retracted.
“I need a sleeping potion and a collar. Now.” Regan barked at one of the guards she’d brought with her, who would make haste to do her bidding. Depending on how Sigyn fell, Regan would roll the woman over with her foot so she was lying on her back. Her expression would be one of disgust and her eyes would still be glowing amber.
Cam let out a breath as the blonde followed Regan away. His mind was already playing through the options for how to use the girl's visit, considering which would net him the biggest prize. He could tell Isolde she could see her daughter if she behaved--though her behavior had already been exemplary on the tour. Cam didn't know how long they would be in Cambria . . . perhaps there was something else he could leverage a visit with the daughter for.
He resisted the urge to tell the guard to open the tent flap so he could look in and see her. She'd made not a peep during the whole ordeal, but he doubted after the months at Beldam that she would have been able to sleep through it. Hardworking women were light sleepers, and a Beldam guest was quickly taught the importance of hard work. He wondered if she would start begging right away if he stepped in, or if her pride would make her pretend she didn't care either way. Or maybe she didn't care; who knew if these barbarian women even had the same feelings for their children as civilized women.
He turned back towards his own tent, sparing a parting glance after the two receding figures and then double-taking so quickly he crunched something in his neck.
The daughter was on the ground. One of her guards was rushing away. Had the daughter attacked? Cam looked quickly around, hoping Edith would materialize. He'd never send her on an errand this long again. The two guards stationed at Isolde's tent had started moving towards the two women. Cam threw out an arm.
"Guard the prisoner," he snapped at them. That wasn't Cam's problem; Isolde was. He took a few cautious steps towards his own tent.