Of Sword and Crowns

Multi-Muse Blog Home Of: Crown Prince Rhun | Prince Zahir Part of a Closed RP Group Will Only Interact With Fellow Members

[ofswordandcrowns]

A Multi-Muse Blog For Liathra RPG - Penned By Meg

prince rhun veinbound pierrescel | crown prince of chasque | michael b. jordan - intro; visage

prince zayir amarin shal'venar | second born prince of lysain | lucien laviscount - intro; visage

[ofswordandcrowns]

Morveth

Morveth is a dragon of immense size and formidable presence, his body built more for raw strength and endurance than sleek speed. His scales are a deep crimson red, though in shadow they often appear nearly black, giving him an imposing and almost volcanic appearance against the pale skies of Vissai’s mountains.

When sunlight strikes him fully, the true color of his scales becomes visible — a dark ember-toned red that seems to glow faintly along the chest, throat, and the inner membranes of his wings.

A crown of long, jagged spines rises from his brow and runs down the length of his neck, giving his silhouette a fierce and unmistakable profile when seen against the sky. These horns and ridges are darker than the rest of his scales, appearing almost obsidian in certain light.

His wings are vast and powerful, their membranes a burnt red that glows like heated metal when the sun passes through them. When spread wide, they create the impression of a living storm sweeping over the mountains.

Despite his intimidating appearance, Morveth carries himself with a calm and deliberate composure, moving with the steady confidence of a creature that knows its strength without needing to prove it.

[liathracouncil]

𝖗𝖔𝖉𝖗𝖎𝖐; 𝖑𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖋 𝖛𝖎𝖘𝖘𝖆𝖎'𝖘 𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖌𝖚𝖆𝖗𝖉 @ofswordandcrowns

[ofswordandcrowns]

Is that not Rodrik? I have seen them bearing the crest of Vissai, their loyalty worn plain upon their garb. They are said to have lived for forty-nine winters and are of the dragonrider folk (emberclaw bloodline), shaped by blood and custom alike. By birth, choice, or circumstance, they walk the path of a Lord Commander of the Ember Guard, a place they now hold in the world. Those who speak of them name them both watchful and reliable, though not without flaw, for they are likewise overprotective and stubborn.

basic info

full name — Rodrik age — 49 kingdom — Vissai gender — male occupation — Lord Commander of the Ember Guard

physical info

faceclaim — Joe Manganiello

hair / eyes — dark brown; worn slightly longer than strict military fashion would allow, thick and naturally wavy, usually pushed back from the face rather than carefully styled. The length falls just past the ears and at the nape of the neck, giving it a windswept appearance that suits long hours spent flying the skies of Vissai. It is trimmed when necessary but never fussed over, kept neat through habit rather than vanity. Beard worn full and well-kept along the jaw and chin, dark with subtle hints of silver beginning to show. Eyes a deep brown, steady and observant—more often studying a room than drawing attention to themselves, carrying the quiet vigilance of a man accustomed to watching for threats long before they appear.

height — 6’8”

body type — massive and powerfully built, his frame broad through the shoulders and chest with the kind of natural size that commands attention even among seasoned warriors. Strength seems less like something cultivated through training and more like something that has always belonged to him. His musculature is thick and dense rather than sculpted for display, shaped by years of riding, combat training, and the unforgiving terrain of Vissai’s mountains. Despite his size, his movements remain controlled and deliberate, grounded in balance rather than brute force. In armor he appears almost immovable, the sort of presence that naturally places itself between danger and those behind him.

scars / physical tells — numerous faint scars mark his arms and shoulders, the quiet record of long years spent training and riding rather than reckless battle. A more noticeable line rests along the right side of his ribcage, the pale remnant of a dragonrider training accident from his early years in Drakereach. His hands are large and heavily calloused, the grip of someone accustomed to reins, steel, and stone alike. Even at rest his posture carries a subtle forward set to the shoulders, as though instinctively positioning himself between others and whatever threat might approach.

clothing style — practical and disciplined, favoring durable riding leathers and reinforced travel garments when not in armor, usually in deep charcoal or dark brown accented with the crimson and gold of Vissai’s royal service. His clothing is made for movement and endurance rather than ornament, layered against mountain winds and long rides across harsh terrain. At court he wears the formal armor of the Ember Guard—burnished steel etched with subtle dragon motifs and marked by the crimson cloak of his command. Even then, nothing about his attire feels ceremonial for its own sake; every piece appears worn by someone who expects to ride, train, or stand watch at any moment.

biography

Rodrik’s story begins far from the marble halls and dragon-lit skies of Drakereach. He was born in the mountain village of Thornridge, a modest settlement nestled deep within the rugged highlands of Vissai where life was shaped by thin air, winding passes, and the relentless patience required to endure the mountains. Like many villages scattered across the kingdom’s vast peaks, Thornridge was a place of hardy people and quiet resilience.

Yet Rodrik’s childhood there was brief.

Whatever family he may have once known was lost to time and circumstance, leaving him to be raised among the other children of a small orphanage that clung to the mountainside.

Even then, Rodrik stood apart.

By the time he had reached eleven winters, he already towered over many of the other children, broad-shouldered and solid in a way that sparked constant speculation among the caretakers and villagers alike. Some whispered that giant blood must run somewhere through his unknown lineage, for the strength he carried seemed too great for an ordinary child.

If Rodrik heard those whispers, he never gave them voice.

What others remembered more clearly was the way he used that strength.

In a place where food was often scarce and tempers ran short, bullying was an unfortunate reality among the children. Rodrik rarely sought conflict, but he did not tolerate cruelty. Time and again he was found placing himself between the stronger boys and those too small to defend themselves, quietly ensuring that the youngest or most timid were not driven from their meals or stripped of the few comforts they possessed. It was not bravado that guided him, nor a desire for recognition. Protecting others simply felt like the natural thing to do.

His life changed the day the dragon egg attendants came.

The visits were rare and seldom hopeful. From time to time attendants of Vissai traveled the kingdom carrying unhatched eggs, allowing children of uncertain lineage to spend time near them in the faint hope that one might awaken. Most knew it was little more than tradition; the dragonrider bloodlines were ancient, and such miracles were rarely expected among forgotten villages.

Rodrik was fifteen when they arrived in Thornridge.

No one expected what happened next.

One of the eggs stirred beneath his touch, its long slumber breaking as though it had been waiting all along. The shell cracked slowly, the sound sharp and unmistakable within the quiet room. When the dragon emerged, the bond was immediate and undeniable. The creature would answer to no one else.

Within days, the boy who had once known only the narrow halls of an orphanage was brought north to Drakereach, the towering capital of Vissai carved into the living mountain. There, beneath storm-lashed peaks and watchful instructors, Rodrik began the long and demanding path of dragonrider training upon the Skyborne Cliffs.

Strength had always come naturally to him, but it was discipline that defined the years that followed. While others chased glory in the skies or sought recognition among noble houses, Rodrik focused instead on the responsibility that came with the power he now carried. Dragon and rider learned one another slowly, forging a bond tempered not only by battle but by patience and trust.

Years passed, and the orphan boy from Thornridge became a warrior of formidable reputation.

Though some among the nobility had once looked upon him with quiet skepticism, Rodrik’s loyalty and skill left little room for doubt. In battle and in peace alike he demonstrated the same instinct that had guided him as a child—to stand where he was needed most, placing himself between danger and those who could not face it alone.

It was that instinct that eventually carried him into the ranks of the Ember Guard, the elite protectors sworn to defend the crown of Vissai.

Among warriors already counted among the kingdom’s finest, Rodrik distinguished himself not through ambition but through unwavering duty. Where others might have seen honor in the title alone, Rodrik viewed the role as something far simpler and far heavier: a promise.

Over time, that promise led him to the highest position the order could grant. As Lord Commander of the Ember Guard, Rodrik now stands among the most trusted figures in the kingdom, the living shield between the throne of Regia Ignis and those who would threaten it.

Yet despite the authority he holds, he has never forgotten the path that brought him there.

To Rodrik, the life he lives now was never something owed to him.

It was given.

The crown of Vissai took a nameless orphan and offered him purpose, training, and a place among its greatest warriors. For that gift, Rodrik carries a loyalty that borders on reverence. He serves not for glory, nor for recognition, but because he believes with quiet certainty that everything he has—his dragon, his command, even the name by which the world knows him—was forged by the kingdom that chose to raise him.

And so he stands where he has always stood, from the orphanage halls of Thornridge to the throne room of Regia Ignis: tall, unyielding, and ready to place himself between danger and the crown he has sworn his life to protect.

dragon

Morveth

appearance

Morveth is a dragon of immense size and formidable presence, his body built more for raw strength and endurance than sleek speed. His scales are a deep crimson red, though in shadow they often appear nearly black, giving him an imposing and almost volcanic appearance against the pale skies of Vissai’s mountains.

When sunlight strikes him fully, the true color of his scales becomes visible — a dark ember-toned red that seems to glow faintly along the chest, throat, and the inner membranes of his wings.

A crown of long, jagged spines rises from his brow and runs down the length of his neck, giving his silhouette a fierce and unmistakable profile when seen against the sky. These horns and ridges are darker than the rest of his scales, appearing almost obsidian in certain light.

His wings are vast and powerful, their membranes a burnt red that glows like heated metal when the sun passes through them. When spread wide, they create the impression of a living storm sweeping over the mountains.

Despite his intimidating appearance, Morveth carries himself with a calm and deliberate composure, moving with the steady confidence of a creature that knows its strength without needing to prove it.

temperament

Morveth is known among the riders of Vissai for his remarkable patience.

Where some dragons are restless or temperamental, Morveth is measured and observant. He rarely reacts with sudden aggression, preferring instead to watch and assess before acting. This temperament makes him particularly suited to Rodrik, whose own nature mirrors that same quiet discipline.

He is fiercely protective of his rider, displaying a keen awareness of Rodrik’s presence even among large gatherings of people or dragons. Those unfamiliar with him often mistake his stillness for indifference, but riders who know better recognize that Morveth is constantly aware of his surroundings.

While not easily angered, provoking him is considered a grave mistake. When threatened, the dragon’s calm demeanor gives way to an overwhelming display of force, his immense size and power becoming immediately apparent.

Among other dragons he tends to maintain a dominant but controlled presence, rarely initiating conflict but rarely yielding ground either.

bond with rodrik

Morveth hatched for Rodrik when he was fifteen years old in the orphanage at Thornridge, a moment that quickly became the subject of quiet legend among the attendants who witnessed it.

The bond between them formed immediately and has remained unusually steady ever since.

Where many young riders struggle in their early years to establish authority with their dragons, Rodrik and Morveth developed their connection with surprising ease. Their temperaments align in ways that make communication almost instinctive: both deliberate, both patient, and both fiercely protective by nature.

Morveth responds to Rodrik with an almost unusual level of trust, allowing commands and direction with minimal resistance even during their earliest training years. In turn, Rodrik treats the dragon less as a weapon and more as a partner, approaching their bond with the same quiet respect he offers those he protects.

Among the riders of Vissai, their partnership is often described as steady as the mountains themselves.

Morveth rarely shows overt affection, yet his behavior around Rodrik speaks clearly enough. The dragon is known to position himself subtly closer to the commander than necessary, and his gaze frequently follows Rodrik even when the man is among crowds.

To many who witness them together, the relationship feels less like one of rider and beast and more like two guardians sharing the same duty.

[liathracouncil]

𝖟𝖆𝖞𝖎𝖗 𝖘𝖍𝖆𝖑'𝖛𝖊𝖓𝖆𝖗; 𝖘𝖊𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖉 𝖇𝖔𝖗𝖓 𝖕𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖑𝖞𝖘𝖆𝖎𝖓 @ofswordandcrowns

[zanephillips]

JOE MANGANIELLO True Blood 4.09 "Let's Get Out of Here"

[ofswordandcrowns]

@acesofliathra

Slowly the velvet prince found himself rising from his slumber, head heavy and foggy from a night of pleasure - indulging in a variety of drinks that the Master of Revels had supplied at the party within Ritrinc that he found himself at - but that didn't stop the smirk that pulled the corners of his lips as he saw the nobleman in question staring out of the window. Slowly, and without a word, the prince of Lysain slipped out of the bed and towards the other man, moving to stand behind him as his arms moved to slip around his thick frame.

"Now, why'd you have to get out of bed? Surely you know I'm not done with you yet," Zayir whispered, leaning down to let his lips brush against the merman's neck. "Or am I supposed to believe that even Ritrinc's Master of Revels grows tired of pleasure?" His words were teasing, playful, as a hand slid down Corbin's taut frame to let a finger tease the base of the man's cock. "Did I wear you out, my lord?"

[tylerposey]

LUCIEN LAVISCOUNT Netflix — Justin Wu (2021)

[ofswordandcrowns]

is that not Zayir Amarin Shal’venar? i have seen them bearing the crest of Lysain, their loyalty worn plain upon their garb. they are said to have lived for 33 winters and are of the changeling folk, shaped by blood and custom alike. by birth, choice, or circumstance, they walk the path of a second-born prince of Lysain, a place they now hold in the world. those who speak of them name them both magnetic and daring, though not without flaw, for they are likewise indulgent and stubborn.

basic info

full name — Zayir Amarin Shal’venar age — 33 kingdom — Lysain gender — male occupation — Second Prince of Lysain

physical info

faceclaim — Lucien Laviscount

hair / eyes — black; tightly curled and worn in a clean fade, cropped close along the sides and back while the crown is left slightly fuller to allow its natural texture to show. The curls sit dense and controlled rather than loose, forming a soft contour that frames the face without ever falling forward. It is a style maintained with care rather than ornament, kept sharp through routine trimming rather than elaborate grooming. Beard worn short and defined along the jaw and chin, its edges neat but never overly sculpted. Eyes a deep, warm brown—expressive and attentive, quick to catch subtle movement or shifts in mood. When he smiles, they soften easily, though those who watch him closely may notice how often that warmth gives way to something far more observant beneath the surface.

height — 6’0”

body type — lean and athletic, built with balanced strength rather than imposing mass. His shoulders carry enough breadth to command presence without dominating a room, his musculature defined but fluid beneath the skin. There is a natural grace to the way he moves—relaxed, confident, and seemingly effortless. Where others demand attention through stature or authority, Zayir draws it through motion and expression, slipping easily through crowded halls or narrow market streets alike. His posture rarely stiffens into rigid formality; instead, he carries himself with the quiet assurance of someone entirely comfortable wherever he happens to stand.

scars / physical tells — few visible scars mark him openly, though faint lines along the hands and forearms suggest familiarity with blade practice rather than battlefield hardship. A pale crescent scar rests just beneath his collarbone, often hidden beneath the loose drape of silk robes, the result of a youthful accident during instruction. His hands are elegant but capable, fingers long and precise, usually adorned with rings of gold or desert stone. When he studies someone, his gaze lingers just slightly longer than politeness demands—not enough to offend, but enough to leave the impression that he has noticed more than most.

clothing style — luxurious and indulgent by reputation; flowing silk robes layered lightly for the desert climate, often worn open at the chest to allow movement and air against the skin. Fabrics favor warm ivory, sun-washed sand, deep wine, and muted teal, threaded with delicate gold embroidery that glimmers softly beneath lanternlight. Jewelry is common—fine chains resting against the chest, rings set with turquoise and desert gems, and thin bracelets worn loosely along the wrist. His garments move easily with him, silk catching both breeze and light, creating the impression of effortless elegance. Nothing about his attire feels rigid or ceremonial; Zayir dresses as a man comfortable wherever pleasure, conversation, or curiosity might take him.

biography

In Mirathen, it is said that if one follows enough music, laughter, and spilled wine, they will eventually find the second prince of Lysain somewhere at the center of it.

Zayir Amarin Shal’venar has never been a difficult man to locate for those searching in the right places. While his elder brother remains a steady figure within the halls of the Serpent Watch, Zayir is far more often found beyond its walls—among the lantern-lit courtyards of Mirathen, the shaded arcades of the Glass Bazaar, or the quieter salons where musicians play long into the desert night. Silk robes, warm laughter, and a glass rarely left empty have become the familiar markers of his presence, and the stories that follow him are rarely short of embellishment.

Within Lysain itself, his reputation is already well established. The second prince is known for his appetite for celebration, his fondness for beautiful company, and the easy generosity with which he spends coin in taverns, markets, and pleasure houses alike. Rumors of lovers drift endlessly through Mirathen’s streets, and from time to time the gossip grows bold enough to speak of bastards—children who may or may not carry the Velvet Prince’s smile somewhere beyond the palace walls. Zayir has never taken much interest in denying such tales. If anything, his silence seems only to encourage them.

Beyond Lysain’s borders, the stories grow larger.

Caravans carry his name across desert roads, and sailors repeat it in distant ports. In the courts of neighboring kingdoms, Zayir Amarin Shal’venar is spoken of with the same mixture of amusement and disbelief: a prince of Lysain who travels freely, drinks deeply, and seems far more interested in pleasure than in power. Some claim to have shared wine with him in foreign cities. Others insist he has been glimpsed slipping through festivals and private gatherings where royalty rarely appears unannounced. Whether these encounters are truth or exaggeration matters little—the Velvet Prince’s reputation travels ahead of him regardless.

Within the royal court of Lysain, such notoriety is often met with quiet disappointment. The son of a king and brother to the future ruler was educated in the same halls of strategy and governance as any heir, yet Zayir appears to have little interest in placing those lessons to visible use. While his brother stands as the disciplined face of Lysain’s future, Zayir drifts through its present like warm desert wind—welcome, unpredictable, and rarely concerned with where tradition expects him to be.

Among the people of Lysain, however, the Velvet Prince inspires a different sort of reaction. He is seen often enough in markets and wine houses that many speak of him less as a distant noble and more as a familiar patron of the city’s life. Tavern keepers remember his laughter, musicians remember his coin, and merchants rarely complain when the second prince passes through their doors. For a kingdom built on discipline and quiet observation, Zayir’s easy indulgence has become something of a shared amusement.

Yet beneath the silk robes and traveling rumors lies the truth few bother to consider: Zayir Amarin Shal’venar was raised and educated as a prince of Lysain all the same.

He sat through the same councils, studied the same histories, and listened to the same lessons in diplomacy, strategy, and survival that shaped the kingdom’s future king. And though he may spend far more nights in celebration than in council chambers, those who watch him closely have occasionally noticed something curious beneath the velvet reputation.

For a man devoted to pleasure, the second prince of Lysain remembers far too much.

And in a kingdom where influence is rarely wielded in plain sight, that sort of memory can be far more dangerous than ambition.

[gaybuckybarnessss]

LUCIEN LAVISCOUNT Emily In Paris 5.04 "Rome Has Fallen"

[ofswordandcrowns]

@sycophantes

It was hardly his first time sitting in the small council chamber as his father's council spoke about the reports upon the kingdom, having sat through many of them throughout his upbringing as his father wanted him to learn early on what would be expected of him as he grew older, but it was the first time that he found himself in the chambers without his father. The King had fallen ill, and though he trusted his council to be able to carry out his wishes, he had insisted that Rhun sit in the meetings because Rhun, arguably, knew the kingdom better than some of those sitting at the table. And, truthfully, Rhun knew that he couldn't argue, given that he spent a good portion of his time among the citizens, helping out in the mines or working in the forge, so he often heard some of the things that the people would speak about.

But not all of them.

And he knew that there was one person that, arguably, knew the common people even better than he.

As the council dispersed, the stone prince looked over at the Master of Whispers with a kind smile. "Lord Dellamorte, would you mind staying a moment? I would like to have a word." Rising from his seat as the other members of the small council left the room, he nodded to the kingsguard to let them know to leave the room. With the knight closing the door behind him, Rhun looked over at the changeling that had found himself in his position on the small council.

"I need to ask you a question, but it is a question that I would rather not have leave this room. Do I have your confidence?"

[ofswordandcrowns]

@legendsvng

Many people often assumed that the kingdom of Chasque was often one full of violent people, that the giant's blood that ran through the veins of many of the people that lived within the stone caverns would be less "man" than some, but that was hardly the case. Truthfully, they were a very peaceful people, often wanting to stay within their own stone walls and keeping out of wars by focusing on their own - and that same could easily be said for the crown prince. Though many often expected that the stone prince would be a brute given his sheer size, both in height and bulk, that he would crave violence and enjoy the fight... but truthfully, he didn't enjoy it. He understood the necessity of being able to protect himself and hold his ground, but the thought of wanting to hurt someone was not something that had crossed his mind - and it was something he couldn't ever fathom doing.

Still, the Master of War had wanted Rhun to practice his swordsmanship on a weekly basis, wanting to keep the crown prince's skills sharp on the off chance that someone would try to attack him without the guard around, and Rhun was willing to humor the man if only because he could understand the importance. But there weren't many men he enjoyed sparring against, as most of the men were far smaller than him and he was afraid of hurting them if he went too far. One person that he wound up sparring with, on more than one occasion, was Tovyr, the Captain of the Stone Guard. The man, like himself, had giant's blood running through his veins and he knew that if anyone would be able to handle his strength, it would be Tovyr.

And he had come to learn that Tovyr enjoyed the opportunity to practice against someone that wouldn't crumble beneath his strength, too.

Of course, though Rhun was a capable fighter, he wasn't nearly as proficient as the knight that had devoted his life and his sword to the crown and often times he would find himself getting bested.

And that's how he found himself on his back, the Lord Commander's blade just a few inches from his neck. With a laugh, the crown prince rolled over and onto his feet. "One of these days, Tovyr, I will be able to get the best of you," Rhun said as he moved over to the Lord Commander and placed his hand upon his shoulder. "But until then, I will continue to learn every time you put me to my back." For a brief moment, the prince thought about making a crude comment about how he would like to put Tovyr on his back, but given that they weren't alone and they were around others knights - some of them that worked underneath the Lord Commander - he refrained.

Instead, he nodded his head. "Come, how about we unwind in the royal spring together? Consider it an invitation from your prince."

[gaygalore]

Tony Genius and Beau Butler in Give and Take (FS, 2022) dir. Steve Cruz

[ilove-you-most]

[ofswordandcrowns]

@serielsylvaris

If there was one thing that these festival was good for, it was being able to see people that he hadn't seen in years. Though he had a good rapport with a good number of the princes at the same position as he, especially those that were closer in age to himself, it was often hard for him to be able to see how the other princes and nobles were doing. Often too busy with his own princely duties, including finding a suitable match to help him lead his people and his kingdom, he never really paid much mind to the other princes unless it was an event like this. And for some of the princes, it became apparent that quite a few of them had grown since the last time he saw them.

One such prince was the youngest Sylvaris prince, someone about ten years his younger, and someone that certainly looked quite different than the last time he saw him. More filled out, more polished... and dare he say, more attractive? Perhaps that was what had drew him to the prince, or perhaps it was something entirely, but he found himself slowly moving towards the prince of Umoria with a smile upon his face.

"Ah, Prince Seriel... I almost didn't recognize you. You've grown since last I saw you," Rhun spoke as he approached the younger male. "Are you enjoying the festivities, or is this all too different from the forests of Umoria?"

[jacob--scipio]

Lewis Tan as  Tolya Yul-Bataar in Shadow and Bone s2epo1

[acesofliathra]

a   chuckle   escaped   corbin's   mouth   as   he   heard   the   other   man   speak.   although   the   sight   of   him   wasn't   exactly   what   he   would   call   ‘fine.'   blood   and   bruises   littered   the   man's   body,   and   corbin   couldn't   help   but   to   shake   his   head.   “you   managed   to   best   multiple   other   people?   quite   impressive,   your   highness."   corbin   says   with   a   chuckle   and   a   shake   of   his   head.   “still,   do   take   a   moment   and   humor   me   and   let   me   heal   up   those   injuries   of   yours.”   the   merfolk   offers   a   smile   to   the   other   man. 

“i   doubt   anyone   would   appreciate   if   they   find   the   prince   has   been   harmed,   and   would   likely   demand   for   some   beheadings   or   executions.   i'm   more   than   willing   to   heal   them   up,   unless   that's   what   you   would   prefer?”   corbin   supposed   that   it   was   possible   the   prince   had   gotten   jumped   or   that   there   was   someone   he   was   spiteful   enough   to   want   to   be   beheaded.   but   from   what   he   has   seen   from   most   of   the   princes   so   far?   the   little   troublemakers   loved   to   sneak   away.   he's   heard   many   of   guards   panicking   when   they   realized   they   lost   sight   of   their   charge.   it   was   rather   amusing   to   the   master   of   revels. 

“we   can   even   do   it   here   if   you   would   prefer?”   he   offered,   figuring   the   other   might   not   trust   him   to   do   it   at   his   room.   still,   he   shrugs   his   way.   “either   way,   i   assure   you.   my   lips   are   sealed.   i   never   saw   you.” 

[ofswordandcrowns]

The Umorian prince could only imagine what this might look like to the master of revels - or to anyone, quite really, that wasn't within the Umorian court and aware of the prince's... evening activities. Covered in blood and bruises, many would no doubt believe that he had been jumped by a thief or something of the sort, so hearing the prince speak about how he doubted those would appreciate finding the prince had been harmed had him chuckling lightly. There were many opportunities in his youth wherein he had been harmed far more than this, when he was still learning how to best fight and how to take hits, but he said nothing. After all, one of the rules about the tourneys he attended was that no one spoke about them.

"If you wanted to heal me, I wouldn't stop you, though I wear these bruises as a sign of pride." And considering the blood that was upon him wasn't his own, at least most of it, he knew it wasn't nearly as bad as it appeared. However, being able to hide the evidence of his sneaking out was certainly something that intrigued him, if only because he knew his parents would give him grief - yet again - for the fun he found himself indulging in.

"There's more than enough room in these baths for the both of us, wouldn't you agree?" Arix spoke, removing his tunic to reveal the toned abdomen he possessed. He might not be the broadest of men, but the muscle he did have was toned and hinted at the power in his frame. "Unless you would prefer we sneak to my quarters... But then... what would the gossips of the court say if someone were to see me pulling you into my chambers?"