Honestly, he couldn’t quite recall the last time he’d been back. Not clearly. (Probably because of how much he drank, while slinking about the castle. Easy, when the cellars were yours.) It was a while ago, certainly. More than months. A year? A year and a half? Ages. Sev had taken the long way up to the family fortress, in no particular rush. Not like the castle was going anywhere. Besides, he did miss the view. He did. Really. And that cool, crisp breeze. Seemed like his birds had, too - at the first ripple of ocean air, they’d wheeled away, spinning through the wind. Gladder to be home than he was.
But, it wouldn’t be entirely wretched. That great house had more than ghosts in it, after all. And, better still - nobody knew he was coming. A surprise. He’d hushed the wide-eyed servants on his way through, once a maid - old Inge, bless her gnarled hands - had told him where the Duchess was whiling away her morning. Avoiding the pathways, Sev walked softly into the balmy greenness of one of their many courtyard gardens. The maples were golden-green, as always, at the long, bright end of summer; the hanging birches, they were overgrown, trailing so low he had to stoop. Overhead, there was an occasional flutter and chunner. More ravens. Wild, or as wild as any raven was, in Ravencliff. But they didn’t turn traitor and give him away, all the same. Just went about their business, unbothered; they’d always been his friends. The best he had, growing up within these walls.
And now, they’d do their duty and lend their wings to a bit of harmless mischief. There was Stella, or the back of her dear head, at least, as she worked away at something or other, sat in one of their much-carved garden chairs. Clearly in need of a distraction.
Beckoning to one of those clever birds, Sev caught it on his knuckles. He crooned, quietly, kissing that glossy head. Then threw it straight up, into the clear, blue sky. Obligingly, the raven went squawking, and the rest of the conspiracy followed. The trees erupted into a cacophonous whirl of blue-black wings and shrieks, a flock that curled and spun away, between the spires. There; a little startle, enough to rouse his darling niece from whatever she was doing. Couldn’t be so interesting. “Did you miss me, eike?” He beamed, sweeping forward to join her - with a dreadful ruffle to the hair, as he passed. Of course. With a glad sigh, Sev sank into the chair opposite, swinging one of his rangy legs up over the side. As insouciant as ever. “If you didn’t, may I humbly beseech your Ladyship for mercy, and beg you to lie? For the sake of my poor, old heart. I don’t think I could bear it, if you took to loathing me.”
The splendor of noble life was one Cassandra only knew from second-hand sources, Sevren keenly among them. Many a lord and lady of Loqoalan nobility descended onto the shelter, attempting to assuage their need for validation via the disenfranchised. Some would attempt to mask their wealth, with ‘simple’ garb but they never ceased to smell of perfume and decadence. Inevitably, they would speak proudly of their house and the great feats they accomplished. They would describe their mythic castles and formidable ranks, as if the poor and desolate would ever benefit from it. But her eyes pan upwards, the grandeur of the Seaworth’s home a breathtaking sight. Alongside the water, it boasted of strength and history. She follows Sevren, a few paces behind as she guffawed at her surroundings.
She stops uncomfortably as his staff surged forward, their hands instinctively removing the coat from her travels. Was this Sevren’s reception every time? Could someone of his strength and ability simply remove their own bloody coat? But the flurry of activity and persons forced her to remain mum, choosing instead to take in the surroundings. The tapestries, the fine furniture… Nothing but the best, reserved for so few. Despite the distracting sights, she listens keenly to Sevren’s interactions with his staff. It was almost admirable, how he spoke with such warmth and knowledge of their lives. Almost.
“This is…” She breathes out, almost scandalized by the excess. With only the pair in the grand hall, the immaculate spread could heartily feed half of her shelter fully. “How are we supposed to finish all of this?” Cassandra guffaws, glancing around as if expecting further company. “Are there more people from the streets to come? Perhaps the people from the foyer?” She knew the answer, of course. But perhaps his own staff could indulge. She nods absently, paying little mind to the beverage of choice. “Wine,” she shrugs, her calloused hands reaching for a pastry. The poor house often grew their own crop, but confectionery and pastries were a rare indulgence. Far too expensive. “Is this how it is everyday?” Cassandra inquires quietly, looking upon portraits and chandeliers. “Such a gaudy display of supposed strength?”
Ah, Cassandra. Her decency had long since ceased to astonish him, or stir anything like suspicion; Cass was, so far as Sevren could tell, every bit what she appeared to be. Incorruptibly so. “Have I ever mentioned that you're far too good? I must’ve.” Probably many times. Like his birds - who were clicking their way around the dishes, choosing their morsels - he didn’t mind repeating himself when the point deserved proper emphasis. “Everyone downstairs will have a go at what’s left, when we’re done. Don’t fret.” He went for the wine, pouring for the both of them. Just the thing; he’d been feeling thoroughly wretched all day, as the sky dimmed. For once, his uneasiness had more to do with that, this rotten eclipse, than the thought of coming home. It was easier, now that mother and father were deep in the crypts. Harder, since Sebastian had joined them. But it hadn’t been simple, ever. The Seaworths. About as far from simple as you might get. Unless you were a Stoneward. Bless Josefin, really. That crown must be such a weight.
Passing Cass her own goblet - etched crystal and silver, lovely, sure to be loathed - Sev nodded, not at all seriously. “Mhm. Every damn day. You should see it all on special occasions.” Special occasions, yes. This should count, shouldn’t it? The first eclipse of its kind in centuries. Not to mention, Moruk’s favourite at their table. But what was special, according to his fine and mighty family, had never been his to decide.
Leaving Njale and Trygg to fight over those grapes he’d been picking at, Sev circled over to where she was admiring - or at least staring, furiously, no doubt - at the decor. “Dour-looking lot, aren’t we?” He winced, following her eyes across those old, familiar portraits; all those raven-haired, sharp-faced Seaworths. Then, he gave dear Cass a once-over, sipping his wine. Salt-stiff, muddy at the edges. Such a journey she must’ve had. “You’ll be needing fresh clothes, won’t you? Something more suited to the weather. What the weather will be, anyway, when that blasted moon moves on,” he sighed, circling over to the many should-be-bright windows. “It really is rather a lovely city. In its own way. You’ll just have to take my word for that, I suppose.”
Of all the people to wash up in his own home port - Cassandra Chen, in Ravencliff. She’d never been through the city before, that much he knew. So devoted to her good works. No time for roaming. Which, of course, meant Sev simply had to slip through the dockside crowds to catch her up, there in the gloom of this wretched eclipse, to insist she partake of a little local hospitality. His version of it, anyway. After all, he’d enjoyed so much of hers, over the years. And besides, she’d clearly been weathered by all the traveling; the sea could be such a very rough mistress. Wasn’t everyone’s idea of a fine time. Nor his, at least, not always. Now and then, though? Just the thing.
But he had a guest. In his house. His nephew’s, anyway. The liveried servants had bustled up to take his heavy oilskin coat, like it hadn’t been months since he’d last swept in; Sev, as always, had asked after their families, their health, the usual. They’d always made better company than his parents. And insisted he was wonderfully well, that he wouldn’t be staying long, and, most importantly, that it absolutely was time to bring up something splendid from the cellar. The wine cellar, that is - those deep, dim, cool passageways, cut into into the chalky stone. He’d show Cass around those, too, if she hung about long enough. In the meantime, Sev had led the way, through towering, heavy doors, along salt-rimed walkways and up black-slate stairs, to the heart of the place.
“And here we are, the highest hall,” he took a slow spin, arms spread to all their rangy wingspan, taking in the sheer gape of it the space. “And if you think that’s a sight, well, you won’t believe the sunroom. Tragically useless to us at the moment, of course...” Indeed, they’d had to light the candelabras, there in the gathering dark. Unfortunate, that she wouldn’t get to see the estate in all its bright, sea-breezed glory. She’d hate it even more, then. “You must be starved. Help yourself. And parched, too. Wine? Schnäpse?” The old Seaworth blend, too. The old Seaworth everything, around here. So bloody old. Meandering along the grand table to where the servants had prepared a lovely spread - rather too much, of course, for even the most peckish, thirsty traveler - Sev plucked a dusk-purple bunch of grapes from one of the piled-high platters. “Or, there’s always... tea, I suppose...” If you liked that sort of thing.
🥃 👀 💃🏿 ⚔️ 👑 (( I know we haven't plotted anything, but feel free to assume Sev is somehow connected to either Adaline, Valarr, Kelani or Kaylessa [a.k.a. Kaya] ))
Kaya, Kaya, Kaya. A bad influence of many moons.
🥃- how many shots of strong liquor my muse thinks yours can take before passing out
“More than I. Tested and proven. It’s that vailwen constitution - an awfully unfair advantage, of which I enjoy only a fraction. Shame, really.”
👀- the most interesting/memorable rumor my muse has heard about yours
“Well. A little bird told me - you know how little birds like to tell me things - some dreadful nonsense the other day. Said you’re known to bathe in the blood of kid goats, for the sake of that glowing complexion. I let them know how very wrong they were, of course. Only the blood of the finest Vailen stallions would do, for you. Kid goats. How meager. You’d never be so boring.”
💃🏿- whether my muse would want to dance with yours
"For you, I’d find the time. In my otherwise thoroughly occupied evenings. That might be a promise...”
⚔️- if my muse wants to have a fight with yours
“I can’t think of any trouble between us that couldn’t be solved in a rather more interesting manner. Really, now.”
👑- whether mine thinks your muse is of high social status and/or whether they respect them in such a way
“Kaya. Please. Don’t go and start caring about that sort of thing. It’s beneath you. My opinion shouldn’t matter a whit. But it is, of course, spectacularly favorable.”
Oh, Oggy - not quite one of those birds of a feather, but close enough.
🥃- how many shots of strong liquor my muse thinks yours can take before passing out
“A horrifying amount, I’m sure. But you’d down them fearlessly, and it would, no doubt, be very amusing to watch.”
🍽- what kind of table manners my muse assumes yours to have on first meeting them
“Barn-like. And that’s no insult. It isn’t. I’ve met some lovely people, rolling about in the hay. Rustic charms, and all that.”
🎻- if my muse thinks yours can play an instrument, or what it is
“Oh, I’m sure you’ve made an attempt. But I doubt you’ve the discipline to be any good at that sort of thing. Not that I do, so...”
🎲- if mine thinks your muse’s luck is good or bad
“Up to this point? Something of a mixed bag, surely. You’re blessed enough to have made my acquaintance, at least. As for your luck in future - I could always ask the cards. Or the water. The birds probably know something, they usually do. Take your pick. But I won’t touch guts for the sake of idle curiosity, so don’t even ask about those. Our friendship has its limits, Oggy.”
🍿- what my muse thinks is entertaining about yours
“Your enduring and abject inability to learn from your own mistakes. It’s astonishing, really. And absolutely hysterical, I must say.”
The ESTRANGED EARL of RAVENCLIFF.
Former SPARE, refused to be HEIR, hardly a HEDGEWITCH.
42. VASHARREN.
Anything struckthrough is a secret unless we establish that your character knows! If you have any questions or plots, don’t hesitate to contact me via message or Discord!
REPUTATION
Broadly, Sev is known for the following; anyone who’s “in” on courtly whispers or gossip among the kingdom’s more informed townfolk could easily have heard anything listed below.
He’s a practitioner of LOW MAGIC despite his (supposedly) high birth and status, demonstrating his divining and psychometry by popular request - if he's in the mood, but never for money. For more on his magic, see here.
The Earl of Seaworth - a courtesy title, devolved to him as a second son and returned after he abdicated the dukedom - travels often, widely, and alone, without the usual aristocratic retinue, and has done so since he was a teenager (often without giving his family much warning as when he was leaving, where he was bound, or when he expected to return).
When his elder brother died unexpectedly several years ago, Sev should have succeeded him as Duke of Seaworth - but refused the title. Thus the mantle was inherited by his nephew. Well, more accurately, his niece, Estelle, who’s currently acting as Duchess while her brother is otherwise preoccupied.
Sev is an infamous charmer, even if he’s often spoken of as an eccentric rake who can’t be counted on to settle down and would, surely, never be an honourable match.
Despite his raising and rank, Sevren has only passing interest in political machinations. His aristocratic peers tend to love him (such a delight at parties), or hate him (a hedonistic embarrassment, uninspired by their traditional pomp or revolutionary fervor).
THE PAST IS A DIFFERENT COUNTRY
Sev was born and raised in Ravencliff, the second son of the Duke of Seaworth - or so the world believes. In truth, he was the result of a tryst between his mother, the Duchess, and Erinwel Elidyr, meaning he’s faintly vasharren. Only faintly - nobody has ever found reason to assume he’s not his so-called father’s son.
Despite displaying considerable magical ability from a young age, Sev never received any childhood instruction in the craft. His parents refused to have him trained at a magaesterium, insisting he had more important duties to tend to around the family estate and Elysian court. Knowing what he does now, he suspects his mother’s concerns had more to do with the possibility of magi perceiving his more-magical heritage, and exposing her affair.
Unfortunately, his magic was highly sensitive, and without teaching, difficult to manage. This was the cause of much struggle in his early years, and he blamed his mother and father. He and his elder brother, Sebastian, remained on good terms - but there was only so much Sebastian could do to help.
By the time he was fourteen, Sev had started to get into trouble around Elysi; he ran away from Ravencliff for the first time at sixteen, taking a fistful of family jewels, and didn’t return for four years. The spark for his sudden, furious departure arrived with Phelix Milrothar, who revealed his elven blood to him in a “helpful” attempt to help him understand his difficult magic - and fracture the Seaworth lineage, for Phelix’s own ends. Sev has yet to tell the rest of his house. He doesn’t know who his father was, and isn’t exactly looking.
His trouble with his family softened somewhat after he returned - his parents, disapproving but relieved he was alive at all, didn’t attempt to stop him from leaving again, and ensured he had access to funds. He continued his travels, returning now and then to visit and make courtly appearances.
When his niece, Estelle, began to show her magical potential, Sev successfully insisted to her father that she be allowed to study at a magaesterium, so she could fully develop her powers.
Upon his brother’s unexpected death, Sev refused the dukedom, allowing his nephew to inherit instead. This unusual passing of power shocked the court; even his worst critics hadn’t imagined he’d be so irresponsible as that. But he’s never shown a hint of regret.
He’s just recently returned to Elysi, after hearing about the stirrings of the rebellion. However, he’s mostly here to check in on his niece and nephew. Sev’s more loyal than he seems - once he’s decided you’re worth it, anyway.
THE FUTURE IS AN OPEN SKY
ENCHANTED TO MEET YOU. Open to anyone with magical ability.
While he tends to treat his magical abilities as mere entertainment - and to make much of how stunted they are, as a result of his being denied proper training as a child - Sev’s more capable than he acknowledges. Perhaps not in magics that the magaesteriums value, but he’s a natural diviner, with a rare knack for not only perceiving the future, but looking into the past. His powers could have some real use in the world… if he bothered to use them for more than party tricks. I’d love to connect him to other magical practitioners of all sorts, each with their own ideas of what magic is “for.” It’d also be fun to give him a reason to more properly develop his abilities, under someone’s mentorship.
WITH FRIENDS LIKE THESE. Open to anyone.
Sevren has roamed through just about every known continent at some point over his travels, making many friends and enemies. Of course, he’s also made a lot of stories, and is much-whispered about in the courts whenever he drops by for one of his enigmatic appearances. In theory, he has just about everything one could hope for, in a diplomat - except, of course, any interest in the job. He’s been utterly devoted to his fairly self-centred, scandalous life for decades, and doesn’t intend to change. This was made quite clear by his rather shocking refusal of the dukedom, when his elder brother passed away unexpectedly; it’s that which put the duchy in his niece’s hands, and, frankly, Sev has no qualms at all about that. She was always his favourite relative, anyway. But what do his noble peers think of all that rank irresponsibility, wasted potential, and incorrigible scandal? As he settles back into Elysi for a longer than usual stay, what place will he find for himself, and with who?|
REBEL, REBEL. Open to anyone strongly, loudly associated with the rebellion or the noble backlash against it.
Sev’s drifted back to Ravencliff and the courts of Elysi often over the years, but never with much urgency. That didn’t really change when he heard news of rebellion brewing. He’s never borne the crown any real ill will, personally, but he also doesn’t imagine he’d be much use to them, should all this come to violence. Well, more violence. Even if he’s spent a great deal of time among the common people of the kingdom, and could perhaps stretch to understanding some of their grievances, he knows he’s not one of them. Meaning their crusade, ultimately, is against him as well. Isn’t it? I’m curious to see how people push and pull at him, in relation to the rebellion. Let’s find out!
A BROKEN BETROTHAL. This character might look like any 35+ noblewoman; Lucy Liu, Gina Torres, Gillian Anderson, UTP.
Sevren’s only a second son, but the Seaworths are an old, well-established aristocratic family - he was definitely arranged to be married from childhood. This could go all kinds of ways, depending on the character you come up with; but it obviously didn’t end in a wedding. The fact that Sev wasn’t at all interested in settling down would have been pretty obvious since his later teenage years, when he became increasingly open in his resistance to his parents’ designs for him. This muse could have married since things fell through, or not, totally up to you!
turnnoffyourmind
gummygunk
blakekathryn
jacobvanloon
