carpem noctem.

[sitzmarks]

Lady Nayara Kataleya Kaelvorn. Intro. Appearance. Musings.

Lady Theano Eluwe. Intro. Appearance. Musings.

Lady Isolde Kelindorr. Intro. Appearance. Musings.

[aenaos]

Letters and records lay scattered across her desk like the aftermath of a battle. She did not look up as Nayara entered, rifling through the missives with unaltered focus, sharp eyes tracing fragments of phrases like a carrion bird gathering scraps. “I did not know you would return so soon,” Lenore said, measured and calm, despite the blood thrumming beneath her skin. “We can speak.” She plucked a sheet from the pile, glanced at its contents, and began folding the parchment with delicate care. “Though I am rather in a hurry.”

The sound of talons scraping against stone resounded through the room. Perched on the windowsill, a crow bore witness in gloomy silence. Candlelight gleamed on its feathers like a tar slick. Its attention turned toward Nayara, beady black eyes glimmering with uncanny intelligence. After a moment of inspection, the crow cocked its head, as if curious about the intrusion into its mistress’s domain. A single click followed. A greeting. Or a warning.

Lenore stopped before the hearth, where the fire banked high, flames licking at the wood with devouring hunger. Without hesitation, she threw the letter inside and watched the paper curl in on itself like a dying animal, the letters of Chantara’s name scorching to ash.

She felt nothing.

“Pray,” she said softly, “what’s on your mind?”

[sitzmarks]

As Nayara steps inside Lenore’s study, she finds the sort of disorganization that she is accustomed to associate with her sister. Dark eyes fall on the untidy desks thoughtfully, and then flicker up to her sister. Impassive as always, most would think, but Nayara knows better. There is something out of place, the impression of discontrol shadowing her usual control. It confirms her fears, the conversation with Chantara haunting her as she hurried to return to Yverhald Keep in the aftermath of their encounter. It seems that the Wheels of Fate had spun, spun in an entirely different direction than the one her sister was weaving her webs. The delicate silken threads had begun to unravel, snap. For now, it is just a friendship broken, but considering the animosity between the Mirethorn and the Thanachalerm, Nayara does not expect it to end there. With the Velwyrn and Malaric committed to either sides, the lines are being drawn on the snow, and Kaelvorn is slowly losing any semblance of neutrality. 

The situation is dire, but Nayara has faith in her sister. She must have a plan, one that does not upheave the delicate balance within their hollow in order to reach beyond its borders. Nayara has to hope so, because otherwise she will find herself with no other option but to turn to the one person that can reign Lenore in, and she does not think their bond would survive it. Not when Lenore is ivory and steel, and will do what must be done to protect them all from the threat of the rising death. 

“I have concerns,” she begins delicately, stepping further into the room and pretending not to notice the letters thrown into the fire, even if she has managed to catch the handwriting across the pages. “About our current dealings with the Mirethorn and the Velwyrn,” she continues, pointedly not mentioning her own encounter with Chantara, hoping that her sister would talk of it first. They trusted each other, didn’t they? And such a wrench thrown into their plans is the sort of thing that must be shared between collaborators, correct? “Especially after the revelation of the relationship between Chantara and Lord Vaelor. Angering the Thanachalerm by allying with the Mirethorn at this time does not seem—  It does not seem wise.”

[moonvcils]

varyn did not often leave the estate or towns surrounding vexmarsh, but the recent events had his mind wandering and so the man found a steed and took to the paths. there was much that troubled him as of late. aside from the constantly balancing act that had become his engagement, it seemed there was an unknown force that had their eyes focused on the other nobles. and the threats they posed were so great it had the council throwing away tradition in need of naming the next crownwearer. even more concerning, it seemed vaelor and chantara were an item.

varyn had been doing what he could to ensure he had a positive relationship with the ruling lord of drakathar incase a war did break out between his house and house thanachalerm, but there was no way vaelor would choose him over chanatara now. no way he could remain neutral if a war were to break out either.

it was most troubling, and so a ride seemed necessary. he would need to clear his head, and put and thoughts of wars or threats behind him. of course it seemed he was not the only one in search of solace in this moment, as he eventually came upon the youngest kaelvorn sibling. "lady nayara, hello." he greeted, from upon his horse. "i was out for a ride, and this is not my usual path. if you anticipated i was here i would be surprised," and suspicious she was not only a dragon rider, but a seer. speaking of her dragon, varyn looked around for the beast. "are you alone?"

[sitzmarks]

Irritation won over bemusement and amusement as Lord Varyn’s presence became clearer as he approached on his steed. She does not show it, but she is eyeing him with a certain level of wariness and thanking her foresight for asking Thryx to go hunting by himself while she went into town to sell the rabbits. Nayara still has enough rations to make her way back to Yverhald Keep, and carrying her quarry with her would only slow her down. Gaining some coin instead, or perhaps trading it for an odd item or two to gift to Lord Cai or Lady Seren or Lady Seraphyna, or even Lord Cian, the next time she saw them. 

“I would like to call myself skilled on tracking, but even I am not skilled enough to track someone’s future movements, no,” she agrees dryly, closing her waterskin and stretching as she stands, rather uncomfortable on the gap in height between her sitting down and him sitting down on his horse. For now, Lord Varyn is not a threat, for she knows of his deal with Lenore, but she can never trust him as her sister does, for Lenore does not know the bond of a dragon. Nayara does, and that alone makes it so she will never be comfortable with a Mirethorn, lest they change their traditions. “But what a skill would that be, were it possible to achieve.”

Raising her brow at his question, she nods once. 

“I am. Thryx went off on his own a few hours ago, and I do not expect to see him again for a while,” she says with a shrug, eyes sharp as she observes the man before her. “Why?”

[celcstine]

heartache  laced  her  chest  ,  something  she  had  believed  past  her  with  everything  that  had  happened  and  yet  the  ache  of  betrayal  covered  her  heart  with  bleeding  wounds  .  leaving  yverhald  keep  had  been  troublesome  ,  her  whole  being  had  felt  out  of  place  and  a  certain  amount  of  wrath  had  begun  to  rise  to  it's  surface  after  confronting  her  best  friend  .  she'd  taken  the  path  least  travelled  ,  headed  back  to  where  she  belonged  now  ,  back  to  draegor  .  clutching  her  tiny  frame  she  walked  with  hollows  orbs  ,  the  usual  spark  gone  after  everything  .  shaelun  cried  in  the  sky  above  ,  feeling  her  riders  despair  ,  paying  attention  to  her  every  movement  as  she  traced  her  whereabouts  .

face  lifted  up  in  quick  movements  at  a  familiar  voice  and  for  the  first  time  in  a  long  time  ,  the  thanachalerm  did  not  smile  at  the  youngest  kaelvorn  .  none  of  them  deserved  her  smiles  any  longer  ,  did  they  ?  for  she  knew  nayara  had  always  been  close  to  her  sister  ,  always  a  few  steps  behind  .  "  this  is  the  road  i've  always  taken  when  leaving  your  home  nayara  .  "  void  of  usual  empathy  ,  the  nymph  finds  herself  filled  with  anger  .  no  kaelvorn  would  ever  be  let  inside  her  graces  ,  no  matter  who  they  might  be  .  the  cry  above  of  shaelun  conveyed  her  emotions  close  enough  and  without  stopping  ,  she  kept  walking  ,  eyes  no  longer  upon  nayara  but  the  road  ahead  ,  the  road  home  .

[sitzmarks]

A sense of wrongness settles over her shoulders almost immediately. From the distance it is rather hard to tell, but now she is closer, Nayara can see that there is something off about the way Chantara holds herself. She is holding herself together, the sadness she has come to associate with the women changed into something seemingly more bitter. And if that were not enough to cause concern— which it is— , the sound of Shaelun’s cry far above them is more than enough confirmation that something is wrong. Drastically so. The smile that had automatically begun to form on her lips at seeing her sister’s friend falls, replaced by a frown of concern. 

“Are you alright?” She asks, voice soft as she takes a step forward as if she wants to reach forward to put a hand on her shoulder. The sound of another of Shaelun’s cries stops her on her tracks, however, and Nayara’s extended hand falls as she begins chewing her lips in concern. Her mind races, trying to figure out what has happened, but she simply does not have enough information to tell. All she knows is what Chantara has said, that she is coming from Yverhald Keep, yet she should not be this devastated if that were the case. Not unless… Had something happened to Lenore? She had healed well from the fire, but such a thing tended to linger. She goes to ask, but even as she thinks about it, it doesn’t feel right. Chantara would not be leaving the Keep if something had happened to Lenore. “What happened?”

[insatiabilitics]

.✦ ݁˖ ⸻ Dressed in onyx silks and thick layers of fur for warmth, Efigenia traveled on her lonesome through Drakathar's most precarious terrain. It was hardly the equivalent of trapezing past a dragon's den, but the roads proved rough and Efigenia found this would not be something which became habitual for herself. She had began this journey of the self as though a silent test of her internal mettle, something which erred on acceptance of the Drakatharian wilderness and her reign; her lineage was not truly of this hollow, but she needed the support of Drakathar to truly take hold of crown and council. To Efigenia, this was less about the literal houses within Drakathar, but of the dragons and sprites which littered the glacial lands, the animals hidden in the cavernous depths, and the rotted soil of the castle her family inhabited. If such were to accept her, protect her, then the houses of Drakathar would fall in suit if she were to grasp the crown in her fingertips and shatter the rubies glistening upon the decorative hilt.

She stilled when the silhouette of another velkynar came into view, a small smirk resting on her waxen countenance as she noted who it was. " Lady Nayara ; what are you doing straying so far from the path ? " as a ruling lady, Efigenia felt it unnecessary to explain her own reasonings for being present so far out.

[sitzmarks]

Once more, she finds herself facing the sort of woman she does not know how to deal with. Lady Efigenia is both entirely like and entirely unlike her sister. Similar in the keenness of her mind, the ruthlessness, yet dissimilar for she is not dear to her like she is Lenore. With Lenore, she has some leeway, for they are two parts of a whole, but there is no such balance with the Lady of Graveholt. They had survived the fire together, but that does not a relationship make, and Nayara is not idiotic enough to believe that it would be enough to create fondness between the two. No, whatever interest Lady Efigenia has on Nayara, is born from her status as both Lenore’s sister and a dragonrider. 

“Hunting, milady,” she answers with a polite smile, not going into detail for only the fates know what the woman before her would do with any bit of information that slipped through her lips. “As we are to remain on our hollow for a while, I thought it best if I practiced my archery skills, as I had let them languish in comparison to my spearwork.”

Taking another sip of her waterskin, she considers the woman before her for a long moment, before she tilts her head. 

“Might I ask the same of you? Are you on your way to another keep, milady?” She does not expect an answer, but asking is always better than not, when it comes to these things.

[prophcsy]

open starter from beric verathorn; along the road to moonlake — open [ 0 / 3 ]

The road through morkhul cut dark against the landscape, damp from earlier rain and lined with trees that swallowed most of the moonlight overhead. beric had stopped only briefly, more for the horse beneath him than himself. the animal drank from the narrow stream beside the road while he stood nearby, one hand resting loosely against the saddle, his gaze fixed somewhere deeper into the woods where the wind carried movement too distant to name. the ride back from vallarion had been quieter than expected. no less heavy. only quieter. he heard the approach before he saw it, his attention shifting without urgency toward the sound of footsteps further down the road. “if you’re planning on telling me the atmosphere here feels ominous,” beric said at last, voice low and even through the dark, “save yourself the effort. i noticed.” the lord of moonlakedcracks his neck, side to side, the movement an attempt to release some tension. “then again, i think that has been the mood in all the realm lately.”

[sitzmarks]

“Very well,” Isolde acquiesces without much difficulty, offering the ruling lord of Moonlake a curtsy as a greeting before she continued her path towards the stream and took out her own canteen to begin refilling it. She had shared most of hers with Tristan a few miles back, and she was in a dire need of refilling. “Though it is comforting at least that it is not just I who have noticed the weight of the atmosphere. It means that more people will be able to react in time if something truly does happen again.”

It is more likely than not at this point, she thinks, as she considers what the council had said, what they hadn’t and what they had done. At the very least, she suspects that isolating the different hollows from one another meant that there was far more going behind the scenes than they are willing to admit. That is not a reassuring thought, yet it is one that she acknowledges nonetheless, for turning a blind eye to it would leave her unprepared. 

“I wonder what the council is planning to do to try and change such a mood,” she muses as she brings the canteen back to her lips to take a long drink and brings it down once more to refill it. “Surely they must be planning something, otherwise it is a rather bad look.”

[sitzmarks]

who? isolde kelindorr & ?? (0/4)   where? Arriving to a House’s holding, parlour room

Considering all the different rumors going around, as well as the concerning developments that have taken place over the past few months, Isolde had reluctantly come to the conclusion that while politics were rather bothersome, some degree of politicking was still in order. Especially considering the concerning secret that the young lord Garramoth had left hanging over her head like a Damocles sword waiting to fall upon her. Whether he succeeded or not, political turmoil was to be expected, and she wanted to ensure that the houses of Morkhul were at the very least aware that the Kelindorr remained in their neutrality for now. There is, after all, no use on hitching a ride behind a particular candidate for the crownwearer or another when the game had so drastically changed. To have prospective crownwearers volunteer? As far as her memory went, that was an oddity among oddities. It is best to reestablish her bonds with other houses, and reassure them that the Kelindorr are rather happy to remain in their manor tending their own flowers. She is not interested in throwing her ring into the hat, and she hopes dearly none of her family members are either. 

It is with such a thought in mind that she has departed from Minolith Manor, and that thought remains as she greets the household’s butler with a nod. She is to meet the ruling liege later in the afternoon for a chat, but she is not to stay too long because her flowers need tending. Likely, she will be leaving in the morning to continue her journey. 

Considering that, she expects not to encounter all too many people as she waits in the parlour room drinking tea, so she is rather surprised when she sees the door opening not a half an hour into her wait. 

“Good evening,” she greets with a nod and a raised brow. “Can I be of any help?”

[indu1ge]

𝖕𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖊.  the  antechamber  of  a  well-respected  smithy,  sweltering  and  sooty. 𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖔𝖓.  (  0  /  4  )  open,  a  mortal  of  morkhul.

as  skilled  as  he  is  with  his  hands,  artwork  has  never been  sylvain's  forte.  many  and  more  can testify  to  articulate  fingers  and a sort of  creativity,  but  when  it  comes  to  charcoal  on  paper,  he's  about  as  talented  as  a  blind  three-legged  dog.  trying  to  smudge  his  errors  with  the  pad  of  a  ring  finger  only  makes  things  worse.  the  entire  endeavor  may  very  well  be  beyond  salvaging.  but  hope  springs  anew  at  the  swinging  of  the  heavy  oaken  door  and  the  jet  of  cold,  night  air  that  streams  in  from  the  outside.  he'd  been  hunched  here  for  ages,  left  to  his  own  devices  as  he  tried  to  figure  out  just  what  it  was  he  wanted. 

“  i  beg  you,  be  honest  with  me  ⸻  would  you  be  caught  dead  in  this  ?  ”  sylvain  holds  the  sheet  up  at  eye  level,  arm  extended  and  elbow  locked  as  a  child  might  display  a  doodle  to  his  parents.  “  i  was  trying  to  go  for  something  more…  no,  tell  me  what  you  think  this  is  first.  ”  if  the  world  is  merciful,  he  can  at  least  get  a  laugh  or  two  out  of  his  sheer  incompetence. he knew he'd have to change his helm sooner or later; he just hadn't expected it to be this hard.  then,  remembering  himself,  he  ducks  his  head  in  apology  and  gestures  further  into  the  shop.  “  oh,  but  you're  probably  here  for  something  of  your  own,  aren't  you  ?  the  smith  should  help  you  first.  i'll  ⸻  probably  be  a  while.  ”

[sitzmarks]

One of the frames of one of the terrariums in her menagerie is oxidizing, ever so slowly. It is not yet a dire condition, and the specimen within it’s by no means in danger of escaping, yet Isolde would like to stop such danger before it even becomes such. She suspects, not knows for she has not caught her siblings within just yet, but suspects curiosity will soon drive people to enter her domain and she would rather ensure there is no risk for the curious mind when they do. Such sentiment finds her in her preferred smithy, lowering her hood in preparation for the sweltering heat within. The plans and dimensions for her terrarium are held in her hand, rolled as to prevent curious eyes from seeing anything. 

Taking one last breath of the cooler air outside the smithy, she pushes the door open and steps inside with her usual grace. Cool blue eyes flicker around the room, warming ever so slightly when they fall upon a figure that she is adamant in turning more familiar. 

“I am afraid I am not very familiar with armor, as it has never held much of my interest,” she offers apologetically as she steps closer, examining the design with a pensive expression. “It seems to be a less expressive version of the helm you already wear, is it not? It is not quite as eye catching, but I think if done well it could add certain gravitas.”

[sitzmarks]

who? nayara kaelvorn & ?? (1/4)  where? In a path somewhere in Drakathar

The overstimulation that had haunted her steps ever since leaving Vallarion had receded just enough for Nayara to confront her sister on her choices regarding the Mirethorn; but the conversation had done the opposite of alleviating the symptoms. Rather, it had made the condition overtly worse. Rather than stick around with the tension that hung between Lenore and her, Nayara chose to once more take to the Drakatharian wilds with her trusty bow. Her path had no rhyme nor reason, for she simply followed her quarry’s tracks. Sometimes she hunted with Thryx, sometimes alone. When Thryx accompanied her, their prey ended in his maws, but whenever she was alone, she ended in a nearby settlement, offering her quarry to the local butcher in exchange of some dried meat and coin. 

Little by little, with each brisk breath she took, the buzz filling her head receded until her clearheadedness returned. 

Nayara is resting near a path she knows leads to a nearby holding, drinking some water as she eyes the rabbits she had hunted, when she hears the distinct sound of someone approaching. Glancing away from her quarry, she raises her head towards the sound, her brows rising as she sees someone else who had taken to the road less traveled. 

“Hello,” she says, struggling to decide whether she is bemused or amused. “This is unexpected, I did not expect to see anyone until I reached the nearby holding.1

[sitzmarks]

who? nayara kaelvorn & lenore kaelvorn || @aenaos where? Lenore’s Study, Yverhald Keep  when? a week after returning to Drakathar

An overfilled head did no good. Not when Nayara’s thoughts were chaotic and discordant, flying all over the place and jumping from one topic to the next without pause nor hesitation. It is not entirely odd for Nayara’s mind to be overfilled, for it does tend to happen quite regularly, causing her to lose her train of thought mid-conversation, or misstep where she should not. Yet rarely did it feel as overwhelming as it did the first few days after returning from Vallarion. Far too much had happened in such a short amount of time, and she felt off-balanced and overwhelmed. As always, she fell upon physical exertion to empty her thoughts, yet unlike the last few times she had been as overwhelmed as she is now, Nayara was now home. Rather than settle on with a borrowed spear, this time Nayara chose to grab her bow and disappear into the snow surrounding Yverhald Keep. 

The first time, she was only gone a few days. Just enough to taste some of the fresh, crisp air, meet Thryx and hunt some game to feed him. It settled her mind just enough for Nayara to realize that as much as she would like to travel throughout Drakathar while practicing her archery, she needed to talk to Lenore before she did. There is a heavy weight on her chest as she remembers the sight she had witnessed as they left Vallarion. Lord Vaelor and Chantara seemed to have mended whichever rift that had once laid between the two of them. At any other time, she would be glad for her sister’s best friend, but now? Now the sight could only cause worry, for she knew the webs her sister spinned behind the scenes. One misstep, and the fragile peace in Drakathar would tumble down into the darkness. 

With such a thought in mind, Nayara had returned home, determined to ask her sister once more whether the alliance with Varyn was truly worth it. 

After a bath, Nayara finds herself at the door of Lenore’s study, and carefully, she raises her hand to give a sharp yet quick knock. 

“Nora? Can we talk?”

[prophcsy]

open starter from nuray altisoy; her study in elaris keep — open [ 2 / 3 }

The mourning rites had ended before darkness took over the world. not with sound, nor with spectacle, but with the quiet extinguishing of flame. grief, in her hollow, was not something to be rushed nor displayed. it was given its place. contained. honored. and then, set down. tucked away with respect. the chamber she now occupied bore little resemblance to that stillness. scrolls lay unrolled across the table, their edges overlapping in quiet disarray. council reports. movements. trade routes unsettled by absence and uncertainty. each detail considered, placed, carried forward as though nothing within her had shifted at all. but something had. in the faint discoloration along her wrist, where training had not been tempered by rest. in the shadow beneath her eyes, untouched by sleep. in the way her hands stilled, just briefly, before continuing again as though the interruption had never occurred. she had not eaten. not properly. not since before the rites. the thought had come and gone without consequence.

duty did not wait for hunger. nor for grief. nuray stood at the edge of the table now, one hand braced lightly against the wood as her gaze moved over the final line of a report without truly reading it. for a moment, nothing shifted. not her posture. not her breath. only the quiet weight beneath it all, held with the same care she had given the ritual hours before. contained. her fingers lifted, drawing the scroll closed with deliberate care before setting it aside. another replaced it without pause. only then did she speak, without looking up. “if my mother has sent you to convince me to eat,” her voice was calm, even, untouched by strain, “you should reconsider.” a small pause followed, quieter. “and if you come asking for answers from the council” her gaze shifted at last, steady, composed, “you'll only find disappointment.”

[sitzmarks]

Mourning is not a sentiment she is altogether familiar with, for all that she has mourned is the life she could have had if she had been healthier. That sort of mourning is nothing, not even a grain of salt compared to the oceans of grief she assumes are born from such a horror as to lose one’s family. There is a reason Theano has shaped herself into an appealing candidate for the crown through years of practice and deliberation. A reason for her every action, even if many would take it as a betrayal against her father and her brother. There is a reason for her every move, even beyond her own sense of inadequacy. A reason she is to attempt to claim the throne her father believed her brother should sit upon for herself. It is her loyalty laid bare, as she offers herself to take her brother’s place, for Theano knows the game in a way Silas does not. The title of crownwearer would eat her brother alive, and she refuses to mourn him or what it would turn him into. Instead, she acts against their father’s wish, betraying his confidence in order to ensure that the same grief she sees in Nuray’s eyes is not echoed in hers. 

“And if I am here for neither of those options?” She questions calmly as she moves deeper into the room with deliberate steps. Theano does not venture too far into the room, for she is not here to intrude too openly upon her lady’s private time, nor is she here to catch a glimpse of what information lies in the study of a council member, as tempting as that option is as well. “I merely wanted to pay my respects, and perhaps, offer some company if you are amenable to it. If any presence is not welcomed, do let me know, and I will ensure you are undisturbed for a few hours.”

[prodigxlis]

open starter for heliophran muses — ( 1/4 ) location: in a keep somewhere in heliophra, near where a fête is taking place time: days after their return from vallarion

She sets the bottle down with such a rattle that the little wooden table trembles, that it is a wonder the glass does not crack and break, littering the carved stone underneath her feet. The loggia where she sits—sprawled on her seat and silks in a graceless, irreverent heap—opens to lush gardens, is angled in such a way that the moonlight streams and casts her in harsh shadows. Behind her, the revelry is loud enough to hide her dramatics and her misery under the wail-like laughter, and laughter-like wails. A party, a banquet, a feast? Whichever was it, she thinks? Some non-sense about celebrating their survival, overjoyed at defeating the fragility of life. Ruoxi cares little to remember now. She should’ve taken to it like a fish released back into the water, and she had, in a way. The liquor by her side had basically been shoved into her hands, by those that had missed her but, in her absence, had not deigned to write.

Ah, but it was not as if Ruoxi would’ve answered. She was an ill-suited beast, now; too caged and too tied, even if now there was naught to do but wait. At least, she was not by herself in such things. There had been an attempt, for sure. Many had fled Vallarion for the comforts of home, attempting to cast the sorrow and horror away like an old, moth-bitten cloak. But others, like herself, found it clinging like that night’s smoke: burning and bitter.

And so when the light casts a shadow and her eyes rose, she is not surprised. The moon crowns the newcomer in a bright halo and Ruoxi's lips cannot help but quirk—a smile, odd-fitting with her mirthless eyes. “Here to gift me the pleasure of your company?” She takes another swig, then, and tilts the bottle for the newly-arrived saint to take. “Take a seat, then, and say what ails you—for none happy or one not lost in their cups would think to come here to speak to me.”

[sitzmarks]

The wicked do not rest, and neither does Theano. Her lungs ache still, her throat bloody even as she smiles pleasantly, yet she glides through the crowds with the grace befitting of someone with aspirations such as hers. It is simple, truly. There is work to be done, so she cannot rest for too long. A prolonged absence would be noticed, and considering they are now taking self-nominations for crownwearer? She cannot afford to throw any doubt of her health, for who would choose a sickly puppet when, if wealth is what they desire, her brother is likely an option as well? No, she simply cannot show any weakness, even amidst her own people. Heliophra might be full of light and wonder, yet it is as much a temple of politics as any other hollow, and Theano is forever a devotee at its altar. 

Timed breaks remain a need, however, considering the lingering effects of the fire. And no one can begrudge her that much, considering she had been rather physically wounded by the fire as well. It is with this thought in mind that she slips away from the main hall, keeping to the shadows as she reaches into one of the strategically positioned slits in her dress for storage, and grabs a crimson handkerchief to match her outfit. Politely, she raises it to her mouth and coughs primly, feeling the blood clogging the back of her throat fly to its target. Then, she folds it back and returns it to it’s spot, as if it had not happened at all. 

As the passageway clears, she hears a familiar sound, followed by a familiar presence in a rather unfamiliar setting. For she would often see Ruoxi inside the festivities, not outside. Another clue, small as it is, that the death of her father had affected her more than she let on, another hint that her dear friend is not as well as she presents herself to be. What a pair did they make, both hiding their pain behind a mask, moving amidst the crowds and yet disappearing in them as well. 

“Now, now, dearest, do be more kind to yourself,” Theano drawls as she approaches, sweeping her skirts aside to move to take her place in front of Ruoxi’s knees, turning slightly to face her friend with a raised brow. “We are both very aware that there are plenty around that would seek you out for more than that.”

To make her point, she reaches forward and puts a finger under her chin, raising her face so they are close enough so that she might smell her breath and realize that Theano is rather clearheaded. “Nothing ails me as well, for opportunity has arrived at my door and I mean to seize it,” she continues with a smile, moving her finger to tap her friend’s cheek as she leans back to her original spot and nods at her, her concern unspoken at first but flowing freely after a long moment. “Yet I do believe that something ails you, Xixi, and if so it’s the case, please do share, for I would hate to not offer my aid if it’s within my power to do so.”

[sitzmarks]

who? theano eluwe & ?? (1/3) where? Guest Parlor, Varnmere Castle, Heliophra when? a few weeks after returning from Vallarion

Theano awaits their visitor at the parlor. There is a welcoming smile on her lips, and her sooth-covered sketchbook sits at the table next to her, together with an altogether new one. A reference to old designs, and a fresh set of pages meant for her to offer some sense of comfort and normalcy for her guest, after the rather alarming festivities that they endured during their time in Vallarion. She is taking a sip out of her drink as the footman guides her guest to the room, and she offers them a smile warm with welcome as she sets her tea cup down into the saucer and places it on the nearby table. Raising gracefully, she steps forward to meet them midway and offers them a curtsy. 

“Welcome to Varnmere Castle,” she says kindly and gestures for them to sit. “I am aware of the contents of your letter, but I did want to confirm whether you are alright with me hosting you for your stay, our would you prefer to be guided around by one of my other siblings, or my parents perhaps?”

It is merely a question born from courtesy for the letter had been rather clear, but she still needs to ask, considering she is but a second daughter and some may take offense no matter what they wrote.

[aenaos]

Lenore felt a twinge of dismay, subtle and fleeting. Her sister appeared intent on bathing her wounds in saltwater rather than letting them heal. She had received better instruction than that. They were not courtiers who pursued petty vengeance over an insult. “Do not let his bite linger, Kat,” she said calmly, “or you give him power over you.” Her eyes lifted to the trees above; between the tangle of branches and swaying leaves, a nightjar streaked through the night like the tail of a star. Quick and clever, never afraid to brave the shadows, and most of all, unable to be bound. They had much to teach Nayara, who had let herself be captured by a man’s petty whims, even if she did not realize it. "You will come across many cruelties here; you will need to learn to move past them." In the moonlight, her countenance glowed like polished porcelain, disguising the vein of iron running below. “You are letting your ego rule your judgment. He is nothing to us besides his possible uses. Beyond that, he is not worth your efforts when they could go to much worthier goals.” Her voice was a soft reprimand. "I forbid you from attempting to break him. Focus only on what matters.” 

A moment passed before Lenore continued. “I understand; you’ve pursued every avenue you could.” Her words turned low and soothing—honey applied after the sting. “It is not your fault that a good match is harder to find than expected. We still have time.” She squeezed Nayara’s arm. “I do believe you would like Vynetwist Citadel; their archives hold many tomes. Do you think you could grow to love Vallarion?” A stray thought passed her by. That one day Seren Tenelith might sit at her table as a sister. It mattered not. She too was nothing. “Do continue your investigation by her side. We still need answers.”

Varyn. Lenore cast her eye toward the dark in seeming reflection, though in truth she was stringing her words together. Even among kin, she wove her narratives with care. “He has approached Lord Vaelor Malaric in friendship, as instructed. Beyond that, he has been somewhat difficult to manage, but nothing that should trouble you. I have high hopes for his betrothed, however. She possesses both cunning and determination, both of which I hope to wield for our sake.” A pause. “Though it is hard to say where her ambition ends and her ideals begin. She is somewhat of a mystery to me, which is a refreshing change but brings its own risk." Lenore breathed in the cool night air. “But she is hungry, which is what we need. Where House Thanachalerm languishes in complacency, the united houses of Mirethorn and Velwyrn know not to take anything for granted.”

[sitzmarks]

Nayara’s lips purse at the subtle reprimand, eyes narrowing as she considers her sister’s words. Part of her— the trained part, the logical and calculating blade —, knows that Lenore’s words are true. To let herself be driven by emotion would be foolish, when there are far more urgent matters to address. Yet— It is not easy, not when the honesty she had offered had been betrayed. By a man that by all standards should have cared about keeping said vulnerability closed, no less. It is not the sort of betrayal she is familiar with, nor the sort of emotion she had been taught to expect. For she had not known Lathander before the night of the ritual, but circumstances had forced her to give him her deepest secret. She had given him the blade, trusting him not to use it against her, and yet he had plunged it upon her chest without hesitation. 

She knows it is petty to hold such a grudge, but for once, Lenore’s words do not make her wand to let it go. 

“Are we not to rectify the cruelties we witness? We are working for a better tomorrow, after all, and such work starts today.” It is a genuine question, for their work is meant to preserve the kingdom’s future, but such common cruelties are the very same that can slowly erode its very foundations. Nayara goes to ask more, but quickly bites her tongue and holds back any other words in the matter at Lenore’s order. Angry as she might be, questioning her sister as she might be, Nayara remains her sister’s loyal blade, even when her orders cause a bitter dissatisfaction to settle on her gut as she wonders if her sister will always tell her to take all wounds and avoid retaliating. She guesses yes, for at the end of the day, she is her sister’s weapon, and weapons can be discarded when they lose their edge.

“Valarion is beautiful,” she ends up saying as she swallows back her dissatisfaction and continues with the conversation. Lenore has given her order, so that is to be it. There is no questioning what she says, not about soothing her discontent, nor about her betrothal. “But I have not seen enough to say.”

Considering marrying outside Drakathar means she will have to leave Thryx behind? She does not think so, but she doubts Lenore would be happy to hear as much. 

“I will continue on our search, and beyond that. It is likely a coincidence as well, but I found it curious how two houses in Valerian have been the victims of a devastating fire,” she points out, curious to hear Lenore’s thoughts on the matter. 

When she begins to speak of her own moves, Nayara nods along. She keeps her expression pensive, even when Lenore’s words raise a sense of alarm within her. If Varyn is already becoming unmanageable, so soon after their little accord has been struck, she wonders how he will continue to act from then on. Yet, most of her concern is focused on what Lenore says as she discusses Amarei Velwyrn. She is not surprised by the description of her character no, but she is alarmed by the comparison with the Thanachalerm, for they had nothing to do with the matter at hand. 

Did they?

“United, the Velwyrn and Mirethorn will be a rather interesting alliance,” she agrees mildly, eyes sliding away from her sister’s form as she considers her own words. “But why mention Thanachalerm at all? As you mentioned, they rarely act beyond their protection of dragons, they should not be much of an obstacle unless something prompts them to move.”

She holds back her question of whether something has, the worry turning on her gut as she thinks of Chantara and the others. If something has made it so the Thanachalerm will move— That would be beyond troubling.

[moonvcils]

"you could always bother tristan to make some space in the greenhouse to allow you to attempt to cultivate the flowers from here. in fact, i suspect he may grow so interested in such blooms that he may try to steal the task of caring for them. regardless, i believe it could be a fun challenge. and if they do not bloom fully, i will still be certain to press them and journal of how they looked in their true home." so she could document forever this trip to vallarion, especially on the off chance she is never to return again.

as her older sister, the strongest one of them all, let her mask slip and she confessed her fears, eliza could not help but hug her deeply. for her worries and fears made sense. the future was uncertain, yes, but with such attacks it felt even more so then before. and she understood why her sister would be worried of what came next. "you should not take such burden on yourself. we are no longer children. sylvain is a knight! and tristan a skilled conversationalist. i have made many friends here in court. we as a house are not so helpless anymore, and that is because you have guided us. but if you take it all on your shoulders you will be crushed under it."

[sitzmarks]

There is, and always will be, a kindness to Eliza that Isolde cannot recreate. Nowhere else has she found such warmth, other than Tristan, nowhere else has she found anyone more worth her devotion than her family. She has always been thankful for the lot she has gotten in life, and for all that there are some actions that will haunt her for the rest of her days, she regrets them not, even now. Not when they allow her to gaze upon her sister’s face as she talks about the future, knowing that it will come to happen, for sickness will not take her. Not anymore. 

“I think you might be right,” she admits with a soft laugh. “I am already thinking of dragging him out into the gardens with me, for some fresh air will do him good. And perhaps a new challenge will too.”

As Eliza reaches forward for a hug, Isolde carefully cradles her sister, careful not to jostle her wound as she wraps her arms around her and breathes in her sister’s scent. It is a comfort to have her so close, even if her words do not reassure her nearly as much as she is trying to. For all that she knows that her family has grown over the years, for all that she knows that they are wiser and stronger than they once were. They are still not ready for the horrors of court, she doesn’t think anyone is. Not really. But at the very least, Isolde is aware that those horrors exist, while her family does not.

“Perhaps, but it is my pleasure to shelter you all, and my duty as well. How can I stop, when I want nothing more than to see you happy and whole?”

[sitzmarks]

How long has it been since she has allowed such a touch? A touch from someone given freely, with no thoughts about secondary motives nor how to use such affection in her favor? Theano thinks it has been a rather long time, long enough that she has almost forgotten the warmth that comes from it. For a moment, the warmth envelops her. For a moment, it is enough. But all things must pass, and the nagging insecurity rooted in her chest it’s not the sort to disappear from one moment to the next. A soft inhale, as she considers his words, and for once judge them to be true, fully and wholly. 

“I think I can begin to imagine,” she says dryly, squeezing her arms around him for one quick moment as if to point as to why she would have been as desperately concerned for another life not her own during the fire. While she did believe wholly that their parents would have done the best they could to get Silas to safety, that belief was not a surety, so she had been left praying to all higher powers that her brother survived the fire, even if it was not in the books for her. Not that she would as much out loud, considering the blatant weakness born from such admission. 

“Wait,” she is startled, for once, head pulling away from Silas chest as she looks up to him with a mix of incredulity and hope. “You do? How? I had thought it lost forever!”

[graeclings]

If he could prolong such intimacy for a lifetime, he surely would. What Silas feels more than anything, is a thankfulness that Theano would allow this moment to be prolonged --- he had wished for this, being denied the ability to wait by her sick bed. He has never in his life doubted the depth or veracity of his sibling's love for her, but rarely did they entertain such open displays of affection; were he to entertain darker thoughts, Silas would note that the fire was an event of such catastrophic devastation, as to close the gaps in the widest chasms of familial fractures. "I do not know what faith I should place in the gods -- but I know they have answered the prayers I offered them at least once, when I prayed that you shall not be undone by such .... tragedy."

He is wont to continue ruminating on her ailment, but it delights him that his revelation makes her stand back; not since they were children, was Silas able to be Theano's hero. "Well --- I cannot claim any great heroics. But in the midst of so much pandemonium, I was able to grab it ... knowing it was yours. Or, hoping it was."

[sitzmarks]

Concern had always felt thick, when directed towards her. The sort of emotion she does not like to prompt, not after spending countless months, years even, seeing it on the face of all those around her. She had never been expected to get better, she thinks, and just for that alone she did not stop until she did. Yet, for all that concern sits heavily upon her shoulders, there is a different quality to the one she sees in Silas eyes. Different enough to smooth the hackles that instinctively raise at the thought of being deemed as too weak. 

“I am not one to be undone, even by flames,” she lies to her brother, voice thick with reassurance, even if she remembers how she had given up when surrounded by the flames. It is a moment of weakness that will follow her until the end of her days, but it is not the sort that she will share with others, for she is already weak enough in everyone’s eyes and she does not want to be more. 

“Credit must be given where credit is due, then,” she says, lips splitting into a sincere smile as her hands move from wrapping around his back to holding his hands, a quick squeeze following the motion. “Thank you, brother. It means a great deal, to have some of my work preserved.”

[moonvcils]

"hmmm." she hummed, nodding once more in a sort of agreement. she did not know anyone who was completely comfortable amongst healers and within a hospital, perhaps because the reason for visiting one is often not a positive one. in fact, being back amongst healers and medicine and occupied beds brought a level of discomfort into sloane's bones that she did not wish to acknowledge. "of course. and once you leave here, my doors are open if you should like a moment alone or even a confidant." it would do well to continue to strengthen their blooming friendship, and what better way to do that then to become a confidant of sorts? "good, im glad your family was not greatly impacted. it is all we can ask. especially when such a tragedy strikes. but my family is also well. much like your own they were able to escape the fire, and i am thankful for that. now we must all focus on healing our minds after experiencing something so intense."

[sitzmarks]

It’s her turn to tilt her head and hum in acknowledgement at her invitation, purposefully widening her smile into something warmer. It does seem that whatever alliance that had been struck during their mutual secret sharing remained steady, despite the unexpected circumstances that had led them all to visit Celembron’s hall. Theano is glad for it, even if she wonders what sort of price would she have to pay for such an alliance, as the Caldrithen are a rather powerful house, and having such a confidant cannot come freely. Not to her. Regardless, it was an in into the council, and she would grab it and pay the price when it came to it. 

“I will likely take you up on that offer,” she offers with a nod. She had some thoughts she would like to share with Sloane, including the interesting bits of information shared by Amarei during their game. If the rumors had reached her, it is likely they had reached Sloane, but regardless, it was the sort of rumor that was worth discussing. “Let us hope this event does not weigh too heavily in too many minds, and that our minds heal quickly for I have a suspicion that this will not be the last of it. If the rumors are right, at least.”