For Wynn: what's your favourite meal? For Erandir: what's a special memory from your childhood? For Merian: what's a good cure for stomach ailments? For Arric: what's your favourite view? For Raya: what's your favourite thing to bake? For Caliam: do you feel you're in the wrong tale?
Wynn: what's your favourite meal?
Ahh, for all the famous regional dishes of Northern Dorenan, naught beats a savory pie for me. Ye’ve made me hungry just thinking about it.
Erandir: what's a special memory from your childhood?
I have vague memories of coming along with my mother when she was visiting someone recovering from an injury. She was bringing a basket of food and medicines. …Sorry, Merian, I don’t remember more details about the injury or medicines. Just that she sang to me on the way to amuse me.
Merian: what's a good cure for stomach ailments?
*is distracted with Erandir’s story* Hmm? Oh, sorry. It is hard to say. It depends on the ailment and also the person. My old standby of ginger makes some people feel worse somehow, though it works well for me. Peppermint… cinnamon… lemon balm… bee balm… bitter greens to stimulate digestion…
*steeples fingers and takes deep breath* I do not care if Caliam thinks this is cheating, I have found an article that says it better than I can, and in the name of giving useful information I will share it! But the short answer is that it depends on the ailment and the cause. *hugs*
If you're building your own herbal apothecary cabinet, be sure to cultivate several of these spectacular herbs for upset stomachs!
Arric: what's your favourite view?
Nothing against mountains or forests, but I like wide open spaces. Meadows, or fields of grain stretching out till they meet the sky. I don’t know that I have a clear favorite yet though.
Raya: what's your favourite thing to bake?
I have one oatmeal scone recipe I use a lot. It’s delicious and nearly foolproof—or else I’ve made it so often that I can tell what it needs more or less of—so it’s nice to try different things with. Blaeberries or heather honey with cream are my favorite additions.
Caliam: do you feel you're in the wrong tale?
>_>
Not really, I guess, though I want to be doing something. Isn’t it a bad thing to have a passive protagonist?
[Meri’s note: he may have a slight point here as I’ve let Wynn and Raya talk him out of doing something too foolish. I need to let him make a decision. They were perfectly in character as they persuaded him not to but it took a lot of work because he was perfectly in character to want to.]
I only got partway through this one before deciding the reference photo really wasn’t that great, and I’m going to delete it, but despite the angle really throwing off my perspective and the scale I did like at least part of what I got:
the reference was initially saved for a couple of one of my sister’s characters but as I have a couple that rides double as well (Arric and Raya) it turned into them. Thank you!
Caliam's Fury for the WIP asks? (is it a direct sequel, a sequel only by timeline, a stand-alone sequel, a thematic sequel, and should I feel bad for skipping straight to the sequel or...??)
So Caliam’s fury started out as a writer’s exercise, trying to think of a compelling hook for the opening line. I thought of something that would hook me, and...
Caliam felt the sharp point of a sword at the back of his neck.
I hooked myself. One sentence led to another and I had to figure out what came next. But I was still committed to Erandir’s reckoning as my main story. Some time later, in answering the questions, I came up with the link between them and it was one of those glorious moments where everything lines up perfectly and I feel like a genius.
And then I retconned Caliam, his sister, Raya, and his best friend, Arric Valere into Erandir’s reckoning as minor characters.
Thanks for asking!
My kids, they're mostly in Heaven, except when they come see me and their sister. Oh an apparently haunt their murderer, Jesse James. I like TV on, but mostly for sound and something to occasionally look at. I'm not always into what is happening, except when I'm really down sick and I nothing is satisfying as I need to still my body so it can focus on fixing. So I put it on for everyone else... That's dead. So I'm here and my hotspot had died and I had to redo it... So I hear "MOM! THE GODDAM TV!!" then "DAD, you taught me to say it." Then kindly "mom, will you please turn the TV on?" Even when the "science" says baby's can't focus on TV and shit, I would put it on for them so they could be exposed to general life And I talked to them all the time, if they were sleepy, I told them what was on the TV and about colors and people psychology until they went to sleep. And they liked the kids shows and stuff without drama. They would turn their little bodies to see the TV and they would smile and I could see their face change with concern and shit like that according to what was on the TV. Grabbing toes and laughing. So today it's the Magic School Bus, 2017 Edition. He just finished the last season on Netflix of the Blacklist and so he kinda got bummed out because Gotham is pretty gross right now. Plus the true life story of the main actor really can damper the thrill of a faux story on TV. I won't say because... You may like Gotham as I did... #ARRIC cause the air is so calling and provides life and Ric cause he needed his own name/identity as a human.
“So the messenger carried to you the same that D’vinyari delivered to me.” Into the tea did she drop only a single cube of sugar before stirring it in a counterclockwise direction. These were all things that Arric picked up on for perhaps he stared at her too closely, every detail of her from the slight wrinkles at the corners of her eyes to the way her hair was drawn back from her face and yet allowed to fall upon a fair neck. Oranians were fair indeed but not quite so as Vairans--his own fairness was accented by the fact his hair, too, was of a very light hue. Near anyone beside a Vaira seemed to be tan of skin. But compared to her husband? She was fair. “And that is why you came. Or have I erred in my conjecture, your highness?”
Flat-palmed was the hand that came to lay upon the table before him and even was there a small smile upon his lips. He had appeared with grandeur and bravado indeed but now? Now it was dropped in response to the calloused mein he was delivered by this woman. There was a natural power about her much as there was about Mercurius. They were surely a formidable sight to sit upon their thrones. Such a thought almost caused the light expression to fade from his face before his blond-haired head did shake. “You have not erred in any way save for your insistence upon the usage of my title. Please. This is an informal discussion. You may call me Arric, Lady... Rosenlied.” For she was indeed Lady Rosenlied now. She had wed Mercurius before Silas himself, as was the Baidenese tradition. The notion made his fingers curl slightly, nails resting against the heel of his palm as he cast his crystalline eyes down. “That is indeed why I came. I cannot rightfully pledge my support nor my people to back anyone who pursues the total annihilation of any culture of people.”
The tea cup trimmed in silver against the black china was placed down as she gazed across the table at him. Their eyes met in that moment, honeyed hue colliding with the colors of the sky itself in that moment, and near did she feel the intake of his breath through his body. While his tenure as a ruler was far greater than her own, still there felt to be some sort of dichotomy between them as though she had greater power. His jaw clenched but he made no further verbalization, prompting her to speak: “You think incorrectly if you subscribe to the notion I agree with total annihilation of the elves. It was this morning that my advisor did report to confer with my husband on this matter,” as he hands curled around the teacup and lifted it to her lips for a moment before she gave a weighted exhale. “I do not contest any of the things you have said regarding this ordeal, and there is no reason for you to linger. Mercurius may indeed arrive back within the week or there may be protestation of his departure from the battlefield. I cannot vouch for how he will behave. However, you will be informed by messenger…”
“In all fairness,” spoke the king when her voice paused for a moment, and a frown creased her features. But he would not permit himself to be frightened by this woman. It was quite simply not an option to lay forth. Mercurius had told him to hold himself tall and not fidget and so did he release the spoon he had stirred his own tea with as he linked his fingers before him on the table. This was one method he had found to keep them still, “it would be more efficient if I merely remained. I brought very few men to make it as convenient as possible and to put as little drain upon your resources as I am able. I do apologize for any inconvenience, but my mind is unchanged. I will remain until Mercurius has returned.”
Only the keenest of ears could have heard the fact that she gripped tighter to the teacup, the clink of the jewelry around her fingers against the china audible. Her eyes even cast from him as her own breath came in a deep inhale. He did feel for her in the best way that he could; he was scarce more than a child when he became king and so too had Mercurius been. But Abigail was a grown woman suddenly thrust into the world. The challenges were certainly wholly unique as he was sure she had not been raised from birth to be prepared for queenship. Nobility, yes. But there was a whole dimension of queenship that she was beginning to step into. And he felt almost sorry for her. His brows were lax over his face as his expression shifted into a visible frown. Before she had the chance to continue, it was again his voice that raised. “I would not wish to detract from you as to send a messenger--”
“But you would impose yourself upon me and my home? It must be quite nice to gallivant about Castle Rosenlied with no fear due to your connections to my husband.”
Every muscle there was in his face had to tighten to keep from his mouth going completely slack in shock at her rather bold statement. His brows came to tighten again and he placed both hands flat upon the table before him with his fingers pressing against the wood. In all fairness, he had scarce seen the king since the first point as which he took extended residence and intermittent citizenship within Baiden. They had hardly even exchanged letters. But the woman’s accusation burned his face to scarlet as he refused for a moment to meet her eyes. “You know well I’ve nothing to do with your husband since the time this war was declared. The final letter from him delivered to me was that: the announcement of the wedding and the declaration of war. I wrote nothing to him, no letter. I…”
That was when before him was laid the envelope that had been opened with a careful hand and sharp letter-opener. The seas emblazoned upon it was the very seal of Vaira that was etched into the clip that was on his tunic. Wide were the eyes as he came to look upon the familiar insignia and the words that fell from within. They were his words, true, and he had penned them in flagrant disregard of the advice granted to him by Arandel. They had been sent along and based on the cordial response received from Zanil, been read only by him. But that was clearly not the case as the letter that had been so forcefully tossed stilled itself upon the table before him.
“You did indeed write him a letter, though it did not reach him before his departure, Arric. I am not so foolish as to operate under the impression that Mercurius loves me nor that he will be loyal. And while it is to my disinclination to have this discussion with you, I am aware that you likely see me as the imposition. Rosenlied men taking errant lovers is nothing new. Zanil has educated me enough in the way of Baidenese history to know such. But with another king? You are ludicrous to think that there is any chance of happiness for you in this involvement, Arric. The letter you penned were a lover’s words. I am no fool.”
Guttural instinct mandated him rise from the table and yet still he remained rooted, numb from his neck down to the soles of his feet. Part of him wanted to take the letter as it was sprawled before him but his clammy hands would not move in response to the orders from his brain.
“Your motivations herein are not completely political, Arric. I am aware of that and I can hardly fault you for it. You love. You love not only your people but you hold a deep affection for the King of Baiden and care to see him fare as well as possible in addition to seeing your people thrive. But I am afraid such courtly scandal must wait until Baiden is at a solid peace, not at war. Such will be dealt with in time. And in the interim…”
His head was low as he watched nothing but his own hands. Courtly scandal, she had called it. This caused his head to rise and his jaw to clench, facial muscles tight as he stared across at her. Those eyes of sky were now plagued with storm. “My involvement with your husband, whatever it may be…”
“I know well what it is, Arric.”
“... is not ‘courtly scandal,’ and it is not the singular reason that I am here…”
“I never implied such.”
His fisted hand came to strike the table out of frustration as this prompted the full tea within his cup to spill over into the saucer. He would attend to it in a moment as it was not the priority now. Instead he just clenched his fists further and looked upon her. “I am concerned for the wellbeing not only of my men that are dispatched alongside the Baidenese troops but also for the well-being of all Liev. While Oran and Baiden have the highest population of pure-blooded humans within the continent, such is not the case in the other countries. Even Ludan has a flourishing population of elves, though most come from the Black Forest. I express concern from Vaira for and ally, not concern as a lover for a lover, Lady Rosenlied. I ask you see that and disregard my connection to your husband. I am not denying it, however, this is not the time to focus upon it. Not for myself and not for you.”
It was not anger. She nearly did wish that it could have been something as simple as anger for at least anger she understood, but the heaviness within her was not that. Slow was the exhale from her nose as she let the teacup come to meet the saucer, but she spoke without much hesitation. “The conclusions I jumped to was wrong--”
“Yet you had valid reason to assume it, Lady Rosenlied. I ask your forgiveness. My involvement with your husband has cause none of us anything but strife and should… should not be further encouraged. I wish to speak to him as a concerned diplomat. I assure you that is the sole reason I linger within your halls.”
“While I understand your wish to speak to him so, I must voice my concern: can you speak to him merely as a concerned diplomat?”
At this interim he reached across to seize one of the dark cloth fabric napkins that were placed upon the table near the teapot, black and silver trimmed to match the cups. It was a lovingly crafted set, like most things in royal households. Only after sopping up the tea that he had spilled onto the saucer did he lift his head to look at her, and then to speak. “If I am incapable then Arandel will see to it. I assure you that much. Your king will likely not be in any mood to see me as more than a pestilence for I had a hand in prompting his withdrawal from the battlefield.”
It was not an easy ride. It was one without a particular goal laid before him other than north, but based on D’vinyari’s description before he had departed the camp, the advisor had at least a passing notion of where Mercurius and his remaining men would be stationed. So it was to there that his horse was turned and rode quickly. If he had opted to take one of the Baidenese warhorses in lieu of his usual, heavier mount it was possible the time spent on horseback could have been minimized, but that was simply not the case. There was trust within this mare and so it was to this mare that he could remain loyal moving forward.
He was not too far north when the bitter cold began to grip him. The troops had been mindful to take heavy clothing and blankets but in the snow firewood would be hard to find. Winters in the mountains were cold and harsh, there was little reprieve to be found when the snow came. Had Mercurius planned on remaining in the north for those long months, or would he simply recall and advance forth once there was spring? Somehow, the second option did not much seem like one that would cross the mind of a man who thought of genocide.
Around his face did he draw the scarf that he had been mindful to bring with him in the event the chill would come while he was there. And he was thankful for it. From the nose down was his face covered, much in the style of elves that occupied the north and at a glance, with fair skin and hair indeed, could it be thought he was one of them. This was not the case and such was revealed by the black and silver that decorated the bridle of the horse as well as the saddle blanket that carried stitched upon it by one of the servants the insignia of Baiden. Rarely did Zanil bother with all the excess and the trappings that were associated with appearing as a dignitary of Baiden, finding it far easier to simply present himself as plainly as possible. The eyes brought up enough questions, and--much like it had gone at the gala hosted with the hope and success of finding Mercurius a wife--so did his appearance, when he proclaimed himself Baidenese. Stereotypes of each country unfortunately ran rampant and were accepted quite commonly by the folk that never left their own country. By and large, outside of nobles, those were the type he dealt with.
For the most part, Zanil was a man who saw fit to keep his mind busy as often as he was able. Idle did not suit him well. He was tasked with so many things within the confines of the castle but even with fierce riding to attend to, it was rather easy for his mind to drift as long as his path remained true. It had been in errance, true, that he had even referenced to his being to the queen. The chasm of doubt was there and in lieu of filling it up he had merely added to the river that carved the canyon deep and wide, allowing greater levels of erosion. Such a thought was difficult to shake, even as he dug his heels against the side of the mount until she would run no more, balking and resisting and tossing her head in protest. How many hours, true, had he ridden? He had not kept count for his eyes were not often trained upon the sun as much as they were leveled forward. Even with his cognition not focused upon time, he was able to observe the passage of time by the darkness that shrouded them. The sun had begun to descend over the horizon and night had begun to settle.
Around them was only the smattering of trees and large stones, little else. Based on conjecture, Zanil was able still to assume they were a day or two from where it was that he predicted he would come to find Mercurius’s party, or at least traces that would lead them there. Not it was that he lamented slightly that he had opted to travel alone. Only his mare offered him company and so it was that she was not the greatest at offering advice on current political discourse and the extreme racism that elves were obligated to face.
A total of three large canteens had been brought along with him and somewhere in his pack was a black bowl massive enough for the water to be poured into. And so were the contents of the first canteen upturned into the dish to allow the horse to drink of the clear liquid with abandon as he worked his fingers through the grey mane. It came to be braided slightly to keep any further persistent tangles from finding themselves within the coarse locks, though the tail was left free of the weaving fingers. Little interest was held in whatever it was that he was doing during that time; it was quite clear that the horse could care less.
While she drank and partook of the northern grass and even the low hanging branches of trees (there was no reason to bind her, for she would not run. Deep ran their connection and though she knew the way home she would not travel there alone), he sat upon the unrolled bedding that had been bound upon the back of his saddle. It took up more space than was necessary and frankly, he had little interest in bringing it. But then he was aware that Arandel did lurk among the stables and saw to bring it. For, though soon enough Aldoras had bedded down after the removal of the heavy blanket and other hardware associated with the ride, he sat, sleepless beneath the cloak of stars.
By and large, a lone rider was not worth taking interest in. Their resources were slim enough without trying to pick off anyone that was so much as a-riding around near where they made their camps, But as they watched on, it was clear this man was not going to bed down. There was no yawning, no sign of exhaustion. These men, the delegates of the Brotherhood of the Crimson Dawn, shared a glance among themselves. Did this man know he was within eyesight of their camp? If he did, he seemed disinterested in the knowledge. But why else would he stay awake? For some time did they observe him and not once did he even show signs of weariness, causing them to cast glances among themselves.
It was Iolas who stood to move forth, knowing who this man was if only from hearsay: this was the Baidenese advisor. He was spoke of even in elven court and though he himself was never welcomed to elven court, he had overheard enough, known well the gossip that spread. He was silver of hair and lank of build, looking more their kin than Baidenese. It was Yuriel’s head that rose. It had been at the behest of the leader of their rebel band that he had been stripped of the role of advisor, though not within his own mind. Deep were the ties that kept him to that position, though he had not served it as long as Alduin had. It had been but fleeting for him, but enough that he still gave a frown.
“You do not intend to approach him, do you, Iolas?” Yuriel was generally the last to speak when the council of three advisors had been called. In this instance, he was the only one to speak.
“My intentions are no longer your business, Yuriel. You no longer serve as advisor.”
“But am I not one of your men with a right to know the plan?”
“You have a right to know only what I will tell you. Such goes for all of those in the Brotherhood of the Crimson Dawn.”
It was that moment that Yuriel saw what Alduin saw. That their leader had changed. And Yuriel, for all his advice was as sequestered as the former advisor to the king himself had been. Those that would not listen to advice could not be advised.
But it was not as though he could turn back and rejoin the Ceredi. “Of course, Iolas.”
Can you keep your foursome stuff out of the tag. Makes me uncomfortable cause Aaron and Eric are gay men.
She reached out a hand across the crushed grass - heavy and soaring with it - as Eric tangled fingers with her from across the space. Thin tips streaked with loamy dirt as she watched Aaron break himself away from Daryl’s lips and line himself up, raking blunt nails down the arc of his lover’s spine, hushing him even as he firmed his grip around Eric’s cum-streaked hair. Forcing him to bare his throat as the bell-shaped flowers bowed low around them. Offering up their nectar once again as Daryl fumbled for one of the stems, snapping it off so that the slick dribbled down his chest in a slow, oily roll of silvery-gold.
She watched, rapt. Gaze flicking lazily from Daryl to the couple beside them, until she hiccuped through a gasp. Losing track of what was happening outside of the feeling of Daryl wrenching her up, chin slick with her juices as he bared his teeth at her. Promising and feral before-
"He's sitting in his throne, petting his dog."
"That's not badass! Bad guys are supposed to have cats."
"The dog is made of shadow."
"Then how is he petting it?"
"Because fuck you."
