#kindredblades

[sovereign-veil-a-blog]

@kindred-blades

     Amila frowns.  It isn’t at anything in particular, just the corner of the carriage cabin.  It shakes and weaves within her eyesight as the horses pull it up the road towards the palace, and she finds herself grateful for two things: the fact that she still has her mask, and the solace and solitude she has within the cabin.  Much to Orha’s dismay, the Queen of Yason-Roven denied herself any semblance of a royal escort. A peace effort isn’t that without some sort of show in faith now, is it?  And besides, she wanted the privacy and the chance to ruminate.

     The trip had taken days, the surrounds going from city, to dense forest, then scraggly scraps of plant material.  Shortly after that came the heat and grittiness of the desert, and now at long last: the city.  The Persian city, to be more specific.

     It’s something of a unique arrangement, Amila admits to herself.  Certainly never one she found herself potentially agreeing to in the past.  But as the window beside her head displays ornate gates, desert flowers, and bubbling fountains that could only be indicative of some sort of royal palace, the reality of it settles in.  It isn’t just a peace effort in the form of a treaty.  It’s a marriage.  Arranged.  Apparently war councils and family from both sides deemed it a good plan to ease tensions between two sides and keep needless death from happening in war -- who is she to disagree against a common consensus?

     The carriage rolls to a stop, the horses briefly heaving thanks to the effort to drag the wheels through the sand.  The driver wipes the sweat from his brow, before he leans over, rapping on the wooden door with his knuckles.  Amila had days to brace herself.  Now is the time for words and to act on the carefully laid plans of both sides.

     With a soft creak, the carriage door opens, the mask-clad woman slipping from the vehicle; heels pressing into the sand.

     This Prince Malik, her husband-to-be, better be respectful.  A treaty wouldn’t work if she’d have to forcefully ingrain it into him, would it?

[plumewarden]

@kindred-blades

The hair raises on the back of her neck at about the same time Rosie’s feet fully settle against the ground; hands absentmindedly gripping tight to the reins wrapped around the goose’s neck. Feathers bristle at her fingertips, which gives her enough indication that her own gut is telling her the truth: something is wrong.  There’s no birds chirping as they get their morning meals, no soft crunch of dried shrubbery as rabbits scurry back to their dens to hide.  It’s silence in its truest form, and it’s something that Peony has never heard before.

She hates it.  It’s not natural. Anxiety twists her gut.

Everything else in the forest seems perfectly fine, other than the fact that even the air is still.  The morning air is still cool, the sun still filters through the canopy above; rays warm against her skin.  But there’s no wind, either -- uncharacteristic for the region, even in the summer months like it is now.  A soft rumble comes from Rosie’s throat, intent to pull the Plumewarden from her thoughts; already eager to leave as soon as possible.  Thin fingers run through the threads of the bird’s feathers as Peony starts to move.

“It’s all right, big guy...just, give me a minute.”  She gently coos as her own feet settle against the ground.  They both know that something isn’t right, at least, not in a natural sense.  Tension and dread hangs far too heavily in the air, anticipation builds up in their guts.  Now that they’ve settled and the air is still around her, an acrid smell fills her nostrils: rotting meat.  Had something made a fresh kill?  Is that why everything is so silent?

“Stay there,” she continues as bare feet pad along the forest floor, briefly holding a hand out behind her to command Rosie stay.  “I’ll call you if I need you.”

Rosie follows anyway, wings flicking outward briefly; his feathers fluffing up.  Peony doesn’t question it.  If anything, it’s a comfort.

Around a nearby tree she goes, and there’s nothing -- but the smell is stronger now.  So much so that it makes her visibly flinch; eyes shutting tight, nose wrinkling, fists clenching. The pause isn’t long, and she continues onward.  Around another pairing of trees, across a clearing, rounding some bushes.  It’s not until she reaches a decline in the land, leading down to a small creek, when she sees the source of the entire problem:

Corpses.  Three of them, two adults.  One child.

At least, that’s what she can see from the short distance away and the state of their decomposition -- which is all wrong to begin with.  Black and putrefying threads of skin and muscle desperately cling on to bone that looks cracked and withered, discoloration heavy in the bones.  Long bones are bent in strange ways, too -- in a way that wet wood warps, some thigh bones having a distinctive curve to them, while ribs look entirely too straight to be normal.  The water around them even looks gritty and tainted, the liquid a strange gray color; and the shrubbery around the water looks dry and dead.  Needless to say, it’s nothing that Peony has ever seen before in her life.

Maybe that’s why when she finally does hear the sound of leaves rustling, it nearly feels like she jumps out of her own skin.

“--who’s there?”

[sovereign-veil-a-blog]

[ ¥ for Amila, in regards to Malik. ]

Looks: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10Personality: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10Attraction: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10Would they date them: yes | noFavorite thing about them:  On the surface, it would be the fact that the tales of the eldest prince are actually backed up by fact.  Malik is confident and competent, and an excellent leader that has earned the respect of his people.  In secret, it would really be his lighthearted nature about things.  I like to imagine his personality would complement her rather severe nature quite well, and eventually draw out her own streak of humor from her (which is practically a miracle in itself).Least favorite thing about them:  …the damned snoring.

[sovereign-veil-a-blog]

[ ¥, and tit for tat; Serina's opinions on both Zeke and Xenres, if you please! ]

For Zeke:                                                      Looks: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10Personality: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10Attraction: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10Would they date them: yes | yesFavorite thing about them:  Yes. Too many things.  His drive for survival, his endurance.  How he considers her in all of his decisions, how he looks out for her, and it always feels like she’s the center of his world no matter the subject-matter or situation.  Whenever Zeke is a part of her life, Serina’s self-confidence absolutely soars, and the prince genuinely gives her life meaning (she feels, anyway).Least favorite thing about them:  How he deals with guilt (AKA: complete avoidance), and how he tends to shoulder a whole world’s worth of problems on his shoulders until the point that everything either spirals out of control or he drops from exhaustion.  It’s nothing that Serina can or ever would blame him for, but she worries like crazy when this happens.  All she just wants to help and support him as much as he does her.

For Xenres:                                                Looks: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10Personality: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10Attraction: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10Would they date them: yes | no | a solid ‘maybe’Favorite thing about them:  The sand creature is quite cunning, and in a strange way, charming.  On the surface, Xenres doesn’t seem like a bloodthirsty killer that would throw most things underneath a wagon to get what he wanted, and while she very much knows better, it helps her see the good in someone that – in every sense of the word – was created from bad.Least favorite thing about them: That aforementioned ‘bloodthirsty killer that would throw most things underneath a wagon to get what he wanted’ bit.  If there wasn’t a Zeke, that would just slightly be a deal-killer in terms of dating.

[animushr85]

>> @kindred-blades​

Anthony looked up from the table that had various documents scattered across the surface. He looked at the person’s attire before saying, “Do you have a reason on being here? If not, then I will be throwing you out of here in a mess once I’m done with archiving all this.”