Noblestuck: meuloz
In the southwest most corner of the trollian empire the tallest mountains on the entire continent collected together around a single harbour like several wolves gathered around a small rabbit. A lone patch of civilization. A harbour town of tents mixed with much older stone structures and a large old castle. The carnival as the locals had taken to calling it. The only city left in the entire makara lands with its back to the ocean castle mirth peered at the snow coated mountains that surrounded it. Pacing the halls of said keep was the young lord of the land. The patriarch of house makara, kurloz.
Kurloz was a very tall and slender man. Tall even for a purpleblood and especially for a man of his race. Combined with his lanky form he was less the hulking juggernaut his forbearers had been and more of a ghost. A wraith that moved around silently and elegantly. He spooked even his own people who had taken to calling him the ghost king. The fact that he decorated his clothes with animal bones arranged like ribs on his leather armour and painted his face like a skull further helped this image he had only half deliberately made for himself.
He frowned and looked over the long line of statutes that lined this hall. Eaxh standing in front of a sarcophagus. The family tomb. Generations of warrior kings and queens. Who had lead his people in to wars time and time again for glory and reasources. Kurloz hated them all. He glared at one statue in particular. In many ways it was a spitting image of kurloz if he had been more musclebound and hulking. The head had been broken off and glued back on, a large chunk chipped off the left side of its face. Kurloz hated his father the most.
During the last war over a decade ago the pyropes had decended upon them with such a fury. Intent on avenging their warmblood allies in the north and midlands the burned their way through the zahhaks who quickly surrendered and then started on the makaras. All the rage of a legion of berserkers means little to a dragon. Yet despite heavy losses his father would not surrender. Not until empress pexies herself ordered it. He spent the next several years in a drunken rage plotting a revenge that would never work in his lifetime there just wasnt enough of their people left. But abbadon makara refused to give up. Kurloz knew he would get his people killed given them chance. And so kurloz upstaged him. Not by trial by combat as had been tradition. But poison. Simple and clean.
But now kurloz was left trying to mend relations between his house and the other noble clans. He was the first makara to make that effort in generations. No body trusted him. He didnt blame them. But he had a long life ahead of him. "Time makes all things possible" he thought to himself.
He needed allies. He needed friends. They were making progress sure but it was slow. His little brother was making friends with some of the nobles second borns but even then they still kept him at a distance. People were at least polite though. Which was more then could be said when he first started this. Some individuals were even friendly.
He returned to his study. Down long dull halls and up a winding staircase to the highest tower. He slipped in quieter then needed. No one would bother him anyway. He sat at an old desk and spared a long look at a portrait. The eldest lejion daughter had sent him that one. It had been surprising the spark between them. Their familys had decades of hate between them with geography being the only thing to keep things from escalating. Yet the two of them found each other inviting. It was undeniable. They were in love.
Kurloz examined the details of the painting. A full body portrait of the forest princess. Clad in a lovely olive dress with an animal hide corset and a necklace of small bones resting just above her clevage. Her long black hair flowed freely with a few beads woven in here and there. A bright smile crossed her round face. Even in such a still painting her eyes looked alight with life. The corset was tested to its limits by meulins bulging bust which was just past head sized. Her belly also pushed the corset and dress outward a bit as the outfit did its best to contain her plump curvy figure. Kurloz knew this painting was outdated. She was likely even bustier by now.
He sighed contently at the thought of her. "Perhaps what we need is a wedding.." he thought to himself. It was brilliant really. Satisfying both romantically and strategicly. He could marry the woman he loved who just so happed to be from a family that had bad blood with his. What better way to settle old feuds. The great thing about being the oldest makara left and having no elder council left was there was no one to tell him otherwise. Tho only problem would be convincing the lejions.. well the lejions that weren't meulin. He would come to them. An old gesture of respect between the families. Though he wasnt sure if it would be appreciated by the lejion queen.
The eldest lejion, diana was a sort of warrior queen of the wild. Old traditions didnt mean much to her. That was both a blessing and a curse. He had his work cut out for him. But it was worth it.