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* Plot Information for Dea al Mon

Gale Galoneth, Queen of Dea al Mon is desperate. 11 of her 12 daughters have fallen ill to the mysterious Waste. While the Brood of the True Born try to conquer her Territory she has opened its borders to call for aid.
Culture of Dea al Mon
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Author Topic: Thorn Zalishevin  (Read 1830 times)

Description: Black Widow. Opal to Red. Played by Haloriel.

Offline Thorn Zalishevin

  • Character Account
    • opal2red
    • bw
    • Role

      Court Seer

    • Faction

      Territory Court

    • Territory

      Dea al Mon

    • Character Sheet

      [Link]

    • OOC

      Haloriel

    • Posts

      102

    • "The Twisted Kingdom is my Darkness."

    • View Profile
Thorn Zalishevin
« on: Jun 30, 16, 11:50:42 PM »
The Basics

Character Name: Rose* Thorn Zalishevin
Rank: Retired Sergeant (Red Cloaks)
Nicknames: Lady Thorn, Briar Rose, Bladed Thorn; *Named Rose for the wild variety that grow around her home, she began to call herself 'Thorn' after her enlistment in the Red Cloaks. It stuck, to her pride.
Age & Birthyear: 55 | 137 AP
Race: Dea al Mon [Medium Lived]
Caste: Black Widow
Birth Territory: Esgarth, Dea al Mon, Kaeleer
Home Territory: Esgarth, Dea al Mon, Kaeleer

Birthright Jewel: Uncut Opal
Offering Jewel:  Cut Red

Role: Court Seer
Faction: Territory Court - The Black Court

Appearance



Play By: Scarlett Johansson
Distinguishing Features: When it is not coloured by fine, delicate illusions, Lady Thorn, as she calls herself, possesses a rare true silver-blonde hair that practically shimmers in the moonlight and falls in fine, stunning waves past her hips when loose. She has long altered it with Craft that deepens the natural, true aristocratic hue to the palest soft blonde. For decades she's shifted the appearance, that with enough lost to the Brood and the Waste, few recall her real status, quite as she prefers it.

Her nails are typically worn long and beautifully embellished for the purpose of hiding the snake tooth, and are coloured to always match her attire. It may be noted the Aristo and retired Red Cloak Sergeant is keen in her preference of a meticulous neatness. Thorn will never be found with a wrinkle in one of her many gowns or lacking a perfect crease to a pair of well-tailored trousers. Despite the rich wealth of the family she was born into, or the status, she has a preference of using her own hands to tend as much of her needs as is appropriate.


Spoiler: Elegant Embellishments (click to show/hide)

Personality



Personality: Deliberately enigmatic, is the turn of phrase that comes to mind when dwelling upon Rose Zalishevin's personality, or Lady Thorn. Oblique by choice rather than nature, she has become to avoid revealing so much of herself that a single person is capable of understanding her weaknesses. Simultaneously, Thorn is giving and passionate despite this tendency of secrecy while being tuned toward listening and easing the mental suffering of others.

Compassion guides her more than might be immediately apparent, as does a private, intense and strange sense of honour often shrouded in a multifarious conundrum for those unwilling to both take a risk and pluck deeply while as well revealing themselves. A profoundly loyal woman when the opportunity and personality present themselves worthy of being followed, there are few things in the world she luxuriates in than adoring others as well as she is held prized. Though most would never guess in the least by her questioning, curious, and refined yet acrimonious tongue and  nature as well as blunt commentary regarding the Queen's politics, choices, and actions, as a woman born to a Queen herself, Thorn is very loyal to the Queen of Dea al Mon, possessing a particular understanding of what it means to be born into certain positions. 

It is the reason she remained for so very long in the Red Cloaks, though the requirement for service was a mere five years. Lady Thorn had remained for most of her life due to her respect for the weight of the position and the need.  She could hardly imagine the personal sacrifices one would need to take on to rule everything while trying to keep the people, the land, and love so many happy all at once without sacrificing the inner self. While the chances that she would speak the words are unlikely and would take a great deal of pressure, Thorn has a deep love for the bright lady that rules them all, much as her mother does. She would sooner cast herself into the Blighted forest before she would even consider acting against said loyalty.

The exceptional in life are what draws her near, but only when paired with a particular moral disposition, as well as personal gain.  If it is difficult to achieve, then chances are Thorn will consider chasing it, and once she has, the likelihood of her release is slim to none. After all, the lady has considered, true beauty and joy worth having will take as much as one has to give, if not possibly more. On a cursory glance, the woman appears every bit the sleek predator honed to a sharpened and precise purpose, and though controlled through decades of training, she burns every bit as hot as the hue of her gifted Jewel. It is only a fool or one seeking

Thorn, in her late teens and very early twenties, was known to have written a number of love poems under her true name rather than the one claimed to make service in the Red Cloaks less complicated. She fiercely loves being read to and adores reading poetic verse especially even if it is melancholy in form. Most of her written work was burned by her own hand after the death of Prince Aspen Rilindisil, a Warlord Prince she had been contracted to wed to some twenty-seven years previous. A few precious copies remain, rescued by her swift thinking mother, including her work after the loss of her beloved to the Waste, as well as the loss of the only child she has ever made the attempt for. It is one considerable example of her temperament both as a Black Widow and a blessing of her stance in the Darkness as a bearer of the Red. Her appetites for all that life has to offer, including the passionate enjoyment of food likewise mark her in in Caste, and Jewel strength.

If she fears the difficulties facing Dea al Mon society; the allowance of foreigners within the borders, the Brood, and the Waste among other matters, it will not be immediately apparent at face value. Thorn very much understands and empathizes with the conditional appearance of strength -- that one is safely and healthily able to maintain. Privately, she worries at the fate of their people, even in moments a blade edged and charming smile is situated upon her face while those enigmatic eyes of hers are windows to exactly nothing she does not wish seen.

That she is foremost a Black Widow is clear at the moment one makes her acquaintance, in the perfection of her attire designed to flatter every sensual curve she possesses while simultaneously armored with Craft enhanced layers and a variety of invisible protective webs, the ferocious need for touch as well as her willingness to give; Thorn holds considerable pride in the caste and what it represents, just as she still does the Red Cloaks. To her, fear is a phenomenon that will and can paralyze a person if it is so allowed. She finds it better to be cautious and maintain a careful respect of the matters she does not understand while as well not barring herself to learning and in her deepest heart of hearts, happiness. 

Likes:

  • 1 Floral Arrangements: There are few things that bring Thorn calm than arranging flowers in elegant pots to be admired and helped to grow. Like many Dea al Mon, she likes to be close to nature, but in this particular way, she claims it all for herself. One flower at a time, one breath is drawn, akin to a form of meditation in which she may self-reflect upon her actions, motives, and to especially bring the pressures of the days to a close. 

    It is an art she learned at her mother's knee, initially not allowed to touch the beautiful blooms. One day, not long after her Birthright Ceremony at nine years old, the gracious Queen Periwinkle handed her a flower with her soft, perfect hands both suited for the harp and throwing a knife simultaneously and simply said: 'with eyes open, place the rose where you will, but remember, even an action as simple as this has an effect. Do everything you can with full meaning and passion, and mayhap reward will follow.'

  • 2 Sparring/Weapons Practice: If flowers and surrounding herself with them and their multifaceted, beautiful scents calm Thorn immensely, then training with weaponry in the early hours of the day either alone or with a partner is as comfortable to the woman as some Aristocratic sorts consider gossip-mongering at court. The feeling of a pair of daggers or a sword in her hand, especially the perfect Craft touched, the fully balanced tang of a blade is nearly as soothing as the sensual. She might not be active among the Red Cloaks anymore and has chosen another path for her life rather than endless service in that quarter, but it has not changed her devotion to training, sparring, and keeping her body honed as best she can. 'I might be retired with honours, but that does not mean at any age I shall lack the ability to toss a recruit to their knees.'

  • 3 Being Touched/Caressed: Where some put up with attention from either men or women, even if the Blood are supposed to be more passionate, the Lady Thorn breathes it, craves those type of physical links with those closest to her to the point of a physical ache if she is unable, or her partner is unwilling. Just as she often picks through the joys and dislikes of those closest to her, their loyalties to test if she is likely to be able to withstand being close, it is in this way she finds completion, even with those that are considered friends alone. 

    With Protocol and court grace handled, Thorn is known for tight enduring embraces given with her whole self even when risking grave danger, such as in being the focus of a Warlord Prince's Rut.  To her, even then, the question is why thrive, why risk everything as one does with the potential for great sadness if not for passion so great that it makes for better Blood? To her, there are perhaps but two kinds of sex: rough and loving or rough and rough, and the closer violent edge that activity rides are all to the better. There is no reason not to give, and give, and give if it is for the sake of another.  Thorn only hopes for eventually having the same in return, so patiently, graciously, she waits.


    Dislikes:
  • 1 Compulsion/Force: The very idea of forcing someone against their own will to commit any kind of act makes Thorn's skin crawl in a way that will either enrage her or send the woman far away from anyone that professes to enjoy its use.  The abuse and misuse of the free will of others, their minds, and their bodies are nothing short of horrific. As a young woman prior to her Offering, she fell in with the wrong sort of male and was very nearly Broken by the Spear.

    It was the Warlord Prince Aspen Rilindisil that subsequently both saved her life, and killed the younger,  immature, and rough-handed Prince that nearly ended all of Thorn's aspirations as a newly arisen Black Widow. The event taught her not to retreat within herself with considerable effort and affection from her family. The younger Thorn took it upon herself from that moment to learn everything there was to know about her body and pleasure, and how to respond to it correctly, eventually leading to the immense wealth of confidence she now possesses within herself both sensually and socially. 'One would have believed with a name like Hemlock, I would have taken greater care.  Instead, he drew me in and nearly destroyed me.'

  • 2 Sanctums: While the chances of her uttering the truth of this are slim, Thorn has a deep dislike for the places that keep those afflicted with the waste cordoned off from the rest. While on the one hand, she understands that it gives hope to those that might wish their own loved one was healed and recovered, at the same time she wonders if the hope is all too false. For her own losses and those of others, it is a distant prayer that somewhere out in the world the Dea al Mon have long not seen or known, there is a cure or a solution that will not end in all of their people a mere memory or whisper in the Darkness.

  • 3 Sitting Still/Inactivity: Thorn, having been in the service to the Red Cloaks for decades, has quite the difficulty being idle or without a task. With nothing to do, or worse, being forced to sit still, she is prone to light movements that once before considerable patient training by her mother after the pleasant receiving of her Birthright Opal, were nothing more than jitters. Now, many years later, she is at least able to channel what to some might appear to be wanderlust but in this particular Black Widow is merely an expression of her very high passions going unused. A deeper study of Tangled Webs, and intricate Illusion practise being just a couple activities to avoid moodiness from having too little to keep her occupied.

    Fears:

  • 1 Losing Another Child/Family: A fear that seldom passes her lips due to how often Thorn finds the time, or interest to open herself to that particular pain, her deepest, greatest fear is the loss of another child before they might even be realised as a measure of hope. The stress from Prince Aspen's death, half her life ago now, caused her to miscarry the only piece of her beloved she still could claim: their unborn infant. While considerable time has passed since then, there are moments that the woman still wakes in a cold sweat with her Red jewel called to hand during the space between sleep and full consciousness, trembling all over from an old sadness as well as deep-seated rage never quite dealt with. 'My grief was suddenly turned to ashes in my mouth.  There are no words at all for it. My temper boils over at the mere thought.' She has been known to throw things when in a particularly dark and edged mood, though this is typically well controlled.

    This fear woven into her past links in with Thorn's present desires concerning Prince Valor Tanithil and ruthlessly buried fretfulness that despite her capability and formally marked interest in the gentleman, his curiosity of her will wane. Once more, despite careful concern given, she will be left alone to her tedious solitude. A dangerous place for a Black Widow. Very few are aware of the effort it has taken her to consider another strong male after her previous loss, including the valuable, First Circle Warlord Prince himself.

    It is part of the reason she has permitted so much of herself to remain a mystery to him over the years of their acquaintance even while being aware that sometime soon, presuming matters play out in her favour, revelation shall be required. What this may mean is an unknown, while her best Tangled Webs tell her nothing she is not already cognizant. The situation has Thorn carefully divided of mind between patience and wanting to demand answers, due to the distinctly vulnerable place she now rests. Thus, once more, even with cold fear wrapped around her every thought, she waits like the gracious lady and disciplined soldier she is.

  • 2 Loneliness to Insanity: Passion, followed by repeated steps along the edge of the Twisted Kingdom for greater knowledge has its risks, but so do loneliness and remaining apart from others, a lack of joy, or sudden rifts in the heart. Thorn watched her mother's sister, Thalia, one of her favourite people and another Black Widow lose her husband to the Waste, and then her own mind to the Twisted Kingdom with the shattering of her chalice. The weight of the loss of her last remaining sibling forever changed her mother; though the lady remained emotionally available to a large degree, that something is missing in the elder Queen has been well apparent for decades.

    As a result, Thorn is permanently aware in a manner she might not otherwise be of the troubles accompanying being what she is.  The possibility has not escaped that her own life could be so plagued with sadness that those that love her are forced to mourn her loss before she is physically dead. Additionally being unable to repair her Aunt Thalia's broken chalice is one of a number of matters that have caused the brightness of her smile over the years to wane and fade, wrapping more tightly into her fear of irreversible insanity. It is one matter to lose the self, she feels, but it is another to consider the thought that loved ones must endure the difficulty for the rest of the time they have left to them, never again knowing embrace or simple conversation. She takes her own learning and that of young, inexperienced Black Widows with a grave, unwavering seriousness as a result and attempts to control her own fear.

  • 3 Disappointing her Mother: Her final fear is that of the loss of her mother, Queen Periwinkle Larethis and the potential lack of completing her part of the advancement of the familial line prior to the elder woman's demise. The elder Queen is rather up in age for one of the Dea al Mon, and perhaps as a result of not having lost the elegant, silver-haired woman to any number of other matters, it is nearly a paralyzing, internally crushing fear that she will be unable to give the grandchild that has been sought for so very long. As the Matriarch and elder of the old, delicately influential, yet reserved Larethis family the Queen has always been a presence in her daughters and sons lives while choosing to allow each child to walk their own path despite expectations. 

    Thorn is well aware her mother is practically a relic of old, having been born scant years after the Purge, so in turn, she understands the defensiveness one might hold either due to a Queen's Bond, or simply being related to such a personage.  In her lifetime, though her own mother as only ever held the one, relatively small court without aspirations for greater, more expansive power than she possessed despite the stunning purity of bloodline, she has seen many a Queen come, and then go.

    The pair speak of it at times, the Waste pulling away from the best and brightest, and something ordinary without a clear purpose, and the risk of bearing children into that climate even considering the duty inherent. With all of her aunts and uncles now as well gone and the next generation taking precedent, in private, Thorn very nearly trembles with the immense fear that she will disappoint her lady mother, and the woman will perish without having seen all of her efforts go toward a continuance. Recently, she has needed to come to terms with the fact that the woman that birthed her will not survive for much longer, simply due to old age. 'She tells me that she has lived long, and loved very well.  I cannot hear this sound, I cannot take this fear, these claws around my heart. I need more time to learn her, to know her, to make her proud of me.'

    Craft Strengths:
  • 1 Black Widow: Illusion Craft - Thorn is particularly gifted with Illusions, and it was through this way that her mother and aunts first realised the direction of her gifts with delight. She makes use of illusions daily, and while is not one that will part with wearable ones for selling, finding the practice rather odd, she has always made them for friends that require a harmless, yet elegant alteration. It is in fact in this way that her silver-blonde hair so like her mothers is never seen in favour of the soft gold. A further method to distance herself from her deeply Aristocratic birth and upbringing.

  • 2 Poison Detecting and Curing - It can be said that for a Black Widow of her years and experience, that there are relatively few poisons that Thorn is unaware of and cannot cure with time, patience and care given.  The lady is not unskilled in any of the arts of her caste, having devoted herself to it with distinct and unabating passion regardless of how complex the Craft or how frustrating it has been to learn. She has gone through the particular effort for the ability set she possesses, making certain to learn the roots of each potential poison for creating them as well as curing, though her skill is somewhat less in crafting than resolving. Always her hope is to bring a good, solid name and reputation to the Hourglass Coven, and their leader.

    Craft Weaknesses:
  • 1 Compulsion Craft: For similar reasons that compelling anyone to do anything unnerves her, combining that skill or intimidation with Craft is something the woman finds utterly anathema and in short, disgusting. She cannot even remain in the same room where such a task is being performed, even if aware that it is perfectly safe. Thorn knows that these feelings are entirely irrational, but has never been able to deal with that particular piece of her psyche that was badly shaken as a young teenager, despite all of her personal talents.

  • 2 Trap Spells: While she is perfectly fine at security webs, and manual traps, combining these gifts seems to trip up somewhere in Thorn's mind rather ironically. The woman is either unable to wrap her head around a spell that can trap, or, she subconsciously does not care for the idea, thus, brushes off learning about it and improving what so ever, to her mother's eternal frustration. 'My lovely Rose is skilled at or at least has knowledge in many types of Craft, but she cannot manage a Trap Spell that my eight-year-old granddaughter understands. It has become something of a family jest.'


    Life Story

    Family*:

    Spoiler: Deceased Kin (click to show/hide)

    Mother: Periwinkle Larethis; The Smiling Queen; Matriarch of the Larethis Clan - Age: 175 - Ruling Queen of Linithor, Northern Esgarth in Bad Wildungen.  Aristo. Called also, The Happy Queen, Enduring One, Sweet Peri, by those that know her well. Tiger Eye - Purple Dusk (from family rolls)

    Father: Gallant Zalishevin. Age: 136. Prince. Aristo.  Master-of-the-Guard for Queen Periwinkle. Former lover to Periwinkle, fathered three of her children, including Thorn. Served twenty years enlisted in the Ebon Guard; final retiring rank, Master Chief. His grandmother was the previous Queen before Periwinkle of Linithor. Summer Sky - Opal (from family rolls).

    Aunt (paternal): Pear Zalishevin. Age: 106 Weather Witch. Full sister to Thorn's father, Gallant; First Circle for Queen Peri's court. White to Tiger Eye. (not rolled)

    Uncle (paternal): Lambent Zalishevin. Age: 135. Warlord. Full brother to Gallant. Ebon Guard Major. Purple Dusk to Green (not rolled). Three children, six grandchildren.

    Siblings:

    Eldest Sister (half): Charisma Rilindisil-Larethis. Age: 63. Queen.  Daughter to Queen Periwinkle and former First Escort Shore Rilindisil.  Purple Dusk - Sapphire (from family rolls). Took her father's surname out of contractual agreement after his death.

    Sister (half): Harmony Larethis. Age 62. Twin to Epic. Summer Sky - Green (not rolled) Court Poet, Flower-child and Pacifist.

    Eldest Brother (full): Valiant Zalishevin. Age: 84. Prince. Born of Queen Periwinkle Larethis and Master-of-the-Guard Gallant Zalishevin. Yellow to Summer-sky (not rolled).

    Youngest Brother (full): Urbane Zalishevin. Age: 67. Warlord. Born of Queen Periwinkle Larethis and Master-of-the-Guard Gallant Zalishevin. Tiger Eye to Summer sky (not rolled).

    Spoiler: Additional Siblings (click to show/hide)

    *Thorn has a literal multitude of cousins, nieces and nephews still living, even when considering those taken by the waste. While most are not immediately aware she is part of the ancient Larethis clan due her surname and the way she colours her hair, she remains very loyal to her kin, whom are in turn, very well known for their thousands of years of loyalty to the Queens of Dea al Mon. All family are within the Maternal Line unless otherwise marked.

    History:

    In the far north of Devinos lay a middling sized, deceptively sleepy, yet prosperous village. Linithor, it was called. For an Aristocratic family that was very much well blooded, their politics had always marched near or along with the wishes of the crown of Dea al Mon. Pureblooded, was what those in more populous areas would call them, but in Linithor, it was less unimportant. Rather, the bonds between the families trying to thrive through difficult times were far more so. Pleasant dealings, in exacting form, had always been the way, and refined wildness the path.

    Mountains on one side, the Closed Territories upon another while a pristine, freshwater lake was tucked against miles of upon miles of forest that dipped into a lush valley well known for its wine and trees perfect for musical instruments which were sparingly disturbed. These had been the views from Rose’s tower room, rounded as one might expect that of one of the Smiling Queen's daughters. A domed ceiling full of Craft-painted stars that reflected precisely the Night sky in any position she wished had been her present from her father at the age of five. A tiny Sapphire eyed, brilliant silver-blonde she'd been at that age, dressed in midnight for the first of many Funeral Rites. Even in Paradise, lay Strife and Pain. As Dea al Mon and the eldest of many of the Races of the Blood, we smile through it.

    With the passing of seasons that ceiling shifted, teaching the curious, ferocious girl about time and its weight from her very beginnings.  With all the beauty in her life, however, it had never been possible to shut out the existence of the Waste and Brood. Even if one looked upon Linithor, where the lady had grown up away from most every large court intrigue, grief had touched the land for as long as she had been able to recall.  By the time of her Birthright Ceremony at the age of nine, Rose had worn mourning attire more than she had been out of it.

    Her Ceremony was late because her mother, Queen Periwinkle, had been anxious due to her initial unwillingness to speak out loud like others her age, instead choosing to communicate in other creative ways that small children do. It was not until the girl was six that she spoke a word out loud, and when asked why she whispered in a then tiny soprano: ‘I did not want my Queen sad if I spoke it in a poor form’.  Except for the court her mother ruled, which was reasonably quiet by comparison to what she would later come to understand, the girl that would eventually call herself Thorn had a rigorous education in Protocol and Craft prior to the manifestation of her Widow's Caste. For as long as Rose had been aware, her mother has ruled, so it offered a specific perspective upon life for the young lady, and eventually woman. Queens rule the land, and all else follows.  Such was the way of the world and all perfection in it.  In this beautiful place, she had taken her first steps as a child when her elder siblings were already adults and taken to honoured service, both military as well as other courts.

    That desire to serve held clear as she grew, and intensified.  The knowledge that all of her kin and those of the other families she was introduced to and acquainted with in the same age-play groups for the early forming of alliances and friendships taught her particularly about people, their habits and preferences.  It offered a gentle echo in which she would much later apply to her Widows’ craft in both learning illusions until her own were nearly impossible to detect unless one was well trained to do so.  This learning was only second to her choice to take upon the burden of understanding poisons and how to cure them thoroughly.  If she could not help her people with the Waste in any way, Rose knew she would at least give where she was able. 

    Indeed, it was not until a year or so before her parents began to quietly discuss ideas for her Virgin Night that she met a young Prince a mere decade older than her at her mother’s court that introduced himself as Hemlock Parsalien.  He’d possessed the greenest eyes she believed she had seen and was darker gemmed than her Opal Birthright with a Descent Blood Opal.  Not what her parents would have considered appropriate for a first interest, the unclaimed child of one of the court Musicians and one of Queen Periwinkle’s Third Circle ladies, but there it was all the same.

    It bloomed, attraction, and as many a young woman, she tucked the warning signs away at the first protests from her mother and aunt in particular. Run, her instinct said, but blind to them she was.

    A rough, wild and relatively poorly trained male, there were enough rumours to make a young untried girl curious but nearly every adult wary, yet not quite enough to have the male removed from her mother's court, even with its harsher standards.  Prince Hemlock grew to know dear Rose as well as he needed and was interested. Then came triumph, or so the man believed.  He chose to try and take what it was he wished by force, even though Rose was hardly prepared for the sensual.  Trained enough of standard Craft combined with a limited understanding of self-defense she had been, the first pressures of the moment had not immediately broken her and gave time for an older Warlord Prince favoured by the family to find where Hemlock had dragged Rose and intervene — one Aspen Rilindisil, possessed of a Green Jeweled Descent.

    For his pains in trying to break a daughter of a Queen, without question, Aspen snapped Hemlock’s neck, not bothering to sully his hands withdrawing blood and cause greater inquiry. The male’s mother quietly left the court, and it was discovered sometime afterward that the lady took her own life. Matters quieted from there, but the sense of unease remained for years to follow, and for three entire years Rose sneered at the very idea of a Virgin Night. All the while, the Warlord Prince Aspen remained near and grew to learn the young woman he had saved without seeking gains.

    It was this man, some fifty years her senior that eventually performed her Virgin Night after they were able to bond some three years after the event and deeper training both demanded by Rose’s mother and at the time, remaining Maternal Aunt. Thankfully, though late much like her Birthright Ceremony had been - she had been twenty to his almost seventy-five - it was a very fine match and went well for the pair.  At the time in her lack of experience even, Rose was a curious, voracious lover, dominant in bed at the same time that she was giving and yielding when required. All of these things was she, though one that Prince Aspen said she was quite pressed him closer than expected to his boiling point for a mere youth. It could have been argued that from that evening, Rose began to court the elder Warlord Prince as boldly as she dared, given that he was only Bonded to his Queen in service rather than love.

    Within a year, Rose had taken her Offering to the Darkness and arose with a stunning, cut red gem to match the warm pride she possessed of her uncut Opal.  Her training both in the Widow’s arts and the control of the new, depth she could slip within the Abyss deepened and took on a much more serious tone, for it altered her personality and manner quite a bit more sharply toward the ideals of one violent and violently passionate. Another matter was, for her to be a Light Jeweled Black Widow on the cusp of true Darkness, rather than standing full and firm in the depths of the Abyss.

    There was a respected difference in which even the Warlord Prince Aspen treated her as well, afterward, shifting from that of a man humouring a woman curious about herself and her needs to a woman worthy of being courted.  It was as well during this time, at near twenty-two that Rose enlisted in the Red Cloaks as was expected of her - and dropped the dreamy, yet sharp beauty of her given name of ‘Rose’ in favour of the simple, and more direct ‘Thorn’ that marked a sharp shift in the manner she received others. She first began to use illusions to colour her hair to the pale gold it is presently known for at this time, even while the perfect moonlit hue remains the truth of the matter to this day, but no one has seen the real colour since.

    Part of the reasoning was the missions she was sent on -- as a Black Widow, the aristocratic purity of her hair stood out and marked her as a valuable target for enemies in particular. The secondary, of course, was finding greater ways to fit in with her fellow sisters based solely upon merit than her appearance. It was as well during this time that Thorn would truly begin to hone the depth of her interest in the Darker Arts of Widow's Craft and other Combat Craft - ever and always stopping short of Compulsion.  Though Prince Hemlock had died at her trembling feet, that direction of learning still sent the hardening Thorn into convulsions in private that she had to learn to control, only making it as far as needing to leave a room when such 'gifts' were in use. To this day, she can not abide overly soft beds, the smell and taste of honeyed-wine, very green-eyed men, or nasally tenors.

    Later, she would end up being the focus of Aspen’s Ruts until both families decided that they were a suitable match for a marriage contract due to the fact she could meet him step for step in his passions, though he was bound to another of the nearby village Queens.  Despite this, Thorn remained within the Red Cloaks, tending to her duties as expected until she fell with a child at which point she had no choice but for the health of herself and her unborn to take a leave of absence from military service.  Of course, it was all completed with joy, for the expected wedding that would eventually take place of the only daughter that Queen Periwinkle shared with Prince Gallant, one of her dearest lovers and Master-of-the-Guard of her court.

    Before the marriage could actually occur and some short months after Prince Aspen had accepted the terms of the contract and Thorn’s delicate, happy announcement that she was perhaps a moon gone with child - the reserved, intense gentleman found himself afflicted with the Waste. The last time they had touched and kissed, that he had held her spun sharply in both of their minds — and within the hearts of all that had known the couple well. Her parents had to force her away from him despite the progression of the illness, and it was not until she was reminded of the risk to their child that she relented and conceded.  Yet, rather than lingering, he succumbed very rapidly to her horror. Prince Aspen’s death was final more swiftly than the young Black Widow could come to proper terms with it.   She had been twenty-five when he perished.

    It was fine, despite the rage that gripped her so roughly that it kept her up at night.  She was able to handle the man’s swift, violent demise because they had created something together in their alliance and with love, until one day she wasn’t well and the pain had become too much to bear.  Despite the Healers her mother had attend her, it seemed that fate had reached in and taken what remained of her joy. 

    Thankfully, the event that caused her miscarriage — a night terror in which she instinctively called for her red jewel — did not cause her barrenness.  It took a very long time, considerable mind healing, and counselling for Thorn to actually forgive herself, even though one could hardly control what is done in the space between sleep and wakefulness. It was not for another year afterward, with Thorn’s twenty-sixth name day that she returned to the Red Cloaks.

    Having nothing to lose made her more ruthless than she had ever previously been. Repeatedly she refused reputation gains, promotions until her mother had to step in and force her to accept one, then the second advancement up to Sergeant. She routinely accepted the worst possible missions, and every time, returned almost entirely unscathed while those that moved against her were unilaterally obliterated. When she did not and was wounded, her focus remained obsessively upon her healing, enough only to return to her duties again. 

    In the meantime, her training in the Widow’s craft continued and enhanced, she pressed herself hard enough that many others would have snapped from the exceedingly complex Craft, tedium and forced discipline.  Four times a year she allowed herself a single week for pure recklessness, to let loose and catch up on all the physical contact she needed as a Black Widow, to keep from slipping into the Twisted Kingdom and not rising from it.

    Eventually, a decade passed, and over time Thorn’s manner began to soften, though only just. It was not however for twenty years afterward, the lady forgave herself finally for what had come before.  In gentle measure, she started to tiptoe back into seeking out old friendships, to find some able to resume, and others not due to a variety of deaths.  It was at that point, some seven years previous that she promised herself that as a woman of the Blood she wouldn’t hold herself responsible for what could not be prevented.  The lesson had been a long, hard time in coming. 

    Three years afterward that decision would bear the most unexpected fruit: a petition to the Queen Gale Galoneth for honoured service in the Black Court of Dea al Mon due to the suggestion from her father to take up responsibility furthermore away from her mother and the pressures therein. She took time to tour the Black Castle just as everyone else did that was curious about the inner workings of the realm, and decisions made there.  It was when with her brothers and outside, some middling distance away that the Black Widow first came across the Warlord Prince Valor Tanithil by more than a nebulous name of a First Circle court member well out of her own reach, she had decided, related as he was even by half degrees to royalty.

    Stunning. Handsome, if not younger than expected. The image of his saintly father, it was said - except Thorn knew better.

    That was until he pinned his focus solely upon her for a Rut.  Everything changed, from that point.  There had been a choice at the time that was very well understood.  She could have demanded her brothers protect her and risk them being killed or worse, or consider the few other Protocol correct options beyond the one she made at the time. However, his touch at the time had made her head spin.

    Acceptance entire.

    It was shocking to discover that going for a walk and singing the poetic verse that later turned out to be lost pages belonging to the Warlord Prince in question, with her brothers on guard would have caused such attention to fall upon her. True, she was the daughter of a strong Queen, but by the standards of the Dea al Mon at large, one could certainly argue that position and come up on either side. She had taken the time to entertain her elder siblings, assigning advanced musical pitching to pair of some of the oldest love ballads known to their people, on a whim.

    There had been half her lifetime in passing and never again had she expected such a gift, as she saw it, would be ever offered to her again.  Of course with both hands, she seized upon the opportunity and matched the man step for step, passionate rush for exchange. It began the tentative foray into an off and on again … relationship in which she understood he was curious enough about her not to walk away.  Or something akin to it that not only seemed to deeply confuse Prince Valor as to her motives but also where they would go from there. 

    Four years afterward and still, the man continued returning to her. Unexpectedly, to her own more than delighted surprise that she gently tucked privately away, choosing to remain blunt only about her immense sensual interest in him.  A proposal, her idea, after some further months and he ... continued to want more. Yet as it was actually sanctioned by her mother Queen Periwinkle, to his mother, the Black Widow and Lady Tanithil, it meant for Thorn waiting for those that outranked her to make a choice. Easier said that it had ever been done, just akin to the first time she had done so.

    Simplistic in the way to clear up her motivations rather than needing to actually explain herself, without needing to say that her purpose for being at court when they met had been of the highest honour, though at once she wondered how much would be apparent or revealed the next they met. It had cut sharply and by some surprise, not to mention all of the skill she possessed to hide that fact when he had said: 'do not return unless you have an appointment'.

    It had been her mother’s prodding all along, or at least, that was what Thorn told herself to sleep better at night.  She did sleep better, at least, after those evenings of puzzling conversation that ended with kisses that seared her mind out of her body. Now with her hands full of a charming man that had to be too good for her, and another acceptance burning a hole between tongue and teeth of an offered position for Third Circle of Queen Galoneth’s court, the Black Court … Now, with all the pieces on the board ahead of her, with everything to lose once more, the weight was a pressing one that bid her caution. With borders open to the rest of Kaeleer by the Queen’s command, perhaps soon the former Sergeant would find out what would follow.  Lady Thorn only hoped that there would be no more loss, that for once, their people would finally have something to gain.


    Show Us What You've Got


    Character in Play:

    Musical Embellishment: Give A Little More(Spotify)

    Rose, sweet Rose … where goes your briars, my darling?

    Where goes your blooms, redder than life’s blood?

    THORN!


    The Black Widow shook her head to clear it, rousing from her reverie and drawing in a breath, slowly, steadily. She was very tired of tarrying for his sake, but far more, her own reluctances. Enough to the point that the news of the shift in her status did not bring her the joy and soothe the restlessness in her it previously had. Rather, she primarily felt trepidation and unease. 

    Now you’ve been bad, and it goes on and on, and on …

    Thorn tapped her fingers to the point that she risked breaking a finely filed nail, and wouldn’t that have been a damned shame.  The headaches and jitters that she tended to get when very much lacking a steady source of physical touch were nearly draining, and while she knew she could have gone to a variety of men or even women to ease the trouble, she froze at the idea.

    Til you come home, ’til you come home …

    What if there was a point in which Prince Valor did send for her despite the error she had made, and he smelled one of them on her? Or worse, she had misunderstood greater than believed. Sensed their Psychic residue? She had made him no promises what so ever, and at the same time Thorn was not an idiot; she had learned a variety of lessons over the decades regarding his calibre of male and moreover, Caste.  Entertaining the whims and needs of a Warlord Prince was nothing akin to any of the other castes of males. Nothing.  They were truly in a realm of their own, much like her kind.  It had been a long time, which offered its own special ache, but she had never forgotten it.  Pieces of her broken heart lurched in her chest. 

    You taste best, the poison I’ve learned to love is gone …

    Old scars, old breaks, decades later caused her to tense, though lately, she had done more of that than was usual. Thorn swept her hands down her lovely face; they trembled.  It was both a dangerous matter and a more delicate one than Thorn had initially realised she dealt with, considering the man was bonded to their ruling Queen, even for the sake of a platonic tenderness, it mattered. And younger, rather than older than her, which would have made matters easier. She remembered everything at his age. The whole world burned hotter just for you, and if it wasn't desired, it made sensations greater torture.

    I’m all alone baby, I’m all alone.

    Much as she could not risk herself in this arrangement, she did not dare do anything but tread very gently.  Too many other hearts and potential alliances, the health of the realm itself could no doubt be tilted on its axis further if she toyed with him as some women might have been inclined.  Ah, but where was precious honesty in this? Where were those blessed complications? Thorn had been gentle, but not nearly as much as she could have been. Yet to open that box was a risk and a grave one. What if history deigned to repeat itself? The thought made the Black Widow want to curl up and cease to exist.

    I’m waiting for something, always waiting.

    Presently, she held residence in her mother’s home in Nieste, having been directed to make use of the elegant house while here and trying to make a decision upon what it was she intended to do. The Third Circle was not a minor position, and was, in fact, more than she had expected … having presumed, a decline. It was not something she could refuse now that a creeping of delicate strands of fear entered the equation like grains of sand rolling across the landscape.

    Feeling nothing, wondering if it will ever change …

    Court positions were after all, difficult to obtain and even more so to keep and that included at the village level of her mother’s court, which was steady with requests even in their far-flung location to the north. Thorn could hardly imagine the inundation received for the presently nearby Black Castle. That she had received the acceptance meant little enough, what mattered most would be her ability to maintain and keep it. Followed by tending it honourably, with grace and the precise Protocol that her mother's name, even if she did not make use of it, demanded.

    Then I give a little more, ooh baby …

    While some might presume her agreement or presence in the Warlord Prince’s life meant she was owed his aid, that was exactly the opposite of what she believed, holding a hardline opinion that her honour was her own concern, as was any gain, or downfall.  She had not chosen to serve because of him, but for the fulfillment of a dream, she had as a small child, that one day, regardless of her name, she would serve the Queen of Dea al Mon. That he believed otherwise of her questions, hurt, even now.  But why? Previously she would never have permitted anyone that much of a foothold upon her thoughts, but almost against her will, the manner in which Prince Valor commented that she pursued him when he ran ...

    Thorn swallowed.  It was not precisely accurate. 

    Give a little more, ooh baby …

    She craved service, always had, almost as much as a man — or a woman’s fingers over her flesh.  Thorn was not choosy as far as the gender went.  In her time she had been known to thrust her pretty face to pleasing a male as well as a lady, be she a Queen, Healer or more than one of those options.  Once more her lips flicked upward in an almost sweet smile, and for the roughest of moments, it actually held before withering away. Aware there was a distinct chance she could take all of this effort just to need to start yet again made her not want to think at all.

    I’m not falling in love with you, I’m not falling in love …

    Rising from the chaise she reclined upon, a sapphire gaze took in the little dance room while Thorn neatened her attire.  She could not have what it was she wished without specific effort taken.  Her lips twitched, and a faint stubbornness moved through the woman’s face.  Understanding very well why their last meeting had occurred the way it had and why had taken much self-reflection and finally, acceptance.  Lithe fingers flexed while grasping at the red gown that slid almost like water down her hourglass figure, fingers freezing at the mark that lay exposed upon her left breast. Her breathing stuttered before she slid her right ring finger along the silvered-pink marking.

    I’m not falling in love with you, I’m not falling in love …

    She would never have done so in his presence, but her lashes fluttered gently at the touch, while Thorn’s almost too full lips kicked upward on the left.  A bevy of mirrors took up two of the walls in this room — which was her favoured other than the sparring round, gardens and the music room.

    ’Til I get a little more from you, baby …

    For a Black Widow, ballroom dance among a group of people, the more complex the better, was one way in which she could work through her abilities in understanding the movements of others.  In this case, however, Thorn needed more to understand both sides, both the self and the man she had focused upon. Pale tongue crested the lower lip, while she could not help but immediately recall Valor’s mouth on hers.  It had begun to eclipse the painful memories of Prince Aspen’s touch …

    … Somewhat.  Fuck.

    She winced and curled her arms around herself, rocking side to side and a keening, soft sound eased from her lips and rather than delving into that memory, with all of the …shock it held, instead, Thorn rolled her fingers upon a musical globe and seconds afterward burst into movement, eyes closed as she allowed the very loud music to vibrate through her and push everything else away.

    Get a little more from you, baby …

    In red, tall and thin heels that matched her gown she began to pirouette through the centre floor, long legs keen to eat up the floor in her exploration of it.  Heartbeat quickened, she exulted in it as the power of her arms joined the graceful leaps and twirls across the floor, the goal being to wear herself down until she dropped.

    I have no defense,  I know you’re going to get me in the end …

    Thorn imagined the room full of dancers she was required to not even so much as brush near with the slightest bit of fabric from her gown or even look toward.  A room full of people while the truth of the matter was solitude. She twirled and spun, trailing ends of her gown lifting to reveal curvy thighs that still held tightly to the lean musculature despite her shift in duties.  Sweat began as delicate dew; frustration built as she accepted this was not the kind of workout she wanted at all. Still, she danced until black spots swirled before her eyes, and finally, Thorn tripped and slid on her knees across the floor. 

    Going to get me in the end …

    The pain of her fall was embraced; the Black Widow remained silent even with the odd feeling that vibrated through her legs and she leaned forward to rest against the elegant, black wooden and silk covered chaise that her movements had come to a stop near, ironically, right where she had begun. 

    I cannot pretend …

    Her hair, which had been tightly coiled at the nape of her neck now lay in wild waves around her frame.  Breathing sharply through her nose, she considered a pale blonde series of strands. It had been a long time, decades even since she had seen the natural hue.  Since anyone had.

    I never want to feel this way again …

    The frustration cannot be blamed.  There was much about her that she locked away in small compartments, so as not to need to deal with them at that moment.  Suddenly, she knew what was required; it would not be easy.  Was anything that was worth every breath have a purpose in revelation, though the greater question — was Valor Tanithil worth every breath?

    I’m not falling in love with you, I’m not falling in love …

    Both the simple and the complex answer arose; she did not require a Tangled Web to know.  Her next task, she prayed to the Darkness would call for the drop of a curtain, for she would need the additional flare.

    I’m not falling in love with you, I’m not falling in love …


    Player Name: Haloriel
"Do they not bleed from the bite of a Thorn?"

Offline Haloriel

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Re: Thorn Zalishevin
« Reply #1 on: Jun 30, 16, 11:54:11 PM »
All right.  Lets go with a General Random and see what coolness pops up. -quietly rolls a D20-

Also, five family rolls if I may, please and thank you.

-Haloriel
"The difference between true nobility and false is this. One is gold put to the use of paving stones. The other is tin polished to ape a service of silver. Both are cruel."
♪ Writer's Tracker | A Midnight Dreaming Rose ♪




Offline phinneas

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Re: Thorn Zalishevin
« Reply #2 on: Jul 01, 16, 11:04:16 AM »
Per your request for a General Random roll...
Weighed by Mother Night...

You've risen from the Darkness twice blessed with an uncut Opal birthright Jewel, and were gifted with a cut Red Jewel at your offering.

&

Congratulations!

And your five family rolls...

1. Tiger Eye - Purple Dusk
2. Summer Sky - Green
3. Purple Dusk - Sapphire
4. Yellow - Rose
5. Summer Sky - Opal
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Re: Thorn Zalishevin
« Reply #3 on: Jul 01, 16, 07:04:24 PM »
That's a hell of a d20!!! I'm borrowing!







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Re: Thorn Zalishevin
« Reply #4 on: Jul 03, 16, 06:15:01 PM »
You may of course borrow my D20.  ;D

That said, I am finally prepared to have this one reviewed, thank you!

-Haloriel

"The difference between true nobility and false is this. One is gold put to the use of paving stones. The other is tin polished to ape a service of silver. Both are cruel."
♪ Writer's Tracker | A Midnight Dreaming Rose ♪




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Re: Thorn Zalishevin
« Reply #5 on: Jul 11, 16, 11:48:38 AM »

This application has been reviewed!

Check your private messages for feedback. When you have made the requested changes please reply to this post and let us know you are ready for the next round!

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Offline Haloriel

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Re: Thorn Zalishevin
« Reply #6 on: Jul 11, 16, 02:10:55 PM »
-leaps on a dragon-

Hit meh!

Once more, unto the breach!


I mean. I am prepared for round two. Please review my verbose monstrosity.

My gratitude.  ;D

-Haloriel
"The difference between true nobility and false is this. One is gold put to the use of paving stones. The other is tin polished to ape a service of silver. Both are cruel."
♪ Writer's Tracker | A Midnight Dreaming Rose ♪




Offline phinneas

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Re: Thorn Zalishevin
« Reply #7 on: Jul 11, 16, 05:34:06 PM »
phinneas@bloodrites.net  •  Discord: phinn#0798  •  Writer Tracker


 

 

anything