Blood Rites

Plot Information => Plot Tracking => Writer's Tracker => Topic started by: DragonGirl on Dec 21, 17, 11:03:49 PM

Title: All That Is Gold Does Not Glitter
Post by: DragonGirl on Dec 21, 17, 11:03:49 PM

Elenor al-Sabbah ( - Queen of the Sabbah
Nayarreh al-Sabbah ( - Ice Cream Shop Owner, True Sabbah Loyalist
Mehdi al-Sabbah ( - Gardener
Jasper al-Situla ( - Aubdina Escort and Part-Time Adventurer
Torin al-Jinan ( - Escort to the Voice of the Jinan
Shira al-Sabbah ('s-registry/shira-al-sabbah/) - Prophet and Second to the True Sabbah
Khosro al-Hague - Protector of the Geiba Survivors
Miriam al-Bakka - Healer Savior of Pruul (and Evil Sand Worm Wrangler)

Dena Nehele
Petra Constantin ( - Slave and Badass Priestess
Hanna Constantin ( - Healer, Sister, Mother
Gabriel Silvarin ( - Itinerant Coach Driver and FailPacifist

Alis Clery ( - Queen of Clan Clery
Arietta O’hEachthighearna ( - Musician and Monkey Wrangler

Little Terrielle
Merrihem Striker ( - Headmaster of a School, Spymaster to a Queen

Fayrian Avilor ( - Broken Queen and Landen Rights Activist

Taracena Omah ( - Mind Healer and Zen Master

Maud Tolousse ( - File Clerk and her Purse Dog
Henriette 'Riona' Rousseou - Dark Haven Patient
Florian De La Fontaine - Gentleman, Adventurer, Trend Setter, Great Smile!

Akane no Akimoto - Queen of Ito



Title: Re: All That Is Gold Does Not Glitter
Post by: Elenor al-Sabbah on Mar 15, 18, 06:39:29 PM
Elenor Lirion al-Sabbah: (
Tracker (
Rose to Opal Queen
Currently in Pruul
Playby: Laura Berlin
Queen of a hated people, Elenor Lirion walked out of the desert to lead the Sabbah on a path of redemption after the horrors they committed. With enemies closing in from outside her Clan as well as within, she must find a way to restore the Sabbah's name while not allowing it to fall under the harsh sanctions imposed on it by Saiph al-Kaid, and the damage done by their previous Voice. Her biggest obstacles, though, are not those rallying against the foreign Queen in their midst or the changes occurring all over Pruul but rather a lifetime of isolation and fear that left her with a chalice only a hair away from cracking.

Writing Sample

Sand stretched in every direction. Elenor stood atop a dune and felt the wind whip through her hair, a roaring, like the sea, rumbling in her ears. She turned around in an attempt to find the source of the noise but there was nothing, not until she felt something wet on her bare feet and looked down. There were slices along her forearms, but instead of blood, water oozed down from them and along her fingers only to drop and darken the sand. Elenor frowned and raised her hand to her lips, tasting the water. Salty like blood and flowing faster now, first dripping, then trickling then gushing from her wrent-open flesh. Panic rose within her. She looked around for something to staunch it, but she noticed with a start that she wasn’t clothed. In desperation she flung herself down to her knees, pressing handfuls of sand to the wounds but they did nothing to stop the flow of water. Her head spun, and she pushed her arms further into the sand, a dark circle expanding out from where Elenor knelt.

Something moved in the sand before her under the surface. As she watched, a green shoot pushed through the damp sand, growing far faster than it sprouted. It split into two tiny leaves, then four. Around it other plants began emerging from the sand, faster and faster as Elenor looked on in awe and horror, the water in her body nourishing this new and foreign life in the desert she loved.

The sand became loamy against her skin. Tall grass swayed all around her, bushes and trees sprouting and growing and maturing until she could hardly see the desert anymore. Her limbs felt heavy, heart slowing with each beat, with each drop of salty water that drained into the earth even as the hair on the back of her neck rose, the unmistakable feeling of being watched rising within her.

From behind her she heard a cracking sound. Her head swiveled to the side, trying to find where it had come from. Four great trees stood behind her, a sapling in their midst, each with bark that twisted and wove with images grown into the bark. One had horses racing up the trunk, another a worm twisting around it, and a third had a spider staring out at the roots. It was the fourth that caught her attention because unlike the others it has cracked down the middle, a jagged end of an Eyrian war blade made of crystallized salt rising from the heart of it, pushing the two halves further and further apart.

Elenor woke with a scream, sitting up in bed from where she had been curled up with Judiah. Her skin was slick with sweat, whole body shaking. A moment later Matin burst into their tent, only to be followed by Luc, half her Court and a lot of yelling until Elenor managed to shakily assure them all that it had just been a bad dream, that there was no danger, no really, there was nothing at all wrong, and could they please leave right now and stop fucking hovering.
Title: Re: All That Is Gold Does Not Glitter
Post by: Nayarreh al-Sabbah on Mar 15, 18, 06:41:24 PM
Nayarreh al-Sabbah: (
Rose to Purple Dusk Hearth Witch
Currently in Pruul
Playby: Eisha Singh

Mother to two Geiba orphans, owner of the finest (and only) ice cream shop in Onn, friend to the First Escort of the Sabbah Court, Naya is a Hearth Witch with a mission. She and her Warlord wife, Elham, have championed the cause of the Geiba orphans from the day the Tribe was massacred. They took in their two sons, Barin and Yari, and are also raising Matin al-Sabbah's Queen daughter, Salma, while he works as First Escort to the Queen of the Sabbah. They are members of the True Sabbah faction but do not get involved in the violence or plots of Zhaleh, preferring to offer support to those who support her instead. Naya is a flirtatious, bossy, kind and welcoming woman, with a love for life and a genuine desire to do good for Pruul.

Writing Sample

Naya had slowly been coming out of the dark. At first she didn’t realize it was happening. The food she brought to her mouth didn’t taste like sawdust anymore, but it didn’t taste like food either. Touch started to bring her warmth, but it wasn’t heat yet. Still, things were improving. She could remember everything about Elham and the night they were married, though the rest of the festival was only a blur of colors and whispered condolences and tears. They could have watered the Clan for a week on the tears shed in those few days, but tears were salty. Such a bitter irony.

Her father was worse than she was. When Naya had some of her clearer moments she sat and spoke to him softly, laying her head on his lap and whispering pleas for him to eat and talk to her, much as Elham had done for Naya.

Day by day, her life took on color again, though always under the shadow of the souls no longer with them. She missed her mother and aunt and grandparents, but most of all she missed Michka. She had been so young…

A week after the massacre Naya had woken screaming in the night, and had not been able to rest until her hurried message had reached the High Priestess of the Clan and returned with the assurance that Matin and Salma had gotten out alright. She had slept for almost a day after that. But time did, if not heal, at least numb the wounds, and with each passing day Naya resumed a minute of two more of her life. The day Elham came home to the first meal Naya had cooked she had seen the tears and the hope in her love’s eyes. When the little Hearth Witch spent a whole day sorting, reorganizing and streamlining their camp, Elham had just pitched in silently, a small smile on her lips.

As weeks turned to months, breathing became normal and thoughtless again, and remembering stopped being synonymous to weeping. When at last Naya felt like her feet were under her again, unlikely to get knocked flying by a stray breeze, she returned to life in the camps. Quieter than she had been before, she worked and cooked, took down and put up tents, hauled water, fed and milked their goats, and started finding flickers of joy in those activities again, at least when she didn’t think of learning to do them side by side with her cousin, or at her mother’s hip.
Title: Re: All That Is Gold Does Not Glitter
Post by: Torin al-Jinan on Mar 16, 18, 09:58:16 PM
Torin al-Jinan: ('s-registry/torin-al-jinan/)
White to Tiger Eye Warlord
Currently in Pruul
Playby: Pej Vehdat

Escort and constant companion to Lady Adavera al-Jinan, Torin has been by her side to protect her and keep her temper in check since she was brought out of the mines. Hopelessly in love with the woman he has sworn his service to, he has patiently waited and helped Vera recover from the physical and mental wounds the mines left. He hopes that one day she might return his love, but in the meantime, Torin will content himself with glaring at any who approach her. 

Writing Sample

He ground his teeth as she spoke of Saladin so... positively. Lumping him into a group that Torin had been fine sharing with Lady Vidanic, who was a professional called in to help Vera, but not nearly as inclined to welcome another male who had managed in one afternoon something Torin had not in years. That tightening of the jaw was all the outward indication he gave to his feelings though, refusing to bring his own anger and frustration into this place that had so recently been one of triumph for the woman he loved.

With another man.

“Fine, I won’t gut him.” No promises about stabbing him elsewhere, though. Although even as he thought it, Torin knew he would do no such thing, not because of anything Saladin had done to merit clemency, but simply because such an action would upset Vera. That was unacceptable. So he would be polite, but only polite. Warmth or friendship was something he doubted would ever blossom between himself and the Voice of the Tabur, not after he had touched Torin’s witch.

His attention went from daydreaming of running his Khanjar along Saladin’s skin back to Vera as she pondered how she was able to work through that final step that had separated her from the world and from him for these long years of recovery. “It did seem a bit...impulsive, but you always have been brave when your temper is up.”

He remembered the day she had stood in front of the crowd to denounce Adramelech as if it were yesterday. That had been another moment when he had felt this way, both immensely proud and entirely angry at her. Proud of her daring, her honor, her sense of justice. Furious at her for putting a target on her back when she could not run from the fight that was about to break out. He had killed for her that day. He would not have to this one, and that was a pity. There was a certain calm in solving his problems at the end of a sword instead of with words.

“Speaking to the Priest would be good, I think. These demons have been with you too long, Adavera. I would see you free of them...for both our sakes.” That was as close as he could come to tell her, to admit to how deep his devotion ran, how much he loved her. She didn’t need the weight of that love on her shoulders; they already bore far too much.
Title: Re: All That Is Gold Does Not Glitter
Post by: Jasper al-Situla on Mar 16, 18, 10:05:31 PM
Jasper al-Situla: (
Opal to Red Prince
Currently in Pruul
Playby: James McAvoy

Jasper was born and raised to serve the Aubdina of Pruul. Now that the grandparents who raised him have returned to the Darkness, Jasper is on a Quest to find the Aubdina that his mother saw would be his to protect in a vision. Once he finds her, he intends to dedicate his life to her service and make sure that she is protected from everything, even herself. Cheerful and adventurous, Jasper also plays escort to his old friend Aahad as he explores the mysteries of Pruul with his band of misfits.

Writing Sample

Jasper had watched her for months. One could not live in Dar-el-Salaam for as long Jasper had and not hear of Hadjara al-Izar, nor could one walk the streets of Onn without hearing about the Holy Priestess of the Mineborn, who had passed the Trials of the Aub untrained and brought the Rains to Pruul, along with her family. So Jax had watched, had listened, had sat on the roofs above the Mineborn complex and observed the comings and goings of the inhabitants and the throngs of believers outside, pondering if he should be down there among them on his knees. Any Aubdina was worth that devotion, but this one…

She was impressive. Not the way Azar was, with her perfect posture and stunning beauty. No, Hadjara was pretty in a wholesome, charming way, but she was not someone who would stand out in a crowd. She was, however, entirely… pure, in a way that fascinated Jasper. Her smile, even at a distance, was honest, the way she looked at the crowds with a mix of discomfort and responsibility so transparent. Like the water that she could draw from the air, there was simply a scintillating clarity to Hadjara that had him sure that this was the Aubdina he had been born to protect.

When he had watched his fill at a distance, it was time to approach.

He planned it carefully, just as he planned everything in life. There were four males that circled around her. That was good, it meant that she was already being protected, but the one who matched Jasper in both Jewels and Caste, Omid, was not around nearly as much as Jax liked. Then there was the other Mineborn, Prince Lucky, who he had seen flopping around the sky like an uncoordinated hatchling who was going to go to ground and die. That one was around enough, but word on the street had told Jasper to be cautious of him and his lack of stability. The other two: the Green Warlord Prince, Ennead, and the father of Hadjara’s daughter, Babak, he approved of. Ennead stayed close to the compound often, and Babak was hardly ever seen not at the side of his lover. That was as it should be. Still, each of these males made getting to her harder.

He approached in stages, first setting himself up in the city, making a few friends, doing some odd jobs for the Temple and the Priestesses there. Just enough that his presence as a Red Jeweled Prince would not seem out of place in the general area of the Mineborn complex. His life at Dar-el-Salaam got him through the door where others may have been turned away, and when one of the Priestesses got sick, Jasper offered to help take over her chores, doing this any anything else he could. When the day came that he casually volunteered to take a guard shift at the inner sanctum during one of the times Hadjara would be there, no one blinked. He was safe, and it wasn’t a lie. Jasper would and could never hurt a Priestess. Every minute of his life had been focused on ensuring that.

On the day he intended to meet her, he dressed with care, had a full breakfast, made sure that he had everything he needed vanished and in order. Then he set off for the temple, whistling, hands in his pockets and wings closed but not pulled tight. Relaxed.

He had heard her young daughter fussing the whole of the day, a week ago, so he was not surprised that soon after she arrived and got to her business, with hardly a glance to spare his way as she passed into the sanctuary, the small child began crying. He waited as the mother fussed and soothed and paced and rocked the child, but still, the little girl cried. Finally, when he thought enough time had passed, he coughed once.

“Lady, if it's not too much of an imposition, ice is very soothing when they’re teething. If I may?” He bowed his head respectfully, stepping forward, but not so far that he would make her nervous, and called in a water flask. He poured just a little into the palm of his hand, freezing it solid with a touch of Craft and passing it to the young mother with a smile.
Title: Re: All That Is Gold Does Not Glitter
Post by: Mehdi al-Sabbah on Mar 16, 18, 10:08:57 PM
Mehdi al-Sabbah: (
Blood Male
Currently in Pruul
Playby: Dev Patel

Mehdi is a gardener. Born in a Territory where males are expected to be warriors, no amount of training or convincing could distract Mehdi from his one true love: the land. He is a mad genius with plants and always running from one project to the next around the Sabbah Residence in Onn. His passion for life and growing things spills out of him all day, every day, and being in his presence is like being hit by the rays of a midday sun: sometimes too much, but always warm. 

Writing Sample

Mehdi relaxed back in the garden chair and sipped at the glass of water as the sun set over the compound roofs. He had spent all day planting and was sore in all the best places. He was just contemplating a nice nap when two voices trailed in from somewhere else in the garden.

“It’s like they’re an invading army. I’m telling you, just, like, be prepared, man.”

Mehdi perked up. Invading army? That sounded bad, but then another voice, one he recognized because he had come to let the Lady know that there were visitors at the gates just earlier today said.

“Yeah, kid. He’s right. It’s a dangerous job, being a gate guard here. The two before us, rumor says they went and got themselves killed for hearing the wrong thing. No clue if it was the True Sabbah or our Voice, and honestly, don’t much care. Either way it’s enough to chill the bones.”

That was Bijan, and that meant that the first voice that had spoken was Arash, the other Warlord whose job it was to guard the gates of the Residence. Mehdi could only assume that meant that the person or people they were talking to had to be the sorely needed stand ins who had just been hired.

“Killed?” Asked a younger sounding man, perhaps even a witch-warlord, though Mehdi couldn’t tell since the group was hidden from view behind some bushes. There were sounds of settling, and the clinking of bottles and cups.

“Bodies found without the heads, or so they say. Same day as the Queen got that dog of hers. But it doesn’t end there! Two other guards were killed the next day, and then-” Bijan started, Arash cutting him off.

“This was our first day, mind!”

“Yes, yes, right. So then in the middle of the fucking night, these two people stumble up to the gate and it’s the fucking Queen, covered in blood and dust and stumbling, and Lord Bashir holding her and hollering for Lady Judiah.”

There were more clinks of glassware, and then the young voice asked, “but it quieted down after that, right?”

Both the veteran guards started laughing. “Not remotely, kid. So Lady Elenor’s Trials were a week or two after that, right. We were stationed at the door and missed it all, as usual because this job is fucking thankless, but then we hear she’s passed and are just debating if we should go hear that speech she was giving when this basically naked Sapphire Warlord Prince, looking like he had just been burned live, comes charging through like he’s riding the winds. Hell, we didn’t even try to stop that one. No way are we tanging with someone like Prince Luc on what we get paid.”

The young one tried again, “But after that-”

“Nooooope.” Bijan said, his voice starting to slur. “Oh no. Then the fucking blonds started arriving. First her brother. Brute came in screaming at us that he needed to see the Queen, then threw sand up in our faces and barreled through the door. We had to chase him down and tackle him and man, he’s a strong one. Then the Queen comes bursting in as if she had any business running towards an intruder instead of away from one-”

“She’s nice enough, kid, but the Lady...She’s a handful, and that’s the nicest way I can put it. Glad I’m not in her First Circle. I don’t think I’d be able to keep up.” Arash added, once again cutting Bijan off, and then grunting as if his friend had elbowed him in the ribs.

“ANYWAY, we finally get the brute tied up, then they start taking and she cuts the fucking rope and starts hugging him and they’re talking about a hundred miles a minute and the whole while Prince Matin is glaring at us as if it’s our fault that he got in, in the first place.”

There was a moment of silence, as if all three were drinking, then Arash said. “Thought about quitting after that. Should have done it, because they just keep coming. First the Lady, then Prince Lucas, Lord Theo and then a couple weeks ago this blonde Landen woman shows up covered in rotten tomato and eggs, and the Queen fucking takes her in. Ever the POSTWOMAN is blond. It’s like we are under attack an no one but the two of us have noticed!”

“A few people hardly count as-” The youth began, but Bijan interrupted with a belch.

“You might think so, but I swear, each one of them bring as much trouble as a hundred Pruulians. Just… be careful kid, that’s all we’re saying. You might think this is some cushy job to set you up for being a Guard in the upper circles of a Court one day, but it’s not. It’s some kind of fucked up hell that’s only worth it because… well, we get to serve the Lady. She’s foreign and all, but she really is pretty decent, for a Queen who still jumps every time she sees a scorpion.”

Laughter, more clinking of glasses. Mehdi looked up at the sky as the guards moved on to different topics. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, really, but he had to admit that they were right: it really did sound like being a Sabbah door guard was a rough job. Maybe he should make them a special tea blend for their nerves. Yes! That was what he would do!

Happy with the conclusion, Mehdi drifted off for a well-deserved nap.
Title: Re: All That Is Gold Does Not Glitter
Post by: Merihem Striker on Mar 16, 18, 10:31:24 PM
Marihem 'Moe' Striker: (
White to Rose Warlord Prince
Currently in Little Terrille
Playby: Blair Redford

Moe is a bizarre and perplexing Warlord Prince, bonded to Lady Odelle Ackley of Rockland Province. They have kept their bond a secret, allowing Moe to be her spymaster while posing as the headmaster to a small school. Moe delights in the bizarre and inexplicable and holds his sister Chiara, a Black Widow with a broken chalice, close. Ambition drives him, and his deep fascination with power and the future is likely to get him into trouble one of these days. Until it does he will keep protecting the people he loves, killing the people he doesn't, and always being one step ahead of everyone.

Writing Sample

The first letter from Merihem to his Queen:

Hello Odelle, and good morning. How are you enjoying your cup of coffee? Those flowers are very pretty, but you shouldn't put them on the left nightstand. They would much prefer life on the right side, the daisies, in particular, have such delicate sensibilities. You wouldn’t want upset Daisies, now would you? They are so vindictive.

My dear, allow me to be frank, you are in for quite a day. Make sure to eat all your breakfast, and put one of those muffins in your pocket. Trust me. It will come in handy later. Don’t forget to wear shoes you can get muddy, it’s raining in Goth, and yes, yes, I know you have no plans of going there this evening, but you will, and better to be prepared than have cold toes.

By now you must be wondering who I am. Well, wonder no more, my dear. You can call me Uncle Moe, and I’ve been keeping a watchful eye on you for some time now -well, maybe not an eye, I did have a glass eye lying around for awhile that I considered sending you just to make that joke but I traded it for a rusty spoon. I got the better end of that deal. But I digress. All you need to know is that I mean you no harm, and by the time you come to pick me up at the Service Fair tonight, you’ll realize just how useful I can be to you.

So first thing’s first. The man you are meeting with after breakfast is an agent of Lady Winters. He has a note from her in the inner pocket of his coat. He doesn’t mean you harm, but he will try to sneak off to your study to do some good old-fashioned espionage. The solution to this mess is the thing you’re going to trip over in ten minutes. I am sorry about the bruised knee, but I can’t well catch you from all the way in Goth.

You’ll be tired after that, and dealing with it is going to take all morning. You remembered the muffin, right? That will be important. I wasn’t told how, but it will be. That or my sister really wants your muffin. It’s a 50-50 split, and you just never know with her. She has one hell of a sweet tooth.

Just remember on the third strike of noon, duck.

If you aren’t convinced to come to Goth by 2PM, then we are all wrong about you and the day you’re about to have. If you are, we’ll be waiting at the Service Fair. You did ask the man who delivered this letter how to find me, right? If not, you’d better run!
Title: Re: All That Is Gold Does Not Glitter
Post by: Alis Clery on Mar 16, 18, 10:35:32 PM
Alis Clery: (
Opal to Sapphire Queen
Currently in Scelt
Playby: Madelaine Petsch

She loves the stars and the land and the sea. She loves Scelt.
 A young and energetic Queen, Alis is only beginning to come onto the political stage by the side of her half-brother Desmond. She is looking for her place in the world and hoping to live up to the hopes and dreams of her recently departed father.

Writing Sample

Alis skidded to the ground mid run from horseback, leaving her gelding to pant in the courtyard as she raced inside her foster parent’s home full speed, slowing only once she reached her suite. She tumbled in, pulling off her muddy boots and tossing them one after the other into a corner, hopping in place and swearing. Her shirt was peeled off next, then her riding pants. These were tight and she nearly got tangled in them, but off they came, tossed on the floor like the rest of her clothing as she dove towards the shower.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow.” She huffed with each breath until cold water poured over her, cooling the sing of the nettles that had turned her skin red when she had accidentally tumbled through them. “Ahhhhh.” Alis sighed, shoulders relaxing as the stingy-itchy feeling began to face. Her knees were scratched and scabbed over from...something...yesterday, and there were bruises between her thighs from too much time in the saddle, but being out on the land was the only way she had gotten through the last month since finding out that her father had died, and since coming away from her Offering with the Sapphire.

From downstairs she heard Donella shouting that it was time for dinner. There were guests tonight. Distant friends of the family here to pay their respects for Nolan and to visit with Alis’s foster parents. She had been told this morning to not be late, so maybe it was a good thing she had encountered those nettles. They had gotten her back with a big of time to spare.

She reached for the soap and began washing. When she was done she called in and heated a towel, and another one for her hair, and walked out into her room. It was a mess, as it always was, clothes flung about, desk covered in stuff, books in dissoray on the shelves. Alis meandered over to her wardrobe and pulled out a blue skirt with yellow stars embroidered along the hem, and a shirt and sweater to go with them in the same general color scheme. Donella would be pleased. She was always complaining about how Alis did not make the effort to look the part of a Queen. Alis always replied that in this house she wasn’t a Queen, she was a daughter, but that never flew.

Her hair would never dry naturally, not with the sun setting, so she used a touch of Craft, which left it frizzy, but warm around her shoulders. Alis pulled it back into a thick, messy braid and tied the end with a ribbon, before calling in her Jewel chip earrings in the shape of stars, and her Sapphire to lie over the turtleneck.

Finally, she pulled on a pair of big, fuzzy slippers, because fuck shoes.

She left her room and took the stairs to the dining room two at a time, so used to being late that she didn’t have a concept of how to move when she wasn’t. Her sides and calves still itched, and she scratched absentmindely as she pushed her way into the dining room.

“I’m here!” She called, although she doubted anyone had missed her arrival, considering there were only Donella, Boyd and Kester sitting around the smaller table in the room, that looked out over the courtyard, playing cards.

“Just in time. Lord Banik, his son and granddaughter should be here within minutes. They sent ahead to say they were almost here.” Boyd said, patting the seat next to him for Alis. She sat down, nuzzling up to the man who had been as much of a father to her as Nolan. He scritched her hair fondly and Kester delt Alis into the game.

One hand later, which Alis of course won, two horses with three riders trotted into the yard. Boyd went out to greet them while Alis helped Donella and Kester set the table. While she was in the kitchen, the young Queen heart footsteps and voices enter the dining room. She walked back in and her eyes met a pair surrounded by wrinkles.

The basket of bread in her hands dropped out of them as her blue eyes widened, then her nostrils flared and she looked beyond that first face to one that looked much the same, only younger, and if she had been holding a second thing, would have dropped that too. As it was, she stumbled, having to catch herself on the kitchen door.
“Alis?” Kester asked, his young voice full of concern.

But Alis, for the first time in her life, didn’t hear him. No, she had ears and eyes only for the two men standing at the other end of the room.
Title: Re: All That Is Gold Does Not Glitter
Post by: Arietta O’hEachthighearna on Mar 16, 18, 10:37:04 PM
Arietta O’hEachthighearna: (
Landen Female
Currently in Scelt
Playby: Bonnie Wright

Actress, musician, twin. Arietta is a talented entertainer who has always lived in the shadow of her twin, Adagio. The purchase of a monkey and the fighting that followed got the twins exiled to Scelt to the Hammer and Anvil, where Arietta is flourishing on the small stage and her brother is wasting away in ignominy. She is full of sass, ready for fun, and always returning things the monkey stole. 

Writing Sample

Arietta gulped down a glass of water with her back turned to the room. She loved this sort of night when the inn was crowded and loud and boisterous. It was so unlike life at the civilized Opera Houses she had grown up in, and it was wonderful! Setting down the cup of water the redhead picked her fiddle back up and began playing a lively folk tune. Her fingers danced on the strings and her foot tapped in rhythm to the fast-paced melody. From across the room, she saw a commotion. Dug being himself, coming to Alyssa’s aid with pockets rattling with things.

With a mischievous smile, never breaking the back and forth of her bow, she poked the monkey sitting by her shoe with the tip of her foot. Ape looked up at her, indignant, the bells on his hat jangling. The monkey pulled back its lips in something between a grin and a snarl and hooked a tiny hand into the top of Arietta’s boot. He climbed up her leg as if her swaying, bouncing body were a tree until he was perched on top of her head. The audience started poking each other in the ribs at the closest tables, pointing at Arietta and the monkey as it reached back and pulled the little miniature fiddle and bow Arietta had made it out of the equally tiny pack she had put on his back and started imitating the movements of his human. It wasn’t a particularly good imitation. Ape was not nearly as talented a musician as his namesake, but the sight of a tiny creature sitting on the head of the musician, parodying the art was enough to make the room roar with laughter
Title: Re: All That Is Gold Does Not Glitter
Post by: Petra Constantin on Mar 16, 18, 10:39:42 PM
Petra Constantin: (
Opal to Red Priestess
Currently in Dena Nehele
Playby: Eliza Dushku

Petra sold herself into slavery to Garen L'Voide for money and power. Now, ten years into her fifteen-year term, she has been hardened against the world and is out for her own gains. She serves her master loyally, though she has many conflicting feelings about him, and is beginning to prepare for life after Garen. Her only true weakness is her family, who she loves fiercely, though not warmly. Petra is a woman on the make and may the Darkness pity any who cross her.

Writing Sample

She saw the shift in his eyes and shivered as his finger brushed over the ring and her whole body felt it. Damn, that was bizarre. She had not known the details of Raejan collars. She hadn’t known the details about any of this, but she knew every detail about the life she had just walked out of. Death didn’t scare her. She had faced it as an empty bowl or another round of disease in the slums too many times. No, death was not frightening.

Garen showed her what was.

It was beyond what her mind could comprehend. It was as if every single nerve in her body screamed out at once, burning and freezing and being cut open, and yet her throat could not open enough to give voice to the agony. She didn’t even realize her legs had given out on her until she crashed to the floor, the thud of the hard ground against skin already in agony enough almost to make her black out. Her ears were ringing and her mouth tasted of blood as the world slowly came back into focus. She felt as if she had run for miles, as if she had been crushed under a landslide, and yet she was...unharmed. Fuck.

She tried to form words, tried to make his make any sort of sense, but her mind was still reeling when once more her body ceased to be hers. Petra writhed on the floor, blinding white pleasure coursing through her, riding on the crest of the pain and washing it away with a force that staggered her.

And the it was gone. She cried out in disappointment, breathing hoarse and labored as she blinked, trying to clear the spots of white from her eyes. Mother Night! That...that was...there were no words for what that was, except the desire for more.

She struggled up to her knees, hands pressed against the floor, head bowed, shaking, sweating, overwhelmed, unable to think. His words echoed in the hollow of her mind, bouncing off of everything that made her, everything her could now unmake with a simple thought, good or bad.

But even through all of that her eyes sprang up to his as his first request of her sent a wave of dread just as deep and powerful as the pain and pleasure he had doled out. She had known it was coming. She had thought she was prepared, but as she looked into his eyes Petra realized that nothing could have prepared her for this.

Tears ran down her cheeks as she shook, lungs refusing to fill with air like they were supposed to, as she called in her Opal. Her precious Birthright that had kept her and her family safe for all these years. Her whole body spasmed as she place it in his outstretched palm, first the pendant, then the ring. Then his eyes sank to the Red that still hung between her breasts.

She’d rather hand him her heart, but what choice did she have?

Petra reached up, and it took three tries to unclasp the chain, each bringing with it another wave of uncontrollable tears. She looked down at her Jewel, one she had only had for weeks, that had brought her peace and purpose and power.

And handed over her soul.