#theartofruling

"Who ever you are--know that I'm armed and like really tall even though my voice may not sound like it but I am!" Mariah shouted from the center of her campsite at the ominous rustling she hear off in the near distance. Lightening started to crackle at her fingertips and along her arm and rope-burn scars from her recent kidnapping.

Mariah held up her hands ready to strike when her ex-boyfriend's face emerged and she relaxed. "Oh, it's you," she sighed and the yellow lightening sparks faded away.

It had been six months since Aries had stumbled across Alden Michaels of Kings Hill at the Westland Realm’s Celebration of the Dead. Their interaction had been brief, but the boy had revealed himself to be like Aries, an Immortalem with the magic of fire. Aries blamed his youth for revealing himself so easily to a stranger, and had urged him to seek him out after the events of that week. Now they would finally be able to speak alone, and Aries could maybe find himself getting a little closer to the truth he desperately sought. 

“Alden Michaels is here to see you, my King.” A servant announced, and Aries nodded, urging him to let him through. They could speak privately here without fear of being overheard or interruption. When the door opened, he stepped forward to greet Alden, extending his hand for the other to shake. “Alden Michaels. Thank you for meeting with me. I trust your journey was pleasant.” 

Location: Divine Forest Hansen’s house

Starter for: 

Svala Hansen @ocean-eyeslnrp

Adrik Hansen @theartofruling

Die walked the familiar path towards home and crouched down as he walked taking care not to make too much noise as he entered the house, he heard some rustling out back and made his way careful not to give himself away.

He was about to jump out the corner and surprise either his mom or dad but then he remembered who his parents were and what he could be potentially walking into and reconsidered.

“Wow... I’ve been out the nest for just a few years...” He knew it was not really that long for them but he liked making an entrance. “And you’ve already forgotten all about me? No welcome party, not even a welcome meal?” He asked with a heavy sigh, he hadn’t exactly let them know he was coming, grandma probably let them know he was thankfully not longer under her roof but he hadn’t exactly decided where he was going next and when he did, making a stop home seemed logically.

It was a state in which, Jacqueline had not been in for almost three hundred decades. She knew it well, the throbbing of her bones and the gush of blood from her bruises. It was a state as synonymous with her childhood, as her fingers on the piano forte. But the Royal Advisor used time, and her fortitude, to keep that reality at bay. She would not know pain again, because she would not allow it. Nor would Gabriel, Kael, or her brothers. Except, the High Lord had fallen. It felt almost cosmic, how his fall had brought on her own pain. A testament to what Jacqueline most feared, coming to fruition; that she would not be safe again. The human’s strength was powerful, indeed. She was not a practiced fighter, like her brothers, and her strength resided in her ability to construct nightmares. But Jacqueline, wrought with grief, did not see him coming. His brute strength took the wind out of her, as she attempted to pull away from it. The thought of capture and confinement, burning in her mind. The swiftness of his punch against her jaw, the throbbing of her stomach... It came in ten-fold, until she felt herself quell her energy. A nightmare so distinct, it was enough for her to push away from him, and rushing through the halls of the Autumn Court’s castle.

She grips her stomach, her pale skin colored black and blue. Jacqueline’s wins barely keeping her afoot, as she attempts to find help. From the distance, she sees him. Jacques. With so much between them, so much ire... It didn’t matter, in that moment. She felt ten-years-old again, frightened and in pain, looking for her big brother to protect her. “J-Jack!” She attempts to call out, but she yelps, her pain prompting her to collide against the wall. Her legs shook as she attempted to find balance, fresh tears running down her cheeks. Could he hear her? Would he find her? “Jack!” Jacqueline tries again, her raspy voice louder, as she attempts to call for his help. Her legs give in, as she feels herself slide onto the floor. There was great pain, but more so, fear. And she felt paralyzed by it.

Kenji was watching the sun set from a small table outside outside a tea shop that faced the bustling fishing wharf. His cuppa of oolong was laced with a touch of poison and honey. He liked to come to this part of town when court began to become stuffy. He didn’t make it to the Autumn Court Tournament because he was sick from his latest poison. He only heard the gossip that fell from the courtiers mouths as they filtered into the Summer Court palace.

“Skai,” Kenji smiled looking up from his book of botanicals. “Please join me, I’ll pour you some tea... Not from my cup, of course,” he joked with a genuine smile.   

If she had not become a hunter, Clara could have become a dragon tamer. The creature fascinated her, she absolutely adored them despite knowing how dangerous they could be. “Jacen.” She grinned as she walked towards the man. Jacen, the dragon tamer was the complete opposite to Clara. He wasn’t in the pack so she didn’t know him as well as other members, of course that was not going to stop her from being overly friendly with him. Sure, it might not be received well but she was persistent to get into his good books. “How are you on this beautiful day? I thought I would come see the dragons...if that’s okay with you?”

@theartofruling​

Whoever planned King Sebastian’s coronation pulled out all the stops. Made her jealous of her own for a minute—traditional and stiff. This was more of a celebration of what’s to come: not adherence to tradition and every move a show of strength. Kings Hill was buzzing with life, and the festivities reflected it. 

She sat down at her table with faces who were not familiar—yet. She smiled politely and made pleasantries. She didn’t realize how hungry she was when the salad was placed in front of her, that she ate it dry before the dressing was placed on the table. A pair of eyes met hers. “I’m sorry,” she said, stuffing the last forkful of salad in her mouth. “I must have skipped breakfast.”

Some mornings, Elias would descend onto the marble and gold encrusted grand hall. No pomp and circumstances of his guards and courtiers. No string quartet, playing nimbly in the corner, in anticipation for the High Lord’s presence. Simply Elias, donning his tailored wears, pacing the length of the grand hall for hours on end. He took to the silence like a moth to the flame, for only noise filled his ears. He was a green lad on the cusp of his first century when it all came down on the Wakefield dynasty. Back then, he was emboldened by bravado and a birth right. He roamed Lumenopolis with the confidence that their reign would be forever. The centuries thereafter felt like a fever dream, with one foot in his decadent past and another in his presumed future. But since his return to Dawn Court, he looked nowhere but the future. Except, of course, on quiet mornings when the dawn scarcely began. In those quiet moments, Elias allowed himself to live in the past, and wallow in its horrors. He can still hear his sister’s screams, as the upheaval came into their palatial home. Elias remembers holding Iris in his arms, striking a fire at anyone that dared lay a hand on her. Iris forever lived in his mind and heart, even when they were a world apart.

Naturally, then, he doubts her presence when he sees her standing in the grand hall. Elias was the Lord of Daydreams, the maker of one’s wildest dreams. But he was the victim of his own daydreams. When life finally mimicked reality, he could scarcely believe it. It’s only as he moves closer to Iris, her faint perfume filling the space, that Elias knows her to be real. Not a mirage of his own making, but of flesh and bone. It didn’t matter that it had been more than a month. Elias is overwhelmed by her still. “You should be sleeping.” He admonishes with brotherly authority, following her matching blue eyes to the sight in question. An old family portrait, tucked away by one of the remaining Wakefield loyalists, recently mounted on the wall. He glances between Iris and the portrait, catching the wistful glean in their eye. It wasn’t their family now. The last of the older generation of Wakefield’s had gone, and in their place came Elias’ children. Nephews who never had the privilege of his sister’s wisdom, or charms. “We’ll commission a new one.” Elias mutters, his voice as silent as the hall itself.

“We are together, at last. It seems pointless to recount the past.” And yet, was that not what he was doing? Walking the grand hall, listening for memories. He can still hear it; his father’s loud and spirited voice, his mother’s nightingale voice, and the sound of Iris’ laughter filled the air. He frowns, looking at her and the weight of the centuries apart. A hand gently on her shoulder, coaxing her out of her stupor. “Come out of the clouds, sister. Come be with me instead.”