It is located on the southeastern end of the Aetierian Kingdom and borders the Taulan plains, enjoying the riches and goods traveling merchants have brought on the way to Vindercrest. Its temperate climate makes for great growing seasons, as the majority of the land is used to an assortment of legumes, barley, wheat, olives, figs, and citrus fruits. Though the region is most notable for its sprawling vineyards, producing some of the most delicious wines in the south.
The duchy of Isidore has been the home of Fenice vi Aetier for 18 years and has acted as the proxy duchess on behalf of Titania of Taul since she was 16. Due to her weak constitution, Fenice was unable to tour and survey the lands she oversaw, and thus had to rely on her various vassals to give reports on how the lands were being run. Her steward, Adrius Tullas, would also inspect the fief on Fenice’s behalf, thus allowing Fenice to get a general view of her lands without ever having to step outside her manor. Hooray.
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They stand the last testament to the old world. The only survivors of the Ancient lands, where their ancestors discovered fire and all its glories and tasted the fruit of the gods. When they first gifted themselves with knowledge above men; above mortals they became, though mortals still they were. All around the globe, traveling bards lean into the worn out stools of dingy taverns and cozy hearths, tuning their instrument with practiced ease.
Come one, come all, around we go. Let me spin the tale of a kingdom of gold. Of marble pillars so tall it holds up the heavens. Of lavish tapestries woven with every color of the rainbow. Of streets so wide and full, filled with travelers from all corners of the globe. Let me tell you of the great kingdom of Aetier; the last remnant of that fabled kingdom of yore; the inheritor of Raia’s legacy.
This is my submission for week 1 for @yourocsbackstory ‘s event, with the prompt being Family. I’d also love to preface this by saying that Charles really does love his mother and vice versa despite what this scene may suggest.
Brief Definitions |
Ederosus - a teacher that educates in etiquette, politics, society, and other subjects, but also functions as a bodyguard to children of high status.
Week 1 | Charles vi Aetier
Charles turned eight years old when he meets children his age for the very first time. Well...at least according to his mother, but Charles rather fancied death than confessing that his ederosus, Erin, snuck him out multiple times to interact with children his age beyond the palace walls.
Of course, his birthday was a special celebration. Though celebrated every year, the eighth birthday marked the age in which Charles was deemed to be responsible enough to not make a fool of himself in front of important people. In the years before, tradition dictated that Charles only shows up for the first few hours of the gift-giving and feast before retiring to the harem where a more informal celebration would be held later. But now, Charles could stay for the entire formal ceremony. An exciting task at first, until his mother began urging him (read: order) to strike a conversation with other children.
“Do you see there, the boy with the mop of gold hair and blue garments?” He and his mother are sat on the raised dais overlooking the crowd, his father off somewhere talking to whatever ambassadors and foreign dignitaries to discuss something that Charles should be interested in but could care less about. “He is the Marquis of Rubello’s eldest son. He’s but a few months older than you, but I have heard that he is already making remarkable progress on his arcane studies. Why don’t you go talk with him?”
Charles shifts his gaze to the boy in question who was chattering away with the group of aristocratic children near the edges of the dance floor. His name is Darius if Charles remembered correctly. During the gift-giving, Lord Rubello made Darius personally present their gift--a well-crafted bow with runes carved for protection and durability--to Charles. The strained smile on the boy’s face in that classic ‘I don’t want to be here but my parents are forcing me’ look Charles knew intimately stuck out to him in more ways than one.
Charles grimaced. “Do I have to?”
“Of course you do,” his mother said, a slight frown on her pretty face.
“But what if he doesn’t like me? Or what if his friends don’t like me and Darius ends up following their lead?”
His mother stared at him, her bronze eyes sparkling in the shining lights of chandeliers like he is made of glass and she is boring through his every being to see each minuscule imperfection in his make and mold. She laughed, clear and crystalline, like silver bells.
“Oh Charles, you’re a prince. No matter if you were the most foolish person in the world, they hardly have a choice in liking you.” She layed a delicate hand, fingers shining with rings of precious stones, on his shoulders.
He flinched. An infinitesimal one, to be sure, but one that Consort Illysandre’s sharp eyes would fail to miss. She sighed, jeweled hand moving from Charles’ shoulders to card through his dark hair. “Forgive me for the poor word choice. However, I only speak truth. We as nobility are born to the highest of privilege, but that does not mean it never came at great cost.
“We can never hope for transparency, Charles. Intentions are always hidden behind sweet smiles, and our nature carefully tucked away behind finely crafted masks. Everyone desires something, and the higher you are, the more dangerous the game is.”
Charles grimaced. “So I’ll always be surrounded by liars?”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not,” she said. “Think of it this way: the friendships you cultivate now may as well gain you great allies in the future. People tend to be more honest with their close friends than anyone else. And, well, if you wish it, this may also be a lesson in learning which people will offer genuine companionship, or which will only use you for your title.”
It was...sound logic in Charles’ mind, however backward it seemed to a young boy his age. But Charles was a prince, so of course, such things as this would be normal for him. Even Erin said that his rank afforded him a different set of rules to abide by, so maybe this is one of those things?
But looking at Darius now, surrounded by future lords and ladies interacting with the familiarity of childhood friends that he’d once seen on the streets of East Vindercrest, Charles could only feel dread. Yet, more than that, he dreaded that stare from his mother even more. That stare of judgment, of expectations, of—
--disappointment.
His tongue felt like sand in his mouth. “I understand.”
He gets up from his place on the dais, painting on his winning smile that the old lady from the bakery said would make even the most jaded of folks soften, and marched off to socialize with children who may never learn to care for him beyond his crown.
Unbeknownst to him, his mother is already speaking different families and ambassadors to broker his marriage to a girl he’s never met.
One of the special privileges of the rulers of the Aetierian Kingdom, stemming all the way back from the emperors and emperesses of the Raian Empire. There were legends of great monarchs keeping a great menagerie of concubines--both male and female--within the secretive walls of the palace harem, and ever greater were rumors of the affairs of the country being settled--not in the throne room or great halls of the palace, but between silk sheets and behind gauzy curtains.
Raia is rife with legends of beauties bringing about the downfall of countries.
Tales of years past, when the harem was more lively. Filled with scheming consorts and ambitious concubines, of deadly punishments and the occasional murder or five of some favored consort’s rivals.
However, it wasn’t until King Dantalion's reign that the majority of the harem fell into disuse, as it now housed only a single resident: his first and only consort, Illysandre.
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A short introduction for one of my main characters from When Comes the Dawn for @yourocsbackstory latest event. FYI this entire piece is written from a side character’s perspective and involves underaged drinking.
Week 0 | Introduction
“I can not believe you snuck out to get yourself drunk like this, highness!” Gwyn shoved a small tonic--one that will hopefully stem a hangover in the morning--into Charles’ hands. “You are sixteen--an adolescent!--what possessed you to think that it was permissible to addle your brain to the point you probably don’t even remember your own name?”
“Don’t pester me, witch!” Charles uncorked the vial, downing the concoction in one. “I know my own name.”
His face cringe, silver eyes scrunched tight before he shook his head. Probably to get rid of the after taste; a vile bitter thing that managed to also be both unbearably sour and sickly sweet in a way that only medical practitioners could make. Good. Serves the prince right for worrying Gwyn so much.
Charles threw the bottle at him. Well, attempted, since he ended up stumbling backward and hitting the back of his knees at the edge of his bed. Charles seethed, caught himself on the wooden bedpost before tearing straight to where Gwyn stood in quick strides of his long legs. The prince towered over Gwyn despite being a year younger, something that Gwyn oft forgot except when it’s made apparent like this. Toe to toe, nose to nose, Charles’ head craned to bore his molten silver eyes into Gwyn’s dull brown. Charles pointed a finger against Gwyn’s chest, a hard shove right at his sternum that almost made Gwyn stumble back.
“I--I am Charles vi Aetier. Reilma-Imperessor and heir presumptive of the phoenix throne.” His whispers cut like glass, spittle an acrid venom that burned Gwyn’s face with every rage-filled word. “My mother is consort Illysandre, the first lady of the nation, daughter of the duke of Kaelstansa, and the only wife of the king. My father is the gods-damned king of Aetier whose crown everyone, even your patron, and even you have sworn allegiance to. The very same crown I have been groomed to take over since the day I was fucking conceived. So for gods sake, Witch Gwyn, remember who you’re speaking to.”
His breath came in quick pants, molten eyes cooled into something more...vulnerable. Almost like the child he was.
“Remember who you’re speaking to,” he said, slumping his head to rest on Gwyn’s shoulder. “Because gods know I can never forget.”
The first tragedy is the unexpected death of Titania of Taul, Duchess of Isidore, the once-queen, and the mother of our protagonist. Her death is also the inciting incident of the story, bringing Fenice to the capital and into the sole guardianship of her father, the king.
Excerpt i | "At her mother's funeral, there would never be room for Fenice to play the grieving daughter. No time for her to cry and shriek and wail like a little girl (and the gods know she'd cried all the tears she ever will), while in front of her king.
Her mother's murderers will be at the burning, and Fenice will never give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry."
Excerpt ii | "And so, the woman of fire was consumed by the flame."
