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dishonoredrpg · 4 years ago

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Congratulations, ROGUE! You’ve been accepted for the role of THE WORLD with the faceclaim of NATASHA LIU BORDIZZO. From the minute I thought of her skeleton I knew that The World would need to be written in a way that showed an understanding for the atrocities and horrors that come with being royal and the power that comes with change, and Rogue, you were a perfect fit. Aurelia -- aptly named, that lovely daughter of Septimus’ -- fits into the world. She makes it right itself when crooked merely by existing. From her voice, to the whopping amount of plots you provided, to the clear delight that bled through with every sentence I read, I think that Aurelia is meant to be here, and I am so glad you brought her to me for me to love and cherish as long as I can.

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OOC

NAME: Rogue! PRONOUNS: She/Her. AGE: 23. TIMEZONE, ACTIVITY LEVEL: PST, uhhhh idk how to pick numbers. I have been known to keep track of like 100 threads god I wish I was kidding, but I also am in other rps... so like. 7? 8? Somewhereish around that. ANYTHING ELSE?:

IN CHARACTER

SKELETON: The World. Future, Upright — You are the relief that comes at the end of a long and winding project, the comfort taken from the knowledge that it’s done well, and the sense of completeness that brings. You are a circle that has no beginning, a closed circuit of a girl with her hopes settled and dreams nothing more than a memory, for what you want is now in hand. You are someone defined by your goals, yet comforted by reaching them, on a larger scale or even day to day. The journey has been hard, but you have been rewarded with the celebration of your achievements, and you understand that your responsibilities exist, but do not inhibit your joy. You carry with you a sense that every step of the journey has made you smarter, stronger, or wiser, and even when your path was lonely, there has always been a light at the end of your tunnel. The light is you, and all that you encompass. Self-reflection is key to who you are, and your awareness of your faults and strengths is what keeps you going. In the completion you seek, you will find new beginnings, too, for yourself and those around you. Whether you enjoy change or not, you must tug it ashore and present it to the world, neatly wrapped and tied off with a bow. Present, Reversed — You are the sensation of standing at a crossroads, turned in the opposite direction of the path you know you must follow. You fear that first step more than anything, but finding closure is essential to your happiness. It is only your tether to the past that inhibits you, and you worry endlessly over the journey, though your feet will make it there whether you want them to or not. In order to find balance, you need to embrace where you are now and let go of what came before, for the conflict within you is only an illusion. Your journey will be personal and quiet, filled with turmoil and self-recrimination, but you will emerge from this, for there are no other options left to you. You have a necessary task to complete, but it strains you nearly to breaking, and it will cost you more than it already has before it’s completed. No trial or turn in your path can be overlooked in order to complete the cycle started with your birth. You define the sensation of never being finished, of seeing the light at the end of the tunnel stretch further away with every step you take. You are still a project with an essential piece missing, and until you find it, you will always feel hollow. NAME: Aurelia Josephine Liviana Valmont. Names are chosen for all sorts of reasons, on any normal day, for any normal babe. The problem, of course, is that this is not a normal babe. This is the only daughter of Septimus Valmont, and as the priests gather to bless the name of the princess, King Septimus is tired. Still, her face is as beautiful as her mother’s, even in infancy, and it inspires her father to emerge from boredom into a modicum of enthusiasm. He names her for her beauty, Aurelia, for he’s always wished his own name had some grand meaning, rather than being the equivalent of numbering your children so you won’t forget which came first. Why bow to such wretched tradition? After all, Septimus could have been named Primus for all the good it did the first heir of his generation. On a whim, he named her something gilded or maybe gold, and hoped for her to turn out as pretty and vapid as he’d been, before the burdens of the world were placed upon his shoulders. Any daughter of his should be gilded, no? Even if the gold may only be a film to cover rot and decay, she would always have her filigree, and would always be permitted to harness it. After that, he meandered. Josephine, for his favorite aunt as a child, for she’d died young and the former king had not spared the resources to bring her back to life. He spared no thought for his bride, who had carried the babe to term but was given no option to name her themself. They were as powerless as the daughter they’d provided him, and he cared not for their wishes, not enough to notice them, at any rate. He might have stopped there, but as he looked down into her now-peaceful face, at last stopping crying after being separated from her mother, he smiled a little melancholy smile. He remembered all too well what it was to grow up in the lap of luxury and know the crown would never fall onto his head, despite what he became. He remembered with fondness and chagrin how his second-born sibling had trailed after the heir, always wanting to inherit, never understanding what a burden it would be. The second-born’s life is defined by the heir’s, he murmured gravely, bending down to pretend she could understand him as his thumb brushed her ruddy cheek, if I recall correctly. He cooed at her a moment, and her lashes fluttered as though she was dreaming, maybe even of him. Ah, yes, I know exactly what to expect from you. And so he named her Liviana, because it was for the envious, and he expected her to know its taste on her tongue before she knew how to say the word. He could not know, of course, that she would grow to know nothing of the kind, never coveting anyone’s life but her own, for she knew instinctively that one did not need to be heir apparent to know their own worth. King Septimus could have continued, as each priest and noble in the room waited on him to do so, but he grew tired of the game. Even life and death had become such to him these days. Her life was nothing more than an opportunity for him to reflect, in the end, on his siblings and their demise. Absently, he pressed a whiskery kiss to her forehead and declared her a Valmont, and it was recorded with the rest for the purpose of their royal history. FACECLAIM: I apologize for this, first of all, but it seems like the most efficient thing to do is just list all the ones I would be cool with based on their racial heritage. Not all are on the approved list bc I didn’t want to bug you THAT much but there it is. I am literally down for any of these. White/White: Kristine Froseth White/Black: Marina Nery Chinese/White: Natasha Liu Bordizzo Black/Black: Kiki Layne White/Japanese: Reina Hardesty Vietnamese/Vietnamese: Jolie Nguyen White/Latinx: Seychelle Gabriel Korean/Korean: Hyuna Turkish/Turkish: Simay Barlas Indian/White: Anya Chalotra AGE: 21, born the equivalent of May 17th, in the fantasy world version of Taurus season. Stable, resilient, and capable, she will always have her feet planted firmly on the ground. She knows well her own likes and dislikes, and gravitates toward material pleasures and wealth in spite of herself. Aurelia is most comforted by stability, and disliked fast-paced change, which makes her the perfect person to so easily wave away the concerns of the prophecy to the watching eyes and ears of the nobility. Who, after all, would suspect that a girl too afraid to cut her hair would be the one to change the foundations of the world? She has no issue, however, with change at a slow and steady pace, heralded and planned out by herself and her own sharp mind. She is most interested in being her own master. Responsible and capable, she has a strong work ethic, but that does not mean she forgoes luxury altogether. Aurelia is a perfectionist, which she sees as both a flaw and a decent trait to have, considering her goals in life. She is extremely set in her ways and focused on the big picture, which means that while she empathizes with the small slights inflicted on others, she may allow them to occur while working to fundamentally alter society for the greater good. Aurelia won’t stop until she has what she came for, and she won’t compromise her values (love, empathy, fairness) to obtain it, either.

DETAILS: What drew me to Aurelia was all of her, really. I know this is where we highlight the things that we liked most, but I can’t pick her apart without explaining why I like the whole, irrefutable package. She’s soft for others to a large degree, but that doesn’t entirely define her; it runs parallel to her other traits, yet it doesn’t work against them. She’s strong, even with her soft heart, strong enough to see that what she’s been told her whole life is right is very, very wrong. She has a will of her own, and you can’t get that by being weak and easily influenced. I love that she refuses to fight outright, preferring to maneuver in such a way that no one has to get hurt, and I love that she has the ability and the confidence to see it through. She knows that she would be a good ruler because she cares, and she cares fiercely enough to protect her family, even when they mostly don’t deserve it. She knows she’ll win because she absolutely cannot lose, all her cards are on the table but they’re also face cards, maybe even an ace. Her power comes from the desire to protect, and her pragmatism is married to her sense of love and duty in an indelible way. She cannot have empathy without having responsibility, and she refuses to lead a violent revolution against those who have cared for her all her life. She’s not one dimensional, not naive, not hopeless. I love her for all those things combined, and to pick them apart wouldn’t yield the same results. BACKGROUND: — Growing up in a fortress can feel isolated at times, but Aurelia found ways to play with those around her, even as a rambunctious child. She was the girl who would sneak cookies for the stable-boy’s dogs and giggle playing peek-a-boo with a guard when he was supposed to be on duty. Curious about others and rarely allowed around other children, she devoured the attention of adults, and from an early age cultivated a strangely adult manner of speaking. The other nobles thought it was charming, that a princess would know to speak so regally throughout her years, and Aurelia never disabused them of the notion, preferring instead to delight them with fun new vocabulary. This got her into trouble, of course, when she learned about swearing, but she was too sweet-faced to be stern with long, and too sweet-natured to take advantage the way a brat or a bully might. For this, she was doted upon by her nannies and tutors, as well as those in the barracks. It was easy, later on, to begin cultivating those people as a network, sneaking her information with worried glances and trust in their eyes. What a sweet girl, they would murmur, pressing their lips to her knuckles, to worry so about such simple complaints. — When she was six years old, they began placing books atop her head and forcing her to walk without them falling. She always thought it was to improve her posture, with the way her nanny was constantly straightening her spine, but she knew it was more than that when she first put her crown on. By Undeath, that thing was heavy, and it took all she had to walk with her head held straight, to eat five courses of a meal, to talk and dance and not throw her head back and let the thing slide right off it. No one would listen if she did complain, and she never told anyone, save for THE LOVERS, who she eventually grew to trust so much that she could let them in on the secret. When she takes the crown for herself, her first non-essential decree will be to melt them all down and make them smaller, sleeker, and more easily wearable. — Aurelia is fond of pestering THE SUN, though she wouldn’t call it annoying them so much as caring for them. Necromancers have always seemed so lonely to her (other than THE HIGH PRIESTESS, who unnerves her), and that’s especially true for the old ones. How terrible it would be, to grow older and older and lose all those you’d once loved. Would you ever try to love again? She’s not sure, but she wants them to know that she’s okay with it if they never love her back. They’re a strange, morbid part of her family, but they’ve been family since the day she was born. What else can she call someone who might one day be asked to kill for her, or on her behalf? She would inherit them as well, after all, and Aurelia is cognizant of the responsibility that would be. They have one of the hardest jobs, she thinks to herself sometimes, and therefore must be treated with the most care. Do they ask for it? Perhaps not, but they’ll have it regardless. — It would be easy for her to hate her family, but she doesn’t, she can’t. She’s loved them as long as she can remember and she will love them after she is dead. She knows the touch of her father’s kiss at her temple as well as she knows the cruelty with which he sends men to the noose. She knows her cousin’s laugh as she knows the whistle of his blade through the air, the way she remembers how to breathe, the way she counts the steps down to the barracks every time she goes. Her brother, best of all, she knows to be as useless as they are lovely, cruel as they are decadent, and all these things don’t make it any easier to choose between them and her people. She will not. She cannot be asked to. As much as she understands that her first priority must be the citizenry, because someone on earth should care more for them than themselves, she also won’t part with her loyalty. Not to them, and not to her family, either. She will find a humane way to settle this, by Undeath, and if she can’t, then it will be on their heads, not hers. Still, she feels confident in her own victory, bolstered by her knowledge of the people who love her, and who she loves in return. She will not be vicious to them just because that’s what people clamor for, or because it’s asked of her with wolfish smiles. Aurelia wants justice, not bloodshed, and she will have it. — It always surprised her tutors, how much she longed to attend lessons with her brother. She was hungry for knowledge from a young age, eagerly snatching up everything and anything she could. Aurelia was curious not just about the castle but about the world beyond it; she would ask that her rooms be decorated with maps, until she knew the lay of the land by heart. Any time there was a visitor, she would attempt to ask that they correct her maps, to ensure they were kept in date. Her fascination with geography was not the only thing she took interest in, however. She wanted to know the ins and outs of trade, wanted to learn as many languages as she could and know the difference between an emerald and a diamond with her eyes closed, hands clasped tight around the stones. She wanted to know the seal of every nation or rebellion that had ever tested their borders, and she asked so many questions that they were forced to send for answers, again and again and again. It should’ve annoyed her tutors, but her enthusiasm was so genuine, they wanted to please her. Over time she grew to recognize that fact and treat it as a responsibility; she could wield the care of others as a weapon, but she chose not to, and that was the difference. — There is not a guileless quality to her, no matter how often she might be called naive by some of the cruel portions of her family. In quiet moments, when it’s only her and her ladies-in-waiting, the age of her thoughts reveals itself in her eyes, in the grim set of her mouth, or even in the delicate curve of her shoulders. She doesn’t pretend not to know about the farce of her existence, because that would never inspire confidence in her as a leader, and it would only hurt those who have come to depend on her. Instead, she makes her rebellion known in small ways, refusing participation in games she doesn’t approve of, humiliating nobles she finds foolish and cruel, or small-minded and weak. The one thing she doesn’t shy away from is executions: Aurelia attends each one, refusing to let anyone die for her father’s whim without someone who respects them bearing witness. They can’t know how she feels, but she makes a promise to each as they die before her eyes: I will never let this be for nothing. Sometimes she comes across as over-aware, too sensitive, too passionate to understand the cool logic of the world, but she understands it all too well. She does not believe that you can exist as a good person without marrying logic and emotion, as disparate as they are, and she will never abandon that part of her that cries for each life lost, each hurt inflicted, each blade in the hands of someone far too young for it. She cultivates it like her own personal garden, honeysuckle growing wild in her rib cage. — The first time she truly understood what she could do, she was only fifteen. TEMPERANCE had said something particularly upsetting, though they never truly understood why she stormed away. With tears in her eyes, she’d run, not knowing where she was going until she almost slammed into the body of a castle guard. They weren’t assigned to her rotation nor her quarters, but they knew her from when she would drop in at their meal times and ask after their days, or peel oranges to slide under their helmets as they stood outside in the hot summer sun, armor burning, skin sweltering. He caught her by the shoulders and held her steady as her guards and attendants rushed to catch up with her, and wiped away an errant tear with one gauntlet-covered thumb. What’s happened, Princess? They asked and she answered, for she was a teenage girl whose heart had been wounded, and as they listened, as all of them did, their faces fell in sympathy, too. When she looked up at them, this guard who barely knew her, it was the first time she understood what it looked like, to watch someone decide they would kill for you. Their offer was couched in softer words, but it was no less lethal, and when she shook her head she could’ve sworn she saw disappointment in more than one face. It was the last time she ever took her relationships, or her feelings, for granted. — She cried for months as a child, wailing unhappily no matter how often her wet nurses tried to shush her. They ended up going through six of them before one realized the problem; the child did not want a wet nurse, she wanted her mother, and she knew the difference quite clearly. Perhaps it is this sense of abandonment, fostered in her early youth, that makes her reach out to others so often. She wants more than anything to hold them close, but the one person who was meant to never has. Oh, she’s heard of the prophecy, but it doesn’t excuse her mother’s cowardice. In truth, Aurelia loves her father and even her brother more, because they at least have shown her who they are. They have shared with her something THE EMPRESS always denies. By eight years old she was calling them by their proper name, much to the shock and confusion of the court, but even that would not prompt them to explain things to her. They looked almost through her, as though she were an alien being, a parasite in their womb who had now been made into flesh, and Aurelia regards it with more bitterness than anything else in her life. Is it not enough, one of her ladies asked her once, to be loved by every person but one? Of course it wasn’t. She didn’t covet adoration from everyone, she simply wanted acknowledgement from the only person who would never give it, and it has curdled her sweetness into poison. They, more than anyone in the world, inspire pettiness and anger with no compassion in it. Aurelia has no empathy for the person who seeks to throw her away, and even if they can make peace, she knows they would never be on her side, anyway. Not when they’ve picked anyone over her at every opportunity, over and over until it left a scar on the inside of her heart. — She was a coward, the first time her father declared her ready to attend an execution. The man’s crime was a bawdy poem about THE HIGH PRIESTESS, but it was entirely her father’s decision to make it punishable by death. He said it was defaming the crown, by extension, and he had no advisor powerful enough to say no, or with the will to do so. No, you can’t! she cried, and bored, he’d said quite simply that he could. Again, he asked if she would attend, and tasting bile on her tongue, Aurelia declined. She dreams, still, about what she might have seen, and about whether he died with everyone jeering around him. Did a single person look him in the eye and remind him of his humanity? She’ll never know, because she was too weak to bear it. No one can say she doesn’t learn from her mistakes, though. The next time she was right in the front row, lip trembling, tears running down her cheeks. Her ladies hate it, always trying to persuade her not to go, but without enough power to save their lives, this is all she can do. She can’t shy away from the ugly bits. Each time, it reminds her of what she needs to fight for, and of what she could be capable of, if she does not continuously tend to the flowers blooming in her chest. She still flinches when the blow comes, or when the boards drop beneath their feet. It still feels like weakness. — She keeps a list, in a pocket-sized journal in the false bottom of her vanity drawer, of all those she must make reparations to. Sometimes it’s just a family name, people whose child was taken from them too soon, or who died in a battle against those who wanted better for the world than her father. Other times, it’s nobles wronged merely for standing up to him, or peasantry she sees abused by the guards who seem to think along the same lines as him. Aurelia is running out of room, even in her smallest hand, and she’s terrified to start a new journal, because that would be crossing some invisible line. If she fills it, how broken does that make her family? How unforgivable? — Every child looks up to their elder siblings, and there were periods of time in Aurelia’s life where she tried to imitate both THE EMPEROR and THE CHARIOT. She tried to be tough, like her cousin has always been, but her skin bruised too easily and her feelings even easier. She tried her hand at the casual cruelty her brother always displayed, but the first time she said a mean thing to a servant, she burst into tears and threw herself into her arms, where the woman patted her back consolingly, likely terrified and confused by her mercurial behavior. The cruelty she inhabits is accidental, and if she’s made aware of it, she rectifies it as best she can. Simple things, like a lack of understanding for what a simple existence might be, or a careless comment from someone dripping in privilege and stained with gold. She can’t understand them, as hard as she tries, and sometimes she forgets them without thinking, though she always feels genuinely chastised later on. She is as close to good as anyone in power can be, but she can never be wholly so, for she has never known true despair or suffering. — Aurelia plays the piano forte, but it’s singing where she really shines. Considering all the useless lessons royal non-heirs are put through, it surprised her to discover she enjoyed music, but she often plays near the window, now, and feels a little like she’s singing a duet with the birds on the ramparts. She likes best when the guards are training outside, because sometimes they hear her, and some of them sing along. She likes that music connects otherwise disparate people, that it can bring passion into lifeless eyes and coax a smile out of misery. More than that, though, she likes to create. So much of the Valmont legacy is destruction, now, and she may never cleanse their name, but she can make things. New, bright things, untainted by the poison of her blood, coming straight from her spirit. Every tune she carries, every new combination of keys, she’s bringing something beautiful to life, not razing anything to the ground. She is endlessly fond of THE STAR for this reason, who looks like magic to her, even if he uses not a lick of it. — While she loves the look and feel of plants, and she tends to the garden within her soul rather well, Aurelia is what you would call the opposite of a green thumb. A red thumb, maybe, for she consistently pricks herself on any bush she can, and plants wither under her care within moments. It’s lucky she has so many servants, who can attend to her desire to have plants hanging in her quarters without a second thought, or she would forever rue her bad luck. Nonetheless, while she doesn’t touch her plant babies and lets others care for them, she does chat with them about things in her day, usually making up fantastic stories about the events just so that she feels like she’s caring for them. She knows they can’t hear, knows it doesn’t do anything, but she hates the idea of having something so lovely around and not at least trying to offer it what she can, however meager fruit that is. — The oncoming conflict with Koldam was the first time Aurelia ever directly asked THE EMPEROR for anything. Mercy, brother, she whispered, I entreat you to try a little mercy. She knew that it’s never been in their nature, but what was she if not someone who tried, even when she failed? She had already petitioned their father to simply reprimand or offer a treaty to Koldam, but that was a failure. This was her first time trying her brother’s version, and look how that turned out? She hasn’t been able to look them in the eye since, in spite of generally seeing the best in them, even when they’re cruel to her. Being cruel at home is one thing; senseless violence is another. She can’t condone it when Father sends people pointlessly to execution, and she can’t condone it for THE EMPEROR either, because he was given enough authority to act. Koldam has taught her one thing: the only royal she can rely on is herself, and perhaps THE CHARIOT, though she hasn’t approached them directly. — Unlike her father, Aurelia has always been fascinated by magic. The wonder and horror of it enthrall her, and at the same time, the pain they are forced to endure to use it wounds her heart. She would not employ magicians unless it was dire and necessary, but for opposite reasons to King Septimus: she will not condemn anyone to torture lightly. That said, she visits the practitioners within the castle often enough, always wanting to be sure that someone in her family treats them with the respect they deserve. At night, lying awake and counting stars out her window rather than sleeping, she sometimes imagines what it would be like to have magic. The power to heal, the power to kill, the power to bring others back to life… all of them would make her a stronger and more capable presence in court, even if they would inspire fear and awe in her father’s eyes and perhaps change her position. Still, she must make due with what the Undeath has chosen for her, and must cultivate the only power that remains to her: that sharp mind and that brave heart. — Her inner circle is how she refers to her ladies-in-waiting, while her guards retain the name of Coterie. This is because while they must be distinguished, she doesn’t think of them as only guards or only ladies-in-waiting. They are friends, confidantes, and trusted sources of information, without which the bare bones of her slowly growing claim to the throne would not be possible. They aren’t disposable tools, and they certainly aren’t only soldiers. This distinguishes them and allows them to stand a little taller, and walk with a little more pride. Naming groups both allows a feeling of exclusivity and reminds them of the privilege they have to be within those circles, and to be cast out hurts all the more for it. PLOT IDEAS: — TO LOVE ANYTHING GOOD, AT ANY COST, IS A BURDEN | Considering THE LOVERS is such an important connection to who she is at her core, I think it’s important to explore that relationship and grow or burn it down. Either works for me. Sometimes, a good ruler must give her heart first to her people, and it leaves no room for anyone else. Sometimes, a good ruler must have a good partner at her side, to share her dreams and prospects for the future, to advise her when she is down, to take care of that heavy, heavy head. The problem is that Aurelia must take care of all of Tyrholm, and that will never leave room to focus on any one individual. So what can they do? They love each other, and what is lovable about Aurelia might also be what undoes them for good. She has already decided to pick family over vengeance, but can she choose love over duty? So far, the answer is unclear, but it crawls from the fog of indecision, closer by the day. — GIVE ME THE BLADE. SOME THINGS ARE WORTH SPILLING BLOOD FOR | There cannot be a bloodless coup, not when the King himself is so bloodthirsty a man, and his heir is worse. She believes she can end this peacefully, but it’s a foolish dream, born from love rather than from logic. Usually, the two pair well in her, but in this she has become blind to the path forward. It will take a lot to open her eyes, but when they begin to see what she must do, I want her to balk. I need her to cower, because it’s what makes her human. She will rage against it, she will fear it, and most essentially, she will be forced to confront it. There will come a time where Aurelia can’t move forward without bloodshed, without ousting someone from her path permanently, and I want her to face that with all the courage she can muster. By the time the knife is in her hand, I want her to have come to the point where she can use it, even if it hurts, even if it twists a blade in her own gut. — WE MUST RESIST. WE MUST REFUSE TO DISAPPEAR | Connecting members of the revolt will be essential to its doing, and I want her to be one of the lynch pins that holds them together. She is the most likely to get along with the most people, to see the way THE FOOL suffers or THE HIGH PRIESTESS grows tired of these games. She can coax revolters together to some degree, with the help of a couple others spread across the city, and if she can win a majority of them to her side, she’ll have won the game. The trick, of course, is uniting their common goals, and in convincing them to pick her over THE CHARIOT, who is the person she most needs to win. Still, consolidating power will become necessary as the revolt kicks up steam, and she will not be left out or left waiting on someone else’s whim. She will pluck the best of the best from those she can coax into aiding her, and together, they will make her dreams a reality. — IT INFURIATED ME THAT THEY KNEW ME BY HEART | With how often she’s been thrown together with TEMPERANCE, she should know that there’s more for her here than animosity, but she doesn’t. I want her to recognize that she cares for them, because in turn, it will help her recognize that they call to the petty jealousy in her, to the frustration she bottles up day in and day out. They call to the spirit of a fight in the pit of her stomach, and there’s no one else who sees that part of her, the not-so-pretty parts. That they care for her anyway, that they float marriage no matter how many years go by, fills her with warmth when it shouldn’t, and for that, she despises them. Love should be soft, she thinks as she looks at THE LOVERS. It should care for her heart and cradle it in careful fingers. Yet they don’t quite challenge her the way TEMPERANCE does, and that fills her with dread so profound she can’t examine it yet. I want her to look into it and make a choice, once and for all, about what she wants, because it will define not only her life moving forward, but potentially the one sharing her throne at the end of it all. — AND EVERYTHING’S HOLY— EVERYTHING, EVEN ME | She acts the pious one because she must, but truth be told, she is afraid of death in a way that she has to confront in order to gain the Undying’s blessing. She wants it, because it’s of her people and she loves her people, but she doesn’t really have a firm grasp of death, not in the way necessary to commune with Undeath themself. She’s too young and too sheltered, and while her heart hurts for those who die too soon, it’s in the abstract, without real context to define her grief. She has not had to accept death before, to look it in the face and make peace with it, and that will be her gauntlet when she moves for the throne. Religion in name only isn’t going to cut it, and she knows that, but she puts it off, afraid of what she’ll face in the Sanctum or, even more dangerous, within the Temple of the Undying God itself. It’s the cross she will grow to bear, and developing her relationship with religion is key, not only for her own development but to grow her connections within the worshippers themselves. Their support would be essential to her coup, after all, as their declaration of the Undeath’s favor and her confirmation of it would bolster her support. — I DON’T NEED TO BE LOVED EXCEPT WHEN I DO | Ultimately, Aurelia will need to confront THE EMPRESS, and I would like to take her development in that direction. For good or for ill, this is her mother, and there can be no moving forward without hashing out their lives. Ultimately she would come to a point where she might even ask her mother to join her, desperate to prove that she can be creation, rather than the destruction they’ve always seen her as. Her need to be cared for by them is constant and frustrates her, but she can’t rid herself of it, either, damned for something she’s not even done yet. Can she understand, Aurelia wonders, that this coldness has led her closer to revolution than love ever would have? That if they had held her closer, perhaps they could have stayed her hand? Without that foundation, she will never listen to them, but she might attempt to take advantage of their political acumen for her own gain. — YOU COULD NOT SPEAK / SOMETHING WAS DYING IN YOUR CHEST | The Necromancers have been used as mindless tools for too long, but Aurelia grew up with them around her, and she knows that they aren’t hollow vessels for magic, they’re people. Sure, maybe the magic takes some of it away, but it can’t take everything, and Aurelia doesn’t want to let it. They deserve more than what they’re given, and so do the Inferni; the Vitalus aren’t the only practitioners worthy of magic, but they’ve been treated like it for their noble birth and their easy to swallow techniques. Aurelia wants to change that. If the Necromancers interact more with the world, perhaps they will consider the lives they take more preciously; if the commoners are forced to interact with them, perhaps they will recognize those sparks of humanity within and foster them. The Inferni can learn that life is precious, that their power can raze the earth and leave it clean for rebirth if they’ll allow it. There’s no one way to handle magic, no perfect system, but then, there’s no perfect system at all with people involved in it. All she knows is that Aurelia would treat them all with respect, if not always kindness; a ruler cannot always be kind, but they must endeavor to always be just. — I DOUBT EVERYTHING, EVEN MY DOUBT | There will come a time where she will be asked to betray her family and she will say no. I would love for that to break someone’s trust in her, as a ruler and as a leader of the revolution. I would love for it to shake her faith in herself. Can she be a good person when she loves them, these awful people she has decided belong to her? It would be a stumbling block, and I want her to need to prove that she’s in this, preferably by deliberately and methodically betraying her family at a later date, after her resolve solidifies. It won’t kill them, she tells herself as she wakes up crying for the fifth time that week. It will only hurt. — LOVE HAS TEETH WHICH BITE, AND THE WOUNDS NEVER CLOSE | This will involve a layer of integration, but someone close to her dying would really galvanize her. If that happens, it would invigorate those parts she’s always bottled up: things like rage and decisiveness would become paramount to her. She would be a little more ruthless, a little more sensible about the reality of the world, if she had to lose something precious. Any loss of something she loves is a loss of a bit of herself, she gives her loyalty so fiercely and without any sort of restraint. She hadn’t known loss, hasn’t known a bit of it, and thus doesn’t know when to hold back and when to pour herself into another person. Her disillusionment would grow, and her view of leadership and its duties would change, which I would love to explore if the plot of the overarching group allowed it. — WHICH SHOULD I REGRET: WHAT I BECAME, OR WHAT I DIDN’T? | It would be essential to her to find the person who originally gave the prophecy about her birth. If they’re no longer alive, then she would find their closest relative or any witnesses to it. She wants to know the exact words, and more than that, she needs to gauge whether this person is bullshit or not. Her hunt would culminate in finding out more about who she’s supposed to be and what she’s supposed to do, with a healthy dose of angst to go alongside it. After all, it’s one thing to hear rumors about a prophecy; it’s another entirely to realize it’s real this entire time. It would depend on what happened, how she reacts, but I know it would change how she views herself and her mother both, at the bare minimum, let alone its effect on her responsibilities to the revolt. — I NEED A VOICE TO ECHO / I NEED A LIGHT TO TAKE ME HOME | This is probably the most fun plot idea I have, but it’s subject to a lot of other people helping, so bear with me. I would love for Aurelia to start masquerading in Lowtown and other places far from the castle as a bard. Not a well-practiced one, but a revolutionary one that always wears a mask. She would have to spend hours practicing, and would involve all her ladies-in-waiting, among others, to help her sneak in and out and ensure her safety. Still, poems and songs are often used to foment the seeds of revolution in all cultures, and royals are so often educated in music, it just seems like a natural fit. It would also tie with her fondness for THE STAR, not wanting to ask his help in fear of endangering him or herself, but will he find her out anyway? He just might, or someone else who frequents these areas of Tyrholm might. In any case, I would like to build a slow-burning revolutionary plot where the princess masquerades as one of the people, both to learn more about them and to show them it’s okay to raise their voices. Maybe it leads to the tavern she performed at once getting razed by the guard, and she realizes she gravely misjudged her father. Maybe she gets unmasked and punished, or even killed. It just offers so many opportunities, and seems like the sort of thing a romantic revolutionary might cook up. — THE FAULT LINES, SEEDING, LYING IN WAIT | Despite knowing herself as the best person for the throne, Aurelia is not, in fact, opposed to THE CHARIOT taking it for themself. With a little more spine, she sees the making of a great ruler in them just as easily as she sees it in herself, and she has a goal to foster that. I would love as an alternative plot, as her first option, to see if she can maneuver herself into aiding their bid for the throne, and then either deciding that she must take it or helping them to grow would be my next objective. Aurelia wants the best ruler for Tyrholm, full stop, and THE CHARIOT is in front of her. They are therefore far easier to get into a sitting position upon it, and together, the two of them might have enough power to do it without killing anyone, especially if they enlist THE EMPRESS. This plot is too dependent on others’ vision to expand on, but I wanted to include it, because I don’t want Aurelia’s only option to be herself. That’s not in character for her, not really. — FOR LOVE, I WILL HANDLE YOUR SINS | This is up to whichever player is down to do this plot with me, but essentially, Aurelia will have started cultivating a friendship with a specific Necromancer. This is so that she can use one of her back-up plans, and it��s definitely a last resort, but if one of her family dies in this revolution, she would want them brought back very badly indeed. In fact, she would give some of her own life to power that regeneration, if necessary. In the event that the King dies or even THE EMPEROR falls, she would want a way to bring them back and set them to sail across the sea and live out the remainder of their days as a commoner. It’s fitting punishment, in her mind, and it’s better than them being dead, isn’t it? For she cannot and will not kill them, but exile will satisfy her needs, and their public death will satisfy the people’s needs as well. CHARACTER DEATH: Yes, but I would prefer her to get close to taking power, first, because it will be sweeter to have that hope and see it taken away. WRITING SAMPLE: SCENE ONE // Aurelia relishes in the feeling of grass beneath her palms, her head cradled safely in Petra’s lap as she cards through her hair. Her voice fills the small space between them, reading to her from the latest novel she’s plucked from her father’s library, and Aurelia lets her eyes flutter shut. She’d prefer if THE LOVERS were with her, but they’ve fallen ill, and she would never coax them from a restful slumber if it will make their healing faster. Petra is her second favorite of her ladies, anyway, her voice the lowest of them all and most suited toward reading. She never minds, either, whether it’s complicated, confusing poetry, or a simple romance novel from twenty years ago. She’ll even read intercepted missives to her, though Aurelia generally lets those lie until her eyes alone can read them. It’s not that she doesn’t trust her ladies, for they are her closest confidantes and her very best friends, but she doesn’t want to endanger them. They can’t know more than they should, for their own safety. Now, the tale is coming to a close, and the Crying Tree whispers in the slight breeze as Petra’s voice trails off into silence. Aurelia sighs; it was a good story, if not a great one, and she’s sad to part with it. ❝ Thank you, Petra, ❞ she says almost to the wind, lashes still brushing her delicate cheeks. Book set aside, her lady-in-waiting now uses both hands to comb gently through the princess’s hair, much to her lazy delight.❝ I thought it was… good, in the end. What is your verdict? ❞ A hum comes from on high, making Aurelia smile slightly. Petra is a thinker, always considering each angle before she responds. She’s the best strategist in Aurelia’s arsenal, certainly. ❝ Passable, my lady, nothing more. ❞ Aurelia has managed to break most of her ladies of their formal habits when they’re alone, but Petra clings stubbornly to some sort of title, downgrading it from highness to lady only after much pleading on Aurelia’s part. Now, she sits up, letting Petra’s fingers trail from her scalp and fall into her lap as the wind plays with the strands of hair around her face. She turns a beatific smile in Petra’s direction, whose responding expression is indulgent and fond. ❝ You comment thusly on all the novels, ❞ Aurelia points out. ❝ We must endeavor to find one that measures to your exacting standard, or I will never be satisfied. ❞ She turns at the sound of Luneria’s voice, looking over her shoulder to where another of her ladies is popping a fat grape into her mouth and giggling. It takes her a moment to swallow, and she offers a grape to Aurelia as she speaks, who takes it with aplomb. ❝ Have you tried her on any historical novels, Aura? ❞ She thinks around the fruit in her mouth; Luneria is the newest of her ladies, and thus would have little awareness of what she has or has not attempted to have Petra read her. ❝ I attempted once, though it was a romance, which we quickly discovered was not to her taste, ❞ she admits after thinking it over. Petra steals an orange from the basket in the middle of their blanket and begins to peel it with practiced precision, neatly curling round and round the fruit until the rind can be neatly coiled in the palm of her hand. As she works at the small project, she smirks a little bit; ah, this is Aurelia’s favorite side of Petra. ❝ The frippery of the language and the content suits me ill. Nothing in them is ever practical, and if you’re not careful, they’ll fill your head with flights of fancy, my lady. ❞ ❝ Give it here, please, ❞ Aurelia asks after the skin of the orange, distracted from their conversation by her overwhelming love for the scent of oranges. She takes the rind and cups it in two hands, leaning down and inhaling the sharp scent of citrus. Luneria giggles again, and Kolva raps her on the knuckles with the spoon they’ve been using to sample the saucer of mousse. Embarrassed, her cheeks flush red, and she turns wide eyes in Aurelia’s direction. ❝ I’m sorry, Aura. I’ve never seen someone so excited by an orange peel, that’s all. ❞ Another member of her family might have punished her insolence, but Aurelia only wrinkles her nose before laughing too. ❝ If I could fill my bath with orange and lemon every day, I would, ❞ she admits, pressing the rind to the skin at the nape of her neck so she’ll carry a fragment of the scent with her during the rest of the day. She can be entirely unselfconscious with her ladies-in-waiting; that’s why she vets them so thoroughly, getting to know them without pretense before admitting them into her inner circle. Luneria is new, but she’s not cruel, and she would do anything for Aurelia. She can be nothing less, else Aurelia would’ve declined to invite her altogether. Now, she holds out her hand for the rind, which Aurelia hands over with mocking reluctance, smile delicate but sure. Luneria lifts it to her nose a moment before smiling. ❝ It smells like you, ❞ she realizes, mouth opening in surprise. ❝ More fool am I not to have recognized it before. Do you keep these beneath your pillow? ❞ ❝ Tucked into the pillowcase, ❞ Kolva explains before Aurelia can. The princess merely shrugs, opening her mouth when Petra offers her a slice of orange so that she can taste the sweet fruit without getting her hands sticky. Luneria claps her hands together, delighted to learn something new about Aurelia’s routine. They’re so easy to please. Sometimes it scares her, honestly, that they’re this easy, but their love is the kind that’s without reserve. She’ll never take it for granted, not with how blessed she feels to have it, but she won’t curtail it, either. She wants them with her always. Turning bright eyes Kolva’s way, she eyes the mousse with suspicion. Kolva avoids her gaze a moment, but her mouth twitches, barely containing her giggles. For the most taciturn of her ladies, she has a streak of wildness and delight to her that Aurelia coaxes out as often as she can. Now, she leans forward in an attempt to inspect the saucer, but gets caught in the sheer amount of fabric in her dress. ❝ Kol-va, ❞ she sing-songs, flopping onto her back with the effort exerted. ❝ You better leave some for me, or I shall have to inform the entire castle of my most fearsome lady-in-waiting’s sweet tooth. They say it may be the sweetest tooth this side of Koldam. ❞ This memory exists in the space of time before Koldam was destroyed, when they were nothing more than a smaller city-state she’d read about in history books and seen as a dot on the map. It’s also where Kolva is from originally, before her family moved to Tyrholm for better prospects and Aurelia spotted the delightful shade of her hair from across the market. The rest, as they say, is history, aside from Kolva’s light accent. She hears rustling around her, and when she opens one eye, she sees Kolva sitting above her, red kissing the blonde in her hair even more than usual in the halo of midday sunlight. Eager, she sits up almost too fast, breath knocked from her by the corset around her ribs. ❝ Ouch, ❞ she whispers, and all three of her ladies are immediately crowded around her. They strike like soft lightning, like the edge of a healing blade, sharp in movement but soft in expression. ❝ Are you hurt, my lady? ❞ Petra asks, running a hand down her side in an absent, soothing gesture. Aurelia shakes her head, tenderness in her smile as she looks at each of them in turn. ❝ Merely winded a moment, and perhaps touched by your ready response, ❞ she admits, for sharing affection always makes her happy. Petra presses a kiss to her temple, while Luneria takes her hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. Kolva dips her spoon into the saucer, holding it gently to Aurelia’s lips. ❝ Your tooth rivals mine, ❞ she says stubbornly, even as she slides the silver spoon between the princess’ lips. The texture is airy and rich, a perfect compliment to their picnic, and Aurelia’s sigh is one of contentment. ❝ And you never let me forget it, ❞ she answers, reaching out to cup Kolva’s cheek in one soft palm. ❝ What would I do without you, hmm? ❞ She looks at each of them in turn, Luneria practically in her lap and Petra behind her, one hand still on her shoulder. ❝ I would be lost without even one of you. ❞ Yes, even Luneria, as green as she is. Her infectious enthusiasm and joy is something Aurelia had been afraid she was starting to lose, but with Luneria at her side, how can she? Each of them brings something to the table, something to her heart. Her ladies. Her circle. They are the thing that keeps her balanced, her corner of sanity in a world that makes less sense each day.

SCENE TWO // Disclaimer: While I included THE LOVERS, I did my best not to god-mod them. That said, this is only a sample, and not meant to be canonized without the consent of my fellow player. Her receiving parlor is not a throne room, but Aurelia sits in her ostentatious bergère as though the crown is already atop her head. THE LOVERS stands at the back of her chair, to her right side, but they know to keep quiet. The best help anyone can be in matters of censure, with Aurelia being so young and seen as so gentle, is to be silent. Her expression is cold and imperious, a far cry from her usual gentility, and though their heads are bowed, she is almost positive the three guards kneeling before her can feel the sharpness in her gaze. ❝ I have been informed of quite an ugly circumstance, ❞ she says quietly. Her voice is not cold, not nearly so frigid as her eyes remain, but it is far worse: each word drips with disappointment, with the feeling that you have let down someone who loves you dearly. They’ve laid their helmets in front of them, and she can see quite clearly when one uncovered head dips, right at the center. They do not like this treatment, and they should not. She doesn’t have to be cruel to them to punish them. This is something her father and brother have never once understood. When you are the warmth of the sun, you must only force someone to remain in the dark, and they will learn well what it is to appreciate the heat when it returns. The silence is its own form of punishment, forcing them to wait on her to continue. They know what they’ve done, of course. They knew when they began that she would not approve. They just didn’t seem to care. Now, she looks at each of them in turn, wondering which will be the first to break down and apologize directly. ❝ As my midday meal came to an end, I was approached by a servant with news from the dining hall. She claimed that three guards, my personal guards, were disrupting the peace. Would any of you care to confess as to why you would interrupt the rest and rejuvenation of those around you to be needlessly cruel? ❞ She waits. Aurelia was not impatient, and she has nowhere else to be today. This is, after all, the privilege of being second-born. She is never expected, not really, not if she doesn’t want to be. In a lack of duty, a sense of honor was born to her that ensures she has her own responsibilities to attend to, this being one of them. Her fingers tap against her lap for a moment, the rhythm precise and methodical. ❝ No? ❞ she inquires one last time, into the deathly silence of the room. ❝ Then I can only assume none of you will plead ignorance to what you have done in my name. ❞ Her voice now hardens as she confirms what she knew from the start. At in my name, the guard to her left flinches, and her heart hurts. Still, this is what must be done. She cannot avoid punishing them simply because she cares for them. ❝ I have only three rules you must obey to stay a part of my Coterie, ❞ she reminds them, authority ringing even in her own ears. Coterie, she calls them, for they are not only a Guard, they are her friends. They wear her heraldry, her own personal identification on their armor, and every single act they take has her name on it. That is why their betrayal hits her so strongly, perhaps, and it is a betrayal. To go against her beliefs is as going against Aurelia herself. ❝ The one you have broken is the one I value above all else. Will one of you recite it for me? I know you capable and aware of which it is you have forsworn me by. ❞ Etienne is the first to speak, thus refusing Octavia and Isobel their chances. ❝ No one with the privilege of wearing your heraldry shall wield it for the purpose of cruelty or out of spite, ❞ they say, corn-silk hair falling out of their braid and into their eyes as they look up to speak. Whatever they see in Aurelia’s expression burns them, for they gaze upon the floor again soon enough, trembling head to toe. ❝ Thank you, Etienne, ❞ she says out of politeness, for nothing in her countenance suggests gratitude. ❝ We’re so sorry, your Highness, please — ❞ Isobel starts, her voice revealing her to be on the verge of tears. As they are all looking down for the moment, Aurelia reaches over her shoulder for THE LOVERS hand a moment, to steady her. She has never enjoyed making her people upset, even if it’s for a righteous purpose. The warmth of their touch gives her courage. ❝ Not sorry enough, or you would never have done it. ❞ She sighs. ❝ Besides, I am not the one who merits an apology from you. When we are done here, I expect you to apologize to Guard du Jardin, and I hope that you will mean it. ❞ ❝ Of course, ❞ Isobel whispers, ❝ As soon as we are able. ❞ Aurelia is sure they will. She’s sure they mean their apology sincerely, and she’s positive that they will not act in such a manner again. That’s not the issue. The issue is a deeper one that underlies every part of her section of the court, from her Coterie to her inner circle. It’s not particularly their fault that they’ve highlighted it to her, but if it goes unpunished, it will galvanize the others. ❝ I understand that a position within my Coterie is highly coveted, and that my restrictions make it hard to obtain one. ❞ The ban on cruelty and spite is fairly simple for people to swear to, but the five recommendations and the trial period before her inner circle decides whether they stay on in a permanent position are not. ❝ What I do not understand is why you would use that envy against someone else, when you yourselves have felt it so keenly. Your solution is to laugh at someone for thinking to try? To hold your position over their heads and talk down to them? ❞ She shakes her head, expression miserable. She will not be used as a cudgel to put others down. She will not be lorded over anyone. Aurelia turns to Octavia, who has done an admirable job of keeping quiet. ❝ Do you have anything to add, Octavia? ❞ She does not call her the oh-so-affectionate V normally reserved for her, does not indicate any inch of familiarity between them, but Octavia doesn’t flinch. Instead, she meets Aurelia’s eyes evenly, without malice or defiance. ❝ I do not, your Highness. You have said it best yourself. It was a petty thing for me to do, and I regretted it immediately. Any censure you have for us will be deserved. ❞ At this, tears well in Aurelia’s eyes, though she does not allow them to fall. Octavia is the only one in a position to see them, anyway, and at the sight, her own eyes well with salt water as well. They must both be strong, for the sake of not only each other, but Aurelia’s right to respect from her court. They love her, yes, but they must also obey her, and Octavia understands this most of all, coming from a noble house herself. Aurelia nods. ❝ Yes, I find it will be. ❞ At last getting up from her seat, Aurelia leans down to Etienne and Isobel in turn, tilting their chins upward with careful fingers, so that they can see her. She hates this part, the punishment part, but it’s a necessary step. She refuses to do it without at least looking them in the eyes. Once done, she returns to her position, regal as always. ❝ For misusing the power I have given you, I see I can no longer trust you with it. Each of you are no longer a member of my Coterie. ❞ Isobel gasps, a wounded sound that Aurelia associates with hospice or injury. ❝ If you wish to return into my service, you will be required to receive no less than seven individual recommendations, none of which may be issued by those who previously floated you for your positions. In addition, ❞ she says, hardening her heart to the look of horror on Etienne’s face, ❝ I require that one of those recommendations come from Guard du Jardin personally. ❞ They’re lucky that she has enough members in her Coterie now that they will not be missed. Were that not the case, were they infringing on her safety, their punishment would be far greater. ❝ Stand, please, ❞ she says, and the three of them rush to their feet. Octavia holds her head high, but Isobel is crying, and Etienne’s lower lip trembles. Rather than asking THE LOVERS to do this part, because it’s hard, Aurelia approaches them herself to unpin her insignia from their armor. They bear it with as much grace as they can; she knows if this were her brother or father, they would do it where the entire court was watching. Then again, they would never dismiss a personal guard for cruelty in the first place. Once collected, she hands these items to THE LOVERS for safekeeping and turns back to them, now looking somehow naked with no heraldry to mark them as her own. ❝ As I hope you understand by now, your punishment is that which you so disdained your fellow Guard for mere hours ago. I hope, should I see each of you in my service again, you will comport yourselves in a way that does not debase me. I will treat you with exactly as much honor as you show me yourselves. ❞ Head held high, she returns to her bergère and sits, exhausted. ❝ You are dismissed. ❞ The moment they have left the room, Octavia shutting the door behind her, Aurelia allows her tears to fall. It is hardest to punish those you love, she thinks as she covers her face in her hands, allowing THE LOVERS to hold her at last. EXTRAS — In my first writing sample I wanted to say there was a Weeping Willow, but I renamed it Crying Tree because it just seemed to fit the mythos more to me. I would think it would be interesting if perhaps they’re favored by The Undying God, considering their mournful legend in our own history. — The only weapon Aurelia will ever carry herself is a knife, because it’s easy to conceal amid all her layers, and it will only be used as a last resort. She trains with it, so she can defend herself if she’s caught alone, but she isn’t a physical fighter and she never will be. She hopes she’ll never have to use it on a living person, not ever. — Here’s her pinterest. — Here’s her playlist.

#accepted #accepted: the world

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