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When Iyalon thinks of the House of the Heralds of Daybreak—as the Hinode Clan had once been called—he can only really picture the cold mountains of Corinth’s northern region: the unsettling chill in the air if one is too familiar with the humid heat of the lowlands, the shattered sunlight streaming through the murky clouds, the treacherous paths that stand as the natural defenses of a House that have only ever known the ways of the sword and very little else. He remembers all too well the life he had once lived amongst them; the Order of the Orchid had first been established with its members having been taken from the ranks of the Hinode Clan. Iyalon had been the first among that number, and so he had spent a year or so of his life with warriors of great skill, learning their ways and digging his roots down to the rocky soil to entwine with them. Therefore, it is only fitting that the primary emotion in his chest when he thinks of the Clan is grief, and not regret.
• • • Royalty does not suit her at all, Varda decides very early on. The diadem—newly forged as it is, and gleaming silver—weighs heavy on her brow. Despite the assurances of her brother that the burdens of a queen’s mantle are not all that different from the burdens of noble headship, the view from the height of a throne still appears frightening from where one perches on its esteemed seat. Over the weeks upon weeks spent establishing the legal power of the Queendom, something has changed within her. She finds herself more assertive—and yet more restrained. She finds herself more courageous—and yet more fearful. Her words carry the weight of an army, now. Her actions carry the weight of a crown. And so she finds herself at the doorstep of Quinton Swan once more: ostensibly seeking advice from a friend, if one were to question her motives, wading into the fray of the Kingdom as she is doing so now. Last time, she had sought for his aid in the healing of the body, Iyalon faithful by her side. This time, Iyalon is in the highlands bargaining for the reestablishment of their vassals in her stead, and she is alone. Here, she is not a queen, but a mere woman in want of companionship. (That is of importance, whether or not it is realized in her mind at the moment.) She’d sent a missive to his estate days before in order to announce her arrival once again, but Varda does not doubt that the man is always well-prepared to receive guests, and even moreso, dare she say it, to receive herself in his home. There is a wonderment, a thrill thrumming through her as she awaits recognition from his staff, and even as she waves her armored retinue to wait for her return, she moves forward with the confidence of a sword and shield at her back. (Royalty does not suit her, not at all, but it does have its benefits.) @King
bewitched; unceasing “Going up that river was like travelling back to the earliest beginnings of the world, when vegetation rioted on the earth and the big trees were kings. An empty stream, a great silence, an impenetrable forest. The air was warm, thick, heavy, sluggish. There was no joy in the brilliance of sunshine. The long stretches of the waterway ran on, deserted, into the gloom of overshadowed distances. And this stillness of life did not in the least resemble a peace. It was the stillness of an implacable force brooding over an inscrutable intention. It looked at you with a vengeful aspect.” ― Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness s-class artifact thread | persicaria's amulet sounds of stories: in the shadows and forest: night watercooler/ooc thread | posting: once a week, not including NPC posts