Briarwood Family/Liliyana/Prelude to the Ball

Roleplay from Lilyana Briarwood

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Lilyana: Prelude to the Ball

In the heart of her secluded sanctuary, Lilyana found herself nestled within the walls of her writing room. It was a chamber that bore an air of enchantment, nestled under a low-roofed ceiling that seemed to cradle secrets whispered by the stars themselves. The walls, painted in deep hues of blackened purple, bore a sombre elegance that contrasted with the wild remnants of dead vines and thorns that clung to them as if unwilling to release their grasp on the world. Yet, despite this sombre façade, the walls were framed with trimmings of white marble, and the floors beneath her feet gleamed in the polished sheen of dark red wood.

A gentle smile graced Lilyana's lips as she lowered a delicate piece of parchment, a missive adorned with the graceful handwriting of Lady Isana Everlight. With a flourish, the lady's signature joined the ranks of illustrious guests slated to grace the impending ball.

Amidst the grandeur of names that graced the parchment, her heart swelled with a poignant sense of familiarity. These were not just names; they were echoes of stories spun by her father, tales that wove the tapestry of the Great Perdanese Nobility. Benjamin Pryde, Isana Everlight, names both radiant and enduring, the Goldwaters and Calders, bearing the weight of courage and honour. Even those whose names eluded her, she knew their essence, the resonant harmonies of their family lines, yet amidst these storied narratives, there existed an uncharted entity – Lamphear. A name unfamiliar to her, a house uncharted in her father's tales. But it was not a void that bred discomfort; rather, it was the unknown that kindled a spark of intrigue within her chest. Ser Juste, the herald of this uncharted realm, had accepted her invitation.

With a delicate grace, Lilyana turned her gaze to another parchment, one bearing the seal of Duke Tsingu Orobar. The words flowed like a river, their currents leading her through the Duke's discourse. A pause, a breath suspended, her fingers reached for slender glasses, their dark frames perching gently upon her nose as she ventured to the scribe's warning. A chuckle, a soft symphony, cascaded from her lips, its resonance woven with mirth and understanding. The Duke, it seemed, carried a reputation that extended beyond his princely title - a would-be seducer.

Summoning a silver bell from her desk, its chime resonated through the chamber twice, beckoning a servant clad in the house's signature black and purple livery. His presence was a shadow materializing within her sanctum, poised and ready to heed her command.

"What is your desire, ma'am?" the servant inquired with deference.

Lilyana turned her gaze over her shoulder, the depths of her burgundy eyes catching the candlelight's shimmer. "What do thee know of Duke Orobar?"

The servant paused, the cogs of his mind whirring before forming words. "A man of sixty-four winters, known for his curt speech and irascible temperament. He adheres to the hierarchy and is appreciative of feminine beauty."

A hint of a pout tugged at Lilyana's lips. "An age-worn member of the peerage indeed," she mused cryptically, her voice a caress of a soft enigma. "Thank thee for thy insight."

The servant dipped his head, withdrawing to leave her solitude unbroken. As the door closed, Lilyana's fingers danced across the list of attendees.

She rose from her desk and crossed the room to a door of dark brown wood. Opening it, she unveiled a chamber of opulent dreams. Walls of royal purple accented by white marble framed a cathedral ceiling adorned with a tapestry of stars. Beluaterran crystal chandeliers cast celestial light that transformed painted stars into twinkling constellations.

Drawing a deep breath, Lilyana faced the mirror beside her desk. Her appearance was simple elegance - raven hair and burgundy eyes, a buxom figure that exuded grace, though she noted the plainness of her simple spun gown, unfit for the peerage. She regarded herself with a solemn mien.

A strange and mystical necklace found its place around her throat, a poignant reminder of the path she walked. As her fingers brushed its surface, she acknowledged the mandate her father had bestowed - to find a suitor. It was a duty she accepted and one she had delayed long enough to earn his ire.

Her resolve fortified, Lilyana approached the dresser, her fingers caressing the fabrics that held her history and future. Amidst the whisper of silk and the rustle of lace, she began the delicate decision of selecting the attire that would render her radiant amidst the noble guests.

Roleplay from Benjamin Pryde

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Benjamin: Prelude to the Ball

Tea boiled in its pot, and Benjamin smiled at the scent of it. It always made him feel better just knowing it was there. And who was there making it.

Lily carried the pot over on a tray with two cups and placed it on the sitting table before taking the chair on the other side.

"My Lord," she said before raising the pot and filling a single cup that she set before him. Then she lowered the pot once more.

"My Lady," he said, grasped the pot, and filled the other cup before setting it in front of her. Then he lowered the pot.

They met each other's gazes, and Benjamin felt the years flash by. All the kingdoms and lands and peoples he had seen fade away. Even the lands he walked in his youth were gone, sunken beneath the waves of the Atamaran Ocean. And he had watched Lily's people leave and fade away. Only she and a few others remained. They had chosen to stay. She had chosen to stay. And his life was better for it. His so very long life. Men weren't meant to live as long as he had. He didn't know how her kind had done it in the old days. But she gave him a reason to wake up every day. She made his life good. And that was what mattered.

Benjamin reached forwards, grasped his teacup and raised it to his lips.

Lily echoed his action, and they sipped their immortalitea in unison.

It was their old tradition. Even before they left Oligarch, when he spent all his days in the Great Library, she had brought him that tea. And every day, he felt new energy flow into him. He didn't know if there was still some magic in that old tea. He hoped there was. He wanted to spend a lifetime with Lily. He drank the tea with deep gulps and drained it in seconds. He felt its warmth flow through his scarecrow-like body and smiled.

Lily smiled back at him.

And with that morning ritual complete, Benjamin unfolded his long limbs and rose to his feet as deep breaths entered and left his lungs.

He was ready to face another day.

Roleplay from Juste Lamphear

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Juste: Prelude to the Ball

As the soft rolling of thunder called from far over the Lion's Roar, Sir Juste cracks a small grin as he hears the mumbled unison of his archers saying, "Thank you, Magnus." Immediately, they were followed up by Advisor Donald whom, sitting across from Sir Juste in their buggy, laughs heartily, "Thank ye, indeed Magnus!"

It was tradition. Every kid who grew up around Juste's family, or more specifically around ol' uncle Donnie Macfinnleigh knew all about his service to Peregrine Kay. More specifically, they got to hear about the brave men and women that Donald fought alongside. On and on did the old warrior rant and rave about his secret battalion, the Blood Spirits, led by the Mighty Birgitta Drexel, otherwise known as the Dragon Mother. The tales, high as the mountains, are told about her incredible reflexes and the complete domination she had over a battlefield. And always at her six o'clock was the Brazen Duncan Mackenzie, who single-handedly held off an entire charge with a broken sword and a soft parry.

"A sof' parry's when ye've nothin' te defend yerself with but a grip on yer cloak!" Donald would always recall with great enthusiasm, much to the delight of the children. Of course, Donald was never shy to regale the kids with his berserk fighting style, shouting and ranting with a woad-painted face. But the greatest hero of them all was Magnus Zero. The White Paladin. Legend has it that Magnus could land a blow from his mace whose thunderous impact against steel and bone would beckon the lightning to respond in kind. So naturally, every kid who grew up hearing about Magnus clung to the tradition that somewhere beyond the veil, Magnus was fighting in an eternal battle. And whenever you hear thunder, it was because he had struck one of his booming strikes. Thunder meant that he was protecting us all, and so Juste, as well as each man and woman that follows him, would thank Magnus after each roll of thunder.

Donnie's tales of valour and heroes were just that, though. Tales. Juste learned the truth when he was almost a teenager, but to this day has never allowed Donnie to let on that he knew. Unfortunately, while Birgitta, Duncan, and Magnus were all real soldiers, they all also died before even getting a chance to step onto the field. It was a night raid that struck against a tower they were garrisoned in. The enemy used a vile black power that blew the base of the tower, causing the debris to crash onto Donald and his team, leaving Donald with nothing but empty memories and half a left leg. The reality of war is that it is brutal, savage, and disastrous to not only the land but the human psyche. Forevermore was Donald changed after one night. A soldier whom had never seen the battlefield was discharged due to his injuries. So he makes it all up. All the stories, the heroes, and the shining moments. Every facade finds itself reflected in a thousand-yard stare with each crack of thunder he hears, only for him to smile and thank his fallen brother. How else would he cope with the echoes that haunt him?

-

"Donnae lie ta me laddie, yer sweet on the Briarwood girl, ain't ye? I knew 'er father ya know! 'at Man's one of the best. Tha' would be a proud family ta marry into!"

Juste responded with a shake of his head but also a short laugh. "Attending the Ball is my way of supporting Perdan and showing my allegiance. I've no intentions to woo Dame Lilyana."

"Ha! Well foine! Oi'll step in 'n swoop 'er off 'er feet me damn self! Ain't a dame across the 'ole con'inent that wouldn't swoon o'er a Macfinnleigh!"

Ignoring the old vet, Juste rests his head on his knuckles as he gazes idly out of the window. The patter of light rain dots the glass, falling from under looming grey skies in the far North. He didn't lie to Donald, but that didn't mean that Dame Lilyana wasn't on his mind. He had never formally met her, but she still existed as an enigma in his head, constantly acting as a mental puzzle to be pieced together. Another gentle roll of thunder fills the air as Juste re-reads his invitation letter one more time.

"Thank you, Magnus." Is murmured from the archers.

"Thank ye, Magnus!" Shouted out by the Advisor.

"Thank you, Magnus." Said softly by the Knight, who watched the excitement of his companion fall and breathed as the seconds turn into hours.