Sooo... while we anxiously await the start of The Arcane Guild by Schoggettchen, I present for consideration...




The Queen’s Chosen

They say the Queen’s castle was built to catch the light, but in Dymora, light never comes freely.

Below her throne lies the grand estate: marble halls, silver gardens, and people who laugh softly and cry without sound. Everything there is beautiful, but drained… as if the color of the world has been breathed upward into the sky.

High above, the castle gleams with impossible life. Its walls shimmer with every emotion felt from the town below… a brilliant, vibrant gold when the estate finds joy, crimson when tempers flare wildly, and silver when sorrow settles in one's heart. The sky itself seems to pulse with color, alive with the emotions that the Queen has stolen.

When the castle brightens, the world around it holds its breath; flowers wilt and music falters. The warmth that follows feels almost holy, almost kind, until it fades, leaving the air cold and thin once more.

In Dymora, emotion feeds the throne.

The more her people feel, the stronger the Queen becomes. And although no one dares speak it aloud, every heart knows the truth… that the castle’s beauty is a borrowed thing, not earned by or for its people.

CASTING

To be an outcast is to be severed… from family, from belonging, from protection.

Some arrive stripped of title or fortune, their names erased by scandal, exile, or quiet decree. Others come from distant kingdoms, drawn by rumor, desperation, or opportunity. A few arrive willingly. Fewer still arrive believing they were summoned for a reason.

Across Dymora and beyond, the Queen’s estate is said to offer refuge to the discarded. It’s a place where the unwanted are given purpose or where loss can be remade into something useful.

What that purpose truly is… no one agrees.

You may choose whether your character was born into poverty, obscurity, or privilege. Some may have once been aristocrats, princes, or noble heirs, their titles rendered meaningless under the Queen’s dominion. Others may be criminals, survivors of fallen kingdoms, political inconveniences, or souls with nothing left to lose.

All who arrive share one truth: they have been noticed.

Writers may establish minor prior connections to existing court figures (Extras), such as brief encounters, rumors, past service, or unresolved debts. These should not imply exclusive bonds, guaranteed favor, or foreknowledge of the Queen’s intentions.

Each writer’s entry should include the following:

Character Introduction
Name
Age (24+)
Face claim (or basic physical description if you prefer).
Origin Kingdom
Distinguishing details (a nervous tic, a scar or tattoo, disfigurement, etc).

Backstory
Who were you before arriving at the Queen’s estate?
How did you become an outcast? (through abandonment, disgrace, exile, loss, or rebellion)
Why do you believe the Queen noticed you, or why do others believe she did?

Personality
At least 4 negative and 4 positive traits
Key emotional drivers: ambition, guilt, pride, fear, hope, resentment, etc.
Strengths and flaws.
Habits, quirks, likes, dislikes (optional)

Connections & Family
Do you have any living relatives or ties you’ve severed?
Are you aware of your lineage, or is it shrouded in mystery?
Any connections to the existing cast?

The Personal Item (Talisman)
One meaningful object you carry. It might be an heirloom, keepsake, trinket, or something seemingly insignificant but deeply personal.
(This object connects them to their past and will become important as the contest unfolds)

First Impressions
(This is a brief answer - you can elaborate on this moment if you like... it's optional)
How does your outcast react upon seeing the Queen’s estate for the first time?
What small detail (sound, scent, or sight) lingers in your memory?

First Interaction
(Again, this is a brief answer - you can elaborate on this moment if you like... it's optional)
Your initial meeting with the Queen or another servant/outcast.
How do you respond to your arrival? (grateful, fearful, defiant, silent, enthralled)

Please indicate whether you prefer a bubble universe or an open-world concept. I will consider each contestant’s preference prior to releasing the full contest.

CLASS SYSTEM

Across the known kingdoms, class shapes access, safety, and expectation far more than morality or loyalty. Where a character stands determines what they’ve been allowed to see, touch, and believe.

The Upper Circle (Court and Nobility):
Those closest to power live lives of polish and performance. Their days are filled with luxury, ceremony, and proximity to influence, but little permanence. Favor is fluid, status conditional. In royal courts, attention itself is currency, and missteps are remembered longer than achievements.
Some nobles thrive in this environment. Others quietly suffocate beneath it.

The Middle and Working Class:
Merchants, artisans, guards, and servants form the backbone of every kingdom. They are builders and maintainers, rewarded with stability rather than influence. Their lives are shaped by routine, tradition, and the promise that order is preferable to chaos.
Depending on the kingdom, they may live comfortably, cautiously, or with quiet ambition. Most believe the system works… because it must.

The Lower Class / Street Poor:
Those without protection live closest to consequence. Poverty, exile, or criminality often force adaptability, secrecy, and hard-earned resilience. In some regions, desperation breeds defiance. In others, belief.
Hope takes many forms here: faith, rebellion, rumor, or the promise that proximity to power might mean escape.

In Dymora, whispers circulate that to be noticed by the Queen is to be spared.
Elsewhere, such beliefs are dismissed as superstition… or propaganda.

KNOWN KINGDOMS

Dymora — The Kingdom of Dusk
This is where the contest will take place. All characters will be housed in some fashion at the estate.

The twilight never truly lifts here; days pass in soft gray light, the sun veiled behind a perpetual haze. The further one travels from the estate, the more muted life becomes… not ruined, but dimmed.
Cities still function: markets open, children play, festivals are held. But the vibrancy is gone. Music has grown hollow, art mechanical, laughter short-lived. The people don’t know that they’re being drained, they only know that life feels thinner now than it used to.
The Castle Above:
It looms like a jewel in the dark… vibrant, impossible, and alive. From the estate, it seems to pulse softly, as though it breathes.
When the Queen feeds, the whole horizon flares for a heartbeat, and shadows rush outward across the grounds.
The Estate Below:
Everything is beautiful but drained. Flowers grow pale, silks lose color, and the air itself feels thin, as if every emotion has already been spoken. Mirrors sometimes flicker with faint trails of light, vanishing the moment one blinks.

Silverwood — The Kingdom of Blossoms and Veins
Tone: Lush, tranquil, and exquisitely composed.
Description:
Silverwood is a kingdom of ancient forests and silver rivers, where sunlight filters through canopies like prayer. The land is rich… fertile soil, precious minerals, rare herbs, and timber that gleams like glass when cut. Its beauty is legendary, but its serenity is enforced; every path is manicured, every garden deliberate.
The royal family rules through diplomacy, caution, and appearance. Silverwood’s strength has never been its armies, but its restraint. It has remained neutral through every war, making quiet bargains to preserve its prosperity. To the world, Silverwood is a haven of peace.

Ashkar — The Fallen Kingdom
Tone: Fierce, scarred, and unyielding.
Description:
Ashkar was a realm of fire and iron, a proud mountain kingdom where loyalty was worth more than gold, and defiance was a birthright. Its cities were carved into cliffs, its forges burned day and night, and its people were known for their steel, both in craft and in spirit.
When the Queen’s armies came, Ashkar did not bend. It was the last to fall… a war of fire against shadow. The capital burned for seven days before it was claimed by Dymora’s banners. What could not be conquered was buried; its bloodline was erased from the records, its songs silenced.
Now, Ashkar survives only in exile, in scattered survivors, and in those who still carry its defiance in their blood.

Valebrook — The Kingdom of Silver Tongues
Tone: Elegant, political, and dangerously civil.
Description:
Valebrook is a kingdom built on diplomacy, deception, and design. It is a land of gilded courts, flowing wine, and whispers sharper than steel. Its cities gleam with marble and gold, and its nobility are masters of the art of conversation-as-combat. Power here belongs not to the strongest, but to the cleverest.
Every gesture, every word, every smile in Valebrook is calculated. The kingdom’s peace is maintained through alliances, secrets, and manipulation. To outsiders, it’s the height of sophistication; to those who live within its web, it’s suffocating.

The Duchy of Lyssane
Tone: Prestigious, cunning, and cursed by its own brilliance.
Description:
Lyssane is one of Valebrook’s most powerful duchies, a land of shimmering estates, renowned scholars, and courts that value intellect above all else. Its people are famous for their eloquence and poise; its motto whispered through the capital’s halls: “In Lyssane, they learn to lie before they learn to love.”
Now, the name “Lyssane” no longer signifies honor. It is a whisper of betrayal… a house turned inward, a bloodline divided.


Galdora — The Kingdom of Mirrors
Tone: Extravagant, performative, and quietly crumbling.
Description:
Galdora is a kingdom of gleaming façades — marble towers polished to perfection, gold-threaded banners catching the light, and endless festivals meant to prove that prosperity never wanes. To visit Galdora is to be dazzled; to live there is to understand that every smile costs something.
Once a thriving center of art, trade, and invention, Galdora’s wealth has begun to thin — not yet vanished, but spread so carefully across appearances that few dare to admit the truth. Behind its beauty lies debt, rivalry, and decay masked by performance. The nobles of Galdora treat diplomacy like theater and reputation like religion.

BASIC RULES & INFORMATION

⏺️All the Forum rules apply.
⏺️One entry per participant with a consistent look and personality throughout the contest (any major alterations e.g. hair color change must be explained in the story in some way e.g. you don't have to detail the process of dying your hair but another character should notice it).
⏺️This is only the casting round. The whole 5-round contest will follow at a later time after Schoggettchen’s contest is completed (or later, depending on availability and interest)
⏺️No story writing is required for the casting round, but if you would like to include anything extra, I welcome it.
⏺️I will provide impressions for round 1; if you wish to have meaningful ones, please give me something to work with.
⏺️Words & actions matter. Extras will provide (as reasonably possible) realistic reactions & consequences to all writer interactions.
⏺️Please keep my characters mostly as I wrote them. Most of us know Tonk's Lucifer rule, I'm not going to bother reposting it, just please follow it with the caveat that all our paper people can grow and change but it needs to make sense for the story.
⏺️The contest has no fixed era; however, I imagine it to be a medieval/dystopian/fantasy setting.
⏺️The contest is both edit and non-edit if you choose to show outfits (optional).

STORY & LOOK -- optional
PLEASE do not feel obligated to do more than the casting details.
But if you should choose:
⏺️Write about your arrival at the estate and meeting the Queen.
⏺️Additionally, if you want to include anything with any of the extras.
⏺️Include a look that represents your personal style.


Please do not hesitate to ask anything. No question is too small.


The casting round will last for 5 days (144 hours).
ENDS FRIDAY, JANUARY 23RD AT 23:00

Please choose 3 interests for your character from below. The Queen will interact with each character so no need to include her in your options.

Writers are encouraged to interpret, expand, and intertwine these figures freely within their stories… so long as they remain true to the essence of who these characters are at their core.


EXTRAS

QUEEN NYSSA MALVEAUX

Role: Queen of Dymora
Face claim: Charlize Theron
Age: 43
Kingdom: Dymora; born royal princess to the kingdom of Dymora

Traits:
Strategic | Enchanting | Patient | Resilient | Manipulative | Ruthless | Arrogant | Paranoid

Personality:
Nyssa is elegance forged into cruelty. Intelligent and calculating, she commands with a mixture of allure and terror, bending the hearts of her subjects to her will. She is patient, manipulative, and utterly ruthless. Every gesture, every word is designed to provoke or control. Yet beneath the perfection of her composure lies emptiness… an emotional void she can neither escape nor understand. Her power feeds on the emotions of others, but it has left her incapable of feeling her own.

Background:
Born into the ancient Malveaux bloodline, Nyssa was trained from childhood to master manipulation and magic alike. Through cunning alliances and calculated betrayals, she rose to the throne and has ruled ever since through fear and fascination. Her magic allows her to harvest and consume the emotions of others… fear, grief, joy, desire… granting her eternal youth but hollowing her from within. The outcasts she collects are her lifeblood, both figuratively and magically, their pain feeding the throne she built. As rebellion brews, Nyssa’s grip tightens, and her paranoia grows.

Motivation:
Nyssa’s hunger is insatiable; both for power and for the emotions that sustain her. She fears her own decay more than death itself and will destroy anything that threatens her control. Yet somewhere deep within her still flickers the faintest ember of longing… to feel something real again, even if it kills her.

Connections – (The following reflects how Queen Nyssa’s relationships are understood by the court.)

Sir Auguste Virelli - Trusted Advisor - Nyssa regards Auguste as indispensable, praising his intellect and unwavering loyalty. He is often seen at her side, trusted with matters of strategy and diplomacy, and thrives on her approval and proximity to power.

Lord Vincente Greymoor - The Suitor - Publicly, their courtship appears genuine; a calculated alliance between two ambitious figures. Vincente is treated as both companion and ornament, a visible symbol of the Queen’s favor and political reach.

Thalia Orlok – The Loyal Blade - Nyssa views Thalia as a perfect instrument of order; disciplined, obedient, and unflinching. She grants Thalia privileges no other guard enjoys, rewarding loyalty with rare access and visible favor.

Maelis Darrow – The Protégé - Nyssa treats Maelis as a favored protégée, granting her influence, access, and whispered guidance. Maelis is often sent ahead of the Queen’s will, smoothing tensions and shaping outcomes before Nyssa ever intervenes directly.

Liam Brille – Nyssa presents herself as a guiding presence in Liam’s life, praising his courage and potential. She holds him up as an example of devotion and resilience, using his story to inspire loyalty among those who feel forgotten or displaced.

Elias Thorne – Nyssa regards Elias as dependable and discreet; a quiet constant within her household. He is trusted with the daily rhythms of the palace, valued for his obedience and his ability to go unnoticed.

Jaxon “Jax” Blackwood – Nyssa employs Jax for matters requiring discretion and deniability. He is granted limited freedom and favor, bound by an unspoken understanding that loyalty is rewarded… and betrayal remembered.

Thaddeus “Thad” Ashbourne – To the court, Thad is regarded with polite distance. Nyssa treats him as a capable but unremarkable figure, offering measured courtesy without warmth, as though weighing his presence more carefully than she admits.

Princess Isodel “Sol” Cressen – Nyssa welcomes Sol with calculated grace, presenting herself as a fellow ruler committed to diplomacy and mutual respect. Their interactions are cordial and composed, a performance of unity watched closely by the court.

Count Devlin Hawke – Nyssa indulges Devlin’s wit and audacity, allowing him freedoms others would not dare claim. She treats him as a clever distraction; entertaining, sharp-tongued, and ultimately replaceable.

Writer characters - The Chosen - Nyssa receives the newcomers with warmth and ceremony, offering them belonging, mentorship, and purpose. She speaks of second chances and hidden potential, positioning herself as benefactor and guide to those the world has cast aside.

LORD VINCENTE GREYMOOR

Role: The Queen’s suitor
Face Claim: Şükrü Özyıldız
Age: 39
Origin: Galdora — born into a once-powerful noble house in Galdora

Traits:
Charismatic | Intelligent | Resourceful | Confident | Manipulative |Self-serving | Opportunistic | Arrogant

Personality:
Charming, cunning, and opportunistic, Vincente thrives in the delicate art of deception. He can make anyone feel seen and valued… until their usefulness runs out. Beneath his polished veneer lies an ambitious manipulator, ever scheming for position. Yet there’s a dangerous charisma about him that draws others in, even those who should know better.

Background:
Born into a noble house that fell from favor, Vincente rebuilt his fortune through shrewd alliances and calculated seductions. By the time he reached Queen Nyssa’s court, he had already earned a reputation as both a strategist and a scandal. His rise came not from loyalty but from understanding how to make himself indispensable. To the Queen, he is a useful ornament; handsome, clever, and utterly expendable. To himself, he is a man waiting for the right moment to seize everything.

Motivation:
Power and survival are Vincente’s twin devotions. He has no illusions of love or loyalty, only the pursuit of influence. Yet beneath his political ambition lies a secret: a fascination with the Queen’s dark power and the faint, desperate hope that one day he might match or surpass her control.

Talisman:
Silver Signet Ring — bearing his family’s crest; outwardly a status symbol, secretly enchanted to warm when danger or deceit surrounds him.

ELIAS THORNE

Role: Servant – Loyal but Secretly Rebellious
Face Claim: Daniel Portman
Age: 27
Origin: Dymora — born within the Queen’s estate

Traits:
Loyal | Compassionate | Observant | Courageous | Submissive | Secretive | Fearful | Self-doubting

Personality:
Loyal, perceptive, and quietly defiant, Elias embodies restraint. He listens more than he speaks, often allowing others to underestimate him. Beneath his calm demeanor lies a mind constantly calculating risk and consequence. While he values loyalty, it’s loyalty on his own terms… and his quiet rebellion burns hotter than anyone suspects.

Background:
Once the son of a tradesman, Elias was taken into palace service after his family fell into debt. Years of servitude taught him the value of invisibility. He became a trusted attendant to Queen Nyssa herself, privy to secrets few survive knowing. Yet over time, witnessing her cruelty planted seeds of resistance in his heart. Though still bound by duty, Elias has begun covertly aiding those who would oppose her… an act that could cost him his life.

Motivation:
Elias seeks freedom; not just for himself, but for those trapped under Nyssa’s influence. His rebellion is subtle and strategic, built on patience rather than fury. Yet deep down, he dreams of a day when his silence will no longer be his greatest weapon.

Talisman:
Worn Ribbon of Blue Silk — tied around his wrist by his mother before her disappearance. The fabric is faded and fraying, hidden beneath his sleeve, yet he refuses to remove it.

LIAM BRILLE

Role: Servant – The Reluctant Rebellion Leader
Face Claim: Manny Jacinto
Age: 28
Origin: Dymora — born in the lower districts beyond the Queen’s estate

Traits:
Protective | Determined | Empathetic | Resilient | Guilt-ridden | Distrustful | Overburdened  | Fearful of failure

Personality:
Liam is stoic, intuitive, and burdened by a sense of responsibility he never asked for. Though he leads with quiet strength, he wrestles with self-doubt and the ghosts of past failures. He has a natural charisma that draws others to him, yet he resents the expectations it brings. Loyal to a fault and fiercely protective of those he cares for, Liam’s moral compass is both his strength and his curse.

Background:
Once one of the Queen’s chosen, Liam rose as the reluctant protector of those who survived her manipulations. Trained as a soldier and strategist, he earned respect among both the downtrodden and the dangerous. His leadership, however, came at a price… lives lost under his watch and a deep distrust of his own judgment. Though he tries to distance himself from power, destiny has other plans.

Motivation:
Haunted by guilt and the need to atone, Liam strives to keep the others safe while resisting the pull of leadership. His quiet strength becomes the cornerstone of their rebellion, even as he questions whether he deserves to lead at all.

Talisman:
Leather Bracer — worn and cracked, a self-made piece of armor representing his need to shield others and himself.

JAXON “JAX” BLACKWOOD

Role: The hiding criminal
Face Claim: Leo Suter
Age: 30
Origin: Valebrook — born in the lower districts of Valebrook

Traits:
Clever | loyal (to those who earn it) | Street-smart | Courageous | Cynical | Impulsive | Distrustful | Self-destructive

Personality:
Cynical yet magnetic, Jax thrives in the gray areas between right and wrong. He’s charming when it serves him, quiet when it doesn’t, and his humor is often laced with self-deprecation. He’s not cruel, but he’s hardened; a man who’s learned that survival often requires compromise. Beneath the bravado, though, is a deep longing for redemption and belonging he’ll never admit to out loud.

Background:
Jax grew up on the streets, an orphan who learned to fight before he could read. He built a name in the criminal underworld as a smuggler and thief, surviving by his wits and his fists. But after a heist gone wrong, he vanished, reinventing himself as an unremarkable laborer within the Queen’s court. Few suspect the blood on his hands, or the fact that he’s now quietly working to protect the very society he once would have exploited.

Motivation:
Jax wants to outrun his past, but the ghosts refuse to stay buried. Torn between self-preservation and the pull of newfound loyalties, he’s forced to decide whether he’s capable of true redemption, or doomed to repeat the sins that define him.

Talisman:
Folded Playing Card (Ace of Spades) — hidden in his coat lining, representing luck, deceit, and the thin edge between death and fortune.

THADDEUS “THAD” ASHBOURNE

Role: The hidden royal
Face Claim: Aldis Hodge
Age: 37
Title: King Malik el Diallo ibn Ali, Ruler of Ashkar
Origin: Ashkar — born Prince Malik el Diallo ibn Ali, heir to the kingdom of Ashkar

Traits:
Resilient | Strategic | Dependable | Courageous | Vengeful | Bitter | Stubborn | Isolated

Personality:
Thad is disciplined, perceptive, and unyielding. His sense of justice and pride often borders on obsession, and while he commands respect, he struggles with vulnerability. Beneath his stoic exterior lies a man shaped by loss and guilt, one who yearns to restore not only his kingdom but his sense of self. He is both noble and haunted… a ruler without a throne.

Background:
Once the rightful heir to a powerful kingdom, Thad lost everything in Queen Nyssa’s coup. Forced into exile as a teenager, he survived by sheer will… taking on mercenary work, disguising his heritage, and building the skills of both warrior and tactician. Now returned to the court under a false name, Thad seeks the means to reclaim what was stolen, but every step closer to vengeance risks exposing him.

Motivation:
Thad is driven by vengeance and justice in equal measure. His desire to reclaim the throne wars with his growing realization that the cost may be his humanity. The line between savior and usurper grows thinner the longer he walks it.

Talisman:
Iron Crown Fragment — the only relic of his fallen house, small enough to fit in a palm, sharp enough to draw blood.

COUNT DEVLIN HAWKE

Role: The hidden noble
Face Claim: Sam Reid
Age: 34
Origin: Valebrook — born Duke Edmund Monaghan, heir to the prestigious seat of Lyssane

Traits:
Cunning | Resourceful | Charming | Disciplined | Cynical | Vengeful | Secretive | Arrogant

Personality
Clever, sardonic, and dangerously charismatic, Devlin uses wit as both weapon and shield. He’s calculating yet spontaneous, capable of shifting from charming flirtation to ruthless manipulation in a breath. Beneath the bravado lies bitterness… a wounded pride that festers into obsession. Despite his flaws, there’s a strange magnetism in his defiance, a spark of rebellion that draws others in even when they know they shouldn’t trust him.

Background:
Born Duke Edmund Monaghan of Valebrook, Devlin was betrayed by his younger brother and cast out of his own house with the Queen’s aid. Stripped of title and fortune, he became Count Hawke, adopting a new name and reputation as a cunning, flirtatious nobleman. He returned to court years later not to serve… but to destroy, playing the role of the charming fool while quietly weaving his revenge.

Motivation:
Devlin seeks vindication. His ambition is born of betrayal, and though he hides behind wit and whiskey, every move he makes brings him closer to reclaiming the power stolen from him. Whether redemption or destruction awaits depends on whether he can forgive the world… or himself.

Talisman:
Bloodstained Signet Ring — his true family crest, bent and darkened. He tore it from his finger the night of his exile after an assassination attempt.

PRINCESS ISODEL “SOL” CRESSEN

Role: The visiting dignitary/royal
Face Claim: Bruna Marquezine
Age: 28
Origin: Silverwood — born princess and heir to a thriving kingdom

Traits:
Compassionate | Curious | Generous | Optimistic | Naive | Overtrusting | Impulsive | Secretive

Personality:
Compassionate and wise beyond her years, Sol is the rare kind of royal who sees the world as it is, not as she’s been taught to believe it should be. She radiates warmth and curiosity, yet her empathy often blinds her to the cruelty of others. She believes in diplomacy over violence and unity over fear, but her ideals sometimes clash with reality. Sol’s optimism, while endearing, also makes her vulnerable to manipulation… though beneath her gentle demeanor lies an iron will that only reveals itself when pushed too far.

Background:
The youngest daughter of King Solomon Cressen of Silverwood, Sol was raised in luxury but never content with it. Her fascination with life beyond the palace walls led her to secretly learn the art of disguise and espionage, skills unbecoming of a princess but invaluable to the woman she would become. Long underestimated by her family, Sol began quietly gathering knowledge of the court’s inner workings. When whispers of Queen Nyssa’s growing power reached Silverwood, Sol saw not just political danger but a moral one, and made the bold choice to enter the Queen’s court herself, under the guise of diplomacy, seeking to understand and perhaps influence the forces threatening her family’s world.

Motivation:
Sol’s heart yearns for justice and reform. She seeks to prove that kindness is not weakness and that compassion can be its own form of power. Yet as she navigates the Queen’s court, she learns that ideals alone may not be enough to survive. Her journey is one of awakening… to the cost of change, and to the kind of strength she must summon to achieve it.

Talisman:
Silver Sun Pendant — engraved with her kingdom’s crest, representing light and truth, her “Sol” identity and idealism.

MAELIS DARROW

Role: Servant - Queen’s Protege
Face Claim: Abigal Cowen
Age: 26
Origin: Dymora — born in the slums of Dymora

Traits:
Ambitious | Clever | Charming | Resilient | Manipulative | Deceitful | Ruthless | Arrogant

Personality:
Brilliant, ruthless, and endlessly ambitious, Maelis knows how to mold herself into whatever others need her to be. Her charm is her greatest weapon, her intelligence her sharpest blade. She is manipulative but never without reason, capable of great empathy when it serves her and cold cruelty when it does not. Beneath her polished veneer lies a storm of hunger and resentment… toward the aristocracy that scorned her and the world that denied her power. To some, she’s an inspiration; to others, a warning of what happens when the forgotten rise.

Background:
Born in the slums, Maelis learned early that beauty and wit could buy survival where kindness could not. She clawed her way from the gutters into the glittering heart of the Queen’s court, earning Queen Nyssa’s favor through her keen political insight and unflinching loyalty… or at least the appearance of it. While Nyssa sees her as a protégée, Maelis harbors no illusions about servitude. Every alliance, every compliment, every carefully feigned act of deference is a step toward her own empire. In her eyes, the Queen’s reign is only a ladder… and ladders are meant to be climbed.

Motivation:
Maelis truest desire is power. She seeks to upend the hierarchy that once crushed her, even if it means becoming the very monster she despises. Her ambition is her curse and her crown, and she will wear it until it destroys her, or everyone else first.

Talisman:
Cracked Silver Locket — once a gift from a caretaker who believed in her potential. Inside, a faded message reads: “You are meant for more.” Maelis keeps it hidden, seeing it as proof of foolishness.

SIR AUGUSTE VIRELLI

Role: Servant - Queen’s trusted advisor
Face Claim: Jamie Campbell Bower
Age: 32
Origin: Galdora — born a lower aristocrat; once a statesman in Galdora’s glittering court

Traits:
Intelligent | Strategic | Charming | Resilient | Manipulative | Ruthless | Cold | Hedonistic

Personality:
Auguste is brilliant, manipulative, and utterly self-assured. His intellect is his greatest weapon, his charm the mask he wields it behind. He moves through the court like a chess master among pawns, speaking in layers and smiling through lies. Hedonistic by nature, he indulges freely in the pleasures his position affords him, yet his appetites often double as leverage. For all his cruelty and ego, there is something almost tragic about him… a man who has replaced vulnerability with ambition so completely that he’s forgotten what sincerity feels like.

Background:
The son of minor nobles, Auguste clawed his way into the Queen’s inner circle through manipulation and sheer force of will. He quickly proved himself invaluable; a strategist, a diplomat, and a man unafraid to dirty his hands. To the outside world, he is Queen Nyssa’s most loyal servant; in truth, he serves only himself. Behind closed doors, Auguste is the architect of countless political schemes, orchestrating alliances and betrayals alike. His loyalty to the Queen endures only so long as her power benefits him… and he is already calculating how best to outlast her.

Motivation:
Auguste desires control. The trappings of power are not enough; he craves the ability to shape history from the shadows. Whether that means serving beside the Queen or replacing her entirely depends only on which path offers the greater reward.

Talisman: Silver Pocket Watch — it's ticking calms him, a reminder that time is both ally and enemy in his pursuit of power.

THALIA ORLOK

Role: Servant – Queen’s Guard
Face Claim: Sophia Brown
Age: 31
Origin: Ashkar — born in a warrior tribe of Ashkar

Traits:
Loyal | Disciplined | Imposing | Pragmatic | Stoic | Impatient | Ruthless | Emotionally guarded

Personality:
Stoic, loyal, and impossibly self-contained, Thalia embodies discipline. She is a soldier first, a woman second… at least in her own mind. Her silence conceals both strength and conflict; she speaks only when her words matter. Though she appears detached, Thalia feels deeply, and every act of violence or obedience weighs heavily on her conscience. She values honor above comfort, and when that honor comes into question, the foundation of her identity begins to crack.

Background:
Raised in a family of soldiers, Thalia’s life was built on obedience and endurance. When war and loss stripped away everything she knew, she turned to mercenary work to survive. Her prowess eventually earned her a place in the Queen’s Guard, where she rose swiftly through the ranks. For years, she served Queen Nyssa faithfully, believing in order above all else. But as her Queen’s cruelty deepened, Thalia began to question the justice of the hand she served. Each command she follows now cuts a little deeper, as loyalty and morality wage war within her.

Motivation:
Thalia seeks redemption, though she doesn’t yet know what form it will take. Whether through rebellion or sacrifice, she longs to reconcile her sense of duty with the growing ache of her conscience. In protecting others, she may finally learn what it means to protect herself.

Talisman: Leather Cord with Two Beads — one black, one white; given by fallen comrades. She touches it before every battle.

The following relationships are commonly observed at court.
Auguste & Maelis
Frequently aligned in public matters, though neither appears fully at ease in the other’s presence.

Devlin & Vincente
Known to exchange barbed wit beneath polite smiles; their conversations are often watched closely.

Thalia & Thad
Share a quiet, professional respect born of shared discipline, though they rarely speak openly.

Elias & Liam
Once worked in proximity within the estate; any familiarity between them now is carefully concealed.

Last edited by BambiFoxx (17/01/2026 at 20:08)

I will not disappear quietly

Character Introduction

Name: Mirela Thornevale

Age: 28

FC: Freya Allan

Origin Kingdom: Silverwood

Distinguishing details: A long, uneven scar traces her back from shoulder blade to lower spine, accompanied by a signet-shaped birthmark set just below her collarbone.


Backstory

Who were you before arriving at the Queen’s estate?
She was born the youngest daughter of one of Silverwood’s lesser noble families, a house old enough to be respected but never powerful enough to be protected when it mattered. Her childhood was shaped by formality and quiet expectations—lessons in etiquette, inheritance, and silence... shared with two elder siblings who were groomed for futures she was never meant to inherit.

Her older brother, Alarion, carried the weight of succession and learned early how fragile favor could be. Her sister, Yselle, was taught grace and diplomacy, a bridge between households and alliances. Mirela existed on the margins of those expectations—observant, sharp, granted a freedom born not of trust, but of being overlooked.

In time, the house itself ceased to exist as a unified thing. Names disappeared from records, alliances quietly unraveled, and its members were lost to circumstance, distance, or deliberate erasure. Whatever became of them, Mirela alone remained to carry the memory of what the family once was.

She learned early that survival does not always look like escape... sometimes it looks like being the only one left.

How did you become an outcast?
When her noble parents were killed in a tragic accident, their protection died with them. The rest of her family followed soon after—siblings lost in the same calamity, leaving no heirs, no witnesses, and no clear account of how it all unfolded. Records were sealed, questions deflected, and the event was spoken of only in careful, impersonal terms.

Mirela survived.

She does not know how. Her memories of that night are fragmented - firelight, shouting, the sound of something breaking - and the long scar carved down her back stands as the only undeniable proof that she was there. Whether it was chance, intervention, or something far more deliberate, no one ever offered her an explanation.

In the aftermath, there was no one left willing to claim her. No house eager to shelter a living reminder of misfortune. Without family or protection, she was quietly set aside, her existence inconvenient rather than mourned.

She has never accepted the accident as truth.

Someone was responsible. Someone ensured she would be forgotten rather than answered. And though she does not yet know who, Mirela has sworn to find them—not for vengeance alone, but for the certainty that her survival was not meaningless.

Why do you believe the Queen noticed you, or why do others believe she did?
They say the Queen noticed me because I survived what should have erased me. Where an entire house vanished, I remained... unclaimed, unprotected, and unwilling to disappear quietly. Survival like that is never ignored in Dymora... it is studied, measured, and eventually put to use.


Personality

Personality Traits: Revenge-driven. Impulsive. Ruthless. Stubborn. Impatient. Sharp-tongued. Hot-headed. / Self-assured. Resilient. Fearless. Determined. Ambitious. Sharp-witted. Driven.

Key Emotional drivers: Revenge & Vindication

Strength and Flaws: Unbreakable Will. Combativeness. Mental Toughness. Clarity of Desire. / Vengeance Over Everything. Self-destructive Bravery. Emotionally Guarded. Burns bridges.

Habits:
* Sleeps lightly, always aware of exits and sounds
* Keeps her possessions meticulously ordered… control where she can have it
* Sharpens blades or tools when thinking, planning, or angry
* Finishes what she starts, even when it costs her
* Walks with purpose… hates appearing uncertain or lost

Quirks:
* Smiles at inappropriate moments… usually when she is furious
* Holds eye contact too long, as if daring others to look away
* Rarely uses people's names until she decides they matter
* Never sits with her back fully exposed
* Hates owing favours… repays them quickly, sometimes excessively

Likes:
* Silence, especially early mornings or late nights
* Strategy games, riddles, or anything that rewards foresight
* Cold weather… it sharpens her thoughts
* Places others avoid… abandoned halls, quiet edges of cities
* Honest anger more than false kindness

Dislikes:
* Being touched without permission
* People who hide cruelty behind charm
* Empty apologies
* Pity disguised as concern
* Being told to “let it go”


Connections & Family

Do you have any living relatives or ties you’ve severed?
Yes... though they exist more as absence than connection.

There are distant kin who still bear the family name, relatives who chose silence over loyalty when her parents died. No bonds remain between them. Whether out of fear, convenience, or quiet betrayal, they allowed her to be forgotten.

She severed those ties herself... not in anger, but in understanding. Blood that does not protect is only a liability.

Are you aware of your lineage, or is it shrouded in mystery?
She is aware of her lineage, even if much of it has been deliberately buried. She knows the names, the symbols, the blood that runs through her veins... whether the world chooses to remember them or not. What was erased from record still lives in her, and she refuses to let it be meaningless.

Any connections to the existing cast?
No. Mirela arrives without ties, favors, or shared history with the existing cast. She may recognize a few faces by reputation or observation, but no bond connects them... no debts, no loyalties, no shared past.


The Personal Item

Talisman:
A broken signet ring, once her father's, its seal cracked and useless for authority, worn on a cord rather than her hand... officially worthless, yet still bearing a symbol that remembers who she was, and may one day prove what others deny.


First Impressions

How does your outcast react upon seeing the Queen’s estate for the first time?
She feels no awe… only caution.
The estate is too deliberate, too powerful to be a gift freely given. She recognizes the order of it, the rules beneath the beauty, and tightens her grip on the broken signet at her throat.

If she was brought here, it was not for mercy… but for use.

What small detail lingers in your memory?
The sound of water.

A fountain hidden somewhere within the estate, steady and unhurried... too calm, too controlled. It reminded her of places meant to endure, where nothing was allowed to overflow.

That quiet, measured rhythm stayed with her long after she passed through the gates.


First Interaction

Your initial meeting with the Queen or another servant/outcast. How do you respond to your arrival?
Silent, but not submissive.
She offers no thanks and asks no questions... only a measured bow and a steady gaze, listening carefully, already weighing what this place expects of her.

Interests:
Auguste, Elias, Jaxon

Universe: Bubble

Cred to Nina

What the Crown Requires

Chosen, Not Asked

Mirela reached Dymora at dusk.

The city did not announce itself with gates or fanfare. It unfolded instead... stone stacked upon stone, streets threading inward like veins, the air thick with smoke, salt, and something older that clung to the tongue. Torches burned low along the thoroughfares, their flames bending strangely, as though even fire learned to bow here.

She paused at the edge of the lower districts, boots planted, pack slung tight against her back. Around her, people moved with purpose and caution in equal measure. Vendors closed their stalls early. Voices dipped when uniforms passed. Eyes slid away from the skyline, where the Queen’s Estate loomed above the city like a waiting thought.

Mirela tilted her head, studying it.

The estate did not dominate Dymora through size alone -though it was vast - but through certainty. It was immovable. Unquestioned. As if the city itself had grown around it, knowing better than to challenge what watched from above.

So this is where you reign, she thought. Not from a throne, but from the air itself.

She moved on.

The streets narrowed as she climbed. Cobblestones gave way to worn stone steps, slick from age and rain. The people changed too... faces drawn tight, shoulders angled inward, conversations cut short by instinct rather than law. These were not rebels. Nor loyalists. They were survivors. The kind Mirela recognized immediately.

A woman watched her from a doorway, gaze sharp and assessing. A boy lingered too long near her pack, then thought better of it. A man bearing the Queen’s crest flinched when their eyes met, as if unsure whether Mirela was danger or reflection.

She wondered what they saw when they looked at her.

A stranger, clearly. An outsider. Her clothes bore the marks of travel, not poverty, but not comfort either. The broken signet at her throat caught the torchlight now and then... unrecognizable, useless. A relic from a house that no longer existed.

Good, she thought. Let them see nothing worth taking.

As she climbed higher, the weight in her chest returned... the familiar pressure of unanswered questions.

Why me?

The thought had followed her since the summons arrived. No explanation. No justification. Only the Queen’s seal, flawless and cold, pressed into wax that had cracked the moment Mirela touched it. Others had suffered worse. Lost more. Died more quietly.

Entire houses had vanished without a word.
Hers had burned in silence.

And yet Queen Nyssa had noticed her.

Not when her family fell. Not when Mirela wandered Silverwood half-feral with grief and fury. But now. When she stood alone. Unprotected. Unimportant.

Unless... she stopped again, breath fogging faintly.

Unless survival itself was the crime.

The thought settled uncomfortably. Mirela resumed walking, jaw set. She would not dress her endurance in mysticism. She had lived because she refused to die. Because rage made a better shield than prayer.

The streets near the upper rise were cleaner. Quieter. Here, the city felt held... watched, curated. Guards stood at intervals, their armor immaculate, their expressions carved from discipline rather than devotion. None stopped her. They had been warned, clearly.

She hated that most of all.

To be expected.

The Queen’s Estate drew closer with every step, its silhouette sharpening against the darkening sky. Spires caught the last light like blades. Windows glimmered faintly, too many to count, too dark to read. Mirela felt the strange pull of it then... not fear exactly, but recognition. The same cold attention she’d felt standing before sealed records, unanswered petitions, doors that refused to open.

Power that did not need to explain itself.

Her fingers brushed the cord around her neck. The broken signet pressed into her skin, grounding her.

I am not yours, she told the distant figure she had never met. Whatever you think you saw.

At the final ascent, she stopped once more. Below her, Dymora stretched wide and breathing... uneasy, alive, enduring. Above her waited the Queen, unseen and absolute.

Mirela straightened.

If Queen Nyssa had summoned her to witness something - to test her, claim her, break her - then Mirela would meet that gaze on her own terms.

Not as a grateful survivor. But as proof that something had gone wrong.

The doors opened without a sound. Mirela stepped into warmth.

The hall beyond was vast but not cold... lit by chandeliers that glowed like captured starlight, their reflections softened by polished stone and woven tapestries. The air smelled faintly of myrrh and something floral she couldn’t name. Everything here was curated to soothe, to disarm. Even silence felt intentional.

At the far end of the hall, Queen Nyssa waited. Not enthroned. She stood.

That, more than any crown, unsettled Mirela.

Nyssa descended the shallow steps with unhurried grace, her dark gown whispering against the floor. There was no visible guard at her side, no weapon drawn, no tension in her posture... only calm certainty, worn as effortlessly as silk.

“Mirela Thornevale,” the Queen said, her voice warm, unforced. Familiar, somehow. “You have come a long way.”

The use of her name struck sharper than any blade.

Mirela did not bow. She inclined her head, barely. Respect, not submission.

“I was summoned.”

Nyssa smiled... not wide, not triumphant. Understanding. As if Mirela had answered exactly as expected.

“And you came,” she replied. “That matters.”

She gestured lightly, and attendants melted from the edges of the room, leaving space between them that felt deliberate. Intimate. Mirela became acutely aware of her boots on polished stone, of the travel-worn edge she carried into a room designed for reverence.

Nyssa studied her openly. Not appraising her strength. Not measuring her worth.

Seeing her.

“You have survived loss that would have broken most,” the Queen said gently. “You did not disappear. You did not dull yourself into safety. You endured.”

Mirela’s fingers curled at her sides.
Survived. Endured. Polite words for what she’d clawed through.

“You speak as though you watched it happen.”

Nyssa’s expression softened, just slightly. Not offended. Not defensive.

“I watched the world look away,” she said. “As it so often does.”

The answer slid into place too smoothly. Mirela did not trust it... and yet, something in her chest tightened all the same.

Nyssa moved closer, close enough now that Mirela could see the faint lines at the corners of her eyes. Not age. Use. Emotion spent generously.

“This court is filled with those who were overlooked,” Nyssa continued. “Misjudged. Discarded. People of promise who were never given the chance to become what they were meant to be.”

Her gaze held Mirela’s, steady and unblinking.

“I do not waste potential.”

There it was.

The reason, dressed in kindness.

Mirela exhaled slowly. “And you believe I have some left.”

“I know you do,” Nyssa said, without hesitation. “You are still standing.”

Silence stretched between them. Heavy. Watchful.

“You offer me what, exactly?” Mirela asked. “Protection? Favor? A leash with a gentler name?”

A lesser ruler might have bristled. Nyssa laughed softly.

“Oh, child,” she said, fond rather than mocking. “I offer you direction.”

She turned, gesturing for Mirela to follow. Against her better judgment, Mirela did.

They walked together along the edge of the hall, past tall windows overlooking the city. Dymora spread below them... vast, breathing, alive. From here, it looked almost peaceful.

“You have lived with unanswered questions,” Nyssa said. “With a story cut short and sealed away. I cannot give you the past back. But I can give you understanding. Guidance. A place where your anger is not a flaw, but a tool.”

Mirela stopped.

“You do not owe me loyalty,” the Queen continued calmly. “Not today. Not ever, if you choose otherwise. But while you are here, you will be seen. Trained. Shaped... if you wish it.”

“And if I refuse?” Mirela asked.

Nyssa’s gaze drifted back to the city. “Then you will leave with more knowledge than you arrived with. And with the certainty that you were not forgotten.”

She turned back, eyes sharp now beneath the warmth.

“Second chances are only dangerous when one does not understand their value.”

Mirela felt the weight of the moment settle around her like a closing door. She had expected a monster. A tyrant. A predator.

Instead, she had been offered a mirror.

“I didn’t come here to be saved,” Mirela said quietly.

Nyssa smiled again... slow, knowing. “Of course not,” she replied. “You came because something in you refused to remain small.”

She extended her hand. Not commandingly. Inviting.

“Stay,” the Queen said. “Let me show you what you might become.”

Mirela did not take the Queen’s hand.

Nyssa did not withdraw it either.

They stood like that for a heartbeat longer than necessary, the silence stretching... not awkward, not tense, but weighted. Mirela felt it pressing in from all sides, the quiet confidence of a woman who had never needed to rush an answer.

At last, Nyssa lowered her hand herself.

“No,” she said calmly. “You are not ready yet.”

The words should have felt dismissive. They did not. If anything, they landed with unsettling precision.

Nyssa turned away, drifting back toward the windows as though the matter had already resolved itself. Mirela remained where she was, suddenly aware that leaving now would feel less like defiance and more like retreat.

“You think acceptance is surrender,” Nyssa continued, her voice easy, conversational. “Most people do. They confuse opportunity with obligation.”

She gestured toward the city below. From this height, the lower districts blurred together... roofs and alleys reduced to patterns, lives reduced to movement.

“Tell me,” Nyssa said, not looking at her, “what awaits you if you walk away tonight?”

Mirela stiffened. “Freedom.”

Nyssa hummed softly. “And what will you do with it?”

The answer rose instinctively - hunt the truth, burn down the lie, make them pay - but it stopped short of her lips. Not because it wasn’t real, but because it was unfinished. Unarmed.

Nyssa turned then, her gaze sharp but not unkind.

“You are angry,” the Queen said. “Good. Anger is clarity. But clarity without leverage becomes martyrdom.”

The word struck close. Too close.

“I am not offering you safety,” Nyssa went on. “Nor absolution. I am offering you access. To knowledge sealed from the unimportant. To skills denied to the unprotected. To answers that do not reveal themselves to the patient or the pure.”

She stepped closer again... not into Mirela’s space, but near enough that the truth of her presence could not be ignored.

“You suspect your family’s fall was no accident,” Nyssa said gently.

Mirela’s breath hitched. Just barely. Enough.

Nyssa noticed.

“I did not say I caused it,” she added smoothly. “Only that I recognize the pattern.”

Mirela’s pulse roared in her ears. Every instinct screamed at her to recoil, to bare teeth, to refuse whatever trap this was.
But another thought threaded through the noise... cold, unwelcome, undeniable.

She knows more than I do.

Nyssa watched her wrestle with it, and for the first time, something like restraint crossed her features.

“You may stay,” she said. “You may learn. Or you may leave tomorrow at dawn, unchanged, carrying only what you arrived with.”

She paused.

“Or,” she added quietly, “you may remain long enough to decide whether your survival was coincidence… or selection.”

The hall felt smaller suddenly. Not oppressive... focused. Mirela’s fingers closed around the cord at her neck, the broken signet biting into her skin like a reminder of everything unresolved.

She thought of sealed records. Of unanswered petitions. Of doors that never opened no matter how hard she knocked.

Of standing outside power and cursing it for not seeing her.

And now... it was looking directly at her.
Mirela lifted her chin.

“If I stay,” she said, voice steady despite the storm beneath it, “I do so on my own terms.”

Nyssa smiled... not in victory, but in approval. “Of course you do.”

“And I don’t promise loyalty.”

“I would be disappointed if you did.”

A beat.

Mirela exhaled, slow and deliberate. Not surrender. Calculation.

“Then I will stay,” she said. “For now.”

Nyssa inclined her head... a queen acknowledging an equal in the making.

“For now,” she echoed.

At her signal, the doors along the hall opened once more, revealing corridors branching deeper into the estate. Not one path, but many.

Nyssa gestured toward them.

“Welcome to Dymora,” she said softly. “Let us see what you choose to become.”

Mirela stepped forward. Not because she trusted the Queen. But because for the first time since her world burned, the future had weight.

And weight could be used.

At First Glance

Sleep did not come to Mirela.

The room assigned to her was too comfortable for rest... soft linens, steady warmth, a window that overlooked the inner gardens like an invitation rather than a boundary. Comfort was a language she had learned to mistrust early.

So she rose instead.

The corridors were quieter at this hour, lit by low sconces that softened stone into gold. No guards stopped her. That, in itself, was information. The Queen did not cage her guests... not immediately.

Mirela followed the curve of the hall until cool air brushed her face and the gardens opened before her.

They were not ostentatious..That was the first thing she noted.

No riot of color, no excessive symmetry. The paths wound naturally, framed by trimmed hedges and pale blossoms that caught moonlight rather than demanded it. Water murmured somewhere unseen, steady and unhurried. This was not a garden meant to impress visitors.

It was meant to calm them.

Mirela moved slowly, boots silent against gravel, eyes tracing every shadow, every break in the hedges. She counted exits. Corners. Blind spots. Old habits, sharpened by necessity.

She was halfway along the central path when she noticed him.

A figure leaned against the low stone wall near the reflecting pool, posture loose, almost careless. He wasn’t dressed like a noble - too practical for that - but neither did he look like staff. One boot rested against the stone, arms folded loosely, head tilted toward the water as if he were listening to it think.

He did not belong to the garden.

Which meant he belonged to the estate.

Mirela slowed, stopping well short of the lantern’s reach. From here, she could see him clearly enough to take stock without being obvious.

Male. Late twenties, maybe early thirties. Build lean, coiled... not a soldier’s rigidity, but the balance of someone used to moving fast and stopping faster. His clothes were worn in the right places, not neglected but lived in. There was a knife at his hip, she was fairly certain, concealed rather than ceremonial.

He smiled at something. Not broadly. Not warmly. Like someone amused by a private joke.

Her eyes narrowed. He wasn’t watching the garden. He was watching the paths.

Not overtly - his gaze drifted, unfocused to anyone else - but Mirela caught the rhythm of it. The way his attention skimmed entrances, lingered a second too long on darker stretches, returned to neutral. A sentry pretending not to be one. Or something close enough.

Useful. Dangerous.

She shifted her weight, deliberately letting gravel whisper beneath her boot.

He didn’t turn. Not immediately. Another mark in his favor.

Only when she stepped fully into the lantern’s edge did his head angle slightly... not toward her face, but toward her reflection in the water. Clever. A man who preferred indirect sight.

Their eyes did not meet. She kept it that way.

Mirela catalogued the rest quickly... relaxed hands, but ready; breathing slow; no visible allegiance worn on his body. Whatever he was, he had learned not to announce it.

A thief, maybe. A watcher. A blade the Queen did not publicly claim.

Or someone like her. The thought lodged unpleasantly.

After a moment, she moved on, passing behind a line of hedges that swallowed her from view. Only when she reached the far path did she allow herself a glance back.
He had shifted now, finally turning his head.

Not searching. Smiling faintly, as if he’d known she would look.

Mirela’s jaw tightened. Noted, she thought.

She left the gardens soon after, retracing her steps with the same quiet care. The estate did not feel hostile but it felt alert. Alive with eyes that did not blink unless they chose to.

As she closed the door to her chamber behind her, one truth settled firmly in her mind... Queen Nyssa did not merely offer protection. She curated her dangers.

And Mirela intended to learn every single one of them before they learned her.


♤♧♤♧♤♧

Morning in the Queen’s Estate arrived without urgency.

Light filtered through tall windows in pale bands, catching on stone and polished brass, revealing movement rather than inviting it. Mirela wandered with no clear destination, letting her steps follow the quieter arteries of the place... corridors that curved away from ceremony, staircases worn smooth by use rather than reverence.

This was where the estate breathed.

She passed servants moving in practiced patterns, their conversations muted, their eyes trained carefully forward. Most did not look at her long. A few did. All noted her.

Near a narrow gallery overlooking the inner court, she slowed.

A young man stood at a side table arranging documents, his posture relaxed but attentive. He wore the Queen’s colors without ornament, sleeves rolled just enough to mark him as working rather than waiting. He moved with economy...no wasted gestures, no hurry.

What caught her attention was not what he did.

It was how often he paused. Not to hesitate... but to listen.

Mirela leaned casually against the stone balustrade, watching from the corner of her eye. He noticed her presence without turning, shoulders shifting minutely, as if adjusting to a change in the room’s weight.

Interesting.

When he finally looked up, their gazes met without surprise.

“Good morning,” he said. Polite. Unassuming. Not curious.

“Morning,” Mirela replied.

A silence followed..m not awkward, but unfilled. She used it to observe.

Brown eyes. Steady. A faint tension at the jaw, as if he measured his words before letting them out. He didn’t rush to ask who she was. That alone marked him as careful.

“You’re up early,” he said at last.

“So are you.”

He gave a small nod, conceding the point. “Old habit.”

She tilted her head. “From service?”

A pause..  brief, almost unnoticeable.

“From watching things run smoother before most people notice them,” he answered.

Not an answer.

Mirela’s mouth curved slightly. “That sounds exhausting.”

He considered her for a moment, then allowed himself the smallest smile. “It can be.”

Another beat.

“You’re new,” he said... not accusing, simply stating.

“So I’m told.”

He shifted the papers into a neater stack, giving himself something to do. “People tend to lose their way at first.”

“And do they find it again?” she asked.

His gaze drifted toward the open court below. “Some do.”

Again with the half-truths.

Mirela straightened. “Good to know.”

She moved to pass him, then paused just long enough to glance back. “What’s your name?”

A fraction of hesitation. Then... “Elias.”

“Mirela,” she replied.

They exchanged nods... not a greeting, not a farewell. Recognition.

As she continued down the corridor, Mirela felt his attention linger... not intrusive, just present. The kind that didn’t follow footsteps but memorized patterns.

She added him to her growing map of the estate.

Not a threat. Not a comfort. A quiet variable.

And in a place built on careful design, those were often the most dangerous things of all.


♤♧♤♧♤♧


The afternoon light changed the estate.

What had felt cool and watchful in the morning softened as the sun climbed, stone warming underfoot, shadows loosening their grip. The inner terraces filled with quiet movement... courtiers passing in low conversation, servants carrying trays of crystal and parchment, the estate easing into its public face.

Mirela stood near one of the upper walkways overlooking the gardens below, hands resting lightly on the balustrade. From here, the paths looked intentional, almost gentle. She knew better by now.

“You’ve been studying the estate as though it might blink.”

The voice came from behind her... calm, amused, unhurried.

Mirela didn’t startle. She turned slowly.

The man approaching her wore refinement easily. Not ostentatious, not relaxed either... measured, composed, dressed as someone who belonged exactly where he stood. His expression held polite interest, eyes sharp without being invasive.

He had chosen this moment.

“That obvious?” she asked.

“To someone who does the same,” he replied.

He stopped a respectful distance away, hands clasped loosely behind his back. No threat. No false humility
“I am Sir Auguste Virelli,” he said. “The Queen’s advisor.”

That explained the confidence.

“Mirela Thornevale,” she answered. “One of the Queen’s… guests.”

Auguste smiled faintly. “She prefers chosen.”

“I imagine she does.”

The smile lingered, but his eyes flicked briefly toward the gardens below, then back to her. Always situationally aware. Always calculating.

“You’ve settled in quickly,” he observed. “Not everyone wanders so freely on their second day.”

“Am I not meant to?”

“Oh, you’re allowed,” he said smoothly. “That’s not the same thing.”

Mirela exhaled through her nose, amused despite herself. “Then I’ll take it as a courtesy.”

“Take it as interest,” Auguste corrected gently.

She studied him now, openly. He didn’t rush her. Didn’t fill the silence. A man comfortable letting others reveal themselves first.

“And what does the Queen’s advisor find interesting about me?” she asked.

Auguste tilted his head. “You listen more than you speak. You haven’t asked for favors. And you haven’t tried to impress anyone.”

A pause.

“That usually means someone is deciding whether we’re worth the effort.”

Mirela’s gaze sharpened. “And are you?”

He chuckled softly. “That remains to be seen.”

They stood together for a moment, watching the movement below... figures crossing paths, conversations blooming and fading like ripples in water.

“The Queen believes in second chances,” Auguste said casually. “But she values clarity more. People who know what they want tend to fare better here.”

“And those who don’t?”

“They are given something to want,” he replied, without heat.

Mirela absorbed that quietly.

“You’re very careful with your words,” she said.

“I’m paid to be,” Auguste answered. Then, after a beat, “But I don’t lie.”

A useful distinction.

“I’m not sure what I want yet,” Mirela admitted.

Auguste looked at her with renewed interest... not surprise, not judgment.

“Good,” he said. “Certainty too early can be limiting.”

She turned slightly toward him. “Is that advice?”

“An observation,” he replied. “Though I do offer guidance, when asked.”

She considered him, then nodded once. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Auguste inclined his head, accepting the boundary without offense.

“I won’t keep you,” he said. “But if you find yourself with questions about the estate - or its rhythms - I’m usually not difficult to locate.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“I’m sure you will.”

He stepped away then, already reintegrating into the flow of the terrace, leaving behind nothing but the faint sense of having been assessed and - perhaps - approved.

Mirela watched him go.

Another piece of the puzzle. Not a blade in the dark. Not a silent observer. But something subtler.

A man who stood close to the Queen and spoke like someone who understood the cost of proximity.

She turned back to the gardens, the estate unfolding beneath her, and allowed herself one small, private thought... this place did not merely test loyalty.

It tested discernment. And for the first time since her arrival, Mirela felt almost ready for that.

DONE

Last edited by schoggettchen (20/01/2026 at 06:21)

Character Introduction
Name Elira Fallow
Age 30
Face claim Keke Palmer
Origin Kingdom Galdora
Distinguishing details A small crescent shaped birthmark on the middle of her lower back


Interests Elias, Thaddeus and Liam

Backstory

Who were you before arriving at the Queen’s estate? My father told me I'd be a queen someday. The problem? He told everyone else too, and after Ashkar fell his purchased nobility no longer mattered; he went from Lord to liability. My mother and sister vanished in the night and I alone stayed behind to travel with him to the kingdom of his birth, a place in the mountains that had been the setting for the bedtime stories he told me as a child. Fate had other plans: a fire that only I survived. The name I answer to now is borrowed as I search for a new beginning.

How did you become an outcast? (through abandonment, disgrace, exile, loss, or rebellion) Words spoken can be refuted, called out as rumors even if they're true but once a word is written down it's a weapon as sure as any sword. My father was convinced that as his eldest child I was destined for greatness and planned for that to come through marriage to the heir of Ashkar, a man I'd never met. He boasted loudly about this which was bad enough, but his true crime had been in writing it down in correspondence to higher ranking nobles as he tried to curry their favor. Once Ashkar fell my family was disgraced. I may have been ultimately spared if my father and I had made it to his homeland however I'm all alone in the world now and my wandering has led to the Queen's estate.

Why do you believe the Queen noticed you, or why do others believe she did? It's possible that the Queen knows what my father was planning but I hope that plot hasn't reached her.

Personality

At least 4 negative and 4 positive traits Despite being self-centered, manipulative, distrustful and prideful I'm also quick-witted, observant, kind (albeit conditionally) and forgiving (when it feels warranted...or in my best interest)

Key emotional drivers: ambition, guilt, pride, fear, hope, resentment, etc. Pride and fear

Strengths and flaws. I'm a chameleon who's comfortable in a variety of situations and able to adapt so that my belonging isn't called into question however my own vanity can cause me to call attention to myself at inopportune moments. Additionally, I'm a skilled liar/bluffer and my father's recklessness has taught me the importance of keeping my own counsel.


Habits, quirks, likes, dislikes (optional) N/A

Connections & Family

Do you have any living relatives or ties you’ve severed? My mother and younger sister's whereabouts are unknown to me; my father is deceased.

Are you aware of your lineage, or is it shrouded in mystery? My father bought his nobility in Galdora before I was born but if anything from his stories are to believed I do have some distance relations in a far away kingdom.

Any connections to the existing cast? My father was determined that I'd marry the heir to Ashkar but I never met him.

The Personal Item (Talisman)

One meaningful object you carry. It might be an heirloom, keepsake, trinket, or something seemingly insignificant but deeply personal.
(This object connects them to their past and will become important as the contest unfolds) A golden quill nib; it stuck to my skirt as I was escaping the fire and while it represents the reason why my family became outcasts I can't bring myself to get rid of it.

First Impressions

(This is a brief answer - you can elaborate on this moment if you like... it's optional)
How does your outcast react upon seeing the Queen’s estate for the first time?
What small detail (sound, scent, or sight) lingers in your memory? What stands out to me is the sound...or more aptly the lack thereof, as if the whole world is holding its breath...and I can't help but shudder at the thought of what will come with the release

First Interaction

(Again, this is a brief answer - you can elaborate on this moment if you like... it's optional)
Your initial meeting with the Queen or another servant/outcast.
How do you respond to your arrival? (grateful, fearful, defiant, silent, enthralled) Meeting the Queen I held my head high but kept my mouth closed, waiting, watching and wondering what was going to come next.

Preference Bubble universe

Completed!

Last edited by Dare (20/01/2026 at 18:37)

Form

Character Introduction
Name:  Aethra Brighteye, or Theia. the first is the performance, the second the personal, or at least it was.
Age: 33
Face claim: Sonoya Mizuno
Origin Kingdom: Galdora
Distinguishing details: Dark eyes with depths to drown you in, containing hidden multitudes, adding to her allure and a, both flattering and rattling, intensity when you are the object of their full focus. A bit taller than average and moves with a deliberate and precise softness. The scattering birthmarks across her back have been inked into connected constellations.

Backstory
Who were you before arriving at the Queen’s estate? A diviner of the Galdoran court. Some saw Aethra as a true seer of fortune and future through her communion with the firmament, many as entertaining diversion rather than actual divination, others vocally dismissed her as a disgraceful con-artist, and then there were the devious ones, or those with a bit of wit behind their brow, that recognised her as the skilled social artisan she was, one who usually knew far more than she should, and made use of her accordingly. Because no matter what was thought of her methods, her promises and prophecies were far from constant fables but rather fruitful predictions, and when she recently fell from favour she had held her position and captured her audience for over a decade.

Before that, however, unlike the many courtiers she shared her halls with, Theia had not received her nimble fingers from embroidering tapestries and writing cursive letters with  quill but form pilfering pockets for daily bread, nor had she gained her smart from studying books and inherited lessons but studies of people and survival of the streets when she had nothing to lose and everything to win. Without the noble blood, she forwent the arrogance and gained cautious intent knowing no one owed her anything; what she wanted she had to get herself.

The fortunes started early, readings of friends then neighbours. Her attunement to the moon made it easier to veil her natural keen eyes and ears, which listened to body language as well as gossip, and impose her intuition upon them as truths. When she had earned a good enough reputation - reimagined herself of a merchants daughter lost of family, not a street rat - and clean enough appearance to catch the notice of a young nobleman in desperate need of guidance, she did. Her promises of his coming months turned out so favourably that with boosted moral he reclaimed the riches that was already his but which he had let slip in bouts of anxiety – and he claiming her his lucky charm he brought her into rooms she could only have dreamed of before, dressed her in finery to match them. There she embroidered the simple Theia into Aethra and mimicked the grace of those who belonged there. And when his overasserted ego imploded his own legacy, she made sure everyone at court had already heard her speak of the prophecy of his downfall. More started to listen, as well as ask, and so, slowly, the mythology about her and her powers were spun around her and she trapped herself within to become it. To fill the gaping hole of her lacking a family name they gave her a new one: Brighteye, as, in irony to her dark irises, her gaze pierced through clouded futures. Finding comfort within the finery she fought to keep her place there, among them but no matter how hard she tried never really accepted as one of them.

How did you become an outcast? (through abandonment, disgrace, exile, loss, or rebellion) Fell into a bad habit of growing closer to a powerful patron of hers, blinders on, thinking he would offer her something of permanence, started telling him too much of what he wanted to hear, rather than showed him what he needed to see. When misfortune struck his house  he struck her with curses and humiliation. She could have avoided it, she’ll claim of course, but she needed to be reminded of the lesson, and shove out the door – because telling fortunes about favoured futures in a place that soon will have none is a dangerous business. Dangerous enough that seeking refuge of a hungry tyrant made for the sensible choice written in the stars for her.

Why do you believe the Queen noticed you, or why do others believe she did? Perhaps Aethra’s fame had preceded her, or perhaps her fumblings had. To believe either had slipped past the Queen of Dymora was to underestimate her, and that Theia did not. Sometimes patience and a little bit of time was the best gossip.
(This feels very not clever of me, might come up with something better at a later point.)


Personality
Traits: Eloquent, soft-spoken. Empath, perceptive. Versatile. Intuitive. Enigmatic – a good actress who might have lost herself in the act. Artful. Fearful, drives her but her poised veneer is usually impenetrable. Vigilant. Superstitious. Self-serving, her instincts of self preservation are strong.

Key emotional drivers: fear, security, belonging, and maybe some guilt too

Strengths and flaws. Very good at performing, adapting to a situation and as well as reading people. In fear of losing what she has, sometimes makes her, for herself, more focused on the now and imminent future rather than the long game. Far from immune to catching feelings, and falling into them has been known to create blind spots for her, all which she despises.

Habits, quirks, likes, dislikes With the years Theia has fallen more and more into the superstition of her own craft, privately growing more ritualistic in order to keep herself centralised in her own power.

Connections & Family
Do you have any living relatives or ties you’ve severed? Theia’s first memories finds her at the orphanage, where they offered damp beds, at best two moldy meals a day, where you were free, ungrateful labour from the moment you could walk, and from where rather ran starving out into the streets than stayed. Among those she ran with, survived with there was found family, ones she left behind as she herself climbed out of the gutter and into finery. There were times they reached out for help, and times she did give back  – until the fear of losing everything she had built for herself became too great and she shut the door to her past completely.

Are you aware of your lineage, or is it shrouded in mystery? Shrouded in mystery.

Any connections to the existing cast? Old acquaintance with Auguste, then rather close but have not spoken in many years (if that can fit with your timeline). In the same spirit, probably knew/knew of Vincente, and he of her?

The Personal Item (Talisman)
One meaningful object you carry: A silver pendant of a crescent moon that hung around her neck when she was taken in by the orphanage. It has clasps that betray that there once used to sit a stone in the hollow of the moon. Back then it hung from a worn leather cord, now it sits on a longer chain, out of sight, nestled against skin,m between her breasts, and sometime in between a young man gifted her an opal to fit into the vacancy and it was held there until his loved waned and she crushed it into dust. Her possession of the pendant might have been the promise of her innate power or it was the opportune symbol that originated the performance, these days she hardly knows herself.

First Impressions & First Interaction
How does your outcast react upon seeing the Queen’s estate for the first time? Your initial meeting with the Queen or another servant/outcast. It did perturb her, as Aethrea arrived at the city gates at evenfall – the lackluster grey taking on a shade of darker for each step she took towards the castle. What did? The lethargy on the air like a sleep draught and she passed through streets, over cobble stone? Between houses, crossing the square of stalls closing, lull of life that was not threatening, but neither comforting nor lively – it just was, and whatever it was it was less. It wasn’t wrong, it was and she breathed the lull with them, drawn to the jewel of a castle like a moth to a flame. No, like a ship to harbour, no – it doesn’t matter. Neither was it the mighty change and charge to the air as she finally stepped onto the castle grounds, like a rhythmic rolling thunder she couldn’t hear but only felt going through her. What was it? She didn’t know, and it wasn’t that she didn’t which flared the fear in her. That her name to the guard brought a welcome as if her imminent arrival was known. No, not that. There was so much about this land and this palace that was beyond the comprehension of ordinary. What caused her push down dread as she smiled at what had been her own decision was the starless now night sky above. The shaded daylight had not bothered her; she was one of the clandestine moon but this bore down on her like an omen of demise and she had yet to construe the meaning of it. It was never as straight forward as folk wanted it to be.

Led to the throne room – a moment or an eternity later – the brush of her skirts against the stone spoke louder than her soft soles. Even worse grandeur met her there but for the introductory moments she only saw the people. There were faces she recognised there, time would have to tell how well she knew the men behind them. And upon the dais sat the terrific and terrible – her eyes upon you locked you into place like a prison cell as much as they promised the protection from past hunters. And Theia stared back into person behind the eyes and for the moment forgot to breathe. Then, as she bowed her head in deference, as she prepared to form thoughts into syllables, tactics into acts, embers came to crawl over her collar bones, a shiver ran down her spine like a bucket of ice clinging to each vertebrae. A momentary overwhelming sensation which could represent either dualistic opposites – pleasure or pain, deliverance or discomfort – it all depended on context. And she had yet to construe the meaning of new surroundings.

(Depending on when the contest comes around, I might try to write something where I actually know what's going on within my own writing.)



Interests: (Nyssa,) Vincente, Auguste and hostess' choice, if you like or I'll come to a decision later
World preference: No special preference :)

Realising I'll busy tomorrow, counting this as done!

Last edited by tricole (22/01/2026 at 23:55)

Daylana Halloran
Interests: Isodel, for sure. Jax & Devlin.
Preference: I can do both.

Character Introduction

Name: Daylana Halloran

Age: around 30

Face claim: Isabella Bucceri

Origin Kingdom: Silverwood.

Distinguishing details: she usually wears three stacked earrings (conch), and she has a small leaf-shaped birthmark behind her ear.

Backstory

Who were you before arriving at the Queen’s estate?
There have only been three people who were privy to the information, but Daylana can’t actually recall anything before she washed up at the riverbank a decade ago in the dead of winter. The sound of crows above her coaxed her from what she imagines would have been a sure death, as the clothes on her were soaked in both blood and water. She made it, somehow, through the snow, towards a house tucked away at the very outskirts of the woods, existence betrayed only by the thin trail of smoke rising from the chimney. The promise of warmth kept her walking towards stones covered in resilient ivy, and before her hand would reach the wooden door, it swung open, and a pair of hands brought her inside. She’s told that she was burning up for a couple of days, delicately dancing the line between death and life, before finally deciding to step into the world of living. Thus, Daylana, as she was kindly named in her rebirth by Alara, her saviour and biggest influence on her life. Tall, strong, well in her 50s, she did nothing but make Daylana comfortable for the next few months, as snow slowly melted into the river, and they found a way to live under the same roof together. Memories did not return, although Alara would point out that she couldn’t have grown up on the streets, as nothing in the way she moved gave her that impression, and Daylana knew better than to question what Alara said. Spring was already in full bloom when Quinlan appeared at their door, an arrow shot through his hand, emerging from the river as Daylana had before him. Shocked to find her there, she found out quickly that he was Alara’s only child, and soon enough, she would consider him hers. The wound healed, the summer arrived, the house soaked in the aura of new love, and before anyone turned, the autumn came knocking. Their footsteps became a well-rehearsed dance, performed with equal enthusiasm by all three. Once he was better, Quinlan started teaching Daylana how to hunt, spending hours together talking, walking, and waiting. It happened easily. Daylana and Quinlan didn’t hide it well, and once most leaves had already returned to the ground, Quinlan announced he would have to return. Alara’s eyes shot darts at him the second he suggested Daylana should join him, but what is love if not trust? What is trust, if not following where the other leads?

How did you become an outcast?
The road they braved together took them beyond where she imagined. They would hunt sometimes, trading as they went from town to town, making plans to return to Alara by the end of the year, or the next one, perhaps the one after it, occasionally trusting a friendly-looking traveller to bring her letters. Before long, it got harder. To trade, to hunt, and to stay safe, they have returned to Alara on the third year, spending the winter with the woman, who has found another stray, as she would call them. Young boy, Eldon, fit into the picture perfectly, and even though the house was growing tight, Alara never failed to mention they could always find room for one more. At the time, Quinlan began giving Eldon lessons in yielding a sword, and soon enough, Daylana decided it would be a useful skill. Once the spring had returned, they made it back into society, but after a year, things got even worse. Outside the capital, it was hard to find a job, and at one point, they crossed the line of no return. Suddenly, money was not a problem. During the few years they spent doing whatever they were paid to do, Daylana came into her own, growing tougher both mentally and physically. Well, at least that’s the idea. Their last job - around a year before this story starts, I think? - felt like it took her back to the beginning. It sounded easy: getting into a mansion, taking out the jewellery and getting out. Five of them, in total, as only the servants were supposed to be there. She’ll find out later that one of their own has betrayed them. The house was a set trap, and the only reason she survived is that she decided to change her entry point at the last minute, precisely to witness Quinlan’s death at the hands of the guards.

Why do you believe the Queen noticed you, or why do others believe she did?
In the moment of grief and rage, she took down two guards twice her size before they knocked her down. She doesn’t remember the details, aside from leaping down from the stairs, sword swinging in anger, and blood that splashed across her face as she watched Quinlan’s body hit the ground. Once she reached him, she imagined she would find the same fate. It didn’t happen. In hindsight, she believed it made sense to keep her alive, given she would be smart enough to submit and accept her role.

Personality

Traits, at least 4 negative and 4 positive
We can say she’s a woman of duality. To the outside, she is confident, border lining arrogant, often aloof and cold, while also being rather intelligent and resourceful. She’s observant as a consequence of what she does, but more so of what she did, and she learnt to follow her natural intuition as much as she can. She learnt to be adaptable, allowing herself to be her most eloquent and charming self when she has to be, being assertive when necessary. Detaching from who she used to be made sense, and she grew as detached as possible. Her otherwise compassionate nature found no place at the court - at least not publicly. Those she could harbour any loyalty to were rare, and she grew around the softness, keeping it close to her chest. It took her a while to admit to herself she missed closeness, the proper one, so the easiest option was to bury it, turning dissolute as a form of escapism. So far, it wasn’t working well, but she is nothing if not determined, and just because something didn’t work the few dozen times, it doesn’t mean it can’t work. Eventually.

Key emotional drivers: grief, and guilt.

Strengths and flaws: Ability to think on her feet and adapt quickly, but given she has more than enough time to think something through, it can make her freeze without being able to decide. Picks up on quite a lot of details. She’s great with a sword, but even better with a knife, while bows and arrows have been a preference for a while, it’s all just a rather clever (to her) ploy to keep preoccupied and not have to look inwards. Avoidant when it comes to honesty, emotions, and relationships.

Habits, quirks, likes, dislikes (optional): She writes a lot. Has a recurring dream about the last time she walked towards the wooden doors of Alara's cottage. She usually wakes up early. Says she loves to practice, but in reality, she loves the feeling of exhaustion that allows her a full night's rest. Enjoys spring evenings, music, sounds of the river (and nature, in general), and windy days. Has a habit of sneaking books (she reads well, although she doesn't remember when she learnt). She learnt about plants, herbs, and teas from Alara. I'm sure there's more, but I cannot think of more right now.

Connections & Family

Do you have any living relatives or ties you’ve severed? Daylana isn’t sure if Alara and Eldon are alive anymore. Part of her hopes they are alive, they are well, and unaware of what happened to Quinlan.

Are you aware of your lineage, or is it shrouded in mystery? She’s not aware of it, but in her mind, her lineage is now connected to Quinlan, and with it, to Alara and Eldon. That said, it can be explored who she actually is.

Any connections to the existing cast? Isodel and Daylana met immediately after Quinlan’s death, and to Daylana's surprise, the princess was nothing she expected her to be - and the same could have been said for Daylana, as Isodel noticed something in her that she herself could not perceive at the time. Placed into her guard, Daylana went from one day to another, before there was a more private task assigned to her. Princess wanted to take care of herself, not just through diplomacy and wits. Her skill with sword and bow was put to good use as they started to train together. Before long, Isodel opened up a little bit more about her other interests, and this secret turned into an oath Daylana was happy to keep.

The Personal Item (Talisman)

One meaningful object you carry. It might be an heirloom, keepsake, trinket, or something seemingly insignificant but deeply personal.

Her own pair of throwing knives, a gift from Quinlan. They were handmade, with a small leaf symbol set at the top of the handle (which has a similar shape to her birthmark).

First Impressions

How does your outcast react upon seeing the Queen’s estate for the first time? What small detail (sound, scent, or sight) lingers in your memory?

It felt as if she had wandered the furthest from any natural space she could have. Clearly, there was nature around her, but the feeling wasn't there. Strangely, the lack of scent was something that stood out more than anything else. Everything looked very beautiful, somewhat staged, created to stand and represent - as it should - but it felt like something was not there, only she couldn't figure out what.

First Interaction

Your initial meeting with the Queen or another servant/outcast. How do you respond to your arrival?

Daylana couldn't figure it out, but there was something more to it than what she initially thought. Everything was there, set in an almost perfect order, yet things felt out of place at the same time. Or, strangely, too well-presented, if there is such a thing.

Status: Done.
I'm not sure where I'm heading with the snippets, but I will try to get some interactions into it.

Don't Look Back

The second my feet touched the soft blades of grass, water still dripping from the white dress, I recognised where I was.

The river serpentined towards the mountains, the sun lit the valley and the forest, the crisp air filled my lungs, and the cottage stood right where it did for longer than I could remember. I couldn’t recall how I got there, but this time I knew where I had to go, and more importantly, what was waiting there. I could see the steam rising from my body into the cold air, as I moved, my focus on the door on the side of the house. It felt like I went faster, but the distance between me and the cottage was closing at the same pace.

Still, it didn’t make me slow down, and only a few moments later, I could see my hand raising to open the door, before noticing the bright red dripping down. In the dream, I could tell my hands were bloody, and the second they touched the door, it all vanished into a grey billow of smoke.

I keep my eyes closed for a few moments more, hoping that the dream ends up returning just this once, slowly taking me back where I left off, where I usually wake up. Maybe this time it can be different. No, the only thing I hear is my own thoughts, the clinking sounds from the yard, and footsteps outside the door to my tiny room. There was no point in lingering, and the second I got up, it was all bound to be left there.

There is a loud knock on the door, and I creep them open to take the tray, setting it on the only other piece of furniture there, the wooden table. I knew I had to hurry; Isodel would be waiting in the yard, and she was kind, but she was not patient. Why would a princess be? She defied so many expectations; this one did not have to be one of them.

Before I give my mind a chance to dive deeper into whose blood was on my hands, I’m nodding my head to various people while heading to the stables.

“Daylana,”

“Good morning,” I replied. “Wha—”

“Have you heard the news?” she interrupted, in an excited voice, turning around with a rather optimistic smile.

“I haven’t,” I admit quickly.

“We are heading to Dymora,” she says quickly. “Exiting, isn’t it?”

It wasn’t the word I would have used, but it certainly could be.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t have used exciting,” she continued with her correct estimate, making me chuckle. “I am right, aren’t I?”

“You know me better than I assume,” I replied. “I could have used exciting, I think.”

Sol shrugged. “I doubt it.”

“Which means it’s a good thing Daylana is going with us,” the voice coming from the other entrance belongs to Cy, the main guard in her personal service. “Your father would like to see you, your highness,” he says with his usual sense of urgency.

Sol nodded, smiling to both as she walked past us, two other guards following her. He took a couple of more steps towards me, getting closer.

“I waited for you last night,” his voice did not break from a whisper. I glanced up at him, giving a small shrug.

“I finished my evening far too late,” I said, thinking how I truly lost too much time inspecting some knives Sol requested. “I hope you weren’t too lonely.”

“Perhaps just disappointed I had to take matters into my own hands,” he says, leading the way towards the armoury. “Keep your schedule open tonight, would you?”

I smirked. “Just keep your doors unlocked.”

Last edited by Zaralee (22/01/2026 at 23:43)

Thank you so much for joining everyone! Casting is now done. I really lookforward to seeing where these women go on their adventure in a month or two.

If you think of any information you would like to add or want to adjust before then, feel free to reach out at any time.