from the woods > a medieval werewolf role play > o & a

[Meekins12345]

❀ 𝓜𝓸𝓻𝓲𝓪𝓱 𝓚𝓪𝓼𝓼𝓲𝓭𝔂 𝓞'𝓜𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓮𝔂 ❀
{female|human|domestic servant}
{Tags: Jason Mormont | Mentions: Gehuil Asenah| Location: Marketplace}
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Moriah merely flashed the man a small smile, content to get a laugh out of him at the very least. She nodded at his retort, curls bobbing just slightly as she did so before she shuffled the pack's straps that clung tightly around her shoulders, then proceeded to brush off her rather plain looking dress. Upon looking back up at the man her chartreuse gaze would meet his golden eyes, only to notice... he was staring at her. A soft frown appeared on her face then as she tilted her head, the softest of pinks dusting her cheeks. Part of her wondered just why he was staring at her. What could he be possibly doing staring at her? She was rather common in appearance... besides the hair. Nevertheless she just found her gaze looking down to a nearby stall shortly after, before he cleared his throat.

It was then that her gaze returned to his for only a moment. Seemed his staring had caused her to become a little embarrassed, if not bashful. A nod was given as her gaze locked onto the cobblestone pavement. "Aye... He's none of the patient sort, unfortunately." She'd reply softly. She was about to bid him farewell before Jason brought up his offer of his forge, and as he did, she looked up to him then, a small smile appearing on her face then. "I'll keep that in mind, Sir Jason, thank you... just forgive me if I don't come around too often. Going to town is a treat for a person of the likes of me, so I don't get out too often at all." While she loved her job very much, and enjoyed the security that it gave her, part of her missed going out into the villages and towns to socialize. Alas, that was something she had to give up, but at least no she had a roof over her head and a steady source of food. "But on the rare occasion that I do find time, I'll be sure to drop by."

"But if ye ever find yer way to the castle, let one of the maids or servants know you wish to see Miss O'Malley and they'll let me know." Course part of her wondered if the blacksmiths ever made special trips to drop things off, for she had never seen them do such a thing. "Otherwise, it was nice meetin' and talking with you again, Sir Jason. You have a good day." She'd wave at him at that, then begin off into the crowds once more.

She still had her eggs to get so she would make her way to that stall once more, passing by a stall in particular where she could hear the source of music, particularly a flute. She couldn't help but listen in to the interesting music, smiling idly as she fell in line for eggs. All she needed was a dozen eggs, then she'd have to wander back to the castle.

[Scorpioness]

Gehuil Asenah

[29 years] [werewolf] [male] [citizen/rouge] [location: marketplace] [tags: Leon Hilith]

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Gehuil lifted his eyes to look at the guard, the man must've never heard or met any of Mu Lupi people to not recognize his quite characteristic attire consisting of simple dark robes with a hint of teal color, yet it didn't look poor, just simple when comparing to local merchants and travellers. Another thing was that all of Mu Lupi tribes shared similar features like eyes in various shades of green, black hair, pale, usually slender body possesing androgynous beauty... Maybe it had to do the fact that their tribes, were less seen in this part of the country, anyway it didn't really matter right now.

His malachite eyes squinted gently in similar fashion to content cats do while they are sunbuthing, yet not sleeping. Gehuil ended the song with a mischivious bird-like trill, people outside his tribe rarerly knew the sign language, a language made from very specific hand gestures... This could be very frustrating if you were mute like him...So Gehuil did take out a small, visibly used booklet from his sleeve and had written in a little messy script:
-"My uncle thought me this song, it's very simple to play."-

[.:Friday_The_13th:.]

𝕵𝖆𝖘𝖔𝖓 𝕸𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖙
𝖂𝖔𝖑𝖋 - 𝕭𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖘𝖒𝖎𝖙𝖍 - 𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖘:
Jay watched and listened as she said her goodbye, the rose colored flush decorating her cheeks made his breath hutch in his throat for a moment. His golden eyes watched as she walked away, and he let his strained breath free of his lips.
He looked down and closed his eyes for a mere second, letting his fresh memory replay her little quirks and her stunning looks. Why was he drawn to her, enamored, captivated.

He shook his head and turned, walking towards his forge as he tried to ignore the rushing feeling of just wanting to follow her. 'Don't be like that Jason. Hold yourself together.' He scolded himself as he stepped into his forge and closed the door behind him. He couldn't understand his feelings, he never really had a crush on someone before. Ever really, and he was 30 years into his life, he sighed heavily as he walked to a table, heaving the hearty sized bag up onto it. Jason glanced back to make sure his door was shut before he opened the bag, it was filled with left over cuts of meat and bones that didn't sell very well at the stall he had just visited.
Jay felt the overwhelming urge to eat, his wolfish side getting the better of him as he grabbed up a slab on haunch, pulling it free from the bag and he sunk his teeth into the raw flesh. The bloodied meat tasted savory on his tongue, the iron flavor making him hungrier as he ripped the chunk free and let the bite of meat slide down his gullet. He kept his back to the door as he indulged his wolfish craving, ripping into the raw meat like it was a pastry to a non-wolf. He let out a heavy breath as he finished one slab, only for his impulse to drive him to eat another.

[Boxen.]

𝙵𝚛𝚎𝚢𝚓𝚊 𝙿𝚊𝚢𝚗𝚎
Werewolf | Female | Royal Physician | Rouge
|Mentions: Markin Fenn | Tags: Ronan Fenn | Location: Inner yard |

A flash of sympathy crossed her features at Ronan's words, his sentence hanging in the air for a moment as she paused her pace just enough to fall into step at the man's shoulder. By the way his head hung and the subtle straining of his speech, Freyja knew of his grief, she'd seen it sprawled across more faces than she could bear to remember, seen it turn many of even the most stoic men hurtling between extreme outbursts like a storm against rock. She'd seen it carve people from the inside out and leave shallow husks in its wake. At Ronan's side she instinctively reached a hand for his shoulder, a gesture she had done for many before him and many had done for her, but the limb paused mid movement and was hastily retracted, returning to her side.

"The late Lord Fenn was an exceptional man," The physician spoke at last, her words only a few levels louder than a hushed whisper. The times she'd seen the former monarch were not quick to recall but her best memory was of his understanding gaze as her plight was aired before him by her predecessor- his approval to see her stay and study in the castle rather than fend herself was an act not easily forgotten. "I cannot begin to imagine your loss."

As her own gaze finally rose, the sight of bloodshot eyes was not easily missed and she was quick to avert her attention back to the general scenery, speech sticking in the back of her throat as she struggled with her next words. The last thing she wanted was to further Ronan's fragile state, at least not out in such a public space where prying eyes would only gossip about the king's newest breakdown. Letting out a breath, she kept her eyes ahead of her as she spoke. "You would do well to know, the people of Fordaemdur hold nothing but respect for you, as do I. Truly, there is no one I would rather see taking on the throne than yourself- I have utter faith that you will be as great as your father."

As words drifted into the air, candid ambience took hold again, the tapping of footfalls and gentle twinkling of jostled glass to remain the only sound before the doctor raised her voice again. Much of the main courtyard had passed by now, ornate paths approaching the stone work of the main buildings lined by many a intricate floral display. Her office shouldn't be much farther, if she remembered correctly, or at least hoped so with the sharp edges of the crate bumping against her hip every other step or so.

"Though if I may be so bold as to inquire, what was Lord Fenn like? Not as a king, but as a father- I only really knew him as the former." Curiosity laced Freyja's words, though she hoped such a question would pull Ronan from his worries, or at the very least from whatever cycle of stress and anxiety no doubt plagued him.

[zhelaniye]

RONAN FENN!! "history repeats itself..."
[35 years] [human] [male] [king of fordaemdur] [no romantic involvement] ═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════

the situational despondency that had come over ronan since the death of his father and the more innate disquietude that had been his lifelong companion were not particularly easy to reconcile, and although ronan had minimal experience with alcohol consumption himself, he felt as though this sudden internal conflict had added an almost intoxicated tilt to his world. again, ronan found his mind flitting to the impact that a mass realization of the effects that exhaustion could have on the human mind might in turn have on the economy of his kingdom. although they were rife with positives and negatives themselves, ronan found his thoughts on the matter of his people learning to pursue incoherence through exhaustion as opposed to intoxication to be much more objective and palatable than the thoughts that came to mind at freyja's questions. regardless of which vice they chose, his people were bound to suffer, just as he was himself, but there was something comfortingly distant about having to do the arithmetic and hypothesizing about how long it would take for the change in peoples' tastes, if peoples' tastes actually were to change, to force the closure of the taverns in the kindgom and spur on the demand for new and more labor intensive jobs, and it was no secret that when presented a choice in the matter, ronan would almost always prefer comfort to risk.

unfortunately for ronan though, another internal conflict, between self-indulgent avoidance of that about which he did not want to think and self-restrained propriety, prevented him from fixating on what was comfortable for too long. he knew that, in the very least, he owed freyja a considerate response to her statements and inquiries, and the longer he delayed giving it, the harder it would become to do so.

despite his inner turmoil, ronan was very live to the physician's movements, first in front of him and then beside. he didn't track the rise and fall with his eyes, but he could feel freyja raise her hand as though to touch his shoulder and then lower it again, as though she had thought better of it. although ronan was, in many ways, a large proponent of convention, he was quite certain that he would not have shied away from the woman's touch, if she had not rethought giving it to him. he likely would have found some comfort in it even, as he pushed himself to leave behind the other comfort of the aloof haze into which he'd allowed himself to fall into while freyja considered his previous words and spoke her own in reply.

"thank you, doctor payne," he said, in response to her initial comments about his father, his loss, and his new crown and cross to bear as the king of fordaemdur. his tone was conspicuously more dejected than hers, but the volume of his voice fell easily into a range that mirrored that with which freyja spoke, low and intimate, in a way that afforded his words a small amount of sincerity to rival the greater amount of doubt in them, which of course was not because he mistrusted freyja, but rather because he mistrusted himself.

by this time, the two of them had come up against a heavy wooden door inset in one of the many stone walls of the castle. ronan was thankful to see that it was not the heavy, towering door to the main castle entrance, which was seldom a place of privacy, but instead one of the many smaller doors into and out of the castle that allowed for the easy entrance and exit of castle staff, and occasionally others that lived inside the castle walls, such as himself and his siblings. ronan shifted the two glass bottles that freyja had handed to him previously from the two hands in which he had carried them so far into one hand, carefully slotting the thinner parts of the bottle's necks between his thumb and pointer finger and between his pointer and middle fingers, before pressing the flat palm of his now free hand on the middle of the smooth wood surface of the door at chest height and pushing it open. he leaned forward into the cool shade of the interior of the building to hold the door for the physician and her crate of wares and finally offered a more substantive response to her queries from this position, where he could focus more on the task at hand than feeling anything too deeply or schooling his facial expression too much.

"lord fenn was fair, as a king and as a father," he said, and although the resolve in his voice was in sharp contrast to the way that it had wavered when he last attempted to speak about markin, ronan found that it was easy for him to speak these words with certainty when he thought back on his childhood. "he did not over or under indulge bennet, heidi, or i, just as i believe he did not over or under indulge the people of fordaemdur. his aim was the achievement of a peaceful prosperity, in us and in the kingdom, so in many ways, he was no different as a father than he was as a king. he raised and cared for us in the same way that he raised and cared for his people,' he continued.

as he spoke, ronan thought about how, when his father died, so too had the balance in his life. the balance that his father had created for him, that had been there for as long as he could remember. on the spectrum of love and hate, good and bad, rage and acceptance, he had always been in the middle, unable or unwilling to move beyond a few degrees in either direction, because doing so was simply something that he had never done before. his father had been level-headed, so ronan was raised level headedly, to look at the world not with extremist's eyes, but with moderatist's, but for reasons that were beyond ronan's understanding, that had been so much easier when his father was there to guide him, or to oversee what he was capable of doing independently. now, there was no balance, no spectrum, no eyes with which to even look at the world. now there was nothing.

the new king tensed his shoulders to give a small and slightly strained shrug while still leaning and pushing to hold the door open and looked back at freyja. his eyes were still bloodshot, but he felt strangely more stable now than he had for some time, despite now having thoughts that should have taken that stability and torn it to shreds. there was something protective, he supposed, about thinking about the past and the way that his life had been before his father's death, which made thinking about the present and the way that his life was now a little less unbearable. "if i may now be so bold as to inquire," he said, repeating her phrase back to her in a way that was intended to be polite and not snide, "what did you know of him as a king?"

[mentions: markin fenn, bennet fenn, edelhiede fenn] [tags: freyja payne] [location: the inner yard > castle side entrance]

[InfectedHau]

Edelheide Fenn||Princess of Fordaemdur||Castle Interior||Tagged: Open

Heidi made it back to the castle without incident, sneaking through a little-known and little-frequented sluice gate close to the interior castle wall. Timing the patrol of the wall sentry carefully, she scrambled up the ivy-wreathed brickwork (kept so expressly for this purpose) and rolling through her bedchamber window. Swiftly, her leathers and blades were stored beneath a false bottom of a trunk at the foot of her bed, and she was dressed in a lightweight gown more befitting a woman of her status. She would need to work swiftly, but without the appearance of haste. Her authority would help in dispelling any claims Svala might level against her, but nobody trusted people in power, and even a shadow of a doubt would make her job harder. She needed to make sure that there were more people that could vouch for her than her royal prestige.

Making sure she looked presentable, Heidi exited her chamber, gliding gracefully down the hall. It was almost miraculous, everyting from her stride to her posture had changed entirely, it was as though she had become a completely different person. Of course, that was entirely the point, her demure façade was one she'd worn for over a decade now. She would do a brief circuit of the castle grounds, make sure the guards and servants could see she was exactly where she would claim she was. With any luck, she'd have Svala doubting her own memories, and this whole affair could be forgotten.

[zhelaniye]

TIME SKIP!!
the time of day is early to mid afternoon.
the weather is clear and warm, but not hot.
the street festival to celebrate king ronan's coronation is this afternoon and will run well into the night.
all citizens of fordaemdur have been invited to the street festival.
tarner has told arlo and sersha about his plans to usurp ronan's throne, but has not yet told the rest of the pack.
svala has told tarner and the pack about edelheide's use of a sedative coated dart on her for a yet unknown purpose.

[zhelaniye]

RONAN FENN!! "history repeats itself..."
[35 years] [human] [male] [king of fordaemdur] [no romantic involvement] ═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════

fordaemdur did not lack hierarchical convention entirely, but ronan felt that its past rulers and its people had guided the kingdom's development to prevent some such conventions from being as fiercely revered in the kingdom as they seemed to be in other social groups. the kings that had worn his crown before him had walked among their people, celebrated and mourned with them, taught and learned from them, bought their wares and traded some of each's own possessions for those that had been made by local hands and local minds, all without much in the way of a personal guard, and each had done so without fear because of how well established that connection between the classes had become in the years since the fenns had come to power. in a way, it had evolved into a convention of its own, and ronan was unwilling, for a number of reasons, to be the fenn king that contravened convention.

with these more relevant thoughts swirling amongst the more familiar haunts inside his hazy mind, the young king sat stiffly on the edge of his tightly made bed, eyes fixed on the crown that he still considered to be his father's, which still sat where it had been placed earlier in the day, on a pedestal across the room from him. freyja had been kind enough to provide him a herbal concoction in an attempt to help him sleep after their conversation the day previous, and although it had helped and he had slept more during the night than he had in weeks, he knew that it would be some time before he fully recovered from the damage that sleep deprivation had already done.

the gears in his mind were just as persistent as the enduring fatigue though, and they continued to interlace and separate their cogs, winding up thoughts and apprehensions about tradition and expectation and what exactly lay ahead of him that afternoon and evening. as receptive as he was to the idea of furthering his relationship to the citizens of fordaemdur and spending more time in their midst as their king as opposed to their prince, he was of the view that his coronation, given its circumstance, did not warrant the the imminent celebration that had been planned in its honor. and yet, the street festival, to which all citizens had been invited regardless of their station, had been planned with the expectation that ronan would attend, which for a man of ronan's disposition and constitution, meant that he had no choice but to do so and fulfil that expectation.

ronan dropped his head into his hands and scrubbed his palms over his already clean and close shaven face, allowing himself a brief moment of irrationality in which he hoped that taking his eyes off the crown might take his mind off of his worries. he had already taken the time to bathe and dress in relatively plain, black trousers, a deep red, long-sleeved silk tunic, and a black surcoat bearing the nearly ouroboros-like light and dark wolf heads of the fenn family sigil. the weather was warm, so the surcoat was light and breathable, but still made of fine materials and intricately embroidered by careful and skilled hands. apart from his eyes, which were still heavy and bloodshot, he looked like a king, but his appearance had little affect on his perception of his worthiness to don his crown.

forged of blackened gold and fashioned to resemble the gnarled thorns and branches of the woods in which the kingdom of fordaemdur was nestled, the crown was ornate in its own way, but it lacked the jewels and gemstones that tended to adorn the headdresses other monarchs, and in particular those with whom ronan had become personally familiar by virtue of being his father's heir apparent and a frequent diplomatic envoy to their kingdoms on his father's behalf. it had become as much a symbol of the fenn family as the two wolf heads on his surcoat, but despite having spent his entire life leading up to this moment observing and learning and training to become king, the crown was not something with which ronan could identify, or at least with which he could identify with the same ease that he identified with the other emblems of his family, and to actually have to match up the physical weight of that crown with the psychological weight if its responsibility, to actually have to wear it and walk the same path that his father had... ronan struggled to imagine how he could do any of it.

but the realities of the world did not hinge on ronan's ability to imagine them, and the requirements by which he was bound remained intact, despite how unthinkable even touching the cool metal of the tangled wreath of imitation thorns seemed to him to be. he could feel the minutes burning up around him as he wasted them in futile thought, and the longer he waited, the more he felt his grip on the opportunity to show the people of fordaemdur that, save for the recent loss of their father and those disagreements of theirs that had recently become more public than ronan would have liked, the fenn siblings were still a strong, united front that supported each other and arrived at functions together slipping away.

ronan's eyeline slowly ascended once more to the height of the inanimate beast of the crown that was now his. he could delay no more and he knew it. steeling himself for all that lay ahead of him, the king stood and crossed the room. he moved smooth and swiftly, for any pause in his forward momentum would surely stretch into irrational oblivion yet again, and both collected the drown from its perch and placed it atop his head in one fluid motion. with oddly adept hands, he positioned it so it sat levelly on his head, with its lowest most tines touching down at just above the middle of his forehead and dropped his hands to his sides. from there, ronan rolled back his shoulders and stiffened his neck, opened the heavy wooden door to his bedchamber, and stepped out into the hallway, where he promptly crossed paths with one of the few domestic servants that had not yet been relieved of their duties to prepare for the festival.

"i know that you must be eager to leave here to attend the festival, but if I could ask one last favor of you before you do, could you advise lord bennet and lady edelheide that i would like to see them in the castle entry hall before they leave fr the festival too?" he asked, striving to be courteous, but ending the request with a bad taste in his mouth regardless. however, despite ronan's discomfort, the domestic servant was quick to give him a polite nod and continue on down the hallway, towards ronan's bedchamber, and then beyond that, towards those of his siblings.

ronan himself carried on down the hallway in the opposite direction, towards the castle entry hall to which he had just asked that his siblings be summoned. there was little time left for them to speak before they would need to leave the castle for the beating heart of the marketplace and the winding veins of street by which it was surrounded, but ronan intended to make the most of it.

[mentions: markin fenn, freyja payne, bennet fenn, edelheide fenn] [tags: n/a] [location: his bed chamber > the castle entry hall]

[InfectedHau]

Edelheide Fenn||Princess of Fordaemdur||Bedchambers -> Entry Hall||Tagged: Ronan Fenn

Heidi winced as she yanked her corset tighter, the movement aggrivating the dull soreness throbbing in her lower back. Some might consider it odd that she was dressing herself without the assistance of her handmaids, but the fewer people that saw the frankly alarming array of scars that dotted her body the better. Plus, it reinforced the Fenn image of a ruling class that was of the people and for the people, putting their trousers on one leg at a time, as it were. A practical choice, to be sure, but she'd be lying if she didn't have her own reasons for it. She made an effort to put her personal feelings aside when it came to matters of state, but the idea of being waited on still didn't sit right with her. Silks and embroidery were things she endured because she had to, not because she enjoyed it.

The princess continued the lengthy process of getting herself ready for a public appearance, wincing every time she aggravated her back. She hadn't noticed it at the time, but the sudden twist she'd done to dart Svala hadn't exactly agreed with her spine, and now there was an ache every time she moved in a way her back didn't like. Five years ago that wouldn't have happened, and she wasn't getting any younger. Maybe it was time to pick an apprentice, before she was an old woman hobbling around the rooftops. Of course, that carried with it a whole host of problems, namely she wasn't sure she knew anyone that would adequately fill her role. The combined requirements of a fierce loyalty to the kingdom, a young enough age to be adequately trained, and a certain skill in keeping secrets left precious few candidates, to the point where it might just be easier to train her own child. Which was saying something, considering she didn't plan on having any.

Once her underthings were in place, and the normal amount of knives and daggers were stored in them, Heidi donned an elegant red silk dress trimmed in black and silver, huffing and grunting as she laced it up herself. Yep, her back certainly didn't like that maneuver. As she was putting on the finishing touches, there was a knock at her door.

"Enter," she said, making sure she looked presentable.

The door opened, and a maidservant entered, offering a small curtsy by way of greeting. "Your lord brother requests your presence in the entry hall, milady," she said, "before you leave for the festival."

"I'll be along shortly," Heidi said, "thank you." With another curtsy, the servant left, gently closing the door behind her, doubtless going to pass the same message along to Bennett. Taking she delicate silver circlet that served as marker of her status and setting it gently on her brow, the princess exited her chambers, making her way to the entry hall.

Ronan Fenn had always struggled under the heavy load that was the crown of Fordaemdur, and looking upon him now Heidi could tell that nothing had changed. On the whole, his appearance was what one might expect from a king, but his eyes told a different story, sunken and bloodshot in a manner that spoke of many sleepless nights, and as many stressful days. It was a look that she knew well, because she'd worn it herself many a time. Her training was grueling and her trainer merciless, thankfully neither her brothers nor her parents were canny enough to pick up on it. She felt for him, truly, it wasn't something she would wish on anyone, her brother least of all. It was unfortunate, but there was nothing to be done, save for continuing to work to make his rule as easy as possible. "You wanted to see me, brother?" she asked, moving to stand at his side. Technically, she should have deferred to him, he was her liege as well, but the Fenn family was rarely one to stand on ceremony.

[.:Friday_The_13th:.]

𝕵𝖆𝖘𝖔𝖓 𝕸𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖙
𝖂𝖔𝖑𝖋 - 𝕭𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖘𝖒𝖎𝖙𝖍 - 𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖘:

He sat on the edge of his bed, his elbows rested on his knees as he stared at the ground quietly for a few minutes. His golden eyes locked on a splinter of wood as his brown furrowed together and his lips sat in a neutral frown. A coronation. One for Ronan, it made his nose twitch curtly before he rubbed his face in his hands. He wondered what the Alpha would want him to wear, he hoped his current attire was suitable for the nights affairs.

Jason stood, letting his body stretch to it's full height and he looked at himself in a barrel of still water, his eyes scanning his image. His black hair was brushed back, his beard trimmed as well, he ran a hand through his thick black hair. You look fine, stop stressing yourself out. Maybe Moriah will be there. His thought only made him stress out more.
He turned and looked at some clothes he had laid out on his bed, he was wearing black pants, he now had to decide what shirt to wear. There was dark maroon shirt, a dull brown, and a black one. He paused, scratching his exposed chest absent mindedly before picking up the black shirt and slipping it over his head. He tucking in the bottom of the shirt, the neck was cut and held together by a black string. He rolled the sleeves up, revealing thick forearms that were covered in burn and cut scars. He put on thick boots and black leather bracers, the dark toned outfit was fitting for his style. Jason typically wore a large amount of black clothing to hide the soot he worked so closely with. The large male sighed again and looked once more in the water barrel, snorting at himself as his eyes reflected the glinting light that cascaded from the window.

Jason wondered who all he would see towards the marketplace, his mind wandering as he strapped on a belt and walked out of his forge. He locked the door and looked about the town, his feet moving his body in the direction of the marketplace and the town center. He stood near a head taller than everyone else, he felt so out of place.