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@freedomwriter76 SCREE RIKER AND LEON!! @whalekeeper AHHH CAL SOB @koshka AHHH YOUR CHARRIES AND THE PEARLS!!! @smiley AWWW 😭
WHY EVERYONE WHY?! (Can’t actually say anything tho XD)
ALSO BASTIAN XD XD!!! I think he and Nyx would get along well in this cuz they’re both basically children who throw tantrums every so often lol
@keilah-h @mineralizedwritingsI AM BACK PPL AND READY TO RP!!!
ALSO!!! I will be bringing in…Paxton’s brothers…
AND ARTHUR!!!
but I’ll make their Bios later 😉 just know the brothers are with Paxton as he’s entering the school. But first let me have November respond to Kaine
November
November couldn’t take his eyes off the expansive, sunlit ceiling as he walked through the lobby of the school, baby blues glinting in the light that sparkled off the marble.
He tucked his arms against his side, hands held tightly to the ring around his neck, as well as the small brown satchel thrown over one shoulder and under his left arm.
More boys, all of varying ages passed by, some chatting, though they were never in a large crowd, only two or three at a time. Some walking with a servant or two quickly trying to shuffle behind.
A few looked just as out of place as November felt…though not in appearance. More in demeanor.
And some…November stared at the floor as a few glanced his way, scowling as they looked him over, as if picking him apart, piece by piece.
He sucked in a few slow, deep breaths, closing his eyes. A hand went to his curls, giving them a small tug; a habit he’d developed as a boy, whenever his parents would fight.
Or after his father would…
A voice jerked November from his thoughts, making him jump. He froze, face paling.
“Hi. Who are you?”
Slowly, the ginger inched around. His eyes widened and he backed up a bit, ducking slightly at the sight of the boy in front of him.
(how old is Kaine?)
He was obviously one of the students; a prince, if his apparel said anything.
Was November supposed to bow?
That…could get a bit awkward considering almost Everyone at this school was royalty….
But then…wasn’t he now royalty too?
The thought made his stomach quiver.
“Ah…you alright? Sorry…I suppose I’m not the best at conversation,” the boy said, looking a bit regretful.
And…uncomfortable.
He shifted a bit in his outfit, tugging at the collar, as if it were choking him. November blinked.
Oh! Right! He…he was supposed to talk back…
“S-S-Sorry! I-I just…I-I mean…”
(The nervous stutter. I love him)
November faltered before pursing his lips to one side, pulling at his satchel. “I-I’m November…” He looked away, ducking back again.
(November and Riker have to meet 😭)
Grimm (FREEDOM IT’S YA BOY XD)
TW: Mentions of war, blood and loss
BTW! I am Making Grimm’s age 18 also I forgot the younger boys names is Conan not Connell XD I had changed it
Grimm scowled, marching down yet another hall, still just as lost as he was before.
“You’d think this place would have a map,” he growled, peeking into one of the rooms, just in time to see a prince-sadly, now one of his peers– throw a tantrum because of a “misplaced” clothing item.
Grimm rolled his eyes to the ceiling before stalking off, the low rumble in his chest growing.
His fists clenched, the fur on his shoulders growing heavier with every step. His legs felt like lead. Hands felt like a thousands knives had been plunged into them.
His heart was beating a million miles an hour.
He turned.
Another wrong turn.
He let out a rage-filled cry, fist suddenly flying into the nearest wall. Those nearby watched with wide eyes before quickly excusing themselves, but not before shooting quick glares in Grimm’s direction.
The table nearby shook, a vase on it rattling off. A small, dark-skinned hand quickly shot out, grabbing it from the bottom before it hit the floor, placing it back on the table.
Grimm huffed, fist still against the wall, knuckles now bleeding, and the paint peeled. He stared at his black winter boots, hands shaking.
Conan stepped forward, dreads hanging to one side. The younger lad pursed his lips, brows raised in question as he crossed his arms.
(Conan is 14 by the way)
“I don’t wanna hear it…” Grimm said, not meeting his eyes.
Conan narrowed his eyes, tapping one foot against the ground. He bent forward, waiting until Grimm met his silky white eyes.
Grimm couldn’t help but imagine the beautiful gold that used to color them before…
Conan signed, >You’re never this angry. What’s going on?<
Grimm didn’t answer right away, instead he stood, removing his bleeding fist from the wall. He was at least half as tall as the younger boy, though Conan had hit a recent growth spurt, making him look older now.
More like the man he’d become in recent months.
The men they’d both become.
Conan gently took Grimm’s bleeding hand, turning it over so he could see his knuckles. The dark-skinned boy shook his head, glaring.
“We shouldn’t be here,” Grimm said, still not meeting the boy’s eyes.
Conan raised a brow, looking up. He frowned.
“We should be back home. With the others. Rebuilding.”
Conan let out a small sigh, slowly nodding.
He understood.
He gently ran his fingers over Grimm’s calloused palm. Rough from months…years of fighting. Fighting when he, and so many others should’ve been home…with their families…having childhoods.
Grimm’s other hand tightened around the small, golden chain that hung around his waist. Tightened until nail bit into skin.
His breaths grew ragged, body trembling as the noise behind him grew into a deafening thud. The sounds of war…of swords clashing…bows flying through the air…the screams of friends and family filled his skull.
He heaved, fists digging tighter.
Tighter.
Blood…
So…So much blood.
In the snow…
On his hands…
Suddenly, reality pulled him back as Grimm felt a sharp, painful tug on his arm. He spun around, hand flying to the dagger at his belt, eyes wide, only to meet Conan’s wide, concerned eyes.
He breathed, studying the boy. Trying to anchor himself back into reality. He lowered his hand from his belt.
“I…ah….” He shook his head.
Conan took in a deep breathe, nodding. He stepped closer, and then, placed his head into Grimm’s stomach; a sign of affection. Brotherly love if there ever was any.
Grimm swallowed, lips twitching slightly. He gently held the boys shoulders, bending down enough to place his head on Conan’s.
The sign, in his kingdom, of love. Respect. Endearment.
#IfMarcelDiesIRiot
#ProtectMarcel
#ProtectSebLook like there will be multiple princes with dog-like features, eh?
Dogchild
“Can you sneak us with you, please?” Saltie’s whiskers quivered, as she grinned like a baby crocodile.
She took her big brother’s arm and swung around him, basking in the evening’s orange glow.
The Dogchild ruffled her smoky brown fur. Then gazed at the taller, honey-colored girl leaning on the boardwalk railing.
She tipped her nose into the sea breeze. Her expression was warm, but distant. It was one of those times when she looked like their father, Atlas.“You’ll sail with me,” Bright said, “When you return to our beach?”
Her brother’s quiet eyes regarded her. “Once I find out how to scare the storms.”
Little Saltie snuggled against the Dogchild’s cardigan, and whimpered with awe, as she pointed at the faraway form of a seal, dipping in and out of the waves.
Bright raced away down the dock, clutching a gold instrument of navigation, and vanished behind a wall of sea spray.
Light scattered, like a million droplets of diamond, caught in the wispy fur about their collars.
Dogchild’s ear twitched.
Windswept.
…
The Dogchild was windswept now, atop the finest pearl white carriage his kind could afford – with a grateful smile, which shone even upon the servants.
For they were not his servants. They were his people, who risked their masters’ storms to give their first princeling a scrap of dignity.
That scrap was old and threadbare, but at the thought, the Dogchild whipped back his ruff, shining happily.
For he was to go to the most royal boarding school any prince could wish for.
Calvin the Vinlin boy he had once called a close friend, had dreamed of being accepted in those glory-touched halls. Now, he – born of a servant breed – was to step into those halls himself.
Even the trees along the path had a royal air breathed upon them – with gold-tipped leaves, swaying as if in a line of dancing lords and ladies.
The light passed through his ears, creating a pink and gold blush, to match the regal nature of the senses and color.
It wasn’t as beautiful as his sea, though.
It was strange, remembering the day he had saved that girl from the deep water, and been seen as a savior.
He had cradled the tiny girl pup against his stomach, the water droplets glistening on their whiskers as he paddled toward shore. Like an otter with its baby.
If he had known all the attention he would get for rescuing the frost-muzzled, unconscious little Blanche, and coaxing the water out of her trembling body – he might have skirted the shallows and brought her onto the beach behind the carnival rides. There wouldn’t have been such a large crowd.
But by then, her life’s clock may have stopped ticking.
There were so many witnesses.
Atlas and Dove’s pup… Radiant as pure snow…
The Dogchild shook his feelings out of his fur, and looked down at the servants pulling the carriage. They were similar to him, with canine heads and paws, but bigger, with muscles rippling as the strained the wheels forward.
The Dogchild would have felt anger at their situation, except for the fact that they chose to add themselves to his royal image. They were just as motivated and driven as he was, if not more.
Both had long, silky hair and pointed ears – a fine breed for carriage pulling. One was gray, while the other was deep red. They forced ahead, military fashion, sweat trickling down their backs.
The Dogchild cocked his head.
He called for a stop, then climbed over the edge of the carriage and stood before them. “Let me pull.”
The red servant laughed, scratching at an ear. He inspected the lean prince’s soft gray suit, and tiny hands. “No offense, but you’re still only a pup, Prince.”
The Dogchild blinked. “I am almost full grown.”
“Sure, but you are no working stock. You would soil your clothes, and you would look a soggy sight in front of a bunch of Lordlings. Begging your pardon.”
The Dogchild blinked again, and inspected his hands. They were small. But… “I don’t mind ”
The switch was made. Red strapped the leather to the Dogchild’s back – as delicately as his rough paws could, as if the boy were a piece of glass.
The Dogchild breathed in, and touched his muzzle against Gray’s, letting the instincts set him into a pounce position.
He began.
All his lithe, agile strength writhed against the straps holding him back, scrambling with both hands and feet, like a wolf.
This only lasted for a moment, before they – he and the carriage – settled into a rhythm.Time walked before him, taunting him with a wild grin.
In complete silence, he pulled, baring his teeth, straining against that deep, primal sixth sense…
“Dog Prince?”
“Yes?” He yipped cheerfully.
“We’re here.”
The straps slipped off, and he stumbled away, legs trembling, eyes bright from the exertion.
Above him, the palace soared like a seagull.
“Everything is a mountain”
Kaine is 15! I suppose I should have mentioned that at the start lol Wait… how old is November?
“S-S-Sorry! I-I just…I-I mean…”
Kaine raises an eyebrow, waiting for the ginger to come up with w reply.
He falters before pursing his lips to one side, pulling at his satchel. “I-I’m November…” He looks away, ducking back again.
“Nice to meet you!” Kaine laughs slightly. “November is my favorite season. Cool enough to not be hot but not chill you to the bone.”
Ack, that was an awkward comment.
“Well um…” Kaine adjusts the gold band around his head. “See you around…”
Yeah, I have no idea what I’m doing. At least I didn’t mess up in front of somebody more important. I’ll bet reputation is everything in these places.
"And so I left this world just as I had entered it. Confused."
Would you mind Grimm meeting Nikolai? I just love the interactions between your wolf-like culture and my wolfish kingdom. (Even when they’re all human)
First Grand Historian of Arreth and the Lesser Realms (aka Kitty)
Fork the Gork@freedomwriter76
ACK! RIKER AND LEON AS PRINCES… 😍 but their stories *pouts* you could’ve made them have a happy backstory? 😭😂
I rolled the log over and underneath was a tiny little stick and I was like, "That log had a child
GUYS! I love all of your charries!!! 😍😭
I rolled the log over and underneath was a tiny little stick and I was like, "That log had a child
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@euodia-vision Sorry, but it had to be done XD
@koshka sure! @whalekeeper love him!!! Though I have a hard time picturing him in my head if that makes sense? Does he kinda look like Kalmar? (Not exactly but ya know)
#IfMarcelDiesIRiot
#ProtectMarcel
#ProtectSebAlso did u take any inspiration from Selkies?? Idk the way I describe them with the sea, and the seals and everything makes me think of selkies XD
#IfMarcelDiesIRiot
#ProtectMarcel
#ProtectSebSo…I forgot to mention but Conan is blind btw. Sometimes it doesn’t seem like it because honestly I just write Conan as Conan. His blindness doesn’t really affect him all that much. But in this AU it was caused by the war and it’s not something he was born with (like in the series)
#IfMarcelDiesIRiot
#ProtectMarcel
#ProtectSebSo, think this:
I have a scotch collie myself. This isn’t his pic, but they look very similar… then imagine Dogchild has just the head, and the body of a human boy.
Some dogservants are fully doglike, and only have the intelligence of a human – others look completely human, other than a bit of fur around the ears or something like that. For example, the dogs pulling his carriage are much more doglike, and if you saw them in the real world, you wouldn’t immediately see them as different.
Whereas our hero… he is clearly half and half.
Yeah, a little bit 😉 He and his family live in a beach house by the sea, and they love it.
“Everything is a mountain”
Btw, Nik is wearing a raw silk tunic-shirt and trousers, with a little scarlet embroidery at the borders and closure, not his more regal clothing right now besides the head saphire.
And he does have the Volkovian accent, I just don’t want to write it.
Nikolai
Timur sharply turned and closed his chamber door behind him.
Nikolai sighed, for a moment allowing his shoulders to fall, his head to bow.
But only for a moment.
His fingers ran lightly through his hair and he filled his lungs with the heavily spiced scent of their House. He needed to clean up before classes started after the midday meal–another meal he had forgotten in favor of the open archery fields. He shook his head, clearing the thoughts of hunger, and turned for his chamber.
THUD.
He spun back around in time to catch a hanging tapestry on its way to the floor. Lifting the fallen folds of needwork, he studied it for a moment before dropping it back to the floor. Such hideous nobles were a waste of his time.
The door latch lifted softly under his hand and eased open just wide enough for him to slide into the hall beyond. He stood with his back to the closed door, eyes scouring the wall to his right. Plaster had cracked and splintered. Smeared flecks of blood decorated the small crater, pointing out a young prince and his friend standing a few feet away.
“Ei?” Nikolai’s voice was low, arms folded. “What did the wall do to you?”
The two young men jumped at his voice. The older one looked him over, apparently taking him in horse sweat and all. Nikolai unfolded his arms and released his grip on his warbow.
“Next time you want to pound a wall, use flat of your hand, not your fist. That is, unless you wish to break fingers…” he half bowed to the strangers, touching his right fist to the sapphire on his forehead. “I am Nikolai Ivanovich.”
First Grand Historian of Arreth and the Lesser Realms (aka Kitty)
Fork the Gork@whalekeeper cool!!
Grimm
Grimm eyed the young man warily, taking a small step in front of Conan, blocking him with his shoulder.
The younger boy straightened immediately at the strangers accented voice, which seemed to carry authority with it.
But Grimm wasn’t about to let any of these…silk-wearing, blood lusting nobles get near the younger boy.
Royalty or no.
Conan might as well have been a beggar on the street. He was ten times the prince any of them would ever be.
As if sensing the already bubbling prejudice inside, Conan’s small hand grabbed Grimm’s shoulder, white smooth eyes never blinking.
“Unless I’m mistaken…it is customary for you to tell me your name next.” Nikolai raised a brow, eyes glancing from the darker-eyed prince, to his young armor-bearer.
“Beowulf.” Grimm stated roughly, refusing to state his first name. “My armor-bearer, Liulfr.”
Conan raised a brow, but didn’t turn his head, though Grimm could practically see the gears spinning in the lad’s head.
#IfMarcelDiesIRiot
#ProtectMarcel
#ProtectSebOKAY! I am finally ready to introduce Tirion!
This is like the sentence version of what I had previously written. XD Idk how I feel about the format, I tried something new… *shrugs*
Prince Tirion
Age:19
Story:
Tirion’s life has never followed the standard quota of a prince.
Most princes are born in a castle, raised by royal parents, knowing who they are and who they’re becoming.
Tirion? Well, a month ago he didn’t even know he was a prince.
For years his identity was hidden from his ever-searching soul.
When he was just two years old his dad and older brother mysteriously vanished along with Attalia’s High King and noble army during the Battle of Theaka.
Three years later his mother died after a year-long battle with a ferocious sickness. She left him in the care of a young couple who had nursed her during her illness, and they had raised him in their small village in the region of Ekko for the past seventeen years.
Abandoned orphan. Purposeless son. Restless child. Confused Wandered.
This was his identity.
This was who he was.
Until not.
A month ago Tirion stood in the presence of something that changed his life.
A month ago Tirion found out he was the son of the High King Thoryn and Queen Davina.
A month ago Tirion faced the Dark Lord Belial as the only living heir of the Throne of Merial.
A month ago he died…
But his death rewound the effects of Belial’s dark reign.
His death brought back the ‘taken’, those Belial had disposed of during his time in power.
His death resulted in the return of his brother… and his father.
His death was followed by the cries of a father who yearned to see the son he had lost seventeen years ago laugh and dance with joy at the return of his family.
His death brought light, it brought newness, and it brought identity to those who had lost it.
His sacrifice was not in vain.
The Great Designer heard this helpless father’s cries as he held his son’s body.
The Great Designer looked out at the vast crowd who mourned the prince who had saved them all.
The Great Designer breathed light and life into the lungs of the pale-faced boy and watched with great joy as the boy’s eyes flickered open and saw the smiling face of his father for the first time.
That was a month ago.
And now? Well, now Tirion is a member of a royal family.
And now? Well, now his identity is clearly laid before him.
Son. Beloved. Magnificent. Treasured.
Tirion’s elder brother, Tavarion, is the heir to the throne but Thoryn still desires for his youngest to learn the ways of a King. Tirion is sent off to the same school Tavarion attended when he was a young prince.
Though he’s only been with his father and brother for a month Tirion does not feel saddened over the fact that he is leaving. He’s willing to go anywhere as long as he’s promised that he’ll return to his family. To where he belongs.
I rolled the log over and underneath was a tiny little stick and I was like, "That log had a child
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