Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by mnkee
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Roleplay: Soulless Regency
Date of post: April 1, 2017
Character: Fyror Gallant Kildragon






Location: Almack’s
“Chivalry never died; some men just choose to ignore it.”



Fyror found that he was once more met with kind words from Ms. Millicent Wyndham, quite the contrast from her ill-mannered mother. Yet he couldn’t help but wonder if she spoke with sincerity, or if she was simply using flattering words to ease the bruise dealt by Mrs. Wyndham. The answer mattered not at the moment as he was more concerned about the shake in her voice and the man who had put it there. He gave her a slight respectful bow in greeting, and his brows furrowed when he took in the emotion written in her expression. He felt a strong urge to comfort her and make things right. It was in his nature to be protective and to care for others, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He followed Millicent’s gaze when she unexpectedly turned away. What he saw, or better yet whom he saw, greatly displeased him. The man that Ms. Wyndham had been speaking to, the man who had caused her distress, was glaring in their direction as he stood in the doorway to Almack’s. If Fyror was not mistaken, one of the other Wyndham sisters was at the man’s side. Fyror’s expression hardened in response. He made to step in front of Millicent, so as to be the first to engage the man; however, to his dismay, she quickly excused herself and went back to the man! He started to reach out to grab her and pull her back towards him, but he stopped himself, letting his arm fall back to his side. He realized it wouldn’t help matters if he manhandled her.

He barely caught what Millicent said under her breath, and it indicated that she did not want to go back to this man. So why was she going back to him? What threat had he made? He watched her every step as he dully heard the women in black and Virginia speaking behind him. His hands clenched and unclenched into fists at his sides as he contemplated what to do. His jaw clenched angrily as the man grabbed her roughly and then escorted her inside once she had relented. When she looked back over at those she had left and her eyes lingered on him, it was about his undoing. He stood there transfixed until she disappeared from his sight.

“Who is that man?” he asked sharply as he spun back around to face Virginia and the woman in black. It took him a moment to realize that the woman in black was Jeanette and a moment longer to realize she was wearing a dress rather than men’s clothes. Seeing her again, safe and sound, was a cooling balm to his anger. A small strained smile appeared on his face, and he was at a loss for words at the moment.

A sense of dread began to creep back when Jeanette told him and Virginia about the damaged wards. Yet he was thrown off when she so quickly changed the subject. Of all the topics she could choose to speak about next, she chose to ask whether or not she looked good in the dress she was wearing. Without thinking he gave her a onceover. A slight flush came to his cheeks when he realized what he had just done. He cleared his throat, poorly playing it off, before speaking. “I think you look beautiful, though—” he started, before pausing to lift the veil away from her face, “I think it is better if one can see your face.” He gave her small almost shy smile.

He glanced over at Virginia when she spoke and then watched as she made her way into Almack’s proper. He then turned to face Jeanette once more. “Shall we, Ms. Crane?” he stated as he offered his arm to her in order to escort her inside.
Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by mnkee
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Roleplay: Soulless Regency
Date of post: April 5, 2017
Character: Fyror Gallant Kildragon






Location: Almack’s
“Chivalry never died; some men just choose to ignore it.”



Meet her family? The thought was actually rather unnerving to Fyror. Seeing as most women avoided him due to his rugged appearance, this was an entirely new and unexpected predicament he found himself in. As if he was not already self-conscious enough, this just made matters worse. “Well, I certainly hope they are as kind and accepting of me as you are,” he spoke his thoughts out loud, his voice slightly strained.

Fyror’s gaze took in the room full of people and activity as he escorted Jeanette into Almack’s proper. He spotted his family just inside, and he quickly waved them over. “I hope you do not mind meeting my family,” he said. “ I need to inform my father of the damaged wards anyways.”

“This is Ms. Jeanette Crane, the woman I told you all about. Ms. Crane, this is my father Colonel Theodore, mother Lilith, sister Genevieve, and you have already met my brother Leon,” Fyror introduced, gesturing to each of his family members in turn.

“Well, now I see why my son ran off after the Cargast attack,” his mother spoke up suggestively as she grinned ear to ear. “She is indeed quite the fair maiden.” Fyror’s face flushed with heat as a look of mortification crossed his face. Typical Leon burst out laughing at his brother’s expense.

In an apparent attempt to come to her brother’s aid, Genevieve tried to divert the conversation, “It truly is a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Crane. By the way, I love your gown. Where did you get it?” Unfortunately, her attempt did not have the effect she had intended as it only made Leon laugh harder. He was laughing so hard it literally brought tears to his eyes. Evidently, he had noted how out of place Jeanette looked considering her former attire. His brother’s insolence managed to snap Fyror out of his embarrassment as he glared at his brother. “Leon,” he growled in warning. Leon threw up his hand in mock defense as he tried to contain his laughter.

Fyror glared at his brother a little longer before turning his attention to his father. “Father, I need to speak to you regarding a matter pertinent to the Soulless threat.” Colonel Theodore nodded his head and followed Fyror and Jeanette off to the side. “Ms. Crane was tasked to check Almack’s wards before tonight’s event, but what she found was alarming to say the least. The wards were in fact quite damaged. She managed to fix them, but we are concerned that there could still be Soulless within.” As usual, Fyror got straight down to business, and father like son, Colonel Theodore’s demeanor quickly grew serious.

“Thank you for informing me of this. I will let the other officers know of this so they can be prepared if or when things go south,” his father replied before turning to Jeanette. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Crane. Now you two stay safe.” Colonel Theodore gave a slight bow before departing. Jeanette and Fyror were once again left alone in each other’s company.
Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by mnkee
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Roleplay: Soulless Regency
Date of post: April 12, 2017
Character: Fyror Gallant Kildragon






Location: Almack’s
“I don’t know how to be silent when my heart is speaking.”



Fyror was pleased for the most part with how Jeanette’s first meeting with his family transpired. Granted he could have done without his mother’s surprising bluntness and Leon’s disrespect. However, none of it seemed to phase Jeanette, so that is all he could really ask for. He was put further at ease once his father was informed of the previously damaged wards and the imminent threat that posed. Soon enough his fellow officers would know of this new threat as well. That ultimately meant that more people would be on guard and hopefully more prepared if all hell breaks loose.

Fyror looked down at Jeanette with a smile when she complimented his family. “I am glad you like them,” he stated earnestly. Just then, a woman’s voice spoke up from behind them, grabbing their attention. They turned around to find who Fyror quickly gathered was Jeanette’s mother by the sheer resemblance between the two. He gave a slight respectful bow as Jeanette introduced him to her family. “It is a pleasure to meet you all.”

He gave his undivided attention to Jeanette’s father William when the man stepped up and addressed him. He was honestly touched by William’s heartfelt thanks for helping and protecting his daughter. “I could not simply stand back and let her travel alone, knowing there could be more Soulless nearby. That is just not the type of person I am,” he responded earnestly. William seemed as if he had more to say, but he was interrupted by his wife. Shortly thereafter, the family left, and Fyror respectfully bid them farewell. Fyror looked down at Jeanette as she spoke. “I am sure he was just being a protective father. I took no offense from it,” he stated.

Fyror’s left Jeanette’s and surveyed the crowds of people. The current dance drew to a close, and the participants soon fanned out across the room to meet up with other people or to get something to eat or drink. One woman in particular caught his eye as she hurriedly moved across the room: Millicent Wyndham. Following close behind her was that retched man who had earlier been harassing Ms. Wyndham. Apparently, to Fyror’s displeasure, the man was still at it. He followed Ms. Wyndham less like a man who was enamored with a woman and more like a predator stalking its prey.

Fyror’s hand inadvertently tightened around Jeanette’s arm as he watched Lord Rutherford’s “interactions” with Millicent. “That man is getting on my last nerve,” he grumbled. “He seems to have no regard for a woman’s honor, but he rather does as he pleases. There are few things I despise more than a dishonorable man.” Despite his anger, his heart lurched as he desperately wanted to helped her; however, his feet stayed planted to the ground, waiting for the right moment.

When Millicent was finally able to get away from the man, he knew instantly that now was the time to act. “I am sorry, but I have to go help her. I cannot stand back and watch any longer,” he apologized to Jeanette. He pulled away from Jeanette and set off in Millicent’s direction. He took long strides and went as fast as he could without drawing unwanted attention.

“Ms. Wyndham,” he greeted her with a respectful bow. He was going to say more but he found that he was at a loss for words. His brows were furrowed as his mind rushed to come up with a suitable way in which he could help her. He recalled something she had said in passing, that she hoped her dance card would fill up quickly. Before doubt could cloud his judgment, he spoke up his question, “May I pencil myself in for your next dance, or however many it takes to keep that man from harassing you?”
Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by mnkee
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Roleplay: Soulless Regency
Date of post: April 18, 2017
Character: Fyror Gallant Kildragon




Fyror & Millicent

Location: Almack's


Fyror watched Millicent’s facial expression and awaited her response intently. Yet the reaction he got was not what he had expected. She seemed almost deflated? Disappointed? Offended? His brows furrowed in confusion. “Please forgive me if I said or did something that offended you,” he stated earnestly. No sooner had the words left his lips did a thought occur to him. Perhaps the problem was not what he had said or done per se. The problem was him.

Hurt crept into his gaze. She was rejecting him as so many women had done. It had been made clear to him over the years that it was degrading to be approached or spoken to by a man of his marred appearance. That was the reason why he did not ask women to dance with him at functions such as this. He did not want to unwittingly damage a woman’s social standing in the eyes of everyone. But he had thought that Millicent Wyndham was different from the rest. Perhaps he was mistaken, as he could see from the look on her face that she was going to decline his offer.

The words swept passed Millicents ears, barely registering them as her eyes looked at him. Had she heard him correctly? Offended her? How on earth could he offend her? He had never done anything remotely ungentlemanly, ever the consummate gentleman of the highest honor and accord. The question left her speechless, something that was a rarity for Millicent when it came to such matters. The look on his features made her sure that she had not misheard. She had to say something but her eyes had caught Rutherford coming towards her, it had to wait.

However, as the music began to play, her demeanor changed entirely. She tensed and abruptly stated that she would be honored to share the next dance with him. It did not take much deduction on his part to realize that the loathsome Lord Rutherford’s presence had put her on edge. Evidently, she felt safer with Fyror. That surely had to count for something. Fyror swept his hurt under the rug so to speak and turned to offer her his arm. He paid no attention to Lord Rutherford as he led her to the dance floor.

Millicent quickly laced her arm through his and let him lead her, gathering folds of silk in her free hand. As they walked onto the dance floor she let out a sigh of relief. Catching from the corner of her eye that her mother and Lord Rutherford were now cut off in wondrous thanks to her dearest friend. She would have to repay her for her kind intervention. How she had no clue but she would. Some how. Taking a calming breath the fear left her eyes for the first time that evening and she noticeably relaxed at Fyror's side as she turned to face him. Resting on gloven hand in his, her other rested on his broad shoulder. Dark brown eyes drifted up to his and a soft smile that rarely graced her lips came as she waited for him lead her in this dance.

To Fyror’s satisfaction, the tension seemed to drain from Millicent as they stepped onto the dance floor. Their height difference required him to look down slightly when she turned to face him, and her hand just reached his broad tapered shoulder. He noted how small her hand was when he took it in his own. He tentatively put his other arm on her waist before meeting her gaze. He felt his heart skip a beat when a smile lit up her features, and he gave her a small, somewhat shy smile in return.

He felt like he was encroaching upon foreign territory, as he could not recall a time when he had ever been this close to a woman. She felt so fragile in his muscular arms, and this only fueled his protective nature. Yet in the moment he pushed these distracting thoughts aside and scrambled to recall the dance steps that his mother had taught him. He began leading her in the dance in time with the music. His steps were not as refined as they could be, but it was the best he could do. “I am a bit rusty, as I do not often get the opportunity to dance,” he explained apologetically.

Following his lead, Millicent let out the softest of chuckles, her lips parting slightly to reveal the pearl color of her teeth. "If you will be kind enough not to let the Ton know that I do not have such opportunities to dance often and am in fact rusty myself I believe we shall do fine," she said softly as they danced, turning across the floor. Millicent felt an ease in his arms she had not felt with Lord Ruthford. She welcomed his touch and closeness, it was strong and yet not overbearing. Her cheeks roseing at the warmth of his hand emanating at her waist from his hold.

Millicent’s statement drew another smile from Fyror. “Your secret is safe with me, miss,” he replied quietly as he continued to lead her around the dance floor. There was slight amusement in his voice but also an ever-present earnest quality to it. He was glad, and honestly a bit relieved, that she seemed to be enjoying his company at the moment.

As they continued Millicent found her mind wandering back to what he had said previously and she took the close quarters chance to clear the air. "Sir Kildragon... you did not offend me," she said quietly as her feet glided across the floor. Her chest rising as she took a thoughtful breath. "Never could a man such as yourself offend me. You humbled me." Her eyes had drifted away as she spoke but came back to his timidly at the end of her words, finding herself biting her bottom lip gently as her gaze found his.

Her next statement peaked his attention. If he had not offended her earlier, then what had been the reason for her reaction? He looked at her questioningly, but her gaze had since drifted away. There was an awkward silence between them before she finally spoke again and her gaze tentatively returned to his. A grimace crossed his face as his steps faltered in response to her words. That gnawing sensation of doubt came back to the forefront of his mind. Her kind words always seemed too good to be true, like she was just flattering him. He could hide his doubt no longer. He had to address it, even if it backfired on him. “You speak to me with such flattering words, quite contrary to how most women treat me. I—I cannot help but wonder if you truly mean what you say.”

The miss of his step and the look in his face caused her concern, his words made her bite down on her lips hard. A look not of offense but disbelief coming to her features. Had he truly just questioned her integrity? Doubted if she spoke truth? What words had people spoke to cause anything that had ever left her lips to seem false? Millicent was known amongst the gossips for many things; being outspoken, too bold, strong willed, not knowing her place. All of these were common and more but a liar? Swallowing hard she kept in time with the music and began to push to lead him now in their dance. Her eyes coming back to his after a silent moment of contemplation only marked by staggered breaths.

Her lips thinning slightly right before she spoke, jaw tightening as she lifted her chin and pride came over her. "Never doubt my words Sir Kildragon." Her voice was steady but firm as iron as she spoke. "I do not know what words have floated to your ears about my morality and integrity Sir but I can assure you that whatever words have left my lips towards you have been spoken with the utmost sincerity. I meant what I said this evening to you as much as I mean what I am about to say..." she said, her voice still for a moment before she continued. "If you doubt my honor you needn't bother to lower yourself to be in my presence again."

If Fyror had questioned her sincerity before, he would be foolish now to do it again. The intensity in her voice took him aback, and he was left speechless while he let her words sink in. If everything she had ever said to him was spoken with complete sincerity and was not an exaggeration or flattery, then what did that mean her opinion of him was? He recalled all the previous statements he had ever heard her make to or about him. Never could a man such as yourself offend me. You humbled me… You honor us with your presence… Always a pleasure to see a man such as yourself grace my presence… I would be more than blessed to have a man of honor as a husband than any other cretin in the room… It dawned on him that she truly had a high opinion of him, one in which that was not swayed by his marred appearance. She saw him for he was on the inside and accepted him wholeheartedly.

After a drawn out contemplative silence, he finally spoke up. He poured out his heart in his words, making the sincerity of them clear. “I have made a horrible error and for that I am deeply sorry. It was no one else’s words that have swayed my good judgment but my own foolishness and self-consciousness. I fear that I have grown so used to rejection that I had become blind to the possibility that a woman could ever see past my scars. But you have opened my eyes by giving me a well needed reality check. I am very grateful for that,” he stated earnestly before addressing her last statement. “I do not feel like I have ever lowered myself to be in your presence. I feel that I have tried my utmost to treat you with the respect and admiration you so deserve.”

It was Millicent's turn to be left speechless and slightly slack-jawed on top of it as she looked up at him. Her feet moving of their own accord across the dance floor as he held her in his arms. He was used to rejection and had a hard time believing a woman could see there was more to him than his scars? Yes, he was scarred. She herself would have to be blind not to see that but they had never been off-putting to her; they had intrigued her and told her that he was far stronger than most who waltzed around them. Her found her fingers curling against his broad shoulder in a comforting manner as he spoke but his last words caused color to rise in her cheeks. She looked away sharply, trying to hide the blush. Her soft locks brushing the underside of his chin as they danced.

Millicent was flabbergasted and unsure of what to say right then. He thought her deserving of respect and even admiration? She did not doubt his words, he was a man of honor from all accounts. Well she did not doubt he believed what he said but she hardly felt she was deserving of any sort of admiration or respect; especially considering how her mother had treated him when she was in his presence. Swallowing the lump in her throat she tried to respond in some manner that would not make her look like a complete fool. "We all have scars Sir Kildragon, some of us just hide them better than others," she said as she lifted her head to look up at him once again. Tensing her hand in his, her fingers curling over his palm. "Consider this. Those that have been foolish enough not to enjoy your company were the ones that were blind and you were most fortunate as to not have to tolerate their presence. They were unworthy of your time." Her words were just as firm as before now but there was a lilt to them, a confidence in her own words as she gave a curt nod of her head as if to affirm what she had said.

After how voicing his doubt had nearly cost him her trust, Fyror was glad that he was able to put her at ease once more. Some would say that the way he so readily voiced his true feelings and admitted his faults was a sign of weakness; however, to him he always viewed speaking the truth as being a sign of strength. The irony was that the truth could often hurt and yet it could also so easily mend wounds.

He found that he watched her with growing fondness and intrigue. She certainly was a beautiful and intelligent woman, and she had this bold quality to her that he could not help but admire. He glanced down at her hand as it curled against his shoulder in a seemingly comforting manner. Warmth emanated from her touch. His gaze returned to hers, and he caught her flustered reaction just before she looked away sharply, causing her hair to tickle his chin. He was honestly oblivious to the reasoning for her reaction. After a few moments, her gaze finally returned to him and she spoke once more. A warm smile graced his features at her words. “Wise words indeed, Miss Wyndham,” he responded softly. “Wise words indeed.”
Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by mnkee
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Roleplay: Soulless Regency
Date of post: April 22, 2017
Character: Fyror Gallant Kildragon






Location: Almack’s
“Having a soft heart in a cruel world is courage, not weakness.”



Fyror looked down at Millicent with a warm smile as he held her petite frame in his arms. “And I too have greatly enjoyed your pleasant company, Miss Wyndham” he responded earnestly. He was honestly a bit disappointed that the dance was coming to end. Perhaps he should ask her for one more dance. Surely, she would not refuse him.

However, her next statement drained all the warmth and happiness from his face, and his arm instinctively tightened around her waist in a protective yet comforting manner. His head whipped to the side, following Millicent’s gaze, to find the cause of her sudden change in demeanor: Lord Rutherford. The tension that over took him was becoming all too familiar these days. His jaw clenched and his face hardened almost imperceptibly as he met the loathsome Earl’s gaze. Fyror’s gaze quickly returned to Millicent as he felt her slip from his grasp. He wanted to cry out in protest, and the look in his eyes pleaded with her to stay.

But of course, Millicent did not stay with Fyror. Lord Rutherford had such a hold over her, something Fyror could not wrap his head around. What did that man have on her that would make her go back to him time and time again? His heart sank into his stomach and he felt sick as he watched them: the woman he felt a fondness for with the man who was destined to disgrace her. There was turmoil within him, a crude mixture of anger, protectiveness, frustration, and heartbreak. His gaze was laced with emotional pain, and his hands were clenched into fists at his sides. Yet for some reason, he found that he could not tear his gaze away from them. Or so he thought…

When Lord Rutherford kissed Millicent, he could watch no longer. He ripped his gaze away and stormed out of the building as a desperate and violent urge to rip the two away from each other threatened to manifest itself. Now was not the time to lose his cool. It would only make things worse for Millicent. He pushed through the front doors and stepped outside, the air biting at his flushed face. The hardness in his demeanor caused some of the people standing just outside the entrance to Almack’s to scatter. He wanted to scream and cry out his frustration. He felt like he had terribly failed Millicent. He could not keep her safe from Lord Rutherford or give her anything more than fleeting happiness.

The truth of the matter was that sometimes he cared so deeply for people that it slowly killed him inside.
Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by mnkee
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Roleplay: Soulless Regency
Date of post: April 26, 2017
Character: Fyror Gallant Kildragon






Location: Almack’s
“Having a soft heart in a cruel world is courage, not weakness.”



Fyror ran his hands across his face and through his hair. He took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. He really needed to rein in these rampant emotions before they got the best of him. He felt such helplessness and desperation in the moment. Emotional pain laced his expression as his mind tormented him with images of Millicent being ripped from him and defiled by Lord Rutherford. What was he supposed to do? How could he put a stop to Lord Rutherford and repair the damage the man had caused? Was it even possible? Or worth attempting? Why did life always have to be so cruel to a man who cared as much as Fyror did?

Fyror’s thoughts were penetrated by a rustling noise followed by footsteps, alerting him to someone approaching. He let out a small sigh and further repressed some of his emotions before turning to fully face whoever it was. However, he was taken aback to find a foreign woman who was clearly of nobility, if her elaborate dress was any indication. He stood there in shock for a moment, certainly looking a fool, as she approached him and looked deep into his eyes. He quickly snapped out of it and etiquette took over. “Your Grace,” he addressed her and bowed deeply in respect. His eyes gingerly met hers once more as he straightened again. He found that her gaze remained intently on him in an unblinking stare. It was unnerving yet mesmerizing all at the same time. He stiffened a little, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden. After a long moment, she finally spoke up, but what she said only confused him, his brows furrowing. What was interesting? Him? He really didn’t know what to think about this whole situation. At least it drew him away from the emotional pain he was in, if only for a moment.
Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by mnkee
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Roleplay: Soulless Regency
Date of post: May 2, 2017
Character: Fyror Gallant Kildragon






Location: Almack’s
“Having a soft heart in a cruel world is courage, not weakness.”



Fyror found that there was something strange about the way in which this noblewoman looked at him. It was different than anything he had ever witnessed or experience. It was like she saw something in his very essence, that no one else, perhaps not even he himself, could see. He certainly wanted to know what she saw.

However, before he could inquire about it, a young Apostolic woman approached, gaining Elizaveta’s attention with a question of her own. Fyror gave slight respectful bow to Mary but remained quiet, allowing them a moment to talk. Being in such close proximity to them, he could readily hear their brief conversation. His brows furrowed at what Elizaveta said and so many questions swam through his head. How could one acquire such a skillset that she spoke of? What vision had she seen in his eyes that she had also seen in the eyes of another?

His blood ran cold at her next statement and a sense of foreboding came back full force. How foolish he was to let the matters of the heart cloud his good judgment regarding the ever-apparent threat of the Soulless. How little did it matter whose arm Ms. Wyndham was on if she did not leave this place alive and unscathed? Fyror was about to speak up in response to Elizaveta’s words but before he could do so she gathered the folds of her gown and headed into the building.

Fyror stood there perplexed for a moment before following in after her. He kept his eyes trained on her, not wanting to lose her in the crowd but also not wanting to be distracted by his emotions at seeing Millicent with Lord Rutherford. As Elizaveta and Mary entered the main ballroom, they were quickly introduced by Arch Graveolase Buckingham. His deduction that Elizaveta was of noble birth was quickly affirmed when she was introduced as Grand Duchess Elizaveta Romanova, Imperial Grace of the Russian Empire. The other woman with Elizaveta was introduced as Dame Mary Hale of the Catholic Church.

Fyror waited for the introductions to come to a conclusion and for them to fully enter into the ballroom before approaching them. “Your Grace,” he addressed Elizaveta, bowing respectfully to her. “Forgive me for bothering you, but I must inquire of you. What vision did you see that causes you concern? Also, if there is any way I can be of aid, I would be glad to oblige.”
Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by mnkee
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Roleplay: Soulless Regency
Date of post: May 4, 2017
Characters: Fyror Gallant Kildragon + Thalken Merc Talink






Location: Almack’s
“But it’s always darkest before the dawn.”



Fyror’s heart clenched in his chest as a sorrowful look came to Elizaveta’s features, and he steeled himself for what he was about to hear. His brows furrowed as she spoke about the vision she saw. A woman with chestnut hair and dark eyes surrounded by much turmoil, darkness, and pain. He got the sense that this foreseen woman was to be in grave danger, maybe even become the next victim of the Soulless.

His brows shot up the slightest in surprise at Elizaveta’s perceptiveness regarding his current emotional state. Granted, he was not very good at hiding his emotions, but the fact that she correctly detected that his heart had been broken was shocking nonetheless. He did not even try to deny it. He had truly begun to feel some kind of special connection forming between him and Millicent. A fondness he had never felt for a woman before. And for her to be so easily ripped from him and put into harms way by a man as dishonorable as Lord Rutherford truly broke his heart. He hated not being able to protect someone he cared for, and he took it personally out on himself.

A small strained smile pulled at the corners of his lips at hearing Elizaveta’s acceptance of his aid. His gaze pulled away from hers to look around the room. All seemed calm at the moment, but he knew it would not last long. A couple caught his eye as they made their way over to the group gathered around the Grand Duchess. His heart sank to see that it was Lord Rutherford approaching with Millicent on his arm. Fyror quickly looked away as emotion flashed in his eyes. His jaw clenched as he strained to get his wits about him. After a few moments, he reluctantly looked at them. While Lord Rutherford introduced himself to Elizaveta, Fyror’s gaze bored into Millicent. A question flashed in his eyes: Why? Why did you have to go back to him?

Lord Rutherford’s next words were like a slap in the face, causing Fyror to flinch. Millicent was now Lord Rutherford’s fiancé! He was about to turn away, but Elizaveta’s words kept him in place. No, it couldn’t be? It can’t be?! Millicent was the woman in Elizaveta’s vision! It all began to make sense now. The fact that Elizaveta had seen the vision while looking into his eyes held an aspect of symbolism to it. The vision was of someone seen by the eyes in which the vision had displayed itself. His heart began to race at the thought, and his need to protect surged within him. But as of yet what or who was he supposed to protect her from? His gaze easily gravitated to Lord Rutherford. Perhaps the darkness was right before their eyes.







Location: Almack’s
“Exposing your dark side doesn’t frighten me, hiding it does.”



Thalken truly hated the social gatherings of the ton, let alone the Season as a whole. The way women batted their eyelashes flirtatiously and swooned over men’s attentions. The way mothers threw their unmarried daughters in the direction of the nearest titled man. And the way it only inflated the egos of men. It was a dance of wits, ultimately with the desire of climbing up the social hierarchy, and yet everyone hid their true intentions behind the guise of civility. It all seemed so sickening and meaningless to Thalken, for outside those walls the world wasn’t so grand. He knew of the true darkness of this world, and he forever lived in its shadow.

Thalken stepped out of the carriage, which was parked just outside Almack’s, and looked around at his surroundings with clear distaste. He hated that his father had to drag him to this blasted establishment for this blasted event. Knowing the man, he was probably hoping to line up some more work tonight. Maybe catch some people in the middle of a family feud and convince one to take a bounty on the other’s head. God knows his father was up to no good, as usual. He let out a small sigh and glanced over at his twin sister Thalcona as she came up alongside him. She shared a knowing look with him but did not try to engage in conversation with him. She knew well enough to leave him alone because he was in no mood to speak. He sent a pointed glare in his father’s direction, making his displeasure of being dragged here clear. He would suck it up and do whatever needed to be done, but he made no promises about doing it happily or civilly.

Thalken headed into Almack’s proper. His attractive facial features were hardened by the ever-present scowl on his face. Couple this with his attire, which was nearly black from head to toe, it gave him a dark air. No one in their right mind would dare cross him, or so he hoped. His long black overcoat billowed behind him as he walked with powerful strides. People seemed to scurry out of his path, and that was probably a good thing because he had no qualms about shoving people who got in his way. Propriety was practically nonexistent with him. I mean, after all, social decorum was not exactly a subject of discussion among bounty hunters. As long as you treated your superiors with a certain amount of respect and undivided loyalty, it mattered not how you treated the rest of society.

‘Great, just great. This place makes hell seem more appealing,’ Thalken thought to himself. He stopped just inside the ballroom, and his dark eyed gaze surveyed the room. He took a mental note of the layout of the room, including potential vantage points as well as where the exits were. One in his particular line of work always took into account the exit routes, in case a quick getaway became necessary. He also took note of the presence of many soldiers, their red coats easily differentiating them from the others in the crowd. His father would have to be more cautious not to raise any alarms or suspicion. Thalken looked over his shoulder at his father and sister and mouthed the word “soldiers” at them, subtly nodding his head in the direction of the nearest one (Fyror). His father and sister nodded their heads in simple acknowledgment. Their father then broke away from them and melded into the shadows at the edges of the room.

Thalken and Thalcona casually walked past the group assembling around the Grand Duchess Elizaveta. As he passed them, a woman with pale, almost Ryne like skin (Virginia) caught his harsh gaze. He quickly looked the woman up and down with a critical, perceptive eye as he passed by her. In his quick assessment, he did not deduce any immediate threat despite her abnormally pale skin, so he just continued on past her like nothing had happened. All the while, his cold expression remained strangely unchanged.
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mnkee *Retired Account

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Roleplay: Soulless Regency
Date of post: May 10, 2017
Characters: Fyror Gallant Kildragon + Thalken Merc Talink






Location: Almack’s
“Sometimes the good you do won’t do you any good.”



Fyror could see the distress in Millicent’s demeanor. Her emotions seemed to roll off of her in palatable waves that one with even an inkling of empathy could easily perceive. The fact that Lord Rutherford clearly had no such empathy, or any regard for her wellbeing, alarmed Fyror and tore him up inside. He should have never allowed himself to even hope that he had found a woman he could grow to love, for life had a cruel tendency of squashing hope. He of all people should know that.

Yet, here he was nonetheless, in an entirely foreign dilemma, torn between desire and honor. His mind told him that it would be dishonorable to mettle in the affairs of those who were to be wed. However, he also questioned if it was honorable to allow a woman to be forced to wed a dishonorable man whom she clearly did not want. As a tear rolled down Millicent’s cheek, Fyror desired more than anything to hold her in his arms once more and wipe away her tears. He wanted to comfort her and put her at ease, something Lord Rutherford seemed incapable and uninterested in doing. He wanted to fight tooth and nail for this woman, to protect her from this wretched man and whatever darkness lied ahead.

Why did she go back to Lord Rutherford, when the man clearly caused her such pain? Fyror’s internal questioning seemed to answer itself when Millicent’s younger sister Jane came over. The two sisters shared a silent, mutually understood conversation with one another. It seemed that Jane felt bad that her sister was in this current predicament, but she also seemed…grateful? It suddenly dawned on Fyror that perhaps Millicent had saved her sisters from similar fates. How dare that man put these women into such compromising positions! And how dare their mother for encouraging this! A newfound fire lit up his eyes as his now angry gaze swung to Lord Rutherford.

He found that the man was paying no attention to him or his fiancé. Instead he was preoccupied with the Grand Duchess Elizaveta. Fyror turned his attention to Dame Mary Hale as she spoke up. Soulless are already here?! His jaw clenched, and his heart dropped into his stomach. His hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword before his gaze returned to Millicent. Despite how much he hated and distrusted Lord Rutherford, the man needed to get his fiancé to somewhere safer. However, the man ignorantly scoffed at the idea that Soulless were here and had the gall to leave Millicent undefended!

Fyror glared at Lord Rutherford as the man left. His gaze softened once more when he looked at Millicent again. She seemed to take a moment to comprehend the current situation before hurrying to leave. He was about to protest, but his thoughts were quickly jumbled by her subsequent action. As she parted the folds of her dress to unsheathe a well-hidden sword, she revealed part of her pale thigh. He gulped and quickly averted his gaze as his face flushed. He awkwardly stood like that for a few moments, trying to keep his thoughts from lingering on the amount of skin he had just seen.

He eventually returned his gaze in a hesitant manner. Unfortunately, she had already taken off. He spotted her swiftly crossing the room with her sword at hand. He was compelled to go after her and ensure her safety. However, he just stood there for a moment, weighing his options as he rubbed his temple with his fingers. Though it pained him to do so, he reluctantly came to the decision that he had to let her go. It was not right and honorable for him to solely protect her, as if the lives of the others here were significantly less important or less valuable than hers.

He let out a sigh and turned to the group of women surrounding him. “I need to alert my father Colonel Theodore of this new predicament, that way he can gather up the other officers and do as he sees fit with them. From thereafter, consider myself at your service ladies, Grand Duchess Romanova, Dame Hale, Ms. Crane, and Ms. Crypt,” he stated, addressing each individual. He gave a slight respectful bow before going off to find his father.







Location: Almack’s
“You want a fight. I’ll bring a war.”



As was typical of him, Thalken’s first course of action at any given place was to find a good vantage point. His criteria were specific. It must be relatively secluded, and it must provide him a broad overall view of the room. In other words, it had to be an area that not many people saw or visited, a low traffic area essentially. This would help prevent him from being detected by most people. Ultimately, this spot had to give him the ability to view the world under his critical gaze without having to directly engage with it. For that was just the way he liked it.

Thalken, with his twin sister Thalcona in tow, found a nearby vantage point that would suffice. It was tucked away at the edge of the ballroom, hidden partially in shadows. It provided him a decent view of the room, which was bustling with activity. His intense dark eyed gaze scanned the crowds, focusing momentarily on different groups of people before quickly moving on to more interesting subjects. The music continued to drone on as people danced and conversed with one another. Supposedly, this was meant to be an enjoyable and enriching event of the Season, but Thalken found it to be quite the contrary. It was really just depressing, and the whole atmosphere of fake civility truly grated on his nerves.

He let out a sigh as he leaned back against the wall. He pushed back his long overcoat and pulled out one of his throwing knives from its sheath attached to his left thigh. He began twirling the knife in his hand, liking the way the cool metal felt on his skin, as he continued to look about the room. His gaze eventually landed on the group surrounding the Grand Duchess Elizaveta, as they stood out from the rest of the people here. There were two finely dressed gentlemen present in the group, one whom was clearly an officer in the British infantry. The other man had a sullen looking woman on his arm. There were four other additional women in the group: a foreigner of noble birth, a woman of the Catholic church, a veiled woman dressed in all black, and that pale skinned woman he had noticed earlier. There was a tension about them that sort of intrigued him.

“So are we just going stand—” Thalcona started to speak up but Thalken quickly held up a finger to silence her. He stopped twirling the knife in his hand and abruptly pushed away from the wall. His gaze was locked intently on the group as the glint of metal had caught his attention. Several of the women were unsheathing weapons, and soon some of those in the group broke away from the others. His gaze followed a chestnut-haired woman as she determinedly made her way across the room with what appeared to be a Chinese style Jian sword in her hand. It looks like this hell is about to get interesting.
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