[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/HDwS9l5.png[/img]
[h2][color=9e0039]Zeldria Miphras[/color][/h2]
(Titles and Relations TBD)[/center]
Life hadn't always been easy at the settlement. Unlike the cities, with their walls of stone to keep the elements out, in the country the weather did as it pleased and the residents simply learned to deal with it. Zeldria's childhood had taught her to face roaring thunder, crashing rain, and even the occasional sudden frost. That, she'd thought, would leave her ready to face anything.

Only then, standing in that abyss of a courtyard, did she realize how utterly wrong she was.

It was the cold, more than anything. Not merely the temperature of the air; that she could deal with. No, it was the chill of knowing that she was somewhere she was not supposed to be. Somewhere she wasn't welcome, but could not leave. She didn't belong in this world of darkness and hard edges, beneath these glares and voracious smiles. And even surrounded by so many other girls of her same age and situation, she still felt isolated and alone. The overseer was the worst; every time his gaze passed over her, Zeldria felt a chill race down her spine and cut her to the bone, as though someone had plunged a frozen dagger into her lower back and left it there. She thought she'd be ready for this; she was anything but.

She was almost glad to be ordered to her room for the night. Simply standing around to be appraised and examined amplified the castle's oppressive atmosphere tenfold, while being in motion prevented her mind from dwelling on her situation, from fearing her future, and- most importantly- from dreaming longingly of the past she'd left behind. She was almost thrown into the glorified closet they called her room, with its bed that looked every bit as unwelcoming as the fortress itself, and finally she allowed herself to relax- and nearly collapsed in the process. Somewhere within, in spite of her terror, she'd been determined to not show herself as a weak, timid little thing. She'd stood up straight, locking her joints at times to keep it that way, in some dismal effort to not be seen as easy pickings. Breathing heavily, both from fear and fatigue, she pulled herself to the foot of her bed and sat upon it. Seeking some comfort, she brought her hands together in her lap and conjured a small, flickering flame. It did nothing to curb the cold she felt, but it was familiar and it was calming. 

So, this was to be the rest of her life. Imprisoned by chains of duty, subservient to the whims of whatever creature laid claim to her. Never again would she see the rolling green hills, or hear the rush of water in a brook. This hostile wasteland was to be home now. The thought made her want to weep, but she forbade herself from such unbecoming things. She had to be strong, as strong as she was able. She wouldn't survive otherwise, let alone be able to face herself at the day's end.

[color=9e0039][b]"I can do this,"[/b][/color] she told herself softly, as thought the guards might discipline her if they heard, [color=9e0039][b]"The village still stands because of my choice. I can't let them down now, of all times."[/b][/color]

Some time later she collapsed into the bed, praying for a dreamless sleep that she was mercifully granted.

The next morning came and began to move so fast she didn't have time to dwell on anything. She was accustomed to early risings, that much was true, but being awoken by large guards throwing clothes and orders at her was something else entirely. Somehow, someway, by the grace of some god or another, she managed to make it down to the breakfast hall without drawing a Drakken's fist. She sat nearby some other Gems, but all of them ate in silence. Perhaps they did not know what to say to one another; Zeldria certainly didn't. But, even in the silence, there was something there, an acknowledgement that they were all bound for the same course. And suffering in company, Zeldria thought to herself as she tried to keep food down, was always preferable to suffering alone.

[hider=Summary]
Zeldria is coping with her situation, using her element sparingly to try and get her through. She's in WAY over her head, but is determined to not make herself an easy mark for the guards to torment. She's eating with a group of unspecified Gems, anybody who would like to say they're one of them is free to do so!
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[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/M8nuVBP.png[/img]
[h2][color=9e0b0f]Wilhelm the Black Blade[/color][/h2]
(Titles and Relations TBD)[/center]
The capital was always far more trouble than it was worth. Barely a soul inhabited the city who was not some pompous, self-entitled fool always trying to proactively prove his superiority. Reaping Time was even worse; the city swelled to bursting with scores more fools than it normally held, and every single one of them seemed to take it as a signal to puff out their chest, boast loudly and obnoxiously for any and everybody to hear, and pick fights they had no business with, all for the sake of trying to gain some superfluous recognition. It was utterly ridiculous. True glory, Wilhelm knew, was not won with false pride, bluster, and self-exultation, it was given in reward for deeds done and vows fulfilled. Respect was something commanded, not demanded. Not that any of the greedy worms would understand; once one of them got it into his head that he was destined for greatness, no advice or warning would deter the stupid fool from chasing it.

That said, Wilhelm thought as he carefully wiped the blood from his saber, a fresh corpse usually sufficed, at least in the immediate timeframe and vicinity. The cretin had drawn his blade and loudly challenged Wilhelm in the street, aggrandizing himself as "the Drakken who would lay low the Black Blade" as thought it were some children's game. Wilhelm answered his challenge, as he always did to those who gave him one- and put the simpleton down like the dog he was. 

[color=9e0b0f][b]"What a waste of time,"[/b][/color] he thought aloud, his baritone projected for all nearby to hear, [color=9e0b0f][b]"'Your castle will be the perfect place to take my first brides home to'? Ignorance truly knows no bounds."[/b][/color]

Finished with his cleaning, Wilhelm discarded the now blood-stained cloth and silently commanded the air to send it cascading down atop his opponent's face, covering it neatly. It was both a dismissal of the fool and a warning to the spectators; if they challenged him recklessly, they would only die an anonymous death. He would have to find a stall that sold handkerchiefs and the like, Wilhelm reminded himself. He'd just sullied one of his favorites, after all.

With this in mind he resumed his perusing of the market. That was one upside to this farce of an event; the craftsmen of Drakka all turned out with the best they had, and often times there were good wares to be had. Wilhelm paused briefly as a glimmer caught his eye, and found himself walking toward a vendor with various weapon accessories on display. There, resting in front, was an immaculately well-made scabbard, black lacquered wood with just the slightest hints of gold trimmings at the mouth and tip. His family's sword had been cared for and passed down through the centuries, but the same could not be said of its house, as wood only lasted for so long before it rotted. The craftsman in question seemed presentable enough, and soon he and Wilhelm were discussing the particulars of his order. 

Perhaps this trip would indeed be worth the hassle, when all was said and done...

[hider=Summary]
Wilhelm is just minding his own business in the market row. Some upstart challenged him to a duel and lost, sucks to be him. Currently at a stall discussing the purchase of a scabbard he saw that he liked, open for interaction!
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