Avatar of Fairess
  • Last Seen: 4 yrs ago
  • Joined: 11 yrs ago
  • Posts: 277 (0.07 / day)
  • VMs: 1
  • Username history
    1. Fairess 11 yrs ago

Status

User has no status, yet

Bio

User has no bio, yet

Most Recent Posts

@ViolentViolet

With my first character approved (yay!), I thought I'd go ahead and make her brother, Everett. I've taken a few creative liberties in fleshing out the family's more modern exploits in Everett's biography, so feel free to tell me if I've overstepped somewhere and I'll edit it until you approve of it.


Condolences for the internet troubles! I'll see if there isn't more I can flesh out about magic and such in the meantime.
@Prince of Seraphs

As Orson Scott Card says, as long as one realizes the first draft of a piece is always tossable, the writer will do just fine. I don't mind a mass history overhaul or expanding Enchantment to all races, but the character's significance in society and arguably plot is that she has the best and broadest understanding of Enchantment. If the mechanics of Enchantment and Autumn land/society sit well with you, I don't mind revising and coordinating such details.

It is likely, then, that I would revise the race to Autumn Elves and eliminate its racial tie to enchantment. Forgoing all ancient history, however, I will need guidelines or at the very least suggestions for how an Autumn ruler came into power and what society would expect from her.
Aaand, here's the character concept!






All well and good! I think I could brew up some Autumny characters, but I am a bit curious of the intent and scope of the RP. For instance, there isn't a lot of information about the Autumn Court I could gather from here, so what would you be looking for in its faction leader? Personality and topographic details are fairly simple to negotiate because of seasonal tropes, but I mean the question in a more plot-ish way. Am I going to be making mean unseelie types to provide conflict for characters aligned with causes of good, a more neutral territory of relics, art, and exploration of a variety of fae, or a government invested in positive change throughout its realm and others?

And on that note, how are the characters meant to interact? Is it going to be a series of different groups across the different realms (and therefore I should create characters of multiple seasons), a bunch of world leaders sending out troops and supplies from isolated strongholds, or is this an epic with a small group of people doing adventury/politicy things? Knowing a few of these details would really help me in formulating a character(s) that might help streamline whatever's going on with an epic of this proportion.
To say this looks interesting from the interest check would be redundant. It's just that between the interest check, this tab, and the characters, I'm not sure if you've got any open spots I might settle into.
Dinner had become a grand affair at the mansion. Many of Lord Arrington's guests arrived a few days before the festivities—mostly English gentlemen he called friends from Oxbridge and businesses in London. They treated the soiree like a vacation, taking time to enjoy the countryside on horseback and spending late nights in the parlor discussing philosophy and recent events. The Irish nobles would come on the actual eve of the ball, visiting to pay their respects and enjoy the festivities.

Mrs. Chapman had the hardest time of the servants adjusting to the sudden inflow of new servants and demands. More laundry had to be taken down to the river, more livestock bought from the village, and the kitchen was always busy with elaborate meals in the works. Brus had never seen anything like it, not even while the old master had been alive. Roasted fowl of several kinds always seemed to be roasting in the fire, and to make this possible, no less than three cooks had to strip the birds of guts and feathers—a truly gruesome task Brus couldn't stomach to watch.

All the while, Mrs. Chapman screeched over chickens having too many pinfeathers because the maid who'd bought them hadn't checked to see they were properly feathered, or perhaps one of the cooks had accidentally scalded the bird a bit in preparing it for plucking, or worst yet, one of the servants might displace one of her knives and she'd holler her way around the kitchen looking for it. There was nothing she loved more than efficiency and perfection, and although she won many evil eyes behind her back, there was no arguing over the quality of food that poured out of Arrington's kitchen.

“You've really done it!” Richard, a youthful accountant with a hobby of geology, spoke up among the group of lads at the table one evening. He gestured to the polished silverware, the crystal hanging off of chandeliers and flower settings, and the ancient paintings still resting on the walls. “What a glamorous thing you've made of this feral countryside. I daresay, I'm tempted to make a life for myself here, too.”

“We've been much too tame for the countryside, if you ask me.” Chester, a dark-haired creature with the soft, pale features of a cherub but all the cunning of a sly weasel in his green eyes, winked to the group. “I was promised a good hunt, the likes of which I have never seen before!”

Richard smiled, raising his glass at the thought. “A good hunt, indeed! I've walked a few of the trails myself, and the wild woods have more life and flavor than what manages to survive near London. Shall we not earn our keep, hunting the wilds for prize feasting meat?”

* * *

The light, laughter, and warmth from the house brought Laila ever closer to it. She liked the savory scent of roasted onions and lemon as much as the flowery bouquets strung around the Lord's meals. Because a rabbit's eye was not sufficient for close viewing, for the first time she stood at one of the windows in her fae form. Enshrouded in her magic, no mortal eye could see her, but the mere gravity of her presence caused more than one of the servants to eye the spot where she stood as they went from village to manor. By the end of dinner for the evening, however, when the servants went about cleaning up plates and settings, Miss Harvey couldn't help but notice the faint outline of a hand print pressed against one of the window panes.
Two months later, wow! I hope you're still around, 'cuz I've got a post for you.
Brus chuckled to himself as Miss Elmsburke rushed off to close the door behind him. From the lovely glow on her cheeks, he could tell he hadn’t been far behind their lordship—she’d only been gossiping about him with the rest of the staff since she’d first arrived herself. That flustered look on her pale face, the slight wobble to her knees as she scampered to the kitchen and he figured the man would be absurdly popular a while yet. His accompanying staff of English men and women were polished and efficient, but now that their master was finally in the house, they’d taken up a whole new level of hustling and bustling.

At least that was Brus’s impression as Miss Elmsburke practically dropped her basket in her hurry to get to the kitchen. A burst of excited giggles followed her entrance amid the familiar clatter of dishes and utensils, young and old servant alike posturing absurd questions and theories.

“Oh, you should have seen the glint in his eyes! And the look on Mr. Lockwood’s face!” Miss Elmsburke’s soft voice trembled with delight, and he could practically see her face crinkled with all the laughter she hadn’t allowed herself to show in front of the gentlemen.

“I can practically smell the scandal on you, girl! I absolutely won’t have you waiting on Mr. Arrington—he’s already made a reputation of himself back home!” This was a sterner voice, no doubt belonging to Mrs. Chapman, one of the Arrington’s senior cooks.

There was a chuckle—another youthful chime belonging to Mr. Clarke, a wry, sandy-haired fellow who’d taken on butlering for the Arrington’s eccentric son for the whole of a year. “Not to worry, Edite—I’ll take up the cordial myself.”

“Oh bother, Alfie, let me do it! You’re always so clumsy with the settings!” Another servant girl, this time Miss Harvey, who fancied herself a cook as much of a maid and happened to be Mrs. Chapman’s right hand.

As expected, Mrs. Chapman ‘tsked’ at the request, all steel. “Absolutely not! You girls are all giddy flutters and I’ll only have a creature with its head on welcome our lord to his home properly.”

“I daresay, my handiwork isn’t so crude as you make out to be, Miss Harvey.” Alfie’s tone was tempered acrimony, more wry than wounded. “Had you been in Milord’s service as long as I, you would also know he cares nothing for such things to begin with. Far too friendly to appreciate cold efficiency and too coldly efficient to make good on his flirtations with common women, he is.”

“Oh, dry up, you bitter prune!” Miss Elmsburke came stomping back with the laundry, her long skirt fluttering behind like a dark cloud. Brus couldn’t help but chuckle at the little spat—it was good to have anything over the oppressive silence that had occupied the mansion for much too long.

Alfie eventually emerged in his slick black suit, a silvered tray balanced on one hand. It gave off the slightest, but most delightful scent he’d ever smelled—strawberries and lemons aged together with enough sugar to make a tooth ache. Goblets, silken napkins, and a tray of sliced pears with lemon tarts just for good measure had been carefully arranged to accommodate the beverage. A snack fit for a lord indeed!

Ah, but the excitement of the day had him too tired to investigate. He retreated to the western parlor of the mansion instead, making himself comfortable on a recently dusted and fluffed lounge chair. The theme of the room was all floral prints, brown and cream and faded pink weaving together to form ivy and blossoms along the walls and furniture. A desk had been set against one wall, the rest of the room a series of sofas and tables meant for card games and conversation. Lamps and tablecloths dripped with crystals and golden trim, the walls decorated with watercolor women enjoying the countryside.

In earlier years, the comfortable room had been a place for Mrs. Arrington to entertain her guests after dinner and for Mr. Arrington to play at cards with his friends while one of the ladies plied at the piano. Everything had had a perpetual glimmer, the soft and last light of the day caught in the faded glow of the curtains. Little William had always been curious of it, of course, as he’d never been allowed into the ‘grown-up’s’ parlor. In unhappier times, his parents had even exchanged verbal barbs and snide remarks with the late lord and his wife—two guests who had never appreciated the ‘wild wilderness’ seen creeping from beyond the windows.

Brus closed his eyes and leaned back, casting off the past like a dream that had overstayed its welcome. This was a new time for a new family, although so much was as it used to be. The swish of the maids’ dark skirts, the low mumbling of gentlemen at business upstairs, the distant trill of birds in the garden—this was home.

-Meanwhile-

“Staring at it won’t make it less of a mystery, you know.” A pixie tugged at Laila’s long ear and giggled. The hare had remained transfixed at the door to the mansion for some time, caught up in old feelings and memories. Despite the fact that the building was the same as it was a decade ago, something was just… different, though she couldn’t quite put a paw on it.

Laila shook off the pert little thing and turned away from the house, hopping her way back to the hedge and into the forest. “It’s still a haunted place to me, if only slightly more pleasant with Brus back in it. I imagine it won’t be long before his fancy guests come to visit in droves, and then we’ll hear stories of all the world and how far they came to enjoy the garden.”

The deeper she wandered into the woods, the more alone she became, the fae either staying near town to enjoy the spectacle or to wander back to their own games. Though she usually enjoyed their songs and dances amid the leaves, it was a time to retreat into her own thoughts. She found her way into a familiar burrow beneath a great elm and nibbled on the berry stash she’d collected there, trying with difficulty not to wonder if it tasted anything like his lordship’s ‘chilled juice.’
© 2007-2026
BBCode Cheatsheet