Lava Alckon

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Corin Talmor

Character Art

Title: The Gem Knight
Race: Human (Cyran)
Class: Paladin — Gem Knight Archetype
Interaction: Elithar Revalen @Infinite Cosmos
Location: Aboard the Stormrider → Lhazaar Jungle
Attire: Think rough-n-tough artisan. Cotton shirt rolled up to the forearms, with a wool artisan coat to cover his torso when he does his craftwork. Brown leather pants with reinforced knee-support, and a practical belt full of pouches and clasps for his various tools..
Gold Balance: 30
Injuries: Cracked arm, embedded crystalline shard near sternum, mild concussion
Equipment:

Inventory

⋆ Oathlight — Reforged longsword of Talmorite alloy
⋆ Luminar — Shield of Light and Memory
⋆ Necklace of Vowstones (Citrine, Amethyst, Diamond)⋆ Scale-mail infused with gem-stones, offering an iridescent kaleidoscope of color
⋆ Travelling Clothes — simply garb meant to wear out of combat
⋆ Artisan’s Clothes — good for working in the forges or workshops
⋆ Travelling Cloak — Cloudy blue cloak used to mask his figure
⋆ Maintenance toolbelt & travel satchel

The men’s hands clapped together, and Corin groaned quietly as the aches of his injuries announced themselves. Once standing, Corin quickly slid a finger over the citrine in his necklace and a warm light spilled out from it. A pale mixture of orange and yellow, the light seemed tangible, like it could be plucked with one's own fingertips.

Corin did just that, and guided the beams of light towards the cuts, scraps, and bruises of the both of them. The pain seemed to dull, if only for the moment. Corin sighed, locking eyes with Elithar and taking measure of him.

Taller build, but that’s normal for an elf. Maybe from Valenar? Or is he local? He seems friendly enough…but this is also the jungle after a crash site. Anyone would be friendly at first glance.

A brief moment of interspeculation, and Corin offered his hand to the elf. ”Tough times call for group efforts. Wherever your original goal was, it might be best to divert to one of the local towns.” Coron pulled up his hood, deliberately turning around to see if there were any observers or optimal paths to traverse from here.

”I don’t suppose you have any suggestions?”

And then he turned around.

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Corin

Interactions: Elithar @Infinite Cosmos

Character Art

The mind of a soldier is often plagued with battles long since concluded–of faces washed away against the tides of time. When he’s conscious, Corin can easily fight off these errant memories trying to ambush him the moment he lets his guard down. Unfortunately for the veteran, everyone has to sleep eventually. Well, at least humans do.

Dream Sequence + Flashback?

Lightning and crimson painted the horizon. Corin stood at the forefront of the siege, sword and shield in hand, staring up at the impossible walls of Thaliost. Reports claimed their defenses were weak. But it couldn’t be farther from the truth. Aundairian mages lit the skies in fire, their spells tearing siege towers apart before they touched stone.
The smell of burnt flesh and metal filled his lungs. He pressed forward with the others, just as the cry of griffons split the air and sent a feeling of dread through the troops. The sky fell on them in talons and flame, and the Cyran line broke. Corin stumbled, tripping over the corpse of a man he’d spoken to that morning. He closed his eyes in a moment of fear, unable to process what his next move would be.
Then — the scene shifted. This time with a prominent rail junction in the distance, Brelish supply lines gleaming under a grey sky. Older now, harder, Corin led fresh recruits into the storm. He raised his company’s crest high, deflecting bolts of elemental fire. This operation ran much smoother than ones previously, and the company had managed to mostly secure the compound in the name of Cyre. But there was one loose end, a final engineer who sent a bolt of magical hellfire at the company. The blast that followed was meant for his men,but Corin caught it head-on with his shield. The impact hurled him through smoke and wreckage.
“Is he fucking crazy?” someone shouted, as the world went dark.
Maybe he was. Maybe that’s why he survived. So he could be there to stop the dangers of the world from taking even more people from him. His dream ended in a bright flash, the Mourning that had consumed his home and what family he had left after the war. All while he stood helplessly watching the Light overtake everything. Then he woke up.

Corin had spent most of his voyage aboard the Stormrider asleep. After weeks of travel, exhaustion had settled deep into his bones. Sleep, when it came, brought only nightmares. His restless movements and muffled groans had earned him more than a few scowls. A sharp smack on the shoulder jolted him awake. “Look, pal, we let you sleep long enough. If you’re gonna make all that noise, go somewhere else.”
Corin blinked blearily, muttered an apology, and stood with a symphony of creaking joints. He slung on his cloak and gathered his gear.

Perhaps a bit of air would do me good.

The Upper Viewing Lounge greeted him with warmth and quiet elegance. He flashed his VIP badge to the staff—an irony not lost on him, that wealth had only found him through tragedy. Still, he would use the privilege for what it was worth. It’s what his family would have wanted.
Outside, clouds stretched endlessly beneath the hull, the horizon bathed in golden light. For the first time in years, Corin allowed himself to breathe. Soon he would be home—though what “home” meant now, he wasn’t sure.
His thoughts scattered as the ship lurched violently. A deep groan rolled through the hull, followed by screams. Shadows flickered across the lounge before solidifying into armed figures. The first invader lunged from behind. Corin spun, caught him mid-stride, and sent him sprawling with a right hook across his jaw.

“You’ve got quite the fight, old wolf! Draw that blade and—”

Corin’s hand closed around the man’s throat. “Sorry. I don't like hunting rabbits with a cannon.”
He tossed the man over the railing. Two more rushed him—sloppy, desperate. Corin dropped them in quick succession, their feint groans signalling that they were down for the count. Across the room, a young elven boy was cornered. Two assailants toyed with him, cruel and careless.

“You lot, however… don’t get that courtesy.”

His hand brushed the amethyst on his necklace. The gem flared to life, and a stream of energy darted across the room, hardening into a crystalline barrier that caught the assassin’s blade inches from the boy’s chest. “What the—UOOMF!” The man’s breath vanished as Corin’s shield slammed into his ribs, sending him crashing into a wall. “Close your eyes!” Corin barked at the boy. His blade flashed, feinting once before finding its mark. The woman crumpled soundlessly.

He caught the boy by the shoulders. “Find the captain or any crew you can. If you see anyone else...run.”

The man turned toward the door, intending to escort survivors, but a voice blared over the intercom. The ship was going to be doing a crash landing in the Lhazaar Principalities of all places...Then came the tilt. Tables slid. People screamed. The ship had begun its chaotic descent.

“Everyone! Get to the table! They’re bolted to the deck!” He shouted across the chaos.“Hold on. No matter what happens—don’t let go!”

For a heartbeat, he hesitated, taking in their terrified faces. “Everything’s going to be okay. I’ll get help.” Then the floor dropped. Corin stumbled, the ship tilting hard to port. His hand caught the rail just as it tore free.

“Shit!”

He was falling. Clouds, trees, the Lhazaaran jungle spinning up to meet him.
Is this really it? I've tanked cannons, blades, spells…and I fall to my death in a damn jungle? Great. He gritted his teeth and angled his shield. Like hell I’m letting myself go out like that.

The world blurred green. He struck a tree, shield-first, ricocheting from branch to branch. Leaves and splinters ripped at his armor. He reached for a limb and pain exploded as his arm cracked, but he managed to twist his fall. One last strike of his shield against the trunk slowed him enough to hit the ground alive, if not unbroken.

Silence followed. Just the groan of bending metal above, and his own ragged breath below. Corin simply stared at the canopy above him, his eyes squinting as he noticed other objects falling from the ship. One such object almost seemed to come right for him—and before he could properly react his chest felt fiery. As if he had just been freshly stabbed. In the blink of an eye, a weird shard of some gem or crystal had embedded itself into his sternum. Corin shouted briefly and slammed his fist into the dirt before looking back at the ship.

The Stormrider continued on its traumatic course through the jungle. ”If memory serves…there’s a port town in that direction. But this is a really terrible neck of the woods to be in.” He glanced around, a brief chuckle slipped from his lips at the inopportune play on words.

Corin struggled to his feet, each breath filled with labor and effort. In his mind, the logical thing to do was to follow the ship’s course. So he decided to head towards the port city, but quickly noticed another figure amongst the foliage. A dark-skinned elf who seemed to have met a similar fate to him.

Corin stopped and offered a hand—”You one of the survivors of that chaos that just flew past?”

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Corin Talmor

Corin, the Gem Knight

Corin Talmor ⋆ 44 ⋆ Male ⋆ Human

Appearance

Height: 6’0”

Weight:~180 lbs (175 on a good day)

Hair Color: Dark brown with streaks of grey

Eye Color: Cloudy Blue - like quartz

Skin Tone: Honey-colored skin (not in the cartoony way)

Distinguishing Features:
His armor, if he is wearing it, is much “louder” than the rest of his attire. His cloudy eyes often catch the attention of some due to its atypical appearance. In his plain clothes, passersby will notice shrapnel scars along his neck, jaw, and shoulders from his time working with metals and gems (and perhaps an odd cannonball/explosive here and there).

Clothing Style:
Think rough-n-tough artisan. Cotton shirt rolled up to the forearms, with a wool artisan coat to cover his torso when he does his craftwork. Brown leather pants with reinforced knee-support, and a practical belt full of pouches and clasps for his various tools.

The color scheme of his working and plain clothes are much more muted than his armor variants. He prefers muted colors for travelling and casual encounters, but brings his shiniest and most radiant attire to bear for more serious endeavors.

Psychology

Likes:
⋆ “Quiet” Workshops - ie just the sounds of tools against hot metal etc.
⋆ Rainy Weather
⋆ Small Acts of Kindness

Dislikes:
⋆ Disrespecting the Dead
⋆ Magical Arrogance (ie cocky wizards)
⋆ Bullying the Weak (maliciously - fun bullying is still fun)

Habits/Quirks:
⋆ He treats his vowstones (or any gem really) like prayer beads, fidgeting and holding them during silent prayers
⋆ “Solider-like” Mannerisms - checks the room’s corners, always has to face the door, sleeps upright, etc.
⋆ Portions his food into even “quadrants”
⋆ Flinches at sudden bright lights

Dreams/Motivations:
⋆ Understand the cause of the Mourning
⋆ Forge a legacy worthy of the Talmor name
⋆ To protect what hope remains in the world

Sexuality:
Heteroromantc - Corin doesn’t open his heart easily - nor does his romantic side stem from sexual attraction. He favors the bond more than the physical attachments.

Willingness to make friends(1-5):
Three. He is cautiously open to friendships, but rarely initiates it. If you share common likes with him, it will net you his respect/adoration quickly.

Willingness toward romance(1-5):
Two. He is guarded against romance due to the loss of his betrothed, but it has been many years since. Connection for him rises from camaraderie, if at all. Shared grief, philosophical dialogue, and meaningful conversation are ways to win him over.

Personality:

Engaging With Others

Extroversion(1-5): 2, is more of a “be approached” type
Kindness(1-5): 5 – Deeply compassionate even if he may not show with words
Chattiness(1-5): 2, speaks with a purpose and is normally silent.
Trustfulness (1-5): 3, He wants to believe in people, but his past makes it hard.
Sense of Humor (1-5): 3, despite appearances he actually has a funny bone. His humor is more dry/subtle.
Loyalty (1-5): 5, complete devotion to his friends/loved ones.
Selflessness (1-5): 4, commonly puts others before himself, but not to his detriment.
Flirtatiousness(1-5): 1. Comically bad at recognizing or returning flirting.
Arrogance(1-5):: 2. He takes pride in his craft, but more in the form of confidence from mastery over many years of practice.

Handling Conflict and Decisions

Patience (1-5): 5. His formative years taught him endurance and restraint.
Temperance (1-5): 4–rarely loses control, but when he breaks…it’s frightening.
Forgiveness (1-5): 3. He forgives individuals more easily than himself.
Courage (1-5): 5 - Resolute courage keeps him standing when others flee.
Stubbornness (1-5): 4. Once he’s on a path, he rarely diverts.
Pacifism(1-5): 3, while not eager to fight–he accepts it as necessary. Violence should serve purpose, not pride.
Impulsiveness (1-5): 2, he is careful and calculating. Every move has its intention.
Creativity (1-5): 5 - his craftsmanship is his soul, and he bares it with each strike of his tools.
Mercy (1-5): 4–He believes in second chances, so long as they’re earned. Mercy breaks the cycle of vengeance.
Charisma(1-5) 3, and not for the reason you think. He isn’t a front-facing person, but his honest demeanor and quiet conviction draw respect from others.

Background

Place of Origin: Valmorra, Cyre — a once-prosperous river city famed for its jewelcraft and artificer guilds before the Mourning.
Current Occupation: Wandering Paladin and Jewelsmith-for-hire.
Living Family Members: None that he is aware of.
Companions on the Airship:
Bastion, an old war buddy of Corin’s, bumped into shortly before the attack. They had planned to reunite and catch up over old war stories.

Why are you traveling to Khorvaire?
Many reasons. With his Vowstones completed, Corin feels ready to face the homeland destroyed by an unknown cause, and perhaps find the purpose/reason behind it. A man can only stay away from home for so long before the soul yearns to return.
Non-Combative Skills:
Master Jewelsmith & Gemwright: Capable of crafting enchanted jewelry, repairing crystalline armor, and identifying the spiritual or magical properties of gemstones.
Battlefield Medic: Trained in battlefield triage and basic anatomical healing.
Tactical Mind: Experienced in small-unit warfare, fortification defense, and logistics planning.
Colorful Knowledge: Well versed in gems, their meanings/symbolisms, their colors, and the way light behaves in relation to lenses, prisms, and reflective surfaces.

History
Short Version:
Born in Cyre, Corin Talmor grew up in the glow of his family’s forge, learning the language of gems and light from his mother and father. The Last War stole that glow — his father fell in battle, and Corin, driven by duty, followed in his footsteps. His skill with metal and faith led him from the artificer’s tents to the front lines, where he earned knighthood for his bravery and selflessness.
He was away on assignment when the Mourning consumed his homeland, leaving him one of few Cyrans to survive. Since then, he’s carried his reforged blade Oathlight and the shield Luminar — both born from the mysterious gemstone now called Talmorite. In a show of self-exile, Corin went on a quest to find purpose behind his grief. Something he would find soon in the form of gemstones given oath.
His vowstones, carried close to his heart, represent those he lost — and the promise that their light will not fade while he still draws breath. With his relic completed, and journey elsewhere ending, he decides to return home and face the past that once haunted him.

Longer Detailed Version

Corin Talmor was born in the river city of Valmorra, in the nation of Cyre, decades before the Mourning. His father, Darrin Talmor, was a decorated soldier of Galifar turned royal knight captain, known for his disciplined swordsmanship and unyielding sense of duty. His mother, Elayne, was a renowned jewelsmith and enchanter whose workshop glittered with creations that captured light like captured rainbows. Together, they raised their two children, Corin and his younger sister Seris, amid a harmony of steel and gemdust.
Corin’s childhood was a bright one. He learned the precision of his father’s forge and the patience of his mother’s polishing wheel. Seris, ever curious, followed them both like a shadow, laughing as her brother shaped bits of metal into crude trinkets to amuse her. Their family’s trade dealt not only in ornamentation but in reverence. For the Talmors, light itself was an artform, and the Talmors understood that beauty and faith often shared a heartbeat.
When the Last War erupted, Corin was barely sixteen. His father rejoined the military effort to defend Cyre’s borders, while Corin apprenticed as an artificer’s assistant, maintaining gear and repairing armor for the front lines. Years of conflict hardened him, but not all at once — the death of Darrin Talmor in the line of duty changed something fundamental in him. Grief tempered into resolve, and he enlisted as a full soldier, taking up his father’s then-shattered sword, Oathlight.
In the aftermath, Corin spent months painstakingly reforging the weapon, fusing its fragments together with gemdust supplied by his mother. The experiment was dangerous, untested — but it worked. The metal bonded with the crystalline powder, forming an alloy that shimmered faintly between colors, much like the refractions of light through a prism. That material would later be known as Talmorite.
During those same years, Corin served alongside a warforged named Bastion, a towering soldier of steel and stone. Bastion was built for endurance and defense, and over the years, the two became an inseparable unit -– man and construct bound by loyalty and mutual respect. Bastion’s unshakable pragmatism often balanced Corin’s compassion, while Corin’s humanity gave Bastion a sense of self beyond orders and programming.
Together, they survived campaigns that should have killed them a dozen times over. It was Bastion who first called Corin “the Gem Knight,” after watching him channel divine energy through the reforged Oathlight during a night siege.
Corin’s skill at merging craft and conviction earned him notice among Cyran commands. He rose through the ranks as a Paladin of the Crown, serving as both knight and medic, embodying a kind of quiet nobility that inspired others even amid ruin. His life briefly brightened again when he met Elyra Voss, a fellow Cyran officer and war mage whose courage and wit drew him out of solitude. The two became betrothed in a brief window of peace; though peace was never meant to last.
Four years before the war’s end, Corin was sent away from Cyre on a diplomatic escort mission, ferrying envoys and supplies to allied lines near Breland. Bastion remained behind to guard Valmorra’s civilians as the situation worsened. When the Mourning struck, it consumed everything—Valmorra, his family, Elyra, and the heart of his nation–all in a single gray dawn.
He returned to find a world in ruin and his homeland gone, reduced to glassy soil and endless mist. From the wreckage, he recovered what little he could: fragments of his mother’s gems, the broken crest of his family forge, and whatever leftover gemstones he could scavenge from the wreckage.
Since then, Corin has lived as a wanderer — a knight without a banner, a smith without a forge. He traveled elsewhere in Eberron offering protection, craftsmanship, and the blessings of light to those in need. He bears Oathlight, now reforged, and the shield Luminar, a masterpiece forged entirely from Talmorite — resilient, radiant, and unyielding.
In the ashes of peace, Corin set himself upon a personal crusade. Using the fragments of Oathlight and his mastery of gemcraft, he sought to forge something eternal from grief: the Vowstones. Each was created in memory of a lost loved one—a fusion of artifice, mourning, and prayer. His journey to craft them led him across continents and years, his faith and purpose rekindling with each stone completed. He wears them in clawed sockets adorning a silver chain that rests along his neck— a citrine to symbolize the healing his mother gave him in his darkest times, an amethyst to symbolize how he must protect those like his sister, who he cared for, and a diamond, showing his willingness to sacrifice his own self for the ones he loves.
Now, decades later, Corin’s path brings him home. The vowstones are complete, but their weight remains. With Bastion and a particularly interesting new ally at his side, he returns to Khorvaire to face what remains of his past—and perhaps to uncover what truly befell the world he once swore to protect. Though his faith is quiet, his purpose burns bright: to understand the Mourning, to guard others from the same fate, and to ensure that even in the shadow of ruin, the light of Cyre endures through him.

Combat & Magic Potential

Class Concept / Role:
Paladin - Gem Knight

Signature Abilities (3):
Lay on Hands - Channeled through Citrine
Sacred Ward - Assistance through Amethyst
Martyr’s Grace - Defense through Diamond

Major Weaknesses (3):
Plagued by night terrors
His age leads to slower recovery time/higher strain from battle
Obsessed with Legacy/Greater meaning - struggles to focus on the now

Racial Trait(s) (If Applicable):
Additional Boon (see below)

Boons & Banes:

Boons

Jewelsmith - proficiency in crafting gem/jewel related trinkets, jewelry, armor, weapons
Veteran Soldier - Disciplined combatant trained in most melee weaponry but heavily favoring his sword and shield
Iron Will - Despite the tragedies he has faced, Corrin’s will remains as strong as ever. His spirit refuses to wane in the presence of insurmountable odds.

Banes

Haunted Past - His major losses before the War and the Mourning leave him feeling lost and full of guilt. He often feels caught up in the past, wishing things could be different - and is unsure of where his life may go now that everything is gone.

Combat Equipment and Gear:

Primary Arms

Oathlight — Reforged Longsword of the Talmor Line
Luminar — Shield of Light and Memory

Armor + Clothes

Scale-mail infused with gem-stones, offering an iridescent kaleidoscope of color
Travelling Clothes — simply garb meant to wear out of combat
Artisan’s Clothes — good for working in the forges or workshops
Travelling Cloak — Cloudy blue cloak used to mask his figure

Accessories

Vowstones — powerful gemstones infused with divine power born from Corin’s oath of devotion.
Necklace of the Vowstones - silver chain with filigree and claw like sockets holding each of the gemstones in place
Maintenance Toolbelt — belt filled with various artisan tools, oils, sharpening stones, gemstone dust, etc. for his crafts

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Corin Talmor

Corin, the Gem Knight

Corin Talmor ⋆ 44 ⋆ Male ⋆ Human

Appearance

Height: 6’0”

Weight:~180 lbs (175 on a good day)

Hair Color: Dark brown with streaks of grey

Eye Color: Cloudy Blue - like quartz

Skin Tone: Honey-colored skin (not in the cartoony way)

Distinguishing Features:
His armor, if he is wearing it, is much “louder” than the rest of his attire. His cloudy eyes often catch the attention of some due to its atypical appearance. In his plain clothes, passersby will notice shrapnel scars along his neck, jaw, and shoulders from his time working with metals and gems (and perhaps an odd cannonball/explosive here and there).

Clothing Style:
Think rough-n-tough artisan. Cotton shirt rolled up to the forearms, with a wool artisan coat to cover his torso when he does his craftwork. Brown leather pants with reinforced knee-support, and a practical belt full of pouches and clasps for his various tools.

The color scheme of his working and plain clothes are much more muted than his armor variants. He prefers muted colors for travelling and casual encounters, but brings his shiniest and most radiant attire to bear for more serious endeavors.

Psychology

Likes:
⋆ “Quiet” Workshops - ie just the sounds of tools against hot metal etc.
⋆ Rainy Weather
⋆ Small Acts of Kindness

Dislikes:
⋆ Disrespecting the Dead
⋆ Magical Arrogance (ie cocky wizards)
⋆ Bullying the Weak (maliciously - fun bullying is still fun)

Habits/Quirks:
⋆ He treats his vowstones (or any gem really) like prayer beads, fidgeting and holding them during silent prayers
⋆ “Solider-like” Mannerisms - checks the room’s corners, always has to face the door, sleeps upright, etc.
⋆ Portions his food into even “quadrants”
⋆ Flinches at sudden bright lights

Dreams/Motivations:
⋆ Understand the cause of the Mourning
⋆ Forge a legacy worthy of the Talmor name
⋆ To protect what hope remains in the world

Sexuality:
Heteroromantc - Corin doesn’t open his heart easily - nor does his romantic side stem from sexual attraction. He favors the bond more than the physical attachments.

Willingness to make friends(1-5):
Three. He is cautiously open to friendships, but rarely initiates it. If you share common likes with him, it will net you his respect/adoration quickly.

Willingness toward romance(1-5):
Two. He is guarded against romance due to the loss of his betrothed, but it has been many years since. Connection for him rises from camaraderie, if at all. Shared grief, philosophical dialogue, and meaningful conversation are ways to win him over.

Personality:

Engaging With Others

Extroversion(1-5): 2, is more of a “be approached” type
Kindness(1-5): 5 – Deeply compassionate even if he may not show with words
Chattiness(1-5): 2, speaks with a purpose and is normally silent.
Trustfulness (1-5): 3, He wants to believe in people, but his past makes it hard.
Sense of Humor (1-5): 3, despite appearances he actually has a funny bone. His humor is more dry/subtle.
Loyalty (1-5): 5, complete devotion to his friends/loved ones.
Selflessness (1-5): 4, commonly puts others before himself, but not to his detriment.
Flirtatiousness(1-5): 1. Comically bad at recognizing or returning flirting.
Arrogance(1-5):: 2. He takes pride in his craft, but more in the form of confidence from mastery over many years of practice.

Handling Conflict and Decisions

Patience (1-5): 5. His formative years taught him endurance and restraint.
Temperance (1-5): 4–rarely loses control, but when he breaks…it’s frightening.
Forgiveness (1-5): 3. He forgives individuals more easily than himself.
Courage (1-5): 5 - Resolute courage keeps him standing when others flee.
Stubbornness (1-5): 4. Once he’s on a path, he rarely diverts.
Pacifism(1-5): 3, while not eager to fight–he accepts it as necessary. Violence should serve purpose, not pride.
Impulsiveness (1-5): 2, he is careful and calculating. Every move has its intention.
Creativity (1-5): 5 - his craftsmanship is his soul, and he bares it with each strike of his tools.
Mercy (1-5): 4–He believes in second chances, so long as they’re earned. Mercy breaks the cycle of vengeance.
Charisma(1-5) 3, and not for the reason you think. He isn’t a front-facing person, but his honest demeanor and quiet conviction draw respect from others.

Background

Place of Origin: Valmorra, Cyre — a once-prosperous river city famed for its jewelcraft and artificer guilds before the Mourning.
Current Occupation: Wandering Paladin and Jewelsmith-for-hire.
Living Family Members: None that he is aware of.
Companions on the Airship:
Bastion, an old war buddy of Corin’s, bumped into shortly before the attack. They had planned to reunite and catch up over old war stories.

Why are you traveling to Khorvaire?
Many reasons. With his Vowstones completed, Corin feels ready to face the homeland destroyed by an unknown cause, and perhaps find the purpose/reason behind it. A man can only stay away from home for so long before the soul yearns to return.
Non-Combative Skills:
Master Jewelsmith & Gemwright: Capable of crafting enchanted jewelry, repairing crystalline armor, and identifying the spiritual or magical properties of gemstones.
Battlefield Medic: Trained in battlefield triage and basic anatomical healing.
Tactical Mind: Experienced in small-unit warfare, fortification defense, and logistics planning.
Colorful Knowledge: Well versed in gems, their meanings/symbolisms, their colors, and the way light behaves in relation to lenses, prisms, and reflective surfaces.

History
Short Version:
Born in Cyre, Corin Talmor grew up in the glow of his family’s forge, learning the language of gems and light from his mother and father. The Last War stole that glow — his father fell in battle, and Corin, driven by duty, followed in his footsteps. His skill with metal and faith led him from the artificer’s tents to the front lines, where he earned knighthood for his bravery and selflessness.
He was away on assignment when the Mourning consumed his homeland, leaving him one of few Cyrans to survive. Since then, he’s carried his reforged blade Oathlight and the shield Luminar — both born from the mysterious gemstone now called Talmorite. In a show of self-exile, Corin went on a quest to find purpose behind his grief. Something he would find soon in the form of gemstones given oath.
His vowstones, carried close to his heart, represent those he lost — and the promise that their light will not fade while he still draws breath. With his relic completed, and journey elsewhere ending, he decides to return home and face the past that once haunted him.

Longer Detailed Version

Corin Talmor was born in the river city of Valmorra, in the nation of Cyre, decades before the Mourning. His father, Darrin Talmor, was a decorated soldier of Galifar turned royal knight captain, known for his disciplined swordsmanship and unyielding sense of duty. His mother, Elayne, was a renowned jewelsmith and enchanter whose workshop glittered with creations that captured light like captured rainbows. Together, they raised their two children, Corin and his younger sister Seris, amid a harmony of steel and gemdust.
Corin’s childhood was a bright one. He learned the precision of his father’s forge and the patience of his mother’s polishing wheel. Seris, ever curious, followed them both like a shadow, laughing as her brother shaped bits of metal into crude trinkets to amuse her. Their family’s trade dealt not only in ornamentation but in reverence. For the Talmors, light itself was an artform, and the Talmors understood that beauty and faith often shared a heartbeat.
When the Last War erupted, Corin was barely sixteen. His father rejoined the military effort to defend Cyre’s borders, while Corin apprenticed as an artificer’s assistant, maintaining gear and repairing armor for the front lines. Years of conflict hardened him, but not all at once — the death of Darrin Talmor in the line of duty changed something fundamental in him. Grief tempered into resolve, and he enlisted as a full soldier, taking up his father’s then-shattered sword, Oathlight.
In the aftermath, Corin spent months painstakingly reforging the weapon, fusing its fragments together with gemdust supplied by his mother. The experiment was dangerous, untested — but it worked. The metal bonded with the crystalline powder, forming an alloy that shimmered faintly between colors, much like the refractions of light through a prism. That material would later be known as Talmorite.
During those same years, Corin served alongside a warforged named Bastion, a towering soldier of steel and stone. Bastion was built for endurance and defense, and over the years, the two became an inseparable unit -– man and construct bound by loyalty and mutual respect. Bastion’s unshakable pragmatism often balanced Corin’s compassion, while Corin’s humanity gave Bastion a sense of self beyond orders and programming.
Together, they survived campaigns that should have killed them a dozen times over. It was Bastion who first called Corin “the Gem Knight,” after watching him channel divine energy through the reforged Oathlight during a night siege.
Corin’s skill at merging craft and conviction earned him notice among Cyran commands. He rose through the ranks as a Paladin of the Crown, serving as both knight and medic, embodying a kind of quiet nobility that inspired others even amid ruin. His life briefly brightened again when he met Elyra Voss, a fellow Cyran officer and war mage whose courage and wit drew him out of solitude. The two became betrothed in a brief window of peace; though peace was never meant to last.
Four years before the war’s end, Corin was sent away from Cyre on a diplomatic escort mission, ferrying envoys and supplies to allied lines near Breland. Bastion remained behind to guard Valmorra’s civilians as the situation worsened. When the Mourning struck, it consumed everything—Valmorra, his family, Elyra, and the heart of his nation–all in a single gray dawn.
He returned to find a world in ruin and his homeland gone, reduced to glassy soil and endless mist. From the wreckage, he recovered what little he could: fragments of his mother’s gems, the broken crest of his family forge, and whatever leftover gemstones he could scavenge from the wreckage.
Since then, Corin has lived as a wanderer — a knight without a banner, a smith without a forge. He traveled elsewhere in Eberron offering protection, craftsmanship, and the blessings of light to those in need. He bears Oathlight, now reforged, and the shield Luminar, a masterpiece forged entirely from Talmorite — resilient, radiant, and unyielding.
In the ashes of peace, Corin set himself upon a personal crusade. Using the fragments of Oathlight and his mastery of gemcraft, he sought to forge something eternal from grief: the Vowstones. Each was created in memory of a lost loved one—a fusion of artifice, mourning, and prayer. His journey to craft them led him across continents and years, his faith and purpose rekindling with each stone completed. He wears them in clawed sockets adorning a silver chain that rests along his neck— a citrine to symbolize the healing his mother gave him in his darkest times, an amethyst to symbolize how he must protect those like his sister, who he cared for, and a diamond, showing his willingness to sacrifice his own self for the ones he loves.
Now, decades later, Corin’s path brings him home. The vowstones are complete, but their weight remains. With Bastion and a particularly interesting new ally at his side, he returns to Khorvaire to face what remains of his past—and perhaps to uncover what truly befell the world he once swore to protect. Though his faith is quiet, his purpose burns bright: to understand the Mourning, to guard others from the same fate, and to ensure that even in the shadow of ruin, the light of Cyre endures through him.

Combat & Magic Potential

Class Concept / Role:
Paladin - Gem Knight

Signature Abilities (3):
Lay on Hands - Channeled through Citrine
Sacred Ward - Assistance through Amethyst
Martyr’s Grace - Defense through Diamond

Major Weaknesses (3):
Plagued by night terrors
His age leads to slower recovery time/higher strain from battle
Obsessed with Legacy/Greater meaning - struggles to focus on the now

Racial Trait(s) (If Applicable):
Additional Boon (see below)

Boons & Banes:

Boons

Jewelsmith - proficiency in crafting gem/jewel related trinkets, jewelry, armor, weapons
Veteran Soldier - Disciplined combatant trained in most melee weaponry but heavily favoring his sword and shield
Iron Will - Despite the tragedies he has faced, Corrin’s will remains as strong as ever. His spirit refuses to wane in the presence of insurmountable odds.

Banes

Haunted Past - His major losses before the War and the Mourning leave him feeling lost and full of guilt. He often feels caught up in the past, wishing things could be different - and is unsure of where his life may go now that everything is gone.

Combat Equipment and Gear:

Primary Arms

Oathlight — Reforged Longsword of the Talmor Line
Luminar — Shield of Light and Memory

Armor + Clothes

Scale-mail infused with gem-stones, offering an iridescent kaleidoscope of color
Travelling Clothes — simply garb meant to wear out of combat
Artisan’s Clothes — good for working in the forges or workshops
Travelling Cloak — Cloudy blue cloak used to mask his figure

Accessories

Vowstones — powerful gemstones infused with divine power born from Corin’s oath of devotion.
Necklace of the Vowstones - silver chain with filigree and claw like sockets holding each of the gemstones in place
Maintenance Toolbelt — belt filled with various artisan tools, oils, sharpening stones, gemstone dust, etc. for his crafts

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Drake

Time: Evening of the 2nd
Location: Edwards Estate -> Tough Tavenr
Mentions: Ariella, Charlotte, Thea, Kazumin

---

The night was calm, with a bit of an overcast from the previous day's rain. Wet cobblestone lined the roads of Sorian, droplets splashing up with every wobbly footstep and sliding shoe scraping along the pavement. The lights of taverns glowed warmly against the cold glass of windows that were covered from top to bottom in dew drops and condensation. Sounds of festivities, merriment, and joyful chaos were sewn into the streets. This…was Drunkard’s Day.

A debaucherous and rambunctious night like tonight would be something Drake paid no interest too. While he enjoyed a good whiskey or bourdon, the unfettered lack of restraint of the common working man was just a tad too energetic for his tastes, especially after having galavanted across several parties, meetings, and social outings that came back to haunt him in the form of delayed paperwork.

Yet despite the man’s gnawing desire to finally crack down on the pile of tasks, documents, approvals, correspondence, ledgers, and various other documents to sign and proof-read, he held a single opened letter in his hand. Folded neatly, with a fine calligraphy across the parchment with a simple invitation. “It feels far too long since we last spoke. Tell me... Might you be free on the night of Drunkard’s Day? I suspect your duties will keep you occupied, yet… truth be told, I could use the ear of a friend. The Tough Tavern may not be grand, but I think a small indulgence of respite would serve us both well. I should very much like the company.”

Drake handled the letter delicately, and furrowed his brow for a moment. ”I am happy to meet with you, Charlotte. But at Tough Tavern? That is…a troublesome area to say the least.” He furrowed his brow for a moment, and pondered the logistics of it all. It was a holiday after all, surely everyone would be caught up in their own activities to notice or care about two heirs of the larger noble houses meeting for a drink. The last thing he wanted was more fire to fuel any scandals.

But he would be lying if he said he did not wish to speak with her. It had been many days since their last meeting and he felt like he hadn’t put nearly as much effort into their friendship as he would care to admit. So against his better judgement he went - but not before grabbing his new firearm from the cabinet under his desk and holstering it in the harness he kept under his chest for safe keeping. Just in case someone were to pull something, he’d make sure it would end quickly. ”Nobles are being accused and jailed within a night’s notice. And rumors are going around that the Damiens have been attacked in public! I am not going to become another headline - at least not as the victim.”

Drake huffed after the rare violent thought crossed his mind. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, breathed deeply, and dressed for a cold night with a chance of rain. Drake grabbed his coat and umbrella and made for the door - before the distinct sound of feet against marble met his ear drums. An inquisitive Ariella was quick to notice her brother’s departure and decided to intervene. Drake smiled nervously as his sister quickly yet playfully “interrogated” him - asking where he was off to, what he was to do, and after only a few minutes he cracked and spilled he planned to head to the Tough Tavern to have some drinks and chat with Charlotte.

Ariella’s eyes glinted, teasing Drake at the prospect of seeing another woman late at night with someone as fair as Thea already at his hip - a noticeable blush colored his face as he exclaimed ”It’s not like that!” Yet she pressed the facade until the young man pushed for the door. That was when she quickly stopped his arm with hers, and smirked. ”I’m just teasing you. If you’re going somewhere fun, I’d at least like to tag along. Make sure you’re not up to any mischief. That’s my job after all.” The woman winked as Drake rolled his eyes and motioned for her to follow. The pair then hopped into one of the family carriages and made way for the Tough Tavern.

Drake stepped out first, helping his sister out shortly after - exchanging slight banter back and forth as he dismissed the driver for the night. As the pair turned to head inside, a downtrodden Kazumin nearly bumped into them, prompting some quick back and forth dialogue pertaining to “watching where one is going” and “not dealing with anymore crap today”. The ever faithful charismatic type, Drake decides to smooth things over with a potential offer of drink later, seeing the man was clearly having a rough time - but made no promises to impose further on his meeting with Charlotte. If Charlotte wanted more company, she could always invite him to the table anyway.

Inside the tavern, the noise immediately flew into the streets as the trio worked their way inside. The shock and change of atmosphere threw Drake for a loop - causing him to wander for a few moments before finally spotting Charlotte at a booth in the corner of the bar. Amongst all the rabble, seeing her small figure calmly sitting and waiting patiently for his arrival was definitely a sight. Out here all by herself? She’s quite brave for risking that kind of encounter - but at least we’re all here now…

Drake handed Kazu a few gold coins. ”Help yourself to some drink - I have some matters to discuss with Charlotte before we get too…inebriated.” The man smiled and made his way to the table with his sister in tow. Drake bowed gently as he neared the booth. ”Charlotte! It’s been far too long. My sister was dying to say hello to you when she heard where I was going and who I was meeting. I hope it doesn’t impose too much if we made small talk - unless you’d like to talk more privately?” While not wanting to exclude his sister just yet, he did bring her here without Charlotte’s knowledge. If what she needed to talk about was private it may very well call for a 1 on 1 - but he’s also seen the way Ariella interacts with the other ladies of the noble houses. She has an eye for knowing what to say and when to say it - something he truly does admire in her.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Farim & Anastasia

---

Farim clicked his tongue. Was this not meant to be about someone else entirely? How did it swing back in his personal affairs so readily? He offered a slight sigh with his fingers rubbing the base of his forehead. “Thanks, Wulfric. Appreciate the subtlety….” Farim said to the closed door.

Then he turned, one hand holding his wrist as they relaxed in front of his midsection. “I suppose now is the time to come clean – if witch hunting is to be the standard. Then yes, Anastasia. I know magic.” He figured there was no sense in twisting his words now.

“You… do?” she asked, voice thinner than she’d meant it to be. She took a small step back, not far enough to seem accusatory, but enough to betray the instinct to retreat. Her eyes searched his face, trying to find some sign that he was joking. “What do you use it for?”

Farim’s chest felt heavy for a moment - the backwards retreat symbolized a moment of fear to back away from an obvious threat…from him. He could only frown in response. But lack of words would do him no good here.

”Transmutation - or what it is more commonly referred to as: Alchemy.” He produced a gold coin and placed it on the table. ”There is more to show and more to tell - but only if you wish it to be so, Annie. I hope it does not frighten you.”

"Alchemy?" Anastasia repeated, her voice a little steadier now. She cautiously approached the table, her gaze fixed on the gold coin. She reached out a hesitant hand, her fingers brushing the cold metal. It certainly felt real. "And you… you created this?" Her gaze lifted to Farim’s face. “Farim, it does frighten me. I don’t know if we should trust magic… I just—” She paused, her voice softer now, almost pleading. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
Farim smiled. ”The gold coin was not fabricated by me - it is merely a demonstration piece.” Taking the coin gently from her palm and placing it into his, Farim closed his hand into a fist surrounding the coin, squeezing firmly as if to try and change its shape.A pale-blue glow warmly emanated from between his fingers and from underneath his shirt - right where his necklace rested upon his chest. When the man opened his hand again, there was fine golden dust where the coin had been.

”I have been doing this…a long time. I have tried to keep it secret but our nation does not employ such things like witch hunters or mage seekers. Plus I am easily able to isolate and protect my own secrets in my homeland. Here…apparently not so much.” He paused, offering to pour the gold dust into her hand should she choose to “test its authenticity”. ”It is assuredly a dangerous tool if used improperly - but I have some…help to put it plainly.” He looked to the side for a moment - as if at something or someone, before looking back at her.

"Help? What kind of help, Farim?" Anastasia's voice was barely a whisper, her eyes wide with fascination as she watched the gold dust shimmer in her palm. She tried to follow his gaze, then she looked around the room, as if expecting someone to suddenly appear. Her brows knitted together then she met his eyes once more as she said firmly, "I promise I won’t tell anyone."

His hand moved beneath his shirt - trailing down his neck and gently pulling the blue crystal necklace out in plain view. It still hummed a pale light that dimmed with each passing second. ”A fancy little item of mine. It takes the brunt of the magical cost for me so I do not.” Farim placed the necklace back under his shirt. Then his expression became somber, almost downtrodden. ”It was a gift from a friend…from a long time ago.”

Anastasia leaned in, her eyes flicking between the necklace and Farim’s face. She tilted her head slightly. “Soooo… Can you just do any kind of magic you want?” she asked.

Farim shook his head. ”Just the kind you see here. Changing one thing to another.” He took the dust and placed it into a pouch that he seemed to pull from nothing. His necklace stayed dormant, implying no real magic occurred. ”Just a bit of sleight of hand.” He grinned as he stowed the dust away.

”I have heard tales of other spells and magicae that affect others. I believe that one party we all went too was magically inclined for sure. I cannot change emotions, thoughts, or command others to do something against their will - or invoke visions on them of things not actually there.” The man’s mind flashed to the vision of his probably deceased mother appearing during the festival in the woods.

”And it comes at a physical cost to me. Such…transactions like these usually require life as fuel - for life energy is the brightest and strongest of fuels. But this…” Farim flashed his necklace once more. ”Means I only trade physical strength temporarily. Usually proportional to how large of an exchange I wish to make.” He took a pause - letting the Princess process the expository rant he went on, following with a simple. ”Sorry…I do not wish to frighten you. It has just been some time since I could be so honest with someone.”

Anastasia swallowed hard, her arms folding across her chest. “It still scares me, Farim… after what happened with—I just…” She trailed off, her voice tight. She looked at him again, eyes softening. “I don’t want you getting hurt. But… I trust you know what you’re doing. And if anything ever goes wrong…” She stepped just a little closer“I’m here. Okay?”

The Shehzade slowly nodded. ”Do not worry - I plan to save it for emergencies from here on out while within the city. I do not wish to find out what happens if your parents or even mine figure out what was shared here. Especially considering…” Farim stopped.

What was this hesitation? This pause on his lips? Like the words were caught in his throat - was he…nervous? He
"Considering… what, Farim?" Anastasia prompted softly. She reached out, gently taking his hand in hers, her thumb lightly caressing his knuckles.

”Considering…I want to take things more seriously with you, Anastasia.” Farim stopped, taking a slow breath before continuing. ”Ever since coming here you have been on my mind so often - I find myself being drawn to you more each day. I want to, well, make us more official than just what the newspaper thinks we are.” Farim’s hand wrapped around softly against hers.
”I will not ask for marriage outright - that is something I think both of us need to decide later. But I would like your father’s approval for us to…welll…court, my darling.” His voice naturally dipped into sultry tones.
Anastasia's breath caught, and for a moment, her chest tightened…Not out of fear of Farim, but because of the ghost of another moment that rose within her mind. The last time a man had wanted something serious with her, it hadn’t been real in the slightest. He had just been using her, and as had the other “lovers” she had encountered over the years. There had been so many who spoke so sweetly, only to take what they wanted and leave her feeling hollow.

Even her own father had eventually switched up his tune.

"Seriously… With me…” she whispered, her voice carrying disbelief, but also a flicker of hope. Her brows rose as if startled by her own reaction, and her gaze dropped to her hands, now held by his. A flicker of vulnerability crossed her face, as if she were on the edge of remembering something she’d rather forget.

But Farim’s not like that. Not like them.

She hated that part of herself, the part that flinched when things felt too good.

But then there was also another part of Anastasia that she could not deny: her impeccable memory. She hadn’t forgotten all the kindness Farim had shown her. Not the wonderful times they had shared over the week. Not even once.

The princess let her gaze rise to meet his again. The corners of her mouth twitched upward as a soft, slightly bashful smile formed. "Nothing but fun to be had if we give it a shot, right?” Then, she reached out to take his other hand, holding both of his hands in hers. Her grin widened as she added, "Let’s give us a chance.”

Her acceptance in that moment felt like a weight off his shoulders - Farim felt his back straighten and his smile widen. In the past he had always been more of a womanizer, always playing the role of this savant that kept people guessing on who he would swoon next. Yet here in the most spontaneous of places was he finding that spark of playfulness enraptured. Some might say he was being “domesticated” for lack of a better term, but this far from it. Being with a kindred spirit who so freely embraced her inner self and the wants of her soul was beyond words that Farim could easily express. He was beyond joy that she accepted him so warmly, and he leaned in to give her a gentle kiss while wrapping his arms around her.

The connection lasted a lifetime to Farim, who cherished every passing second as the passion between their lips spoke wordlessly about the man’s growing love for her. He moved himself closer to her - not in a sense of lust or perversion, but to simply feel the warmth of two kindred souls bonding closer together. Yet this was still Farim, and he leaned past her mouth to give the side of her neck a playful nip before whispering into her ear. ”I doubt the banquet hall will miss us - shall we away somewhere for awhile? I fear if we go back there it will simply be more angry tirades of what will be … rather than what should be.”

Anastasia pulled back from the kiss, a mischievous glint in her eyes as her arms wrapped around his shoulders. "Oh, let’s think, shall we, cutie?" she whispered, her voice laced with playful suggestion. "Hmm...There is that birthday party I arranged tonight for Thea... I hear it's going to be quite the affair. Perhaps we could make a grand entrance?"

He raised his brow in response, still sporting a cheeky grin. ”Grand entrance as a proper couple then? I do really like the sound of that~.” His arms now fully around her, he gave Anastasia a gentle squeeze. ”Now where exactly can a pair of good looking nobles sneak off unnoticed I wonder?” He playfully asked. He knew nothing about the halls of this palace, but he had a strong feeling she sure did.

After returning the squeeze, Anastasia exclaimed, "Just follow my lead! “ Then, she led him out back into the hall.. "Just want to pick up something from my room.”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Drake

Time: Evening of the 28th
Location: Banquet Hall
Mentions: Thea @Tae, Kilian [@PapaOso], Gideon and Victoria @princess, Ariella, @Tpartywithzombi, Leo @Helo

---

Drake finished the last of his plate, only a few quick bites, as the scene tensed. There were some thoughts and impressions from how the conversation with Lord Smithwood had transpired, namely how he seemed to take mental stress and obligation in stride. But to be fair - so did most of the men in his family. So his comment about different parenting styles wasn’t too far off the mark.

Before Drake could share much else, he looked to his father. The man’s ghostly gaze and complexion gave the young lord some minor concerns. Yet, this was not the time nor the place to draw attention to it. Drake simply stood up and quietly yet firmly spoke. ”I must away for a moment. Wine and water have run their course it seems.” It wasn’t a grand proclamation, just a subtle nod to those who may be paying close attention to him to draw off any suspicions.

The strides across the floor were long yet steady - and to Drake it felt like one of the longest walks of his life. He opened the door and shuffled quickly around it with grace and panache, holding the handle on the other side to let it shut as silently as he could before briskly walking down the corridor.

As luck would have it, he turned the corner and saw a trio of familiar faces. Ariella, Thea, and Callum all strode together, looks of content written across their faces. It appears their time away did them some good for the mental The man quickly walked up to them and impeded their forward path for the time being.

”My deepest apologies to you three. But I must ask for a moment of your time.” Drake inhaled slowly, then bowed slightly towards them, yet angled more towards the pair of ladies. ”I do hope my words didn’t cause you both too much strife. Forgive my forwardness on the matter but I simply wanted the battle of wits to cease. So that we may make more pleasant memories.” He straightened his posture, his gaze meeting Thea’s for a moment - and Leo’s words flashed in his mind.

”But stern and mean isn’t always the way to go. So my apologies, Lady Thea and Ari.” He looked at Prince Callum, an odd aura of refinement practically radiating from the man. Was a crown and some new clothes truly all it took for Callum to appear so regal?

Before he looked for too long he offered another bow with his arm over his chest and a palm resting on his chest. ”And thank you, Your Highness, for checking up on them.”.

Lastly, he met his sister's gaze, who likely found this brown nosing a touch too much. But he was always this way - something he was sure she would write off as “Drake being Drake”. Still, he offered her a reprieve from his usual overbearing attitude. ”While I can’t say I condone the spilling of wine on Mother….well done, sister.” His smile was earnest - and he was thankful she had done what she had to remove their troublesome parent from the scene. Drake felt himself calm down slightly, which made this next part easier

”There is a new guest in the banquet hall. A silver haired man came in with chains wrapped around a woman.” He turned to Ariella. ”It’s Geneveieve. From my birthday celebration. He claims she has dealt in magic, and wishes to make an example of anyone who would do such a heinous thing in this day and age.”

Drake felt his speech gradually increasing in speed - as if the panic and worry began to take over. So he took a moment to scan over Lady Smithwood’s fair complexion - the pure beauty emanating from her offering him a moment of calm to keep his composure.

”Frankly, the whole thing seems a touch barbaric and will likely have implications on our family, Ari. So that is why I seem such a mess.” He tossed in a quick white lie. Drake had definitely thought of the way it would look if his family hired magic wielding staff - but he was the most concerned about his dear sister. Yet his outward concern may give away more than he intended, so he hid it for now.

”He has taken a seat near Lord Smithwood. I wanted to acquaint you all with the situation because…it has certainly grown tense in there. You could cut the air with a knife. Knowing this, would you all like to return to the banquet hall? I can accompany you if that would help.” Drake offered his hand towards Thea and took a step out of their forward path.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Drake

Time: Evening of the 28th
Location: Banquet Hall
Mentions: Thea @Tae, Kilian @Oso, Gideon and Victoria @princess, Lorenzo @FunnyGuy Ariella, @Tpartywithzombi, Leo @Helo, and Stratya @CitrusArms

---

The conversation with Leo had proven pleasant. Drake swirled the wine and raised a brow at Leo’s private invitation. ”Curious what a man has to share behind closed doors? Can’t say I blame you - those are where the most interesting conversations happen.”

”I may not look the part, but I am always hearing or reading gossip. Not for the sake of carrying the next trend - if anyone I tend to find that what someone says about another reveals more about themself than anyone else. Whether it’s the content of the message or the delivery itself.”

The lord placed the glass down and took some time to enjoy the beef wellington. He gently smiled as he chewed the perfectly cooked steak fit in the middle of a layer of bread crust that carried all the juices of the rare meat. A quick splash of his drink to rinse anything left, and he was ready to resume his cadence.

”Heavy is the mantle that men such as we carry in times like these. Heavier still are the dresses that women must wear, sometimes to hide their strife.” Drake paused, letting the words sit in the air a moment. ”I’m sure father can attest to the level of peacekeeping that is required to keep things personable. Whether at home or at the very castle that rules our nation apparently.” The man turned his head back towards Leo. ”From what I’ve observed thus far - it seems public scrutiny from one's own is something you too wrestle with as well.” In reference to the earlier spat from their mother, as well his own, Drake spoke out gently against both such cases. Not out of disrespect - but more out of disapproval.

”So I am appreciative when people such as yourself step up to the plate to curb it.” Around this time there was a declaration of Varian women and their lack of self worth. Drake felt his fist clench a little. Say one more word you lout. Lord Edwards paused, and sighed. Perhaps he was proving too quick to drink under such stressful factors.

”Duke Vikena.” Drake projected his voice for once, feeling the rebellion brewing in his chest. ”Are such brazen words wise in this setting? I believe we are here to congregate, not aggregate.” He simply left it at that - it seemed the man was plenty overwhelmed, and likely was vomiting whatever errant thoughts came forth. Still, he would rather not have women of any country be openly disrespected. Least of all Thea.

As his brain shifted over to her - his heart softly ached. He hoped she was okay. It had been a considerable moment. Even with Leo’s supportive words, Drake felt he could’ve spoken to her softer or kinder - regret creeped on the edge of his psyche while he finished the last of his wellington. ”Should we perhaps check on the ladies?” Drake asked Leo.

Just as Drake posed the question, across the room another explosion of activity erupted. The man Drake knew to be the “Grand Vizier” had just struck a dog in public. ”Is cruelty just another part of dinner to them? First it was knives out now its fisticuffs. And to an animal no less…” Drake frowned at the poor furry creature being comforted by the Guard Captain. He had just learned from Farim in the talent show that their culture values animals - perhaps this wasn’t as true as he thought? Or perhaps the man behind the strike was more sinister than he appeared.

Pencilling that train of thought for later, Drake finished his glass and abstained from anymore for the time being. ”I think such brazen acts of violence only show how weak of a man you truly are. Bullying the weak is a small man’s game in an attempt to seem bigger than they really are.” Drake absentmindedly chewed on more of his food for a moment - his eyes locked onto the far table for several moments as if reading each and every one of the Shezadis and Shehzades.

But that analytical gaze was broken by the sound of chains and thrusted doors. As the grey haired man made his way to center stage and scanned the room, Drake held a cold and stoic impression. It wasn’t until the figure that was chained up that Drake suppressed the urge to gasp, instead calmly addressing his father.

”Sir, who is this man who is put together like something from a thriller novel? And why is he carrying Geneveive out in chains like this? Did he get approval through you before just taking someone from our staff?”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Farim

Location: Castle Dining Hall
Time: Evening of the 28th
Mentions: Hafiz, Anastasia @princess, Nahir @Rodiak, Kira @Potter, Rohit@Helo, Stratya @CitrusArms, and Wulfric @SilverPaw

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Amidst all of the chaos that ensued, Farim could not help but crack the sublest of smiles at seeing his father being chagrined in such a public fashion. It almost made him stoic to Anastasia’s parting - but he quickly snapped his focus back from his cathartic trance and gave her a subtle nod.

”I shall be with you shortly.” He said across the table as she journeyed over to Wulfric. Surely what that man had in store would be of intrigue.

But first, Farim swept himself carefully between the tables and scooped up his beloved falcon that patiently sat on the arm of the princesses chair. The bird’s gaze had been following Anastasia up until that point before enthusiastically climbing onto Farim’s arm, slowly stepping her way up behind his head; one of her favorite roosting spots.

The shehzade moved behind Hafiz, his robes making it seem as if he glided across the floor. Farim offered his father only this in whispers. ”What was that about wisdom and restraint again? Shall I have the artisans capture the moment you get an entire room full of potential allies in a frenzy? Come now, even I think you are better than this.”

His attention moved to Nahir - whose subtle reactions to something said in hushed tones made him raise an eyebrow. Farim continued talking to Hafiz in a gentle tone. No longer a whisper, but not loud enough to broadcast to everyone. It was deliberate and measured, just like his old man taught him. ”A man only rules through fear for as long as people are willing to be afraid.” Farim began. ”A ruler who feeds ego over humility begets only one thing…rebellion with passion. And passion….” The young sycophant let the words hang in the air for a few moments. ”Has killed more empires than it has built. But you knew that already, did you not?”

But go on - feed your ego. Let it run wild as if you are the invincible man you think yourself to be. State your claims until that fateful dagger plunges into your heart - it will make THAT silence all the more rewarding. That little intrusive thought Farim kept to himself.

Farim sighed. But beneath the disappointment written on his face, there was a hint of satisfaction that people would not just write Hafiz’s actions off just because of his status as nobility. There would be a moment of pause before Farim moved again - for he was sure there would be some form of poised retort from the man. At the same time as Nahir, Farim excused himself from the group.

But before he made his way, the sound of scraping met his ears as the strange man made his purposeful entrance into the banquet hall. Thara made a nervous squak muted only by her discipline and forethought to not draw attention to Farim, who offered a comforting hand. His fingers gently pushed the falcon’s puffed feathers down with petting motions.

This individual was dangerous - that much was clear - and for once, chastising his father could wait. Farim stepped to the side until he had reached an equally distracted Anastasia. ”Do you know him?” He asked innocently.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Farim

Location: Castle Dining Hall
Time: Evening of the 28th
Mentions: Hafiz, Anastasia @princess, Nahir @Rodiak, Kira @Potter, Rohit@Helo, and Hala @JJ Doe

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Farim listened to Hafiz’s typical tirade about the separation of the elite from the common man. It was like hearing one's least favorite arrangement from a band they already despised. Rather than bicker, he let the man have his golden pedestal of status and values - no sense in punching a wall that will likely not fall with brute strength alone. But that is when he heard a distinct protest his head turn on a swivel with shock written over his face that slowly changed into a poorly held chuckle.

”Tell me, Grand Vizier, have you ever actually been invited to a party… or do you just stand outside of them brooding about how people are enjoying themselves too much?”

Gods, are you trying to win me over even more, Anastasia? Telling off my father at a public event? How...alluring in a strange yet satisfying way. Despite his starry-eyed look, he carried a hint of concern for how his father may react. He hated being talked down to, especially if the “talker” was a woman. Farim sat ready to retort in case his father got too out of hand.

The preceding events, however, seemed to give way to an entirely different altercation. Hafiz at the present moment paid no mind to their “drivel” as he would likely call it. Farim’s attention to detail caught the way Hafiz stared at a certain woman as she entered the room - and quickly fell. This garnered a mixed bag of reactions - from Farim it was mainly a slight wince with a slightly audible “that must have hurt…” But then the man’s eyes turned towards his father and that telltale smirk. Ah so this is what my father was glistening with joy over. He must have seen her in attending this banquet and is dreaming all kinds of sick little fantasies. God what a creep.

Farim grimaced and took a long sip from his wine. ”Well I am glad you could give your approval for such an event, Hafiz. Even if it was in the most roundabout way possible - I will make sure to commemorate you in some way.” Yet before more theatrics could continue between the two, yet more trouble brewed at the center table. Words were exchanged, the taller man that Farim knew as Roman was chuckled haughtily while berating another woman - a certainly odd move on his part. ”Surely I did not misread him?” Farim said aloud, but softly.
The Shehzade missed the next part largely in part due to Hala introducing Nahir to Nadim for what was likely not the first time. Nadim’s slobbering kiss against Nahir’s refined and poised self was likely going to cause a reaction - so Farim quickly flashed a leg of lamb at the dog with a slightly teasing wiggle of his hand. ”You know you want it~.” He said with a grin - hoping to ease the animal off his cousin. Yet while this treat dangled beneath the table cloth, Anastasia burst up with chicken leg in hand.

”If you bully my sweet little brother again—THEN I WILL NOT BE YOUR FRIEND ANYMORE!”

Confusion flashed across his face, then he simply decided to run with it. ”That will teach him - friendship status with a princess like yourself is a rather huge deal, no?”

While Charlotte made her move to hug Cassius, Farim gently tugged at Anastasia’s sleeve with a friendly grin. ”Perhaps he is having issues at home and this is the cause of his outburst? It is written plain as day along his face the man seems to be going through some things. But may I also share something with you?” He waited for her to take her seat and leaned in to whisper just so she would hear.

”I do not know how to say this properly - but whatever it is that is standing there, it does not appear to be your brother. His flesh, yes. His clothes, yes. Even his face, yes. But there is something sinister about his demeanor - call it a hunch but I would like your opinion on this. Is that really your brother? You may answer later, I shall cover this with another question to make everyone less….suspicious?” He realized that such a long sentence prolonged into a hushed whisper may garner a few raised brows from the nearby seats at the table. So he chose to cough lightly and restore his posture.

”Sorry - such gruesome details of Alidasht court are not my favorite thing to discuss. But now that you know how we have typically handled such outbursts in the past. How is it your royalty deals with such moments? Aside from the Queen brandishing blade and threat - will there be more to come of this or shall this be swept under the rug?”

His questions, while probing, were also meant as both a curiosity of his own and something to distract the present group from his current concern. Who the hell is that man that is claiming himself to be Prince Callum - because Farim had spent a few nights socializing with the man, and either the people of Caessonia are suffering from mass dissociative identity disorder, or there are some shady political shenanigans at play. Either way, Farim was going to uncover these little secrets if he could. If nothing else, at least the food was good and he was in mostly pleasant company.