• Closed • [Venora] The March of Dramatic Ponces

There are a number of satellite villages in Rynmere, each overseen by a Duke of one of the seven noble families, and all ultimately controlled by the King of Rynmere.

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• Closed • [Venora] The March of Dramatic Ponces

Postby Kieran » Wed Apr 27, 2016 1:48 am

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12th of Ashan, Arc 716


"Grayson," he whispered to the undead slave. The entity could not understand him, and yet he spoke to it regardless, much as a master would a dog regardless of the ignorance of their words. It was because, often, there were days where he would speak to no one but his subjects. He would spend weeks at a time away from the family estate, pretending to be doing something relevant to his studies on successful agrarian societies. Instead, no - as always, he was with William Grayson and a whole slew of undead ghastly things. If he did not at least speak to the dead, he would speak to no one - forget how to talk, become a nutty social recluse and fall adrift to the margins of society.

"I shall be going away for a bit." He said this almost solemnly. He felt crazy for feeling like this, but he had come to appreciate his subjects easily as much as a man would a canine friend. And he meant that sincerely. Even though he thought, or... knew they couldn't feel anything, he couldn't remove the thought of how charming it was to have such a loyal creature who followed you everywhere - much as a dog would, but with no expectation of rewards. Just resounding obedience. He knew it was dark magic, but it was the purest form of bond he had ever yet experienced, and that thought terrified him as much as it relaxed him. He knew he was slipping away from his own scope of mortality. He knew people would begin to notice his changes in demeanor if he did not cease this trend.

Yet he found that he could not - not yet at least. There wasn't enough to look forward to, in the world of the living.

He put on his brocade jacket - blue with gold, flowery embroideries. Even though he was surrounded by corpses, he always made sure his clothes were as clean and tidy as possible. You would never be able to smell Alistair and align his scent to corpses, especially as he always avoided physical contact with the undead, save for the rare occassion of corroding them back to good fitness. But this process was followed by cleansing, thoroughly - of everything he had worn and touched. As far as he was concerned, as long as Grayson lay in his darkly cell far from civilization, no one save Alistair should ever know that he found undeath at all.

In a nearby settlement known as Leinster, he met with the bannermen of Venora as they informed him of previously. The leader of the group bowed to him as he came into view, and spoke plainly. "Your mother and father have asked for your return to Fort Venora, my Lord. Shall you be coming with us now?" The man seemed fairly nervous. Unlike some others, who sort of found Alistair to be intimidating, he actually did genuinely seem humbled by his presence. The redhead could at least smile faintly as he acknowledged this, nodding to the man and walking to a horse they had procured for him. "Yes, Ser, I shall go with you. But make the journey fast - I grow concerned at the coming of nightfall these days. Things are not as they have been previously - not in Venora, or Rynmere." He mounted the creature. Alistair sucked at riding horses, but there were usually trained professionals with him to ensure that he didn't fall off and die. And he'd need to learn eventually, if he were to be a proper Lord.

The marching down south did not take long, as the village of Leinster was not quite too far from the Fort's reach. The difference was clear, though - the heartland of Venora had many people. It was lively. It was a city. On the outskirts, where he practiced his Necromancy and where the Coven prattled about in secrecy, there was practically no one to be seen but farmers and laborers. Few families being raised. He felt claustrophobic surrounded by all these people again, regardless of how many times he came back to this Fort. Perhaps it was not the place, though, but instead the occassion. He knew why he was here - father had told him in advance.

He was to see his family again. All of them. Zvezdana, the angry one. She always seemed to have a thorn stuck up her rectum, and he wasn't quite sure why. Alistair knew there had been issues with her in the past, but he honestly couldn't remember them. Still, they had been siblings for the longest, so a part of him did wish to establish some connection with his sister even if it was just the off letter.

Andraska, of course, was one of the siblings to be hosted. He liked Andraska the most out of all of his family members. He was a fighter, he was quick witted and perhaps a little bit funnier than the other ones. He also seemed the most . . . "down-to-Idalos", as one might say, which fit with Alistair's own practical behaviors. Not to mention, he was the youngest sibling, and so as the oldest sibling Alistair felt a protective instinct in a way. Make sure Andraska doesn't screw up the same as the eldest two - that sort of thing. The big issue between the heir and his brother? The young one had never seemed to care about who he was - his heritage. Alistair had an attachment to only few things in his life and his family name was one of them, perhaps he even had love for the Duchy and its people, even if that love was thin and often seemed to flicker to nothing.

Tristan, on the other hand, was just weird. Didn't know what to make of him. He had a strange reputation. Lots of rumors around that one. He also hadn't met him many times in his life. He just remembered him acting sort of crass, and he exuded rebelliousness. Alistair was sure that he was going to bring scandal upon the family one day, if the eldest son didn't do so first. At least he was merely from a secondary branch, he would always say. Those kids got away with whatever - they didn't have journalists writing about their every bowel movement.

The man arrived in the main hall and was waved hello by his mother, Willow.

"Alistair!" She yelled, positively jumping in satisfaction. The man awkwardly smiled and whispered a hello.

"Oh my star dancing Ithecal! You have gotten SO tall. You are even taller than your father, my little Lord." She smiled brightly, but then her expression dropped - fast. "Speaking of your dad, he's been headlong in his own asshole lately. Delana, some of the things he's been saying! The nerve of that man. Timeless." The firstborn merely rolled his eyes. His mother was always such a shit talker. She didn't really act like that around most people, but she had always decided for some odd reason that Alistair was always ready and willing to listen to whatever crude thing she wished to say about someone. Even so, he had to give her credit; she had been doing well lately, even despite her very dysfunctional family. Alistair only hoped he could do as well as her when he succeeded her title. If he could pull away from his obsessive Necromantic studies - then, maybe. But only then.

"Mother, where are the others? Have they arrived yet?" He asked. She merely shrugged. "Who knows. Your siblings act like Wisps, Alistair. I'd swear they were already dead with how little they speak to me these days. I mean, really. You'd think after the lovely childhood I gave them they'd think to say hello more than once a --"

The man sighed. Again. He swore ever since his mother lost her fertility she'd been the chattiest woman alive. And the most prone to complaining, which was something considering the existence of Nanny Eggens, who raised Alistair - begrudgingly - when his mother was having her gallant rides around the Kingdom to celebrate her previous rides around the Kingdom.

"Anyway, your brother and sister will be here, and even Tristan! So be a good showrunner and give them all a brilliant array of memories. I'm letting you take the reins of this reunion!"

His eyes stared into hers and he... sighed. God, how he hated to be home.
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[Venora] The March of Dramatic Ponces

Postby Tristan Venora » Fri Apr 29, 2016 9:27 am

Somebody knocked on the door and Tristan raised his head for a moment, frowning slightly as he did so, before he turned back to the blonde that was lying in the bed next to him. Whoever it was they could very well wait. He was kind of busy at the moment. They knocked again though, and then a third time, and with a frustrated sigh the young Venora finally disentangled himself from his companion, stood up and walked over to the door - completely naked.

A middle aged man, comparatively well-dressed which suggested that he had been sent by somebody important, stood in the hallway outside his apartment. As he saw Tristan, his eyes widened. Tristan looked back, directly into the man’s eyes, entirely unashamed and stood completely straight, proudly, as if he were wearing a most elegant suit.

The man lowered his head as if he couldn't bear the sight in front of him and cleared his throat. For a moment it seemed as if he wanted to say something, but then he just informed him, in a tone that was a hint too cool and made his disapproval obvious, “I have a letter for you … sir.”

The moment he had removed it from the bag that he carried, Tristan snatched it from him and murmured a quick “thank you” before he slammed the door shut – with his right foot because he was busy tearing the envelope open with his hands. His heart was pounding madly as he walked over to the bed where his latest companion was waiting impatiently and somewhat confusedly.

He had recognized the seal. His family rarely wrote to him, unless it was important. Was his grandmother … no. He breathed a sigh of relief as he skimmed over the single piece of paper that had been in the envelope. His aunt had only decided that it was time for a family gathering. She was in one of those moods again. He swore, her behavior had become even more unpredictable since she had passed the age of fertility.

He tossed the letter into his wastepaper basket that was already overflowing with old letter as well as drawings that he had not been content with, waved his hand dismissively as his lover wondered what it had all been about and continued the activities that had been so rudely interrupted.

He really needed a distraction now.

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Some people arrived early, and some people arrived late, but Tristan always arrived just on time. The reason for this was quite simply, really. When you arrived at a meeting early, there were fewer people there that could notice your arrival. And when you arrived too late, there was a risk that they were already too drunk to care about anything besides that glass (and sometimes bottle) of overly expensive wine in their hand. By walking through the door at exactly the appointed time, he ensured that his entrance would be given the adequate amount of attention.

Unlike his dear cousin Andráska who could easily be confused with some sort of vagrant (and probably felt honored when that happened), Tristan cared about his appearance a great deal. His suit that day was black and of very fine quality, very elegant, with a black silk shirt underneath. He’d left the top buttons of his shirt undone though as he’d rather be comfortable than feel as if he were choking all the time, and he also wasn’t wearing a cravat, a tie or some other ridiculous and fairly pointless accessory that men were supposed to be wearing. If he did, he probably wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation to wipe his mouth with it.

He stood in the doorway for a moment, one hand on the doorframe and surveyed the scene in front of him which would also give his wonderfully dysfunctional family ample time to notice that another guest had arrived. Tristan was not the kind of man that would just sneak in.

He could see that his favorite aunt in all of Idalos, which was of course meant ironically, and his cousin Alistair were already waiting which was a good thing since they were two of the most important members of his family. Alistair would be Duke one day, although Tristan wasn’t sure what kind of Duke he would be. Oh, he seemed nice enough most of the time, but sometimes Tristan had the feeling that he was secretly and silently judging him. Still waters run deep and everything, that proverb was quite fitting for the oldest Venora child in Tristan’s opinion.

He pondered which one of the two he should target first and then decided on his aunt as she was the most powerful one in the room, for now. He looked directly at her for a moment, assuming that she paid attention to him and put on what he considered his most radiant smile, as if he were ever so delighted to see her. There was a slight spring in his step, and his whole body language radiated absolute (and very fake) joy as he approached her. Once he stood in front of her, he toned his behavior down a bit though, and he bowed elegantly and would even kiss her hand, if she extended it.

“Aunt Willow!” he greeted her and made a step back from her. He was still smiling and playing the part of the charming young, if slightly rebellious gentleman, as if he absolutely loved the company of post-menopausal women that had nothing better to do than go for rides around the Kingdom and annoy their children because they weren’t capable of having fun themselves anymore. “Thank you for your invitation I was delighted to receive it. I hope you don’t mind my frankness, but I missed you all. I almost couldn’t bear it. Andaris just isn’t Venora.”

That was definitely a good thing. If he were stuck in Venora in the company of his aunt all day long, he’d probably drink himself to death or just slit his wrists to end his suffering. The Venora family were only tolerable in measured amounts, no more than once every other month.

He turned to his cousin. “Alistair, how have you been? Did anything interesting happen in your life recently?” The poor man would probably be forced to produce an heir soon and be stuck with an ugly and annoying wife, Tristan thought. Most of the time he hated being from a secondary branch of the family rather than being the future Duke, but this was definitely a good thing. People didn’t constantly ask him when he would finally get married which he liked because he honestly didn’t have any interest in that.
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[Venora] The March of Dramatic Ponces

Postby Andráska Venora » Sat Apr 30, 2016 9:53 am

To this day, András doesn't know how they found him.

The smell of sweat and stakes permeated the air as a crowd yelled and cursed, two slaves fighting ruthlessly in the pit of the arena. The young Venora clutched a piece of paper in his hand, watching the fight intently. One of the slaves, a dark skinned fellow built like an ox threw a massive punch that sent blood splattering, a sight that even he could see from his seats. "No! Get up!" He shouted along with the others, taking the side of the underdog - a lean man with braids that fell to his shoulders. Right now, red stained his face, and he stumbled blindly backwards, reaching out as if to find something to stabilize himself with.

András knew the fight was set. He cursed, shook his head and tried to push through the crowd. He didn't want to watch the end. When everyone around him screamed and cheered, he knew that a victor had been decided. It wasn't a gladiator, but a man on the road to it. It would be something to write about in the gazette, at least, and he opened his hand to read the two names on the slip.

Arthur Anderson, the loser.
Devon. No last name.

He'd have to think of one. He shrugged, shoving the slip into his pocket and milling about to the exit. As he reached one of the doorways, he stopped, spotting a man who was very uncomfortable. In his hand was a letter and his clothing looked fancier than most. He was out of place to be in these parts of the stands. The chubby courier shuffled from one foot to the other, eyes scanning the place with nervousness. When he turned and looked at Andráska, his eyes widened and he raised in hand, "Sir!"

The word was lost over the rumble of the arena, but András knew it was for him. He grinned wickedly, and darted back into the crowd, the fat man shocked into running after him. People in his way were shoved, but he weaved between the bodies like a dancer, stumbling over bottles and limbs, but with more ease than the sod sent to find him. Those he bumped whined in protest, some pushing back, but he made it relatively unscathed. He ran until his breath was quick and his side hurt, finding that when the crowd broke there was nothing but a railway to the tier below. Taking sharp intakes of breath, he put his hands on his legs and leaned forward, laughing all the same.

The courier, face as red as a tomato and a pained expression on his face, wheezed as he emerged. It made Andraska almost feel guilty for what he did, and he smiled apologetically at the fellow, "Ah, you have caught the fox of the Venora! I have no where else to run to. What gift do you have for me?"

Grinning mischeviously, András reached out to take the letter the man held out for him, saying nothing as he leaned against the wall to rest. His family's bright wax seal caught his green eyes first, and he hesitated in its acceptance, "Not exactly what I had in mind," he grumbled, ripping open the letter ruthlessly.

He unfolded the piece of paper and scanned it quickly, his face falling all the while. The worst news imaginable. A family gathering. After a pause, only one word came to the noble's mind, "Shit."


He didn't want to be here. Having washed his clothes with his own hands the night before, his dark shirt and pants were presentable, but his mood surely wasn't. HIs head throbbed and the alcohol he had consumed while he had waited for his outfit to dry proved to have been a bit much for him. Andras was hung over, and his stomach grumbled restlessly. Bleary eyed and tired, the youngest Venora arrived only for the sole purpose of not having to hear his parents continous' ranting disapproval of him, but also... food.

Hopping to the kitchen, Andras grimaced at the ruckus, but greeted everyone. They seemed delighted to see him and handed him a bowl of strawberries - his favorite. After some short conversation and a few jokes, he headed upstairs. Voices. A rise and fall of conversation chattering away. His mother's was most prevalent, the woman never shut up. She was talking to someone, so at least some of them had arrived.

'What time is it? Am I late?'

It wouldn't have been surprising. He was almost always the last one to arrive. Taking a deep breath and a bite of fruit, the noble slid into the room soundlessly, and plopped into the most comfortable chair he could find, "Miss me?" he called to everyone, devouring another strawberry. As he was chewing, he look about the room.

Alistair was here. Tall and as 'noble' as ever. He was so arrogant, and his parents fawned over him... like he first born or something. Made András want to roll his eyes. Tristan was next with his fancy outfit. Where did they afford these things? Was he the only one who had decided to work for his money? His mother was there, his father he could care less about and vice versa, "Where's Zvezdana?" He immediately asked, frowning.

So he wasn't the last one after all.
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[Venora] The March of Dramatic Ponces

Postby Zvezdana Venora » Tue Jun 07, 2016 6:46 pm

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17th of Ashan, 716

Considering that she had spent several days at Lazuli’s home, someone might think that she had gone missing or had taken up farming. She wore the basic clothes again, keeping her nice clothing hanging in the closet for more appropriate events. Right now, she was sitting on the edge of her bed pondering what to do for the rest of the evening. With her eyes closed, she thought back on the day’s events. It was practically uneventful. She watched the wind sweep through the tree outside, had a one-sided argument with the dog to let her back into the house, and took a light bath to wipe away days worth of dirt.

Standing out of her thoughts, she moved to a small table where she had set her hair brush. Picking it up, she began going through her damp, dark hair. Her fingers manually detangled the strands followed by the bristles of the brush to make the individual strands fall into line. Her hair was already beginning to become unruly in this climate, and it made her agitated. Before she could get anything under complete control, she heard a knock at the door. Lazuli would get it.

Another knock, this time somewhat urgent sounding, made her put the brush down. It was then she remembered that Lazuli was. Collecting her wool skirt, which made her wince at the lack of smooth feeling, she headed for the door.

“What is it-“

The words did not fall on deaf ears as the man bowed to her. When he stood back up, she noticed the golden rose emblazoned across his armor. The mark of house Venora. Zvezdana froze. What did they want with her now?

“You have been summoned, Lady Venora. Your mother wishes to meet with you and your brothers,” The soldier stated firmly, extending a hand with a wax sealed letter. Zvezdana took it, and started to close the door. His hand firmly prevented her from doing that.

“She also mentioned we were to escort you back to Fort Venora. It appears that you have a tendency for ignoring her requests.”

”Give me a moment you dog. I will read my summons. If I deem it necessary, I will gather my things and follow you out. If not, I shall send you on your way.” Zvezdana growled, using more force to close the door. This time, he allowed it to happen.

Was it beneath her to run to her room, grab her things, and crawl out the back window?



12th of Ashan, 716

Four days. She had spent four days on the backside of a horse. Clearly it had been beneath her to escape the soldiers. Besides, they would have easily run her down and she would have been forced to lie across their lap like some kill they had just collected. That sounded worse than conceding to her fate. She had arrived before her brothers but insisted that the house servants take her directly to a room and allow her to clean up before she gazed upon anyone. It was really another method of prolonging the meeting with her family, but she also felt disgusting too.

As she sat in the perfumed bath, rose petals floating around her, she stared out the window to the expanse of blue sky. When had she been home last? It had to be just before she left for Andaris City. When she was able to get away from her bastard brother and malicious father. Kaleb Venora had been a doting father until the time came that Zvezdana was “of age to serve the house in more productive ways”. Then she became his little plaything. Baroness Venora – whom most lovingly called Willow – ignored her pleas. She turned a blind eye to her husband’s games. What was she going to do about it? Kaleb would have beaten them both. Then he had the gall to bring in the eldest, Alistair, to join his games. Zvezdana became breeding stock and had to be seen by healers more than once for injuries.

At the first sign of freedom, Zvezdana practically ran from the house. Her mother wept, her father grimaced, and Alistair had stared blankly if she recalled. Only András has questioned why. Then they all sort of left the nest to deal with their own lives.

Zvezdana pushed herself down into the water until she was blowing bubbles from her nose. She was extremely pissed to be here, but maybe it was good for her. Maybe she would see a few people she liked – András mainly – and avoid those that she didn’t. Maybe mother had news of Kaleb or Alistair’s death. That would certainly be called for a celebration. Lifting herself out of the water, rose petals decorating her shoulders and wet hair as the water streamed down her body and lightly touched at invisible scars between her legs. The damage had been done, and Zvezdana still swore to see her family suffer for the transgressions against her. For now, she would play their little games.

A bit later she found herself stepping carefully into the room. She was dressed in her blue and purple chiffon and silk gown. Her black heels were hidden beneath her skirts, but made it difficult to sneak into the room. Instead, she was greeted with András asking where she was.

”I am right here baby brother,” Zvezdana said as brightly as she could. It came out a little strained, something she could blame on weariness. Zvezdana walked past him, gently reaching out to tousle his hair like she used to when he was small. If he allowed it, she was sure that she would get some sort of complaint. Then she carried herself towards her mother, lowering herself into a deep curtsy.

” Mother. Forgive me for being late. I hate to wash away the stench of travel before seeing you. I came from Fort Warrick, where I was sharing my condolences with Baroness Warrick.” Zvezdana reported, lifting herself up. She thought she could get away without a hug, but Zvezdana was immediately gripped into a choking embrace. With fingers splayed out like a startled cat, her mother just continued to hang on to her.

“It is so good for all my children to be here! Including your beloved cousin! The Immortals have blessed me this day!”

”Mother. Let. Go.”

Zvezdana was released and she scurried back as far as was necessary to catch her breath, fix her skirts, and adjust her hair. Willow laughed at her daughter. “You always cared too much about your appearance my little rose. Cheer up Zvezdana, this is supposed to be a day to reconnect!”

Zvezdana glowered, moving to the table with treats and drinks. Pouring herself a large glass of wine, she could only wonder if Willow truly intended that. Over my dead body will I reconnect with this family.
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Deceased. Wrapping up open threads.
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[Venora] The March of Dramatic Ponces

Postby Kingdom » Fri Sep 16, 2016 3:19 am

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Alistair Venora

Knowledge:
Location: Leinster
Zvezdana: The angry sibling

Loot: n/a
Injuries: n/a
Fame: n/a

Story: 1/5
Collaboration: 1/5
Structure: 5/5

Tristan Venora

Knowledge:
Venora: Letter seal
Alistair: Will be duke one day

Loot: n/a
Injuries: n/a
Fame: n/a

Story: 1/5
Collaboration: 1/5
Structure: 5/5

Andráska Venora

Knowledge:
Endurance: Something fat people lack
Running: Look ahead
Venora: Letter seal

Loot: n/a
Injuries: n/a
Fame: n/a

Story: 1/5
Collaboration: 1/5
Structure: 5/5

Zvezdana Venora

Knowledge:
Cosmetology: Curls
Venora: Letter seal
Endurance: Long horse rides

Loot: n/a
Injuries: n/a
Fame: n/a

Story: 1/5
Collaboration: 1/5
Structure: 5/5
Found some random full-stops again.

Comment: Not impressed guys, no attempt to finish story that is my pet-peeve. Excuses, excuses, you’re writers, you got this! Ali I can’t rightly award you for hosting an event when it went unfinished. You have all deprived me of what was going to be lots of enjoyable family snarkiness and the likes, for that, you’re off the king’s Christmas list.

But in all seriousness guys, I enjoyed what I read, you’re all wonderful with words, next time finish it!
A N D I T' S A L L J U S T S M A L L S T U F F, B A B Y.
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