• PM To Join • Thanking the Fates (Caius)

The seven Duchies of Central Rynmere and their respective baronies, cities, towns, villages, and landmarks each overseen by a Duke of one of the seven noble families and ultimately controlled by the King of Rynmere.
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Oliver Venora
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Thanking the Fates (Caius)

50 Zi'da 717
Oliver's symmetrical grin spread across his face, a look of mischief that Caius wasn't accustomed to seeing on him. He chuckled as he took another drag of the cigarette, well aware that Darcyanna had a way of getting people to care about her, and that he himself could say nothing to Caius about saying no to her. He'd always felt like he had to make her happy, and he understood exactly what Caius meant when he said that he didn't care what anyone thought, but he'd still do whatever it took for Darcy.

The older noble offered an admiring glance his way, nodding in approval at the way the northern noble spoke of his sister. If there was anyone in the kingdom who he thought deserved Darcyanna, it was Caius. The sarcastic man lost all bite when talking about Darcy, even when revealing her pain and suffering at the hands of Pythera. His acidity was neutralized by her, and in Oliver's eyes, that meant something.

"Saun is hot, qes, but the breeze coming off Cyrene's Bay makes it slightly more tolerable. I bet, even, you could get her to agree to hold the wedding here in Venora, and the summer air will be filled with flowers and honeysuckle rather than melting ice and muddy paths," Oliver teased, elbowing Caius gently to indicate his intent. He laughed out loud, then took another pull off the cigarette, allowing the smoke to swirl out of his mouth leisurely as they walked. Oliver fell silent for a moment, enjoying Caius' company as they walked.

It amused Oliver how nervous Caius seemed at the dinner with his parents, but that was quickly forgotten in Caius' remark about his age. A quick exhale of smoke was the only sound Caius heard as Oliver spun, coming to bear in front of the northern noble with a glare. He leaned in, the smell of pine needles prevalent around him, and growled.

"Remember this, Gawyne... I'll never be too old to kick your sarding ass," Oliver stated, shark-black eyes not changing colour. He stared him down for a moment before breaking into a wide grin, wrapping a strong arm around Caius neck to pull him in. "Here's to hoping I never have to," he added, just for good measure.

Around the next bend, the splendor of Cyrene's Temple greeted them. Oliver's breath always caught when he beheld it, and this time was no different. The most lavish and exquisite of the Temples, Cyrene's stood mighty against the beautiful Venora landscape, atop a hill looking out over the forest on one side, and farmlands on the other. Carved from marble, it was white, even against the snow, and adorned with a massive statue of the Patron Saint of Honour out front, the Temple was quite the site.

"I told you, but it was worth it, no?" Oliver asked, awe evident in his voice. He kept moving, finishing his cigarette before approaching the sacred place. Climbing the steps, he took the pace slowly and kept Caius next to him, his arms outstretched with palms facing upward.

"The Temple of Cyrene, Patron Saint of Honour. Built as a place of worship for the first knighted woman ever in Rynmere, this temple stands as a bastion against those who would be dishonest and evil in their dealings." He could have been a tour guide. "I used to come here often as a younger man. It's quiet. You'll like it," he said as they passed into the building, a Rynlist monk passing them with a polite if not terse smile.

Inside the temple was a massive chamber, full of candles arranged around individual alters. There were three on either side of the room, each dedicated to another patron: Verne Andaris, Saint of Travel was the first on the left. Directly across, Rakiho Burhan, the Saint of Knowledge, and next to him, Henry Warrick, Saint of War. Across from the Warrick was Gerrard Krome, Saint of Death. The third on the left was Warren Gawyne, the Saint of Life, and directly across from him, Oron Endor, the saint of Justice. But all of them paled in comparison to the dais in the center, the statue of Lady Cyrene here barely any smaller than the one outside the temple. One-hundred and one candles were alight on her dais, and Oliver strode confidently to it, kneeling before it.

"You did not betray, Lady Cyrene, and so too will I not," he recited, the words meaningful even in their four millionth iteration. He did not expect Caius to do the same as he did, but when he stood, he looked expectantly at the northern noble.

"Well? Venoran, am I right?" He grinned, knowingly his family's predilection for opulence.
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Caius Gawyne
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Thanking the Fates (Caius)

"In Venora so you can host, eh? Darcyanna can choose wherever she sarding well wants to marry. I won't stop her from having her way, no matter how biased I may be toward soggy hot cycles." Caius chuckled, choosing to ignore the older man's jibe at his homeland because he'd just reveal his own bias toward the harsh beauty of Umbridge in the short breath of a warm cycle.

The apple-scented smoke filling his lungs and the space between them on the road, the young Gawyne more than willing to let himself get caught up in the familial emotions he missed, he longed for. Bogs, how he admired Oliver, how selfishly he devoured his warm approval, and yet, as the dark-haired Venora playfully threatened him, something inside Caius' chest smoldered like the end of his near-finished cigarette, a heated reminder of how he'd be breaking everyone's heart in just forty one more days. The sharp inhale he was forced to take as the whispers of prophecy crawled through his lungs caused him to cough, tossing the finished butt of the burning thing onto the cobblestones and crushing it with the toe of his boot,

"I hope not to give you too much of a chance." The northern noble still managed to smirk before Oliver tugged him closer, eyes fluttering closed in pained, unspoken need. He laughed, calloused and loud, struggling to bury the rush of emotions that bubbled like bile at the back of his throat. Not here. Not now.

Cyrene's Temple filled their vision then and Caius welcomed its hallowed distraction, dark irises flitting to the carved words that read without emotion or mercy, boring into the dark, secretive recesses of the young Gawyne's Syora-marked soul: Thou Shalt Not Betray.

Cyrene, forgive me. For everything.

He sighed—a sound that could pretend at reverence but was actually fear, fear that he'd simply turn to ash upon entering the holy halls of the Venoran patroness. They took to the steps and each one was movement of penance, each footfall the northern noble begged forgiveness for every lie he'd kept, ever secret he'd buried, every betrayal he'd wrought in his short, too short life. It was all he could do to keep the tears away while next to Oliver, the weight of the end of Vhalar and the weight of his natural end falling heavier and heavier upon his narrow shoulders with the slow climb, dragging him down into an eerie silence he hoped looked pious instead of pained.

Caius felt as though the monk knew him, quickly looking away as if the stranger had accused him before he even made his way in through the temple doors.

Patron Saint of Honor.

Cyrene, I have none. An honorless fool, I will die with nothing—a shame to my House and the Names of my Ancestors for my secrets, for my betrayals. As a child, I betrayed Ivy, I betrayed my family with my inaction. As a man, I've betrayed so much more, but none more than the heart of the woman I should never have loved. I'm sorry.

Candlelight danced in the chilled breeze as the pair opened and shut the doors behind them, Caius reaching to run a hand through his ever unkempt hair, hoping Oliver didn't notice the tremble. While he didn't kneel before Cyrene's altar, his eyes wandered the interior, landing on the altar for his Ancestor, Warren. He felt the weight of his prophetic gift beg him to make the cobblestone floor a resting place for his knees, dragging him downward, but the northern noble refused, standing in a wordless defiance to the fate he felt not even the Fates could help him escape. Prayers filled the cavity of his chest like so much heavy, discarded pied type, and the molten heat of his guilt melted it all, flooding him with the searing liquid of unspoken sorrow.

He forced a lopsided grin at the man whom he already loved like family after only a half a season, at the man who had no sarding clue what kind of betrayal he would leave in his wake in forty one trials,

"Venoran? Yes, maybe a little." He snorted, taunting his friend with a hushed voice, "But exquisite, too, this place. Not excessively so though. You'd hate Warren's Temple. We're boring folk, us Gawynes and our rocks."
word count: 750
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Oliver Venora
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Thanking the Fates (Caius)

50 Zi'da 717
The statue of Lady Cyrene gazed down on the two men, the two soon-to-be brothers, with stone eyes unseeing. To Oliver, they symbolized the watchful gaze of his ancestor, watching over him to ensure his honour in his proceedings. Oliver had lived his entire life trying to stay right in those eyes, trying to remain the devout and honourable man that he knew Lady Cyrene would demand of his should she meet him now. She was his guide, and he would follow her example to live his life properly.

But to Caius, the stone eyes seemed to tell a different tale. Gazing down on him, the Statue of Cyrene seemed a looming judge, weighing Caius' actions versus intent since he was recruited into the Order of the Mantis. Oliver was oblivious to the inner turmoil, but Lady Cyrene could see everything that Caius wanted to hide. Except he hid nothing from Lady Cyrene, not in his heart, though he offered no words. Oliver, then, knelt and said his silent prayer, giving Caius the time he needed to converse with the stone sentinel of the temple.

Oliver, though, was up and bubbling again before Caius knew it. The older noble brushed the invisible dirt from his knees, since the floor was a shining and polished marble. Monks traveled the entirety of the temple, ensuring its cleanliness and the utmost care of its property. Oliver, though, still did the motion, dusting off his pants and patting Caius on the shoulder to break the younger nobleman from his reverie. A wide grin spread across his face.

"Lady Cyrene was the first woman ever knighted in Rynmere, but you need not be intimidated by her. She was Venora before the wealth and extravagance, and I'm sure she would balk at the expense given her temple. She would likely appreciate your 'boring folks and rocks' more than she would the carved ornateness of this temple," Oliver explained, smirking. He made sure to emphasize the word 'boring', and gently nudged Caius as he did so. He did not find the Lord Arbiter boring, not one bit.

"I am unsure of your level of education with Lady Cyrene, but I imagine that freezing rock you call home isn't exactly flush with Venora lore. Lady Cyrene wasn't your average woman. She was caring and passionate, sure, but she also understood the necessity of duty and what carrying it out meant to those that were responsible around you. It is hard to balance, right? Duty and honour," Oliver's face darkened. He couldn't know about Caius, could he? Did he?

But instead, Oliver meant himself. His duty to Bellesoir as a steward, and how easy it would be to cut corners to get ahead. All in the name of duty. Ruthless politics were the Venoran game, after all. The Rebel Queen, the Exiled Mage... They did whatever was necessary to ensure that their names would be remembered, and now they would be, though not for the reasons they'd hoped. Oliver's face fell for a moment, before he picked it back up.

"Duty and honour. Not exactly associated with the Rose anymore. Zvezdana and Alistair really fucked us..." He started, and the burning glare of a monk stopped him short. "They really gave us a bad name," he pointedly corrected, and the monk nodded. How dare he swear on hallowed ground?

"But Lady Cyrene, she doesn't care about the reputation. Honour for the sake of showing one's honourable was not honourable. Honour without prompt is her way," Oliver said, nodding at Caius. "Honour, a word that should sear the tongue of the Venoran line. And a word I intend to associate with us once again, one trial," he affirmed, turning to stare at the statue.

"If it takes my whole life," he muttered, more to himself than Caius. It probably would.
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Caius Gawyne
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Thanking the Fates (Caius)

"I'm also a student, ot djal—" Caius began with a smirk at Oliver's nudging, pretending that the older man's teasing ruffled his feathers or insulted his intelligence when quite honestly, it did not. As a comparative religion student, the northern noble had, indeed, spent at least a semester or two studying the Houses and their Ancestors, Lady Cyrene being among them next to his own, Warren Gawyne.

Before the opulence? Before the wealth and extravagance. Would the noble houses even survive in such a way anymore, centuries later? Entrenched in riches and pretense, comfortable to the point of sarding complacency like fattened pigs, so much of nobility had forgotten that the Seven were heroes—warriors and champions, conquerers and explorers, philosophers and writers, men and women who pushed the boundaries of what it meant to be mortal, who fought and died next to their followers. Now, why would anyone want to follow one of their kind, let alone their king? Caius wrestled with this in silence, the blood of so many innocents staining his thoughts red so thick he swore he could feel it crawling down his skin all over again.

Duty and honor—why did they feel so mutually exclusive?

Duty to the Crown. Was it the right duty?

Honoring his King's decrees. Was it true honor?

Fuck if he knew.

Warren help him if he could survive the smoke and ashes long enough to see clearly before death took him instead.

Caius blinked back into the present at Oliver's last words. Whole life. What did that even mean? For the northern noble, it meant less than twenty four arcs, that's what it sarding meant. Tears stung his eyes then, burned the edges of his vision with inescapable fire. He bit his lower lip and curled ink-stained fingers into his palms,

"Qy'akor, noble houses rise and fall in favor and prestige, but if all of them had men like you in their lineage, the Eternal Kingdom itself would be our waking moment instead of our final destination. The Rose has been trampled, sure, but the roots aren't damaged by fire or frost. A bit of cutting back, I've heard, is good for more beautiful blooms. The pruning has been done, Oliver, and you're more than capable as a man to bring the honor back to your House—a flower that the Kingdom has longed to see and hasn't in decades, if not centuries. Don't let anyone tell you different."

The young Gawyne swallowed and looked down at his feet for a moment, chagrined at the sudden pouring of his innermost thoughts into words spoken out loud with such emotion to a man he'd known of for quite some time but only gotten to know for such a short span by comparison. It didn't matter, the dark-haired Venora having left a lasting impression on Caius and warming his heart in ways even his older brother Hunter had never bothered or never been capable of bringing to kindle.

He sighed, narrow shoulders sagging, "My House has prestige and we store up knowledge like a hoard of treasure in the libraries of Gawyne. But, historically, we've kept our distance from the affairs of the Kingdom. Here I am, tossed in the middle of it all—" The Lord Arbiter hadn't spoken of Vhalar to anyone but Charlie, and even now, he was loath to do so lest he suffocate in the fires of his own words,

"—and I long for even a hopeful sliver of the sense of duty and honor that drive you, Oliver. May I find it—for the sake of our fair Kingdom, before it's too sarding late."

Caius longed to think that his whole life, the life he wordlessly knew was promised to come to an end far too soon, could have the kind of meaning Oliver was motivated to make out of his own. He knew it wouldn't, that he couldn't, but it wasn't jealousy he felt about it. Instead, he hoped that more men like the dark-haired Venora took his place in the noble Houses of Rynmere.
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Ellen'wyn
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Thanking the Fates (Caius)

Oliver

Comments

You convey so much emotion in your words. I really enjoyed reading every detail. I could picture everything in my mind and it was really beautiful. I liked how Oliver was busting Caius' balls like any good big brother would for his little sister. I have 3 older brothers myself so it put a smile on my face. Oliver is a definitely a great example to lead the Venora family into the future, so hopefully he can wipe away that "bad reputation" with more successful events and political moves.

Points

EXP: 15 points

These points may not be used for magic.

Fame: +5 renown for public piety after a successful event

Knowledge

Skill Knowledge:
Cooking: Brewing strong coffee
Endurance: Embracing the cold
Endurance: Long walks to build stamina
Etiquette: Giving one's employees time off after successful work
Etiquette: Inviting your sister's boyfriend to events
Linguistics: Using a pidgin to enhance emotional impact
Politics: Making public appearances at the temples
Politics: Always playing the Lord in public
Resistance: Tobacco
Rhetoric: Back and forth jokes to earn trust
Rhetoric: Explaining religious history
Writing: Succinct poetry

Non-skill Knowledge:
Caius Gawyne: Sleeping with your sister
Caius Gawyne: Envoy
Caius Gawyne: Quiet and stoic
Caius Gawyne: #brofeels
Location: Bellesoir: Cyrene's Shrine, Venora
Religion: Rynlism: Warren Gawyne, The Half God
Religion: Rynlism: The Seven don't have to be mutually exclusive
Religion: Rynlism: Cyrene Venora, Patron Saint of Honor
Religion: Rynlism: Cyrene Venora, first knighted woman in Rynmere
Religion: Rynlism: Cyrene Venora, Thou Shall Not Betray

Loot & Consequences

Items: None

Injuries/Overstepping: None
Caius

Comments

I just want to hug Caius and tell him everything is going to be okay. Give him a kiss on the head and a warm cookie. I'm glad he's found love, and I really hope that he develops a close brotherly relationship with Oliver. I enjoyed the banter, but those inner reflections about his own family hit me in the feels. Stahp with the sadness. Caius is going to be one of those deep, soulful intellectuals that makes everyone contemplate their own lives and just want to eat a bunch of ice cream and watch a sad movie. Speaking of which, I think I have some vanilla in the fridge...

Points

EXP: 15 points

These points may not be used for magic.

Fame: +5 renown for public piety to the Seven

Knowledge

Skill Knowledge:
Detection: Finding your clothes in the dark
Detection: That feeling you get when you're not alone
Endurance: After-partying means even less sleep
Endurance: Nothing coffee and a walk can't cure
Linguistics: Flavor language
Linguistics: The context of pidgin
Stealth: Stolen kisses, sleeping lovers
Stealth: Quietly dressing
Resistance: Tabacco
Politics: Praising accomplishments
Politics: Requesting an official audience with the parents
Politics: Rynlism's influence on the structure of Rynmere

Non-skill Knowledge:
Oliver Venora: Makes good coffee
Oliver Venora: Knows you've been sleeping with his sister
Oliver Venora: Throws a good party
Oliver Venora: Approves of your relationship with Darcyanna
Oliver Venora: Devout Rynlist
Oliver Venora: #brofeels
Location: Bellesoir Town, Venora
Location: Bellesoir: Cyrene's Shrine, Venora
Nobility: House Venora: Arrogance is a family trait
Nobility: House Venora: Opulence
Nobility: House Venora: Duty and Honor
Nobility: Take marriage seriously in Rynmere
Religion: Rynlism: Warren Gawyne, The Half God
Religion: Rynlism: The Seven don't have to be mutually exclusive
Religion: Rynlism: Cyrene Venora, Patron Saint of Honor
Religion: Rynlism: Cyrene Venora, first knighted woman in Rynmere
Religion: Rynlism: Cyrene Venora, Thou Shall Not Betray

Loot & Consequences

Items: None

Injuries/Overstepping: None
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