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Post by LADY YSADORA OF OSTLEA on Apr 6, 2013 22:21:00 GMT -5
s h o u ld i g i v e u p o r s h o u l d i just keep chasing pavements even though it
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,10,true][atrb=style,background-image: url('http://i53.photobucket.com/albums/g79/Juliart/background_black.jpg');,true][cs=2] L E A D S T O N O W H E R E | | [atrb=width,240] Ysadora faded into the background. Dark lids narrowed to the floor as the thrum of music echoed through the halls of Roseash Castle. The skirting hems of passing ladies followed close by ravenous men enacted a bout of nausea. She strongly disliked the annual gala; not hate, never, a lady did not feel such venomous sentiments. But as she caught sight of a drunken bard spilling his ale upon the carpet her mother had once had imported from the elves long ago she could not help but feel a fire singe her tongue. Skeletal fingers curled at her waist, her golden rings sunk into the thin layer of flesh. She hissed out through her nose and lifted her chin, focusing her gaze elsewhere. Her younger brother, the king, was entertaining their late father’s final wife and her fleet of imbeciles. His wine teetered in his studded goblet, threatening to spill out over the rim. It had been filled too full, as always. Ysadora knitted her brow in vexation. He was such a shame to their family’s monarchial history, not that she would ever dare say least her head rest upon a pike. Though, as of late, it seemed silence was death’s equal.
She instead gazed down upon her own drink. Ysadora had barely touched it. The honeyed wine had tasted bitter in her mouth and she supposed it was due to the medicine she had taken previously; one cough had the whole staff of maids running for a remedy of some sort. Her father had blamed any sickness on the stale pages of the books, claiming Ysadora holed herself too often within the shelves of the library. It was true in a sense though it had sounded quite unfair when he said it, spittle flying from swollen lips. Ysa sniffed. He had heavily influenced her brother in all his negative attributes. She had once pitied Cyprian. But that was years ago. She briefly wondered where her sisters were; Pherene more than likely was off stirring unwarranted trouble. She had a natural proclivity for it. Sweet Celandine was probably being doted upon by the noble court while Astrid busied herself in the corners, like Ysadora. A loose strand of ebony hair fell into her eyes; Ysadora swished it back into place behind her ear. The second-long interruption scattered her thoughts. She mechanically smoothed the folds in her sleeve wishing a thousand times over that she had been more adamant in loosening the grip of her dress on her waist; breaths came in sharp gasps.
The opened window to her back blew cold kisses along her spine; the night was tinged with a dampened cold and she prayed that the drunken fools steered clear of the gardens. Otherwise, Ysadora was quite certain, they would catch their deaths. It was strange considering the day had been unbearably hot. She had spent a fair amount of the afternoon with Celandine in a small pool beneath the shade of a tree, placing a cool rag to the nape of the girl’s neck. The weather was always a finicky force when it saw fit. But Ysadora was grateful that winter had not yet struck, least not for a few more months. Her stern jaw was taut with ponderings and for a moment she forgot where she stood. Squaring back her shoulders she ushered for a servant to close the window before stepping away. She wondered if the night would ever end so she could curl beneath her sheets with a book.
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Post by CAPTAIN MARQUIS on Jul 19, 2013 4:27:24 GMT -5
Roseash Castle, truly an architectural marvel. In truth it wasn’t the magnificent marble statuettes that littered each courtyard, nor was it the gardens filled to the brim with countless (assumably magic infused) exotic flowers, it wasn’t even the beautifully carved arches that introduced each individually corridor. No, what truly impressed him was how structurally sound everything was. Though no longer an alchemist (that gift along with many things having been taken away from him the day scar died) Marquis still possessed an affinity when it came towards determining how strong something was (rather useful when it decided how many cannon balls he needed to use). Nevertheless, despite it’s relative impressiveness the stone marvel that was Roseash Castle possessed something of great interest to him. The amethyst jewel by the name of Royal Blood. He couldn’t help but be amused by the irony at who possessed the one of a kind jewel. Somehow someway the violet quartz found it’s way onto the finger of King Cyprian.
Though in the outside perfectly composed, inwardly Marquis sneered at the idea of such an undeserving person possessing such a treasure. ‘Ludacris! The fool undoubtedly doesn’t even known what lie atop his finger! If he did he wouldn’t so readily show it off to the world!’ No matter, Marquis would relieve the poor king of his ‘burden’ soon enough. “Mmph!” Oh right, the kidnapping. Smiling weakly Marquis patted the tied up man on the cheek before returning to his feet. “Now I know you’re mad about me taking your place at this whole royal shindig but think about the bright side, you won’t get anything on your beautifully tailored silk shirt which by the way fits me like a glove. Don’t worry though I’ll be sure to return it, now be a good lad and remain quiet. I shan't be long.”
Needless to say Marquis’s kidnappe didn’t take kindly to being tied up, gagged and tossed inside the stables. “Now now! You’re lucky I didn’t decide to kill you!” The struggling continued, “Listen you little ingrate, if you so help me make another sound I will take that silver spoon you were born with sharpen it and use it to gut you like a pig! Have I made myself clear?” Marquis hissed. The man nodded briskly, eyes tearing up at the sheer idea of his inwards becoming outards. “Good!" Marquis chined, “I’ll see you later, dukey!” With that Marquis started up the path to where the party would be held. Cane in hand Marquis more or less strutted through the courtyard before finding his way to the ballroom.
Pulling a servant to the side Marquis stuffed several bills inside his coat pocket, “Announce my arrival would you champ? Make sure you sound all official and the like!” The boy having just received slightly more in that instance then he’ll make for the remainder of the year eagerly complied. “Presenting Alexander Gregory Sinclair Archduke of Winchester!” Immediately on cue Marquis began descending down the stairs nodding politely at the males present while smiling flirtatiously at the women. Where exactly was Winchester? Marquis had absolutely no idea, in all honesty it probably didn’t exist he made it up! Still he’d play it off after all who would suspect such a lukewarm smile?
Nobles being the fickle inattentive creatures they are quickly lost interest in the newcomer (though a few woman’s gaze lingered longer than what was perhaps appropriate) and returned to whatever shallow conversations they were previously predisposed in. “Is everything to your liking sir?” Without having to look Marquis immediately knew who was speaking to him, Madam Roach was her name. A dark-skinned woman who was also Marquis first mate. A small smile formed on his face as he grabbed a glass from off the platter she was holding. “Not exactly my cup of tea but it’ll do. Are the boys in position?” Taking a sip Marquis smile immediately faltered, “Wine!” He explained in disgust much to his first mates amusement, “You know I’m allergic to grapes Roach yet you bring me some anyway!” Coughing rather violently Marquis returned the glass back onto it’s platter before sending the dark-skinned servant a glare, “Oh hush.” She cooed, “We both know you’re not actually allergic to wine you just for some reason can’t handle it!” Marquis flushed at this. It was true, while he could drink next to anyone under the table in a grog contest one glass of wine and he was out. “It’s actually quite sad. The illustrious pirate king beaten by a glass of honey wine.”
Now scowling Marquis waved the woman off, “Shouldn’t you be getting back to your rounds? I’m sure there’s some drunken noble that’ll love to take you home for a tumble!” She laughed at the accusation before turning swiftly on her heels and walking away from him; making sure to sway her hips in the process. “You’re just mad because you’ll never get the opportunity!” Marquis growled in response causing her to laugh once again, “Enjoy the party milord.” She added on before walking completely out of earshot.
Anyway back to the job at hand. Marquis had long since located his target (the crown gave it away) there was a slight problem. He couldn’t simply approach the king and ask for the ring that would be suspicious. Neither did he have the patience to stand around him trading useless banter. In all honesty if he had the manpower Marquis would have simply stormed the castle and took what he wanted. Speaking of what he wanted the woman around him were simply divine! Though obviously lacking in the intelligence department they’re lack of stimulating conversation was redeemed with other characteristics. Their ample bosom were just one of their many redeeming qualities.
Seemingly distracted Marquis began surveying the room for the most beautiful woman. It didn’t look like he was going to get an audience with the king anytime soon so in the meantime he might as well enjoy himself. He licked his lips in anticipation. Might even get a good lay out of it. It didn’t take long for Marquis to find his desired woman. She stood alone from the rest, ‘Easy pickings.’ He thought. Not normally his normal lay (as they were normally blonde and rather dimwitted) Marquis took notice of a sense of elegance and sophistication he didn’t find himself being attracted to. He’d never before had an actual relationship (at least one that lasted longer than a night) and suspected this wouldn’t be any different but would at least provide an interesting distraction from his rather ‘boring’ life.
Mind made up Marquis began walking towards his ebony haired beauty. “Alexander Sinclair Archduke of Winchester.” Taking hold of her hand, Marquis leaned down and kissed it. “A pleasure,” he took notice of the rings on her finger (mentally debating their worth) before relinquishing his hold. His blue eyes shined, the look of arrogance was present. It wasn’t the usual look of arrogance found within most noble men. No this was the look of a man who could handle himself. It was a look that said, ‘You’re mine.’
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Post by LADY PHERENE OF OSTLEA on Jul 21, 2013 0:20:19 GMT -5
& let bygones be gone & WHAT IF I COULD BE WHAT YOU WANTED ME TO BE Oh. How monotonous these galas were. Granted, they were beautiful excuses to get dressed up in the finest cloths the kingdom had to offer, as well as babble endlessly with some of the most fetching gentlemen to rest your eyes upon but once you had attended one, you had attended them all. Pherene had had her fair share of galas, balls, and soirees all of which involved dull, idle chatter and too tight corsets and pleasantly fake smiles. This specific gala was no different than the rest, and Pherene found herself, once again, roaming through the brisk evening air of the garden in order to occupy her mulling mind before she would be allowed to retire to her bed. She had managed to slip away when a man who had taken a particular interest in her went off to fetch her a cocktail he insist she try. No doubt he was bumbling about the hall in hopeless search for her.
Pherene exhaled heavily, boredom compressing her chest and drawing the air from her lungs. As if encouraged by her sigh, the wind kicked up and pulled a honey colored curl to fall in front her eyes and, glowering, she pushed it back behind her ear; she quite abhorred how summer lightened her hair and preferred to not be reminded of its sun-bleached state. Her fiancée had said he admired it lighter. Which made her hate it all the more. He had claimed he was to be in attendance. Alas, a day or so prior to the gala, he had sent word saying he would be unable to make it. Something to do with his horses, again. Pherene was both vexed and overjoyed at his absence. She was spared the agonizingly uncomfortable conversations with him; however, there was something to be said for not having to worry about with whom she would dance.
Self-reflection broken by the sudden silence from the hall, Pherene turned her head to the windows of Roseash Castle. Night now noiseless, there was no other explanation except that there had been an announcement. She had been absent long enough: surely someone other than her admirer had noticed her lack of attendance. Well aware that it was in her best interest to return, she did so with haste, interested to see what the fuss was about. It was rather unusual to have an announcement later in the night.
Upon entering the hall, Pherene noted that the crowded seemed to be going about their usual milling. The announcement couldn’t have been anything major. It was a large possibility that someone simply arrived late. She scanned the grand room. A portion of her hoping it to be her fiancée. No such luck. Pherene’s gaze then, out of habit, fell upon her sister. Ysa happened to be introducing herself to a man Pherene had never before seen. She blinked, perplexed. Surely he was the announcement. And a grand announcement at that. A devious smirk pulled at the corners Pherene’s lips. A fresh face would be grand fun.
Head level. Shoulders square. Back straight. Chin high. Delicate smile.
Pherene’s curls flounced around her powdered cheeks, propelled by the air made from her waltz-like stride – reserved for occasions such as this. Approaching Ysa and the unknown man, she eyed him, scanning, calculating. He was well dressed and radiated excessive amounts of confidence. Certainly a decent toy for the night. Surely he would be quite an improvement in the entertainment department from the man that was following her around earlier. Grasping a nearby goblet off of a servant’s platter, Pherene, icy eyes steady on the man, took a swig of the honey wine and glided up behind Ysa.
“Dearest sister,” she began, her tone endearing, demure, “Is this man bothering you?” Free hand grasping Ysa’s shoulder, Pherene turns to the man, a charming smile about her mouth. “I don’t believe we have met.” YSA, MARQUIS ALEXANDER, OPEN. 649. ANNOYING LITTLE SISTER TO THE RESCUE. |
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Post by LADY YSADORA OF OSTLEA on Jul 22, 2013 1:21:05 GMT -5
s h o u ld i g i v e u p o r s h o u l d i just keep chasing pavements even though it
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,10,true][atrb=style,background-image: url('http://i53.photobucket.com/albums/g79/Juliart/background_black.jpg');,true][cs=2] L E A D S T O N O W H E R E | | [atrb=width,240] Skeletal fingers tapped along the goblet's surface. Though of grand ceremonial purpose, the gala in recent years had grown dull. The identic musical composers offered a similar symphony every year full of monotonous crescendos that failed to raise a single goosebump. She craved to hear the songs of the elves as their melodies were of great skill. But she held her stance, swaying sweetly to the sounds feigning entertainment. After all, not to do so would be grossly improper. A true lady displayed a polite demeanor regardless of personal sentiments, such as being bored to utter death. Perhaps that wearisome flat-line was what muted her senses. The brief interruption of affairs was unsuccessful in snagging her attention and she found herself pondering silently within her mind; the announcer's words echoing through one ear and out the other. She blinked, taking a small sip of wine. Guests had paused as though in awe. Had her brother risen from where he sat slumped over, red-rimmed eyes heavy with fatigue? She stole a glance towards the garish seats in hopes he had slipped away for an early slumber. Ysadora's elated anticipations were dashed at his intoxicated form, solid in its spot. He may not move at all, not until the room was cleared for post-gala preparations.
Emerging from amongst the density of gaudy flesh came a figure, one Ysadora could not recognize. Curling lips into a baseline smile, she curtsied. He made for her hand kissing the top. It was a formal greeting, one that had never quite struck her fancy more out of a fear of contamination than actual dislike. Disease was horrible. She feared it greatly. There was something etched into his features that settled heavily in the pit of her stomach-a leaden intuition. Arrogance was smeared across his face, perhaps it was the drink? Enough of it was being passed around. Surely he had had a good fill of it. But a nagging feeling told her otherwise. Disregarding such thoughts, she settled her ultramarine gaze into his own blue. He was certainly dressed well suggesting a history of wealth and standing, but she was familiar to at least aware of most nobility. Ysadora had been surrounded by them her entire life. But she could not place a finger upon his identity. As though working out her inner thoughts she twisted the jeweled ring upon her pinky, adjusting it so it did not slip off. It had belonged to a past friend, one who had given it as ardially. gift of remembrance. Though pricy, it was by far the least expensive in the royal collection. But it was eternally priceless within Ysadora's eyes.
As soon as she had opened her mouth, inhaling a lungful of breath, her sister came forth from seemingly nowhere. She quickly pursed her lips,too tight sealing them in a white line. Of course Pherene would make an appearance to the gala, it was required of her-yet Ysadora had failed to hear of any whisper of his sister's name and had taken it as a positive notion. She assumed the younger princess had strayed from the sparks of trouble. Her stare then flickered to the hand upon her shoulder. Recovering swift, Ysadora gave a small smile. "Not quite yet, Lady Pherene. I was only just about to introduce myself." Her gaze narrowed, sharpened beneath dark lids. Facing the man-Alexander Sinclair Archduke of Winchester-Ysadora squared back her shoulders. "The pleasure is all mine, my lord. I am the Lady Ysadora." Something clicked beneath the ramblings of her inner cognition. Archduke of Winchester? She failed to recollect the location of said city. "Forgive me," she expressed, beaming cordially. "But could you refresh my memory, sir, of the exact whereabouts of Winchester?" Though dubious, Ysadora could not say for certain that it lacked an actual existence. For all she understood it was a city forged anew, built upon the plague's aftermath. Various towns had been construed through survivors who had departed their homes in the hopes of starting a life free from pain. She dare not directly question him otherwise.
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Post by CAPTAIN MARQUIS on Jul 23, 2013 15:57:37 GMT -5
Well wasn’t this boring? Apart from the women and the countless small fortunes he and his crew will undoubtedly ‘acquire’ before the night was finished, there wasn’t much to do. In truth Marquis would have much preferred a full frontal assault, climbing over the ramparts and everything. For all intents and purposes he was still nothing more than a small fish in a big pond. If anything the attack would have done wonders on his notoriety. People didn’t take him seriously, who could blame them really? The Cosa Nostra were the faces of organized crime nowadays; pirates though still president don’t pose as much of a threat as they once did. ‘That’ll soon change.’ The Black Armada will rise again, ‘There won’t be a naval force in the world capable of stopping us.’ Nevertheless such ambitions were a ways off; he needed to find the remaining jewels before anything else could be made possible.
Albeit reluctantly Marquis tore his gaze from the exquisite beauty that stood before him and looked over towards the king and his entourage. ‘Still glued to his chair I see.’ He couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the boy’s behavior. Now it wasn’t as though Marquis expected much from the nobility (and even less from royalty) but even he had to admit that drunken lout over there was a poor excuse for a king, “I see our king is enjoying himself.” He spat, with more animosity than intended. Returning his attention back towards his companion he was surprised to see that another woman had come to join them.
‘Sister?’ Well wasn’t this an interesting turn of events, quite interesting indeed. When the two introduced themselves Marquis couldn’t help but be surprised, ‘Royalty.’ Well that explained the attitude the eldest sister displayed. Noticing subtle changes within’ a person’s voice or face expression was one of Marquis’s specialties (at least when it came to nobles). Needless to say it didn’t take long for Marquis to pick up on her true intentions. ‘She doesn’t wish to be here,’ That much was certain. He could see the ever so slight tightness within’ her face as she remained cordial, ‘Are we undeserving of your presence milady?’ He wondered. Still he couldn’t help but feel a tad disappointed in how she turned out. ‘A pity. I haven’t the time to break her in,’ While normally he would take such behavior as a challenge. Not tonight, tonight he was all business.
“It’s north, no doubt you’ll find it should you look hard enough on a map.” He hadn’t the time to deal with petty behavior; he was here for one thing and that was Royal Blood. So he did what came naturally he turned to face Lady Pherene in hopes that she would provide a more stimulating conversation. “We haven’t,” He drawled, “I would have remembered such a meeting.” Mustering as much charm as he possible could Marquis quickly dropped to one knee and kissed the lady’s awaiting hand. Once back onto his feet Marquis offered her a flirtatious smile before offering her his arm, “If I may be so bold milady might I have this dance?” Looking over the two women Marquis picked up the silhouettes of his men as they slumped about in the shadows. ‘No doubt with previous treasures.’ With a smirk Marquis looked over to Ysadora, “That is of course if your sister will allow it?”
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Post by LADY PHERENE OF OSTLEA on Jul 24, 2013 21:13:40 GMT -5
& let bygones be gone & WHAT IF I COULD BE WHAT YOU WANTED ME TO BE Taking a small sip of her wine, Pherene sidestepped closer to Ysadora, snaked her free hand around the small of her sister’s back, and hugged her closer, so the two were side-to-side. “Ysa, must you be so formal? You know I abhor when you call me Lady Pherene,” she good-naturedly announced, raising a threatening eyebrow in Ysadora’s direction, glancing down the few inches so ice was reflecting ice. The corner of Pherene’s mouth twitched up; a flash of a devious grin that she allowed her sister to catch a glimpse of before turning her attention back to Alexander. Quite simply, she would allow Ysa to infer what she may. But Pherene was intent on making this evening entertaining with this new acquaintance and she wasn’t about to allow Ysa to ruin it with unnecessary formalities. He was attractive. Very attractive. But she promised herself that she was not going to be an easy catch this evening; she had gotten into much trouble at previous galas by being too forward with other men. This would be a game. Hopefully he could keep up.
Pherene nodded in agreement when the whereabouts of Winchester was brought up and intently, listened as the Lord gave a vague description. Releasing her sister, she placed both hands on her cup and stared keenly at the Lord. Pherene’s brows furrowed, placing a definite crease in her forehead – something she had always done as a child when she couldn’t connect the dots. She had been scolded for the face; apparently it lead to premature wrinkling and people took offense to it. However, she was never able to outgrow the scowl. Brows still knit together, Pherene cocked her head to the side, “Certainly anything can be found if one is determined enough to see it, but that does not mean that it’s there.” She quieted, scolded herself mentally (if not Ysa would surely do it for her), and quickly picked back up. “My apologies, Lord Alexander. I was not implicating that the land from which you hail is nonexistent,” Pherene gave a short, light laugh. “Instead, I meant to inquire, where exactly in the North is it?” she asked, head still tilted, looking up at him, attempting to keep her rudeness at bay for the time being for the purpose of the game, if not for the sanity of her sister.
“We haven’t. I would have remembered such a meeting.” This struck Pherene. Where she was always honored, there was nothing she loathed more than an overly charming man. Pherene pursed her lips, and arched a mildly irritated brow. “Surely you would have, sir,” she declared, squaring her shoulders and raising her chin, “I am not easy to forget.” Pherene could almost feel Ysadora’s blood begin to curdle next to her. But the game had changed.
However flattered, Pherene could only muster a stony expression when the Lord dropped to one knee and placed his lips on the back of her hand. Delicately retracting her had from his grip, she held it for a moment as if it had been contaminated, examined it carefully, glanced back at him and pursed her lips again in a look of genuine displeasure. Cerulean eyes examined the elbow offered to her, then flicked back up to the face of the owner of the offered elbow, “No you may not. Most unfortunately, I greatly detest this tune. Perhaps, later in the night the band will play something to my liking.” But it was unlikely. Pherene’s taste in music directly correlated with the partner with which she would be dancing. “And I do not require my sister’s approval to dance with a man.”
This was a game. She would win tonight.
YSA, MARQUIS ALEXANDER, OPEN. 616. SHORT POST IS SHORT. |
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Post by LADY YSADORA OF OSTLEA on Jul 26, 2013 11:18:47 GMT -5
s h o u ld i g i v e u p o r s h o u l d i just keep chasing pavements even though it
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Surrounding herself fully to present company, Ysadora caught tail wind of her sister's inquiry. She shot Pherene a subtle, warning glare. Pushing, on any range of topic, was deemed rude. And then she did it again! Screwing up her forehead, a range of wrinkles formed upon the furrowed skin. Even since she were a child Pherene had acted out this odd expression when in thought-Ysadora had scolded her often for it. The corners of Ysa's mouth coiled in displeasure. Once the gala had concluded she would rebuke Pherene for being overly bold-the girl never knew when to hold her tongue. Ysa inwardly sighed. It felt as though her sister would never learn and all her lectures were a wasted breath. But regardless, a sliver appreciation lingered for Pherene's forwardness. All of the late king's children had been schooled extensively yet she found herself still unable to recollect even a faint memory of Winchester. Surely it must be new. A dark-lidded gaze trailed slowly up towards the Archduke.
A heavy blush spread along her cheekbones. "Pherene," she hissed warningly, slitting her eyes. I'm sure you'd remember meeting me? If Ysa had found her sister forward before, she was past insolent now. Was there a sexual undertone hammered in-between the syllables? This was what Ysadora had to constantly chase down and it was a never ending run. She prayed the Archduke would not take offense. It was rather curious and the lord of Winchester offered his arm to her sister. Remaining stony-faced, Ysadora replied, "I see little harm in it, so long as the Lady Pherene sees fit." And again, Pherene shot another dart aimed for their guest refusing a dance. Though she could not blame the princess. It had been a gaudy and ill played move to bend upon the knee and Ysadora herself had fought the temptation to roll her eyes. Who was this man that stood before the pair? A snaking suspicion curled in her stomach. Wisps of a migraine began to sharpen within her skull and Ysadora exhaled quietly through her nose, focusing on the male. As Pherene declared that she did not require her eldest sister's approval Ysa swallowed back a retort. Of course she required it! Pherene was always landing herself in some form of trouble that Ysadora had to pardon her from.
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Post by CAPTAIN MARQUIS on Jul 29, 2013 21:59:39 GMT -5
Throughout the countless years he’s been seducing young women’s hearts never before had someone so effortlessly dismissed his advances (well apart from roach but she could hardly be considered a ‘young’ woman anymore. not that he would ever bring that to her attention lest he lose the ability to procreate). Needless to say Marquis was impressed. “Shame, I was very much looking forward to a dance.” Despite the sliver of damage her rejection did to his ego perhaps it was for the best. He was after all here for Royal Blood (and while there were undoubtedly many treasures tucked away within the princesses many crevices said treasures aren't the ones he was currently looking for). “I’ve an inquiry for you two if you’ll indulge me.” Marquis rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “An acquaintance within’ my father’s court is a jeweller; a trade I admittedly find myself curious of. I’ve amassed quite the collection of jewels and I’ve never before seen one quite like the one our king is wearing. The amethyst. Being his siblings I was hoping you could shed some light on the mystery quartz.”
This was a question Maquis found himself incredibly interested in learning the answer to. How much did they know of Royal Blood, did they even know it’s name, the dark history behind it or it’s true purpose? More importantly how had they come into possession of it. That question continued to plague Marquis. The more he thought about it the more it completely and utterly confused him. Someone had obviously removed the jewels from the crown but why? They left the crown and separated it’s jewels throughout the land (unfortunately for marquis they ended up in the possession of those with power) but to what purpose? Apart from other pirates the only people who would know of the crown would be the merfolk but had it been them they would have simply taken the entire thing. Someone else knew about the crown and that disturbed him.
With that said though Marquis seriously doubted a human was behind it yet alone someone within’ this court. Still it couldn’t hurt to ask and if anything it helped satisfy his curiosity. ‘Focus!’ Clearing his head Marquis forced himself to stop thinking about such things. He would think about this further in pirate not in public he must look like an idiot spacing out every five or so seconds. “I apologize if I seem distant, this music brings about a sense of nostalgia.” Hopefully they would accept that excuse. If they didn’t of well he wasn’t really trying to impress anyone. Especially not Ysadora who despite her attitude was looking more and more delicious as time went on. Oh how he wished to be rid of this mundane disguise! Such self control such mannerisms it wasn’t who he was, in fact pretending to be an uptight nobleman was almost as sickening as the noblemen themselves.
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