(I’m working on the King atm, I’m going to say he’s in North now.Aerie is for the king (forced to chose that option), and Layna is Neutral.
@RDchicken99 (i think) said she’d do the king, so it’s up to her.
(Jintao was forced loyal to the king, but currently he's rebelling again and is going to help the Rebels.
(The Ember in my mind is throwing a FIT right now-)(Look who finally wrote Landchester’s intro
Gray morning skies. Sea skies. The light from the tall window washed out the room, leaving warm red mahogany looking pale and old. A mirror was hung opposite his desk; the gray light left Roderic Landchester looking pale and old as well. He frowned at his reflection.
On the mainland, he was a duke, only coming into such power by the graces of inheritance. His wife was his only equal in ambition, she remained his constant, by his side at all times. His advisor, his helpmate.
She died in childbirth, taking with her his only heir, and his chance to ensure the Landchester name lived on.
He was adamant against marrying another.
Thin fingers absentmindedly tapped a pen against the desk, his eyes were fixed on the sea outside the window.
The words of his duchess replaced her presence. She had always spurred him on towards legacy. Such a powerful word when spoken from her lips! It molded their every waking moment, and colored their dreams like blood in water. Their family legacy, their son, was the death of her. And the death of the future Landchester line.
So Roderic took up a galleon and searched for an island—something, anything, that would bring fame to the Landchester name.
And he found an island.
Establishing authority over the natives and Mythics was of little trouble, he brought with him arms and men, and quickly settlements were built, flagpoles erected, and the island under the control of King Landchester.
Though the first sips of goodly power were welcoming, a sort of resignation had begun to shape his mindset. He was first aware of it the night his wife died. He cried no tears for her, she wouldn’t have approved, instead he set his sights on grand ideals of legacy— that she would have approved of.
And with a hardening of his heart he realized that such a legacy could not be accomplished by means of good graces. History had taught him that those who were hated were well remembered. And he was in too deep to be known for virtue.
So he let them form a rebellion; let them dub their little towns names like Undermine. Let his Loyalists and soldiers ravage their towns, cut the wings from their Harpies, ruin their wives and destroy their crops.
And he would sit back and sign his documents, with his name in bold script, for all to see.
(Wowza)(Look who finally wrote Landchester’s intro
Gray morning skies. Sea skies. The light from the tall window washed out the room, leaving warm red mahogany looking pale and old. A mirror was hung opposite his desk; the gray light left Roderic Landchester looking pale and old as well. He frowned at his reflection.
On the mainland, he was a duke, only coming into such power by the graces of inheritance. His wife was his only equal in ambition, she remained his constant, by his side at all times. His advisor, his helpmate.
She died in childbirth, taking with her his only heir, and his chance to ensure the Landchester name lived on.
He was adamant against marrying another.
Thin fingers absentmindedly tapped a pen against the desk, his eyes were fixed on the sea outside the window.
The words of his duchess replaced her presence. She had always spurred him on towards legacy. Such a powerful word when spoken from her lips! It molded their every waking moment, and colored their dreams like blood in water. Their family legacy, their son, was the death of her. And the death of the future Landchester line.
So Roderic took up a galleon and searched for an island—something, anything, that would bring fame to the Landchester name.
And he found an island.
Establishing authority over the natives and Mythics was of little trouble, he brought with him arms and men, and quickly settlements were built, flagpoles erected, and the island under the control of King Landchester.
Though the first sips of goodly power were welcoming, a sort of resignation had begun to shape his mindset. He was first aware of it the night his wife died. He cried no tears for her, she wouldn’t have approved, instead he set his sights on grand ideals of legacy— that she would have approved of.
And with a hardening of his heart he realized that such a legacy could not be accomplished by means of good graces. History had taught him that those who were hated were well remembered. And he was in too deep to be known for virtue.
So he let them form a rebellion; let them dub their little towns names like Undermine. Let his Loyalists and soldiers ravage their towns, cut the wings from their Harpies, ruin their wives and destroy their crops.
And he would sit back and sign his documents, with his name in bold script, for all to see.
My gosh that’s absolutely amazing(Look who finally wrote Landchester’s intro
Gray morning skies. Sea skies. The light from the tall window washed out the room, leaving warm red mahogany looking pale and old. A mirror was hung opposite his desk; the gray light left Roderic Landchester looking pale and old as well. He frowned at his reflection.
On the mainland, he was a duke, only coming into such power by the graces of inheritance. His wife was his only equal in ambition, she remained his constant, by his side at all times. His advisor, his helpmate.
She died in childbirth, taking with her his only heir, and his chance to ensure the Landchester name lived on.
He was adamant against marrying another.
Thin fingers absentmindedly tapped a pen against the desk, his eyes were fixed on the sea outside the window.
The words of his duchess replaced her presence. She had always spurred him on towards legacy. Such a powerful word when spoken from her lips! It molded their every waking moment, and colored their dreams like blood in water. Their family legacy, their son, was the death of her. And the death of the future Landchester line.
So Roderic took up a galleon and searched for an island—something, anything, that would bring fame to the Landchester name.
And he found an island.
Establishing authority over the natives and Mythics was of little trouble, he brought with him arms and men, and quickly settlements were built, flagpoles erected, and the island under the control of King Landchester.
Though the first sips of goodly power were welcoming, a sort of resignation had begun to shape his mindset. He was first aware of it the night his wife died. He cried no tears for her, she wouldn’t have approved, instead he set his sights on grand ideals of legacy— that she would have approved of.
And with a hardening of his heart he realized that such a legacy could not be accomplished by means of good graces. History had taught him that those who were hated were well remembered. And he was in too deep to be known for virtue.
So he let them form a rebellion; let them dub their little towns names like Undermine. Let his Loyalists and soldiers ravage their towns, cut the wings from their Harpies, ruin their wives and destroy their crops.
And he would sit back and sign his documents, with his name in bold script, for all to see.
