Re: the thistle and the burr

Last Supper - Mandatory Pack Thread

POSTED: Mon May 13, 2019 11:47 pm

Optime | The Ruins (Feasting Hall) | cNPC: Velimir (+584)

She had been at Velimir's home when the summons rang out. She had gone there to collect him, as, the last time the pack had had such a formal feast, it had been at her own wedding, and it had differed from the norm. This one would be the first that the old jackal hybrid would be attending as its own event, and Kamari wanted to ensure that the Easterner was prepared and remembered where to go.

Velimir had chosen to keep to his traditional wear, though, he had acquired a set more fitting for the occasion. His robe was of a rich crimson with a more vibrant orange hemming. Yellow thread weaving within the orange hue marked a simple but tasteful design to give the robe a more special-occasion feel to it. Dark pants and a matching orange sash completed his clothing.

In comparison, Kamari was dressed in darker, more saturated hues. She wore a pretty but loose-fitting, dark, pale, forest green tunic with lighter accents. The sleeves were of a three-quarters’ length and were open, though, were not so wide that it was excessive. Dark, leather bracers with a Celtic knot pressed into then covered her arms. A sash at her waist made the loose material look more appealing on her, though, it also helped bunch the fabric in a way that hid her slighter form. The natural folds and general looseness of the tunic also allowed her to conceal a knife on a belt beneath it. Like Velimir, she too wore dark pants.

The pair of them rode on Cedar and Sandstone to the Ruins. As they journeyed, Kamari had gone through what was expected normally of these sorts of things; how things normally went, as well as reaffirming where he was to sit and when he would be allowed to eat. By the time they had made it to the hall, it appeared that other Salsolans that were more local or otherwise had arrived. They dismounted, being sure to leave their steeds well out of the way.

Inside the Feasting Hall, they parted; Velimir to station himself amongst other of the Family, Kamari, of those of the Factions, or, well, the Shield and Quartermaster Helena now. After a respectful greeting towards the Mafiosi, the Shadow turned her eyes on the food that had been prepared for the feast that night. She had helped provide a few hares and pheasants, though, where they might have gone amongst the other provided meats and foods, she did not know.

Looking at it all, she couldn’t help but to wonder how easily it might have been to slip something into one of the entrées, if any one of the served dishes that night might have been poisoned. Delfina had done it so easily, and Kamari’s survival had been short of a miracle.

She tore her gaze away, distracting herself and searching the faces of those that arrived in the hall, drinking in what information she could as she watched the others lurk about, mingle, or otherwise. She found a few recognizable faces, like Andrew, who now sat amongst the ranked members at the table rather than pouring drinks like the other Servitori were. It was a curious sight. The man had definitely earned it though after his work thus far towards the barracks’ construction.

Onward, her intelligent and astute eyes went; watching, observing, waiting for the Queen of the Thistle Kingdom to call her followers to order.

Kamari Kaiser

The Inquisitor
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Moderator Luperci Sapienza, Vedetta Mate to Krios Royalty of a Fallen Kingdom
Seeker of Secrets
Amongst Shadows
Bearer of Masks

POSTED: Thu May 16, 2019 1:06 am

She came to the Last Supper unadorned – save for the golden coin which hung like a gleaming eye between her breasts. The young girl had spent time smoothing her fur and brushing the long waves until they hung just-so and some part of her knew that her mother would have been pleased. There was a brass pin thrust up behind one of her dark ears, and every once in awhile she would twitch her fingers across the face of the warm coin as she descended into the throng of collected Salsolans.

Many wore their finest frocks, wools and silks spun and dyed, each fold a testament to the station they upheld. The Kingdom was delicate and full of egos, surrounded by layer upon layer of thistle and thorn – but like a burr upon a creatures side Symre edged her way toward the lowest rung of the longest table. Each set of eyes glinted like jewels against the candle light, and raucous laughter echoed in the rafters as drink and food were passed and served.

She eyed the Queen curiously, ignoring the way that Brocade occasionally glanced toward her – the golden sheen of his eyes matching the coin that hung loosely about her neck. There was magic in this room and it thrummed like a gentle heart beat, tying them to one another piece by piece, thread by thread.

She yearned for the quiet that hung between the trees of the Wildwood - for the freedom that came from lighting flames and weaving wreathes.

Symre Rask sat with the other members of The Family, quietly chewing her food and watching as young cubs were left to their own devices – their parents abandoning them for the better view that lay nearer to Elphaba and her entourage.

And then there was Torin.

He carried two full mugs of ale and set them roughly to the table as he greeted other members of his rank - though when he spied her he immediately set to grinning.

"Dia duit Symre-" He lapped bubbles of the drink from his whiskers, "It seems we are sat at the better side of the table."

She quietly chewed her food and said nothing as he struck up conversation with a nearby woman - the glittering blue of his eyes dancing with mirth as she stewed.


᛫ ᚻᛖᛞᛄ ᛫ ᚹᛁᛏᚳ᛫
The Tradesman
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POSTED: Thu May 16, 2019 1:34 am

She attended the event as a Slave.

Elphaba never said the word – but Odalis could hear it in the quiet routine of her duties, layer upon layer of demand and obedience. It was a strange thing to have fallen so far, but Odalis found it more and more difficult to ascertain the differences between this life and her old one – for the weight of the collar seemed less and less as time went on. The Servants spent time working spits of roasted meat or serving rich red wine as the evening wore on, and Odalis stood idle off to one side, her expression carefully neutral as she watched Salsola celebrate.

The revellers sunk deep into their chairs, curling their bushy tails and twitching their long ears – leaning toward one another in the too long shadows and touching feet beneath the tables edge. A boorish young man carrying two mugs filled to the brim with golden ale jostled her, splashing beer along the hem of her dirty frock. ”Sorry m’lady-“ He offered, the thick accent sprinkling her with joviality – but with a flash he was gone, disappeared amongst the seething hoarde that was his people.

Odalis stood on the fringe and watched the acknowledgement disappear into nothing at all.

Elphaba sat at the head of the table, a preened and perfectly beautiful thing – a woman who Odalis had fawned over in preparation for the feast. Her hair shone in great rivulets of black along her shoulders, the tynes of her crown curved towards the star spattered sky that lay high above them. Someone snapped their fingers and Odalis ignored the summons, content to instead pick at scraps which she hid deeply in her pockets to share with Dogmeat when the night was long over. There was a Serf seated higher up the table - the green-eyed coyote sipping wine that was poured by someone considered below his new staton.

Sometimes a gaze lingered too long on her branching scar and she was forced to turn her head away, ashamed of something that she did not understand.

Perhaps it was pride.

The event reminded her of Onuba – though the setting was not near so fine, the ancient stone no match for the majesty of her homeland.

”Fill this.” The Director came upon her silently, beckoning that she fill the goblet in his scarred hands before he returned to his place toward the head of the table.

”As you wish.”


Indentured Servant
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straight through the smoke

POSTED: Thu May 16, 2019 2:40 pm

whoops short

He wasn't hungry. His appetite had been waning severely in the last few weeks and the hermit ate just enough to save face. He used his cup of wine to hide the smug grins that forced themselves upon him from time to time, masking them artistically from Narcissa's all-seeing eyes. Her earthy gaze was subtle, but so alike the sight of a gun as it danced up and down the length of the food-laden table. She was visibly eager to hear what news the Boss had to share, the well-managed tension was only visible to her father because he knew what to look for.

The hermit was draped in gold and exotic skins, dappled bronze and chocolate so dark it appeared black. His finery for the Supper's was always much the same, only the way in which his skins were hung and when jewels he wore rotating from feast to feast. Narcissa had dressed herself in black, a long dress that fit her body well. Ankh thought it made her look like some sort of reptile.

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Luperci Lucky Little Leaf
pale man
danse macabre

POSTED: Thu May 16, 2019 3:03 pm

When the call rang to the farthest reaches of the Thistle Kingdom, Jaketta was preparing ingredients for her craft. She crushed herbs into concoctions that served specific purposes, and fashioned bones, skulls, and leather into bases for charms. It was busy work, and the call offered her a reprieve from it.

With delicate care, Jaketta draped layers of plum colored cloth over her generous form. The gold barrette shined amongst her dark locks and the bangles clanged together musically. Every strant of her hair was brushed, save the collection of locks fastened together by leather and wooden beads. To hold the purposefully draped garbs in place, a rabbit fur sash was tied around her waist. Once she was groomed and dressed to perfection she made her way to the dining hall. Bast walked at her side, the cat matching Jaketta's pride in her feline stride.

Once she reached the hall, the cat weaved between her legs and parted from her with a small mew. One crimson painted foot stepped into the decadently decorated hall, and then another. The energy pulsed at her feet and a warm veil fell over her shoulders. Nothing compared to the power the pack held when they were gathered in one spot, witch or not. Her head was held high as she walked, pausing before her chair at the Warden's table before taking a seat. Blood and gold hues offered those who lended their attention a subtle greeting and a pleasant smile. Once seated she called over the nearest servant to fill her cup. She was generous with her grins, offering one easily to those lesser than her.

Her eyes wandered the hall, waiting patiently to hear Elphaba speak. Of course, Jaketta took a moment to admire their Queen and head of the witches in all her dark splendor. Blood dipped ears turned like radars to catch bits of information or gossip to help pass the time until the kingdom was properly gathered.
The Tradesman (NPC)
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Luperci Witch Nocturne Family: The Untamed Heart
Defiant Star

POSTED: Thu May 16, 2019 3:30 pm


PP of Clementine, I hope it's okay, Lorr! Let me know if you want me to change it!

It was a natural thing by now to assume that Clementine would show up at the sibling’s Millstone home before the feast. Laden with clothing, a brush, and leather hair ties Wisteria suffered her friend’s poking and prodding in stoic silence. Mostly. She tried outfit after outfit against Wisteria’s pale fur, glancing up at her eyes to make certain the amber didn’t clash, then instructed her to try it on when she’d made her selection. They exchanged a few mild barbs as they were want to do as Clem’s deft fingers braided Wisteria’s long golden hair down her back, adding in the raven feathers that so often rested behind her ear then draped the braid over her shoulder when she was done. Only once she was satisfied did Clementine give her the go ahead to make their way to the feasting hall, Aurelion in tow.

Her brother expressed shock at the femininity of her attire and Wisteria felt her cheeks redden beneath, tinting the pale fur rose. As the girls walked hand in hand, Wisteria stepped a foot wide and Aurelion, too preoccupied to notice, tripped and fell. Wisteria, now in a much better mood than before, continued on-- her lips widening into a smirk, which for her was as good as beaming. She glanced back and watched as he wiped mud from the front of his clothes, looking up with incredulity and injured pride.

When they arrived Wisteria made herself known to the Boss with a bow and averted amber eyes, the motion flowing with every ounce of grace she could muster, just as Syringa had taught her. As she walked away she felt a pang of hurt for the mother that was now so many miles away, would she be proud. Wisteria wondered.

The memory tasted bitter in her mouth and for a moment she felt just as superficial as the rest of them here, bending and scraping at their betters in hope of some favor or importance. Her rise had been swift and she was grateful. The higher she rose the more it emboldened her, but with it came a terrible anxiety and the ever mounting cost of failure. She was trusted, she would be loyal, but each rank she climbed was another rung on the ladder, and the higher she went the further the fall. Was she prepared?

Despite her great stature, gathered here among the wealthy and powerful, witches and warriors Wisteria felt small. She took a seat beside Clementine, but spoke little. Her eyes wandered up and down the line as she assessed her place. She looked to those she outranked, and the many faces of the highborne- then her eyes rested on those of her station. Her gaze sparked as she noticed that among the gathered she was a good deal younger, except Clementine who was a couple months her junior. It surprised her. Inspired her. With guarded gaze she admired the decadence and poise of the faction tiers and imagined herself sitting among them…

She caught the eye of her uncle briefly, and for once offered up a smile that was genuine and fond. But he seemed off somehow, in his cups before the feast even began. Her smile waned into a flat line and she began to watch him out of the corner of her eye as the night progressed.

Wisteria Valentine
The Tradesman
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Luperci In memoriam

POSTED: Thu May 16, 2019 4:48 pm

He came adorned in a simple attire, pulled from the depths of his wardrobe. Admittedly, it was not as though the man's quantity of clothes was overwhelming, but he toned it well down below what he was used to and to the standards his own family seemed to adhere themselves to in years past. He had inherited his mother's more modest and simple preference, even if his father had grand statements. Krios had made his statement and he was more than happy to keep the light off of himself.

The Inquisitor adjusted the collar of his vest, smoothing out the few wrinkles and leaving the black material straight. The brightest decorations on him were was the gold in one ear and the polished bone on his clothing. Bone buttons and decorative carved bone on thread dotted the vest, a more primitive pattern than was usually seen on the man. But he certainly felt more primitive with his aunt's blood on his vengeful hands.

He saw the spread of food and the smattering of servants first. Elphaba was in her attire, not so grand as usual, but far more refined and elegant looking in her austere getup. He could have scowled at her for what had clearly been the same line of thinking, but he was running rather low on the emotional energy of late. His greeting was spartan if respectfully polite without a hint of extraneous emotions attached.

Krios's gaze fell on his wife and his expression seemed to disappear beneath a neutral blank mask as he approached her wordlessly. He fell into place beside her without anything more than a slight nod to his wife, placing his hands before him, and looking sternly toward the Boss.

Krios Revlis
Come touch me like I’m an ordinary man. Have a look in my eyes. Underneath my skin there is a violence

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The Inquisitor
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Vedetto, Milite Mate to Kamari
Bloode Moste Potente
buy back the secrets

POSTED: Thu May 16, 2019 5:06 pm


Victoire helped her grandmother tie the back of the dress up. It was not the most modest thing for an elderly woman to wear, with no sleeves or straps, merely secured by a stiffly tied knot ribbon that ran beneath her armpits and above the swell of her bust. But the old woman covered the decidedly youthful crimson gown's immodest top with a black shawl with tassels. The dress itself went past the knees and the girl did admire it. Isabella promised it to her at some point but as she was still quite a fine woman, Victoire was more than happy to let her grandmother look grand.

She put on one of her mother's old dresses, likely a cast off from her grandmother as well. It was a deeper red black and relatively simple in cut. It tied in a halter knot at her neck and the extra material draped down the line of her spine with small tassels of weighty flowers of carved bone made by her brother.

It was draped about her body, a curvy body that had matured into the body of a woman, and emphasized the decidedly well proportion parts of her body. It was a little embarrassing to wear, even for a girl who had often scorned wearing clothes. But for a Last Supper, it was required and she would have never heard the end of it.

Tori fidgeted with the black knotted rope belt at her midriff, where the folds of the dress gave it a more toga-like effect. A hand slapped her fingers and she eyed her grandmother, who glared at her pointedly as they entered the hall. Walking on her cane, the old woman let her granddaughter lead her to the correct spot, nodding at the Boss without going to greet her properly; she was old enough to be more than happy to use age as an excuse for acceptable rudeness.

Victoire herself did the proper greetings then turned to smile at her brother. But her grin faltered at his expression of stern acknowledgement, before turning her weakened smile on her sister-in-law and then ducking to her place at the table. Her eyes kept jutting to the door, waiting for a certain friend to join them.

Victoire Heiwa
How did I live in a kingdom of thieves and people who say things they don't really mean, really mean

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The Confidant
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POSTED: Thu May 16, 2019 5:19 pm

It was long enough to mourn, and yet still Víborg found herself draped in black. She would have liked to design something colorful and new for the spring, which had begun to bloom all around them, but her mother had insisted.

My brother's killer has not been found, she had hissed at her daughter. Until then we must not let them forget.

And oh her mother seemed an extravagantly dark thing, with her thick raven-feather shrug and long gown. Víborg's own dress was shorter, but certainly not the style she would have liked to wear. Her roaming eyes sucked in all the beautiful attire, lingering on those who had chosen to expose parts of their bodies or wear nothing at all.

She felt strange and disconnected from this world of wealth and power.

Her mother, higher-ranking, abandoned Víborg to find her own seat. There were many new faces – her peers were already sprinting ahead of her, two girls from two noble houses driven to succeed. She was next to those pointedly-exposed women, a now-again freeman, an old man, and a gaggle of related youth.

Víborg burned with secret fury at her own limitations and seethed silently into a goblet of sweet mead.

The Family (NPC)
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Luperci Hrafnsmerki
does this spark joy?

POSTED: Thu May 16, 2019 6:37 pm

Embla spun in a circle and glanced over her shoulder at herself in the bronzed mirror, its clouded surface making it all the more impossible to see what she looked like.

"What do you think?" she asked aloud, in defeat.

There was silence in the tower, though Jalda peeked her head through the bedroom door and blinked curiously at her friend. The Crone's child had raided his belongings, donning one of his long-sleeved, open-chested tunics—dyed lavender—and wrapping a small amount of fabric around her hips to act as a skirt. Evening had fallen, but most of the outfits in the Helsi home were burdensome, warm things: cloaks and leather kilts and pants that would leave her fanning herself at the table around the steaming food. Embla, who was already happy to run and play bare, saw no problem in wearing little.

"Oh!" Inspired, she ran to a small chest in the corner of the room, tossing a bone comb aside and reaching for glinting things. When she rose again, it was to wrap a golden snake choker around her neck, its tail pointing to her collarbone.

Embla did another full turn, smiling. "Now? Now how does it look?"

"It looks wonderful," she mouthed along to herself, and with a giggle, scooped Jalda up and toted her outside, promising her scraps if she lay nicely at Embla's feet and didn't scratch up her new twine-and-shell collar.

* * *

She trickled in with some of the last arrivals, depositing the grey fox at her feet, and went to greet the Mafiosi. She was shy about this, despite her rise in rank; it was hard not to notice how good O'Riley smelled, and Elphaba was always a grand presence. Glad to have it over with, she wandered toward the long table, her eyes passing over the blurred faces of folks she didn't know, those she knew only by name, and a handful of friends.

Embla noticed Wisteria first, by virtue of her near seat and her white-gold fur, and waved cheerily at the Valentine before her nose picked up on another dear scent. She quickly scurried over to Victoire, pausing as she took in the contrasted black against her light coat. Blind as she was, there were basic shapes her eye could read, and Victoire had an abundance of shapes Embla hadn't quite noticed on their own.

"Oh you look great," Embla whispered to her, openly and flirtatiously, and tugged her hand. "Sit where the Tradesmen and Confidants meet so I have you next to me, okay, we sit be near Wisteria too." She widened her star-burst eyes puppishly, hoping to coax her so Embla could sit between her friends.

The Tradesman
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but tomorrow may rain, so
i'll follow the sun

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