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Neremyn Virvyre

Druid
Member
Messages
28
Character Biography
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The box hummed and buzzed, click clacking against the table with every weak bounce and dash of the sealed metal lock. Dimples and green staining embellished the brass as it stood in rattling juxtaposition against an otherwise stalwart border of gold and splintered iron wood. The table was long and broad, topped with a polished counter of black graphite and chiseled edges, offering a monument for the great act of tutelage and active instruction.

It was a lab. But not something so meek and sterile, with walls of white and pristine vials and decanters. Instead, all manner of things lived and grew. From loping bunnies of dust to rats sneak-thieving around the corners and insects hollowing out thick beams of treated cedar that spanned the distance of the vaulted ceiling; it was a place of contemplation and deep thoughts. A place where a troublesome druid could be quieted and where the common fires were not such a worrisome act.

He waited somberly behind the box, painted coarsely in the warm embrace of a nearby wall mounted brazier. With an emerald gaze that panned from one robe-donned disciple to the next, a sigh escaped from the parting of his lips and added depth to the crackling of coal and mischievous embers. From the bark of his patchwork armor, long fingers withdrew a key and quickly snapped the lock open.

The egress door, a towering feature of bowing wood and straining steel beams, crashed open as the disciples ran out from the lab and into the streets of the college. The sound of their heels against the cobble stone was a dying symphony, quickly overcome by the sound of angry Aberresai ground wasps. Pheromones were a tricky thing and once tagged, the wasps would die for God and country and all other forms of patriotism as they stung their victims to death or died in the attempt.

Clapping his hands together and chuckling at the sudden rush of silence, like a vacuum of air howling through a shoreline cavern, he caught a wasp within the cage of his outstretched fingers. Leaning forward, he studied the creature and gave pause. “Very nice.” With that, the wasp flew out from the clutch and joined her hive in pursuit.

Ere reasoned that should the disciples not want for stinging, they might take up the mantle of studying their texts and performing the practicals with a bit more zest. But seeing as many had taken his class as a required elective, it was seemingly an attempt to breeze through the course and gain credits for passage in the College. And while rivers might move lazily, they eventually find the breath of an angry ocean. And this angry ocean was late for a meeting with the Merchants Council. There was a matter of securing particular funding for his classes, as well as other endeavors, that required supplanting of the College’s leadership.

It was time for a sprawl through the markets.

Myrcella Bochanan
 
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Myrcella Bochanan

Eldest daughter of House Bochanan
Member
Messages
166
Character Biography
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The markets. Always a bustle of activity whenever Myrcella and her mother Gwendalyn Bochanan would attend to go shopping for dresses or exotic ingredients for their cooks prepare meals and desserts with.

But today was different. Myrcella was the only member of House Bochanan to attend. She had a few members of the House staff with her, for going alone would just be absurd and unheard of. Also it wasn't primarily for shopping that brought her here today either. Myrcella's late father Rorric was a member of the Merchants Council. With him gone and her mother in mourning, those responsibilities fell in her lap.

Oh how she wished that she had Titus Phane to join her. He'd of given her support and encouragement during this meeting when in truth she'd feel as though she was a rabbit caught in a fox's den. Politics wasn't her strong suit. In fact she never believed that she'd be led to deal with it at all. Her dreams of her future were vastly different than the reality she now faced. Betrothal to Richard Henry the Eighth wasn't exactly something that she so eagerly accepted.

Still, perhaps if she could get herself entrenched in the Merchants Council deep enough, then she might not be forced to move away from Elbion and the only home that she's ever known.

Myrcella gave a small smile and nod to those that she passed by on her way to the Council meeting. Though her outward appearance might seem very well composed, underneath her bodice all that she could feel were butterflies.

Hopefully the other Council members won't eat her up alive.

Neremyn Virvyre
 

Neremyn Virvyre

Druid
Member
Messages
28
Character Biography
Link
The markets were a boisterous affair, battering the senses with constant stimulus and the mind and soul with perpetual conflict. The entry into the marketplace was heralded by a stone arch causeway, accented by an overhanging parapet and decorated with flags of various cities, organizations, and species. The different factions within the market council, the allied cities along the Cairon River and feeding into the Allirian Strait, and the various ship captains who had contributed charitably were each given opportunity to hang a coat of arms or wave their flag.

Movement through the passage gave breath to a sprawling province of various wares, vendors, and services. Bulges of peppermint tints and royally painted stands of purple and yellow spilled into the muddy walkways as greeters peddle their wares aggressively. Smells of meat hung low in the air, drifting aimlessly on tones of cardamom, black pepper, and cloves. A short man stood atop multiple barrels, hanging from a meat stand with a hook for a hand, promising the perfect coupling of ale and wine to meet every palate.

An apothecary burned sage and thyme in a large cauldron of sizzling embers, an elf hung from a defunct center-square fountain and preached on the veracity of the celestial bodies, and a woman with a monstrous mustache twisted her whiskers ostentatiously as she swore on the virtues of her particular hair growth elixir. For every distraction, there were people of all shapes and sizes to greet the spectacle with wide eyes and open mouths. Orcs, humans, dwarves, and elves all paraded about with steadily emptying pockets and ever waning interest. Despite the motley of races, interwoven like a shifting braid through the coarse streets, commentary on the components of society were ever invasive.

“Eh, piss off ya leaf-licker.” One woman spat at Ere as she strode by. She was knee deep and barefoot in a bucket of grapes, dancing a dispassionate jig for a hawkish man who sat behind her. “Look who we got here boys, a discount dryad!” A man sneered with half a mouth of teeth, colored like duck butter, as he slapped a cudgel against a calloused palm and elbowed a friend to pay attention. Ere was quickly getting the impression from the loquacious and silent alike, that he might have been on the menu as well. The joke was on them; Ere’s pockets were lighter than most.

Setting his sight on an unremarkable green tent, hidden in plain sight and marked with the cross hatching of a pick ax and a hammer, Ere parted the entry flap to find himself in view of several men and a few women. These were prominent members of the council, though whether they were members of the elder council remained to be seen. Torches burned along the perimeter of the tent, propped up by thin rods of cedar and capped with tinted glass, and gave the interior a deceptively warm appeal. It helped to offset the cold glances of those in attendance.

“Gentlemen…” Ere announced with a dip of his head and a stroke of his wiry beard. “And ladies. A wonderful day, is it not?”

Myrcella Bochanan
 
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Myrcella Bochanan

Eldest daughter of House Bochanan
Member
Messages
166
Character Biography
Link
There were so many different things in the market that caught her eye. Trinkets, flowers, paintings, not to mention the fashion! Fabrics and silks in a variety of colours. Lacework both intricate and beautiful. All of it was a young lady's dream.

But she had to keep her focus on the task at hand. It wasn't difficult to find the tent where the Council always met. Quite often Myrcella would be at her late father's side on his way there, along with the other members of her family. It was usually just before the tent that they'd depart, leaving Myrcella, her Mother and siblings to shop while her Father attended the meeting.

Today was different, however. Today she was alone. Today she was to discover just what these Council meetings were like. And today she was to find out just how brave she was when facing such a big unknown. Some people might balk at the very idea; as though it was a trivial thing when compared to charging a battlefield. But Myrcella wasn't a soldier. The closest thing to that for her was doing archery and competing against her brother. Her aim was always better and so she tended to win those little contests that they set up with themselves.

Oh how she longed for those simpler days.

A few minutes after Neremyn Virvyre entered the tent, Myrcella would find herself lifting the flap and stepping inside as well. Neither of those within spawned any sense of recognition in her other than a quick greeting in days gone past. It wasn't really anything that she thought that she'd have to pay mind to before. Until now, that is.

She bowed her head to the Council members, her hands clasped before her. "Greetings. I'm sorry if I'm late. My name is Myrcella Bochanan. I am the eldest daughter of the late Rorric Bochanan." Her eyes searched each of those in attendance, looking for any sign of disgust or resentment towards her, for while her Fsther was well respected, she was a complete stranger. "I'm here to take his place on the Council."
 
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Neremyn Virvyre

Druid
Member
Messages
28
Character Biography
Link
Ere didn’t receive a response, not in the typical fashion. Instead, he was offered a reception of silent glares, rubs of the facial hair, and twerks of the eyebrow in what he could only assume was an attempt to bewilder and intimidate him. Coming up from the shallow bow, his gaze moved from each individual as he visually progressed through the entangled form of hierarchy that rested behind the towering grace of a shielded dais. There was an assortment of individuals.

To the far end, a woman stood with her hands pressed against a silver broach and was festooned in an elaborately decorated full dress and crinoline, laced with gold and accented largely in eggshell white. To her side, a man towered above her. He was dressed in formal entrepreneur garb that included striped pants of black and grey, a vest of green and gold, and a frock coat that hung low against the back of his knees. They seemed to be a pair or at the very least, acquainted in passing intimacy. The notion struck the elf as peculiar given the clear age difference; the woman looked old enough to be his grandmother.

In the center, a stout human stood with hands clasped at his waist in protection of what Ere could only assume was a jewel adorned belt buckle. Ere spied, beneath the parted earthen coat, a likely more necessary accouterments of tanned leather suspenders. The absence of hair atop the man's head gave way to a muddied reflection of the nearby torch, gleaming in distortion across his glossy bald head. His salt and pepper facial hair was wiry, well groomed across the top lip and hanging low in imperial merchant fashion - wispy and painted at the tips. Next to this figure, two others stood shoulder to shoulder and appeared to be related.

Perhaps fraternal twins.

Ere then proceeded to look towards the young woman next to him. While he admired her polite entrance, he imagined it wasn’t the best method of entry for the likes of this lot. They had the look of hungry Naga, given too long to wait upon land, and were breaths away from feasting on them or each other. They group did not have the kindest appearance.

“Yes yes.” The stout figure responded to the woman, impatiently waving her forward with decorated hand of rubies and sapphires. “Come now miss Bochanan, there is little light and less time.”

Ere lifted his finger to interject but the cold glance of the crinoline duchess gave him all the motivation he needed to stay quiet. At least for the moment.

Myrcella Bochanan
 
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