The man in the foreground spoke as soon as Zara opened the door. He sounded polite enough. "Hello. We're two travelers: My name is Kit, and that's Harsith. We're just looking to trade for some supplies," he said calmly. 

"Welcome, sirs," replied Zara, using the old formal way to greet guests. "If you will wait here a moment, I will inform my father of your coming." She turned back to the living room. "Father – a couple of traders have shown up."

Phaedron smiled and came forward. "Enter, enter, good sirs," he said, shaking them each by the hand. Whether he, too, felt suspicious of them, Zara couldn't say – her father was skilled at putting on whatever mood was suitable to the occasion. "My name is Phaedron, and I am a poor farmer living here in this cottage. We have have naught to trade, only a few poor crops and pine-wood – but guests are always welcome with us, and perhaps we can manage a bargain of some sort. Come in, and sit down."

He led the way into the house, but not into the living room where Kalarix was – he went into the tiny room at the back of the house that was used for formal business. So he did feel suspicious. Yes, that was the right move – after all, who could tell if they could be trusted? Or if Kalarix could be trusted, especially since he was a Nobyl? 

A murmur of voices started up from behind the closed door of the business room. Zara turned to close the door, but just then someone emerged from the evening shadows outside and brushed past her, through the doorway.

"Hey!" Zara gasped. "Who are you?"

The stranger turned to face her – and recognition shot through her. Back in her family's palace, so many years ago, there had been one tiny branch of the pur Zaraon family that her parents had been friends with – and that family had had two sons. She didn't recall their names anymore, but one of them – he had been about fifteen when she last saw him – had looked exactly like the boy who now stood before her. It wasn't so much the features in themselves, as the mischievousness in his eyes and the warm smile, that were so familiar. He had gray eyes, dark brown hair, and was rather good-looking – yes, that too was familiar. 

"You look like you've seen a ghost," he said, slightly irritated.

"You just – reminded me of someone," Zara returned.

"Of my older brother? Yes, that makes sense. Everyone always thinks I'm him, until they find out I'm not. Do you remember the pur Zaraon family at all?"

"Why should I remember them?" Zara asked coldly. Since she was a small girl she had been trained not to reveal that she was really a Nobyl, and that training stood by her now. "I am only a poor farmer's daughter."

"You don't believe I'm Arran pur Zaraon? Look."

He held out to her an obsidian carving, shaped like a tiny horse's head. Zara remembered that shape well. It had been the badge of Arran's branch of the pur Zaraon family, and every member had had one. There was a tiny scratch on the left ear.

"Don't you remember that scratch? My brother and I were playing with this horse figure – and it fell off the table and was scratched," Arran said, smilingly. "You were about six then. It was just before Lord Helion came."

"Yes, I do remember!" Zara decided to let down her guard. If Arran had that same horse talisman, he must be the same boy she remembered so well. "You were about six yourself."

"Seven," he corrected, laughing.

"Of course. But what brings you here? Did you come with your family?" How wonderful it was to have her old friend standing by her side again, after all these years – and how unbelievable. This whole evening had something unbelievable about it. 

"No, I came alone. Is your father anywhere on the premises? I was sent to talk with him."

"He's busy with a couple of traders. And my brothers are busy with another Nobyl."

Arran's eyes widened. "Another Nobyl?"

"Yes. Kalarix pur Westchoice. He just – knocked on the door and came in, and he seems ill. His thoughts seem to be wandering. I think he may have a fever, it's so cold outside, and he's not dressed warmly enough. I don't know what can have led him here…" She trailed off. "But you can tell me everything, and I'll tell it to Father later."

"All right," said Arran. "It's a long story, so make yourself comfortable."

———————————–

Arran's sheet:

Name: Arran pur Zaraon.

Pronouns: He/him.

Age: 16 or 17

Appearance: Gray eyes, dark brown hair, rather roguish expression. Slightly on the slender side, though not thin. 

Personality: Very warm and caring, but also quick-thinking and resolute. He loves music. His self-esteem is at the Perfect Level – he's not conceited, and not unhappy with himself. He can accept his faults and appreciate his strengths in a very sane way. He's balanced and intelligent, as well as friendly, and just a little mischievous. He can converse very well, and he's interesting and well-educated.

Strengths/weaknesses: Excellent education and healthy level of self-esteem. Able to enjoy life. But he's just a teenager still, and naturally gets sort of hot-headed and impulsive sometimes.

Home: The southern area of Kyngdom, the same area that Zara is from.

Which Nobyl family is he/she from? You can invent your own branch of the Nobyls: the pur Zaraon

Background: His immediate family isn't too rich or powerful, but they've still held some influence. By now, they've decided to fight Catastrophe.

^Tarava^

Tarava went back to her bed and sat down. "Good luck, Kalam," she whispered, her eyes straying to the window again.

A knock came at the door and she started to her feet, sitting down again a second later as she remembered that she had to look composed – "Come in."

It was one of the servants who helped around the palace. "Forgive me for interupting you, my lady, but you're already late for Lord Helion's ball. I believe you were going?"

"Lord Helion's ball…" Tarava closed her eyes. "I had forgotten all about it. Thank you, Raltara. I'll go immediately." She rose and arranged a delicate ruby necklace against her silver dress – she would have to go just as she was, for she had no time to make any special preparations. Lord Helion… he was the one who had taken over the property of that Phadron, wasn't he? Yes. I'll have to watch my step, Tarava reminded herself as she skimmed down the carpeted, dark wooden steps of her palace. It would be too easy to give herself away at a ball like that.

Soon she was being admitted to Lord Helion's palace, into the gaiety and golden light and laughter of the place. Even after all those ten long years, they were still hosting parties. In a moment Tarava was caught up in a laughing throng of Nobyls from all the prominent families, and any outsider would have concluded that she was one of them.

But she wasn't, of course.

@Night Whispers, I was wondering if Eon could be performing at the ball? Maybe she and Tarava could get into a conversation.

@all, I believe Lord Helion isn't strictly the character of one of us, but I hope it's all right to have him host a ball :/ He won't come out much in my part anyway.

Continuing the Saga~

Zara settled down on the soft-cushioned carved stool that sat in the hallway and fixed her gaze on Arran's handsome face. He was looking at the floor, reflectively, as if he were lost in thought. Then he began.

"Catastrophe's king now of most of Kyngdom – and he's a cruel, murderous ruler. You saw for yourself how Lord Helion despoiled you of your family's ancient lands. But most of the Nobyls have always supported him. How they can bear to, I don't know – but they do support him. It all started at that ball ten years ago. I believe your family didn't attend, but a lot of Nobyls were hypnotized and made to support Catastrophe. Of course, they're happy to do so, because they often get wealthier that way. The old glorious days of the Nobyls are over, Zara – they've turned into a group I'm ashamed to be from."

"Your own immedate family's not like that," she reminded him.

"No. And that brings me to the second part of my story. Not all the Nobyls are so awful. A great many – mostly the younger ones – are tired of this violence and tyranny. They're joining the Resistance. Some of them are doing it openly, but most are joining secretly, and using their wealth and position to help their allies. The Nobyls who support Catastrophe have some idea of what's going on, and they're breaking alliances with other families and investigating their own children to make it stop. They're only doing themselves in." He took a quick step closer to Zara. "A house divided cannot stand – and the Nobyls are divided, all right. I've watched them squabbling and quarreling, and I can see clear as day what's coming."

"But isn't it good for Kyngdom?"

"That's the bright side," Arran replied, smiling. "The Resistance is growing stronger with the influence of the Nobyls who help it. I myself have joined it. And that's why I'm here – I was sent to ask your father if he could join. We know how much your family has suffered at the hands of Catastrophe's generals, and we were sure you'd be willing to help us end Catastrophe's reign."

"Oh, we would!" Zara exclaimed impulsively. "Kyngdom is my home, and even if I am a Nobyl, the Kyngdomers – even the commoners – are my people. They need help, some of them, far more than I ever have, I'll help them with all I have!"

"And your father and brothers?"

"I don't know." Zara glanced outside the hall. The hum of voices still came from the other rooms. "They're taking an awfully long time talking. Arran – do you know of any reason why Kalarix or any other Nobyls would have come here?"

"Frankly, no." Arran did look puzzled. "Unless they were sent by Catastrophe, and I don't see why he would want to keep persecuting you now that his general has your lands. Anyway, as to having a talk with Phaedron – perhaps I ought to come back later? I've a room at the village inn."

Zara nodded. "Perfect. Oh, I'm so glad to have seen you again!"

Arran's face subtly changed expression for an instant.

"So am I," he answered softly.

There was silence for a few seconds, broken only by the regular ticking of the clock in the hall and the voices in the business-room. Zara felt a wave of delicious excitement, and her breathing quickened a little. Then Arran was moving toward the door.

"Well, I'll be off now," he said. "Goodbye, Zara. I'll return tomorrow morning." And then he was gone.

Argh, I've been so busy with homework these days… there's a test coming up in two weeks, but thankfully everything's done tonight.

Kalarix~

It was a few more moments before Kalarix could regain sense of direction once more. Wiping his watering eyes, he glanced up at the two brothers still beside him. Their sister had went to the door after a new knock, and the center of focus had now seemed to move there along with the noise.

"Kalarix?"

Kalarix gave another start, and instantly scolded himself for it. Trying and failng to meet Rialtas's concerned gaze, he just shook his head and pinned his eyes to the carpeted floor, rubbing his neck. "I'm…I'm ok." His voice came out hollower than he expected it to be though, and a instant coughing fit followed, leaving the teenager choking for air on his seat.

"Its nothing." Kalarix muttered half to himself after he had finally caught his breath, and half to the two brothers, the latter of which exhanged uncertain glances with each other. "I'll be fine."

He followed the new visitors who the girl had opened the door for with his line of sight, who had now stepped into the cottage and vanished into its depths, perhaps a back room of some sort. They were quite alone in the main room now.

Kalarix shot a quick glance at the two brothers. They seemed to be busy with exhanging low whispers, and Phaedron, the father, busy in thought. The boy shivered slightly, just ever so slightly. The welcoming aura in the homely place had dropped quite a bit ever since he had said his family name out loud, like when one poked a snail with a stick and it began to draw itself slowly and steadily into its shell, leaving only a hard surface visible to the world.

But who was he to care, if the family trusted him or not? An opportunity to eat was an opportunity to eat, and these types of things only ever lasted so long. Seeing nothing else standing in between him and the stew, Kalarix swiped the bowl over from its idle position on the table and began to attack its contents in a very un-Nobyl-like way.

Alright, warning: I am a very busy person so I will try to post regularly but apologies in advance if I drop off the face of the earth for a bit. I trust y'all to portray Cassius correcrtly. Now that's out of the way, let's get into it.

Name: Cassius "Cas" pur Kays

Pronouns: they/them

Age: 26

Appearance: They are rather unkept. Their brown hair is long and messy and constantly falls in their eyes so they've begun to tie it back. They have light skin and hazel eyes. Their clothing is very average, a peasant top with trousers and a long brown coat. They keeps their family seal in their bag along with many other things. They is suprisingly short for their repuation and very annoyed with that fact.  

Personality: They are rather vain. Always a bit of a wildcard. Always wants to know everything about anything and it's gotten them into trouble many times. They loves a good conversation and enjoys being around people. Tends to take matters into their own hands often. They are very good at reading other people but cannot lie to save their life. ISTP

Strengths/weaknesses: They cannot lie at all, like they are so bad at it. They has a very wide arsenal of facts and information both completly useless and more important than he will ever know. 

Home: currently he is on the run but tells everyone he is traveling to "gain a new perspective" 

Which Nobyl family is he/she from? You can invent your own branch of the Nobyls: Kays but they were kind of disowned. They use the name when necessary but they does not like to. 

Background: Their family's stance on the war and their own personal stance disagreed. They did not support Catastrophe but as their parents got closer to the "Inner circle" of his army Cassius rebelled more and more. They are known among the nobyls as the rebellious devil child but there is a conflicting opinion among the nobyls because of their views on the issue. After a particularly loud and public argument with their parents they got publicly disowned and humiliated so they set out traveling on their own. It has been about 5 years and they have not had any contact with their family and they have tried to avoid the nobyls. 

~Cas~ 

I stumble through the woods falling into trees. I can't hear anyone behind me but that's no assurance. I accidentally may have gotten some very powerful people mad at me. But what use would it be to them to chase me into the woods? It's too cold tonight. Maybe they hope i'll die. I might. 

Something pierces my back. I can't see it but I feel blood dripping down and now I know I am not alone here. This is those stupid hunters from whatever that stupid town's name is. 

It's getting cold, much too cold for me to make it alone tonight. After whoever fired the stupid thing that is sticking out of my back hasn't done anything about it so I guess I'm finally alone.

I can't tell if the hypothermia or blood loss is making me more dizzy but through this hazy state I see smoke and something like a house. And there are.. horses? People! Horses mean people. I think. Hopefully they are nice and know something about medicine. 

I trudge my way towards the house and try to polietly knock on the door but my legs give out so I just kind of fall against it with a loud thump. I do hope I'm not bleeing on the door. That would be such a shame. I hear footsteps and I desperatly try to right myself but alas, the door opens and I can only get an "Apoligies" out before I fall face first onto the floor. 

I can hear voices but it's all muffled. Claaws, how much blood have I lost? It couldn't have been that much. 

Then I feel it all fade to black. 

~~~

fun little intro and a problem to get the ball rolling! yay! (also I am not new to this wonderful corner of the internet I am just under a new name) 🙂

=Kalam=

Kalam pulled his fur-edged cloak closer about him. It was a bitterly cold night, though in Tarava's lighted bedroom it hadn't seemed like it. Probably he wouldn't get much futher than this tonight. Already he had left Evranel behind him and was in the northern forests of Kyngdom.

A largish hut loomed out of the snow ahead of him. He would seek shelter there; no one would refuse it to him, as he appeared to be a simple traveler, and no one would mistake him for a Nobyl. In fact, fairly well-off, normal travelers were welcomed at places such as these, as they paid well for their lodging.

He rode nearer and, dismounting, knocked at the door. There was a moment of silence; then the door opened slightly, and an old woman looked out. "What are you wanting here?" she quavered.

"Only a bed and shelter from this snow, ma'am," Kalam replied, smiling engagingly. "I'm a simple traveler passing through these woods. I lost my way, and now, I fear, I'll never make it to the place where I was supposed to stay tonight. I was wondering if you mightn't have some corner…?"

"Nay," the old woman said – and Kalam, who was a keen reader of people, saw something like fear dart for an instant through her eyes. "I have a guest already, and I have little enough food as it is." She hesitated, then went on, in a more conciliatory tone of voice, "I'm sorry to turn you away, but I don't see how it could be done."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream – " Kalam moved forward a step. "I brought my own food, ma'am. And I have nowhere else to sleep, unless you count these woods. Of course, I would never wish to impose upon you, but – "

The old woman looked as if she were going to refuse again, but suddenly a young man appeared at her side. "No, don't turn him away on our account," he said. "There is enough space for him as well as for us."

The old woman's eyes met his, and then, with a shrug, she turned away. But once more Kalam had caught that fleeting look of fear in her eyes. Curious, he stepped inside, and saw who "we" were. A slender girl, probably about the same age as the young man, was sitting on a stool close to the fire. She looked up as they entered, a slight uncertainty slipping into her gaze.

Kalam's interest had immediately been awakened by the young man. He looked remarkably like a certain Nobyl who had fled from his family after the fact that he had joined the Resistance became known – Terven pur Arthi.

-Rialtas-

Seeing that Kalarix didn't seem to want to talk about whatever it was that was bothering him, Rialtas moved aside a little and let him have some space. Phaedron went out to talk with a couple of merchants who had just passed by, and the boys were left alone.

Alnair nudged Rialtas. "I don't know quite what to make of this – do you?" he asked. Rialtas rarely saw his older brother looking worried, but he could sense that Alnair was uncomfortable all the same.

"Not quite," he admitted. "Of course, there's nothing exactly suspicious about a Nobyl having happened to turn up, but still…"

"We never had much contact with the Westchoice family, as I remember," Alnair remarked. "Of course we always were – different from lots of the other Nobyls – "

"Different? What do you mean?"

"Oh, never mind," Alnair said. He glanced at Kalarix, who was beginning on his stew. "Why don't I get some stew for us too, and we can join Kalarix? I'm a bit hungry." Rialtas agreed, but he was still lost in thought.

As Alnair went out to the kitchen, Rialtas caught the sound of voices in the hall. Glancing out, he saw Zara talking with a man who was veiled in shadow – another guest? One of the merchants? Who was he? All Rialtas' suspicions were aroused, but he sat where he was, knowing that Zara would surely be able to handle it.

-Zara-

Arran had hardly stepped outside the door before there was a muffled thump. Zara yanked the door open again – it hadn't seen so much opening and closing in years, she thought ironically – and saw a figure collapse across the threshold. Arran, of course, came straight back inside.

"All the world seems to be collapsing in this cottage tonight!" Zara exclaimed, not trying to keep back her irritation. "There is an inn in the village -" Then she broke off. The figure was injured.

"Oh, poor thing!" she whispered. The person was evidently unconscious, lying without moving. He or she – Zara wasn't sure – was dressed in a peasant top and pants, and looked like an average inhabitant of the village. But any of the good-natured, kindly peasants in the village would be safely at home at this hour – it was dark already – and not roaming the pine woods and falling unconcious over doorsteps.

Arran bent over the figure.

"He looks in a bad way," he muttered. "I'd best take him to the village and find a healer, else there could be an infection. I'd treat him myself, but I don't have the equipment – and you don't know how to do such things?"

"Of course I do!" Zara exclaimed, offended, but she relaxed when Arran's expression changed to one of contriteness. "But we just can't keep him here. Kalarix is probably going to stay here for the night, and we've only one guest room. And we don't have anything in the house to feed him with until Father goes to the village tomorrow."

Arran nodded. "Then I'll take him to the village. I have a spare horse that he can lie on until we get there." He glanced around. "I wonder what happened to him… Anyway, I'll be back tomorrow and let you know how he's getting on."

Carrying the limp figure, he went outside the cottage and in a moment was lost to view among the pines.

=Kalam=

Kalam, however, gave no sign that he recognized Terven pur Arthi. "Ah, travelers like myself," he said easily. "It's a good thing to be out of the forest on a night like this. So many thanks, ma'am. It's not every person who would give such hospitality."

"Aye, we're travelers," Terven replied – a trifle defensively, Kalam noticed. "My sister and I are going to meet some relatives in the city near here."

A likely story! thought Kalam. "I see," he said. "You have relatives in Evranel, then?"

The girl lifted her head again and spoke. "Yes," she said. "Rather high-up, in case you were wondering, but nothing very elite. My cousin invited us to stay for a while."

"It's a beautiful city," Kalam commented. "Where do you come from?"

Terven was starting to look bothered by all these questions. He moved over to stand by the fire himself. "South of Kyngdom," he said shortly.

Kalam nodded and was silent. If only the old woman would leave them alone now…! He was sure of Terven's identity. There could be no mistaking that Nobyl pose, unchangeable through years of practice, or the singular defiance and pride in the girl's eyes, or in the way Terven looked. He was older now, to be sure, than in the likenesses Kalam had seen of him, but still.

After a few moments, the old woman set out some cups of a warm, spicy beverage for her guests – and left. Kalam, relieved, went over and picked up one of the cups. Then he turned towards the young man again, smiling. "Well, if we are to be in the same house tonight, we might as well be friendly," he said. "What's your name? Terven pur Arthi, I believe?"

I've been following along for a while now, but I thought I might join!

Name: Scipio pur Keteque

Pronouns: he/him

Age: 12 (a little young, yes I know)

Appearance: short, pale, short black hair with long bangs, brilliant blue-green eyes, likes to wear dark colored clothes, one feather earing.

Personality: Cocky, arrogant, determined, mischevious, brave, reckless, and impulsive.  

Strengths/weaknesses: Is really good at throwing knives and darts, can pickpocket, is full of himself, and thinks he is at the top of the world.

Home: Long Gate. 

Which Nobyl family is he/she from? You can invent your own branch of the Nobyls: Keteque. He is from a side branch of the Keteque family. 

Background: An only child with two doting parents, he wasn't as rich as you'd expect a branch of the Keteque family to be. Growing up in Long Gate, Scipio was allowed to do whatever he wanted. His parents' money slowly dwindled over time, as they continued to buy their son out of whatever mess he'd caused, each time getting bigger and bigger. Hoping it would keep Scipio out of trouble, they sent him to man with a good reputation of training soldiers. While his parents used up the last of their money throwing parties, they didn't know that the man was training Scipio to be an assasain. At age 11, he had killed more than he could count. Coming back home and haunted by nightmares, he found his parents dead and their manor completely destroyed. He's been on the streets ever since, thieving to make a living.