Ambrose Phivyre | 23 | M | Nightcoil Servant | Mentions: Nightcoil heirs, Mordecai Nightcoil, Manjushri Whitethorn [Indir.]

The journey to the Conclave Inn had been arduous at best, not only were all three heirs attending, there was an awful lot for Ambrose to ensure was brought along with them. A repertoire of clothing, Mordecai’s weapons that he never parted with, offerings for the ancestors, and most importantly the skins. Ambrose himself had carried the Nightcoil skins whenever the heirs needed to rest on their journey, never letting them out of his sight, clasped firmly in his gloved hands until the heirs awoke to reclaim their respective skins.

Once the Nightcoils had been settled into their quarters, Ambrose’s job had only just begun. He had organised the unloading of their items, set about finding adequate additional furnishings that had been requested, and familiarised himself with the Inn.

He had not been here himself, for the last time a gathering took place he was merely 13 and still in training. Now he had the honour of accompanying his masters to arguably the most important event of their lives. It gave the servant pride to be in attendance, to ensure his House is presented in the most magnificent manner.

After crumpling into his bed the night prior, Ambrose had slept like a newborn babe, not a single stirring in the night. The faintest brightening of dawn awoke the man and he set about his usual routine. Quick and efficient, Ambrose slipped into his attire. A tailored black dress shirt and slacks, perfectly polished dress shoes to match. He stood before the mirror and fixed the collar broach to his neck, a silver encasement of the Nightcoil emblem with cufflinks to match. Being a loyal servant to the Nightcoil House for so long had its perks, he was no food server nor cleaner, he was valuable. Or at least, as valuable as a servant could aspire to be.

His morning had been busy, darting from place to place and giving instructions to the rest of the Nightcoil help that had also been escorted to the gathering. Now, he was settled beside the breakfast layout, standing with his hand behind his back and surveying the room as the heirs trickled in. Ambrose kept himself in fine nick, his hair pushed back out of his face, clean and all cut corners. What he couldn’t help was the darkened circles beneath his eyes that he was never able to remedy, his face hovered on the edge of looking gaunt, but his eyes were bright.

Spotting the eldest Nightcoil heir, he kept his gaze steady as Mordecai cast his expert eye across the room. Only when that stoic expression flickered did Ambrose change his own, unable to hide the confusion and intrigue as he followed the young master’s line of sight. It landed on a Whitethorn, more specifically, Manjushri Whitethorn. Ambrose had made sure to memorise the attendees at this gathering by name and by face, just in case his masters needed a gentle reminder of who was who and what power they held in their palms. He doubted they would need his aid, but he was always prepared.

Hyzenthlay Valerian Goldmere | 28 | F | Unbound | Goldmere | Second Eldest Heir | Mentions: Goldmere Siblings [Indir.] Dining room gathering [Indir.] Eden Goldmere [Dir.]

Sleep had come to the second born twin. It was not peaceful and it was not restful. It had forced her to endure a barrage of memories, almost horrifying enough to be nightmares. The glee of a child being able to attend the gathering, the feel of her great aunt’s skin in her fingers, the thick fur calming as she knelt for the ritual. Then the jarring agony of rejection, her kin punishing her for even attempting to bind to her heritage. The raw emotion that came from that pelt was overwhelming, enough to crush her physical form. The white hot terror from her ancestors had ripped her to shreds inside and out.

Hyzenthlay awoke with a start, jolting upright in the plush blankets of her four poster bed. Her long hair a stringy mess at her shoulders as her chest rose and fell in quick succession, eyes bright with panic. Then she recognised the room and the fear slowly faded, not entirely gone, it still lingered. She had to attempt again. She refused to be left in the shadows as her brother sprung around without a care in the world.

She remembered watching Harlan complete his ritual when he was merely 8 years old, the same as her, but he barely blinked and the skin secured itself to him like it was always meant to be there. It added another kind of pain, it was like a dagger to her heart, one that tore it right down the centre and it never stopped bleeding. Even now, Hyzenthlay would see that shining smile of young Harlan as he twirled around in excitement, the joy from her parents as they ran to him and celebrated. Proclaiming him to be magnificent, all whilst Haze lay with the maid. Battered, broken and bleeding in the background while Harlan giggled without a care in the world.

Perhaps it was childish to envy the admiration he had received, after all that joy from their parents had faded once Harlan had rejected his duties as he grew older. Suddenly, they turned to her with expectations that she would take his place. She couldn’t refuse, it was what she was supposed to do. Even if she wanted to join Harlan out there in the wide world, she kept herself holed up in The Warren, their family estate.

The maids made quick work of Hyzenthlay, they had been assigned to her for ten years now, they knew exactly what to do. The two women secured the graceful gown around their lady. Fastening the corseted bodice well and tidying up the gentle frills of lace at the ends of the billowing arms. It was a delicate piece of light fawn brown with darker boning and details. Modest but certainly meant to make a point of her standing within the family. Her hair was brought up into its usual style, the curls tied back with a few pieces framing her face. She did not use make up, it took too long to apply and she had forbidden its use on her many years ago.

Hyzenthlay did not fret over the scents of the other families as she floated down the hallway of the third floor, it was overpowering to think about the amount of people here. In particular, the acrid tinge of the predator families set her teeth on edge. It was rather panic-inducing to think about the fact that the Goldmere’s were the most frail line, not only in the amount of bonded members, but in their essence. Their rabbit bloodline was nothing in the face of the other prey, they stood tall and mighty, and then the predators were well, exactly that, predators. Even worse for Hyzenthlay specifically, with her twisted spine, slanted shoulders and crippled limbs, she was the easiest prey of them all. She was determined not to appear that way.

She entered the hall without a fuss and cast her eyes around the room briefly, taking note of who was milling around. Haze was making a concentrated effort to keep her knees from buckling, the joints were already sore from the short walk down the stairs. It was surprising to see Eden already settling into his meal, he was looking down at his breakfast with a small smile. It warmed her heart to see her sibling looking so elegant and refined. She didn’t have much time to talk with them back at home, too busy organising their affairs. But perhaps here she could spend a little more time with both Eden and Ivory.

Her own breakfast consisted of a small bread roll, a cup of tea and a rather radiant looking red apple. Hyzenthlay began to approach Eden with a small, soft smile on her lips, walking in front of the servant that carried her meal. She paused before him and tipped her head slightly.

“Good morning, Eden. Do you mind if I sit with you a while?” She questioned, she would walk away if her sibling preferred, she always asked their two youngest siblings what they wanted.

Rune Greyholt | 26 | Bonded | Greyholt - Eldest Heir | Mentions: Siblings, those in the breakfast hall.

Getting to the Inn was uneventful for the eldest heir of the Greyholt family. He had made sure his younger siblings had gotten there safely as well. His demeanor had always remained uncaring and stoic, but the man would be lying if he said he didn’t love the two. He;d do whatever it took for those two to be okay.

Black trousers were pulled over muscle-bond legs as he dressed quick enough, heading to the dining area only after he buttons his black silk shirt and made sure to wear his boots. He hadn’t quite had a moment to himself since coming home, having done taken over on planning and getting his house to the Gathering.

Surprisingly light footfalls came from him as he entered the dining hall, and took a seat at the far end of the table where there was an opening. He was careful not to bump into anyone as his burly form sat in the chair gingerly, and he quietly asked for a cup of coffee, along with a simple breakfast from one of the servants.

Ophelia Sinclair | 23 | Human| Whitehorn - Servant/Betrothed | Mentions: Manjushri

Of course,on a day that she was meant to be early, Ophelia had to have been late to breakfast. It was her own fault, really. She’d been up a little later than intended, worrying over making the best impression on Manjushri’s behalf. This was, after all, the first others would hear and see of their engagement. She wondered how much of a show the Whitehorn heir would wish to put on?

As she was still a servant, she’d no idea if she was allowed to help the other servants in serving breakfast, or if she should solely focus on the sham engagement at hand. The very thought had her stomach doing flips. She knew Manjushri had no interest in her, and though he was so kind to her, it would never end in the type of love she wished he held for her, as she did him.

Ophelia had dressed in a simple gown that was the very signature of Whitehorn colors, and did her hair neatly in a half up-do before she made her way hurriedly to the dining hall. She slid to a halt at Manjushri’s side and gave him a sheepish grin. “I am so sorry to be late,” She whispered gently to her dear friend.

Seraphina | 24 | Not bonded | Secondborn of House Nightcoil| Mentions: Other heirs, Reverie (Ind.) Mordecai (Dir.)

‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻·𖥸·༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙

The second heir to the Nightcoil House slept easy with the dusk and woke easy in time with the dawn, as she always did. Seraphina had always forced herself to follow the sun's rhythm, primarily to maintain a number of appearances, but also because she liked to be known as a creature of habit. Unlike her brother - all dark undereyes and stiffness after an evening kept awake by his thoughts - her nightly repose was dedicated solely to her beauty sleep: keeping her mind steeled and sharp, her skin soft and spotless. And unlike her sister - airheaded and distracted by a number of experimental thoughts, sometimes even into the late night - she couldn't be paid to spend evening hours tinkering away, and instead left her own forms of those impulsive thoughts all to the daytime. Sleeping was just another thing to control, and she did so with a precision.

Part of the reason she could appear so quiet in public was due to her preference for her own thoughts over others', in truth. She spent the morning organising them like palpable documents, caching notible ones for the day ahead and casting foolish ones aside. Seraphina would've liked to believe that being around the other heirs and families would pique her interest so much as to pay attention to them - perhaps even engaging in conversation - but even entering their shared quarters had her practically scowling through gritted teeth. There were very few faces she wasn't indifferent about seeing, even few who's voices she could tolerate right now, and those select few... She didn't want to have to deal with anyone outside of her family. At least not until Mordecai and herself had gained their Skins and she could move onwards from the last few years.

It was time this verse ended.

Seraphina slipped from her bed without a sound, moving straight to adorning her face with makeup, sliding on her jewelry, then shifting attention to her hair and clothing. She wore a smart tweed two-peice suit, coloured a burnt maroon and gold to match the shimmering tones of her eyeshadow. Her rings and serpent shaped earrings matched the gold tones to perfection; everything about her appearance managed to a flawless degree. It took her mere minutes to place her hair in an up-do pinned with a golden house crest hairpiece, and she paused to do some final adjustments in the mirror, eyes narrowed and uninterested. On anyone else, this outfit would look far overdone for a simple breakfast. But on Seraphina, it was more of the usual: expensive, extravagant, her only real form of outward expression. To those that knew her, her form showed signs of discomfort in details: the dark red tones, the tighter than usual up-do... Those that didn't would never see past the sophisticatedly styled figure - the Beauty of House Nightcoil.

She cast a minor glance to the wall that stood between her and her siblings. They would likely be at, or be on their way to, breakfast. And she ought to join them. Seraphina entered the room with little ceremony, sourcing her breakfast from a wandering servant and settling herself at the table, vaguely in the vicinity of her elder brother. She wasn't in the mood for pleasantries yet, at least not until she had eaten something to offset the empty feeling of her stomach that likely had her on edge. Rev - per usual - didn't seem to be around though Seraphina did hope she would show her face sometime this morning. If not for her own benefit, then for 'appearances'. Only she of the three Nightcoil siblings had a Skin of their own, but Seraphina felt the other families could do with a reminder that they were not all a bitter disappointment.

Her dear brother, Mordy... Seraphina couldn't pretend she'd ever know what her brother was thinking. That said, she could take a fair guess on the region: his eyes flicker between his papers and the bustle of the room around him and she follows his swift glances with a look of her own. It's intimidating to have one pair of Nightcoil eyes on you, let alone a pair. She likes the thought of that, she wonders if Mordecai appreciates their intimidating looks as much as she does. She'd like to peek into his brain, just this once, and get a scope of what he could be thinking about all this. The other families, their heirs, the upcoming events... They never do much speaking. And when they do it would never be as personal as expressing one's opinion.

Although this was a special occasion-

"Mordecai! Come sit." She doesn't need to raise her voice much above the sounds of the room - her voice is confident and carries easily. She pats the seat besides her with a perfectly manicured hand before beginning to eat her breakfast.