Royal Decree Mod Account (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
royaldecreemods) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
rosavelle2025-10-30 12:15 pm
royaldecreemods) wrote in rosavelle2025-10-30 12:15 pm
Entry tags:
Welcome to Rosavelle!
INVITATION
You're going about your day when you notice an envelope that most certainly wasn't there before. It's beautiful, if a little old-fashioned: pale pink paper, sealed with a pressed flower instead of wax and your name written in looping cursive that shimmers faintly in the light.
Inside, the letter begins;
... It goes on like that for a while, whole paragraphs assuring you that you can leave whenever you want, no time will pass back in your world, the Everbloom's magic will keep you safe, etc etc… honestly it gets to the point that it starts to sound less like an invitation and more like a contract. But then, mercifully, the writer finds their footing again:
Maybe you accept right away or maybe you dismiss it as a prank or something equally unimportant. No matter what you think when you first read it, your mind eventually turns back to that invite and your find yourself thinking that it might not be a bad idea…
And once you do, you feel the world going soft and sweet around you, the scent of blooming flowers filling your nose - and before you can quite process what's happening, you realize you've accepted.
Inside, the letter begins;
- Dearest friend—
Goodness, I hope that isn't too forward. We've not met, after all. But I have been told that when one writes an invitation, it's important to sound sincere.
My name is Calanthe Rosabella Petalia de Amoré. I am the Crown Princess of Rosavelle. It's a little island kingdom far, far away - so far that it may not exist quite in the same world as yours.
I know this must sound terribly strange, but I'm writing because I need your help. You see, my coronation is approaching soon, and Rosavelle's magic - the Everbloom - responds to the strength of one's heart. It's said that a ruler must understand love to truly awaken it. Not just romance, mind you, but all kinds of love: friendship, kindness, care.
The trouble is… I'm not very good at it. I've read so many books about love, but real people don't seem to follow the same rules the novels do.
That is why I'm writing to you. The Everbloom - our most ancient and wondrous magic - has granted me the means to reach across worlds. I'm inviting a handful of remarkable individuals, like you, to Rosavelle to help me learn. Not only to teach me what love means to you, but to help me see how it can bloom between friends, companions, and strangers alike.
I promise you'll be treated as an honored guest.
... It goes on like that for a while, whole paragraphs assuring you that you can leave whenever you want, no time will pass back in your world, the Everbloom's magic will keep you safe, etc etc… honestly it gets to the point that it starts to sound less like an invitation and more like a contract. But then, mercifully, the writer finds their footing again:
- If you'll come, I'd be so very grateful. I know this is a strange request, and you owe me nothing - but still, I hope you'll consider it. Rosavelle is beautiful this time of year, and it is my hope that seeing it alongside fresh eyes will allow me to see it more clearly as well.
With all my thanks (and my hopes!)—
Princess Calanthe Rosabella Petalia de Amoré
Maybe you accept right away or maybe you dismiss it as a prank or something equally unimportant. No matter what you think when you first read it, your mind eventually turns back to that invite and your find yourself thinking that it might not be a bad idea…
And once you do, you feel the world going soft and sweet around you, the scent of blooming flowers filling your nose - and before you can quite process what's happening, you realize you've accepted.
ARRIVAL
You arrive in a haze of soft, rosy light. For a moment, everything is weightless - the air around you hums faintly, thick with warmth and the heady scent of flowers. When the haze fades, you find yourself standing beneath a vast glass dome that stretches impossibly high overhead. The light filtering through its pink-tinted panes paints everything in gentle rose and gold and petals drift through the air like drifting snow.
You are standing in the Everbloom's Greenhouse. The walls curve upward in graceful arches, every pane glimmering faintly and the air is warm, fragrant, and shimmering with faint motes of magic. Flowering vines climb the supports, colorful blossoms of all kinds spill from hanging baskets, and everywhere you look there's flowers, flowers, flowers.
At its heart stands the Everbloom, a colossal tree the likes of which you've never seen before. Its smooth trunk is faintly luminous and the canopy stretches so high that you can't see where it ends, vanishing into a haze of golden light and drifting petals. The air around it hums softly with power and for a moment, all you can do is stare up at it in awe.
A moment later, movement stirs: castle attendants glide forward in elegant uniforms, carrying towels, refreshments, and generally doing their best to make sure everyone's arrived safely. After all, you're not alone. Around you, other figures begin to appear - some blinking in wonder, some already steady on their feet. Each seems as out of place as you, drawn from distant worlds and disparate lives but under the rosy light they all seem to come together like flowers gathered into the same bouquet.
Those who stumble are gently guided toward a bench cushioned with flowering moss. Cool towels and drinks infused with rose and mint are offered freely. Eventually, once it seems like everyone's arrived and mostly gotten their bearings, one of the attendants - a lady-in-waiting as you'll eventually find out - speaks up.
"You are most welcome to Rosavelle," she says, dipping into a polite bow. "Their Princess will be hosting a banquet this evening to greet you all properly. Until then, please take your time to get settled and familiar with your surroundings. If you need anything at all, do not hesitate to ask."
For now, you're free to mingle. This is your chance to get your bearings, meet your fellow arrivals, and explore your surroundings. Beyond the main atrium, you can glimpse winding paths lined with blooming hedges and fat, colorful blossoms. Somewhere in the distance, you can faintly hear birdsong. You feel a little tug somewhere in your chest and if you follow it, you might just come across a flowerbed somewhere in the Greenhouse that you somehow know as your own.
After some time to mingle and acclimate, the attendants return, clapping their hands gently to draw attention.
"It's nearly time to prepare for the evening banquet! If you'll come with us, we'll see to your attire."
DRESS UP
You're led from the warmth of the greenhouse through a series of winding marble corridors until you're ushered through a set of grand double doors into a suite of guest rooms bustling with motion. Tailors, stylists, and attendants hurry between privacy screens, racks of lavish garments and trays piled high with glittering jewelry. Silks and satins gleam and lace and velvet catch the light in soft waves of color.
Tailors and stylists bustle about, armed with measuring tapes, pins, and brushes. The staff are cheerfully firm about making sure everyone looks their best for the banquet but nobody's forced into anything they don't want; the attendants listen to everyone's preferences and somehow find something flattering for even the most reluctant participant. Whether you comply with good humor or grumble through the process, it's impossible not to get swept up in the flurry of preparation. … of course, if you're determined to be a grump about the whole thing, you're welcome to wait outside until everyone's dressed up nicely.
The attendants encourage everyone to chatter as they work or even to lend a hand to another guest struggling with their ensemble. Maybe it's out of curiosity - the staff are polite, professional, but it's clear that dressing guests from other worlds is a novelty they want to enjoy.
As final adjustments are made and mirrors fill with transformed reflections, the bustle slowly quiets. Attendants exchange satisfied looks, then guide the group once more through the corridors. The faint strains of music drift down the corridors until at last, you find yourself before the towering double doors of the Azurite Banquet Hall, carved from the stone it takes its name from. The lady in waiting pauses just long enough to smooth a wrinkle here, adjust a collar there, and make sure everyone is present before pushing the doors open.
Tailors and stylists bustle about, armed with measuring tapes, pins, and brushes. The staff are cheerfully firm about making sure everyone looks their best for the banquet but nobody's forced into anything they don't want; the attendants listen to everyone's preferences and somehow find something flattering for even the most reluctant participant. Whether you comply with good humor or grumble through the process, it's impossible not to get swept up in the flurry of preparation. … of course, if you're determined to be a grump about the whole thing, you're welcome to wait outside until everyone's dressed up nicely.
The attendants encourage everyone to chatter as they work or even to lend a hand to another guest struggling with their ensemble. Maybe it's out of curiosity - the staff are polite, professional, but it's clear that dressing guests from other worlds is a novelty they want to enjoy.
As final adjustments are made and mirrors fill with transformed reflections, the bustle slowly quiets. Attendants exchange satisfied looks, then guide the group once more through the corridors. The faint strains of music drift down the corridors until at last, you find yourself before the towering double doors of the Azurite Banquet Hall, carved from the stone it takes its name from. The lady in waiting pauses just long enough to smooth a wrinkle here, adjust a collar there, and make sure everyone is present before pushing the doors open.
BANQUET
The Azurite Banquet Hall glows with warm candlelight reflected in polished marble floors and the air inside smells of wine and roses. Long tables stretch the length of the hall, each one dressed in embroidered runners and heaped with platters of food that look almost too beautiful to eat and in the corner, a string quartet plays a soft, lilting melody.
At the head of the room stands your host, Princess Calanthe Rosabella Petalia de Amoré. Draped in pale gold, they look every bit the part of a royal... though the slightly nervous way they adjust their posture speaks of someone not entirely at ease in the spotlight. When they catch sight of the assembled guests, though, they brighten a bit. Their hands are clasped too tightly around their wine glass, but their voice is bright and earnest.
... suddenly, they look sheepish.
They raise their glass, cheeks pink but eyes bright.
As the toast echoes through the hall, the music swells again - a graceful waltz this time - and attendants sweep forward to usher guests toward the buffet tables.
There's something for every palate: platters of lemon-butter shrimp and rosemary-crusted fish, seared scallops on saffron rice and fillets of calendula-cured salmon alongside oysters resting in crushed ice and lobsters cracked open beside dishes of herb butter. It's not all seafood, either - whole roasted ducks glazed in something fruity dot the table, alongside lamb, chicken and a mouthwatering roast beef.
Between the platters, bowls of vegetables offer roasted root vegetables glistening with sweet glaze, delicate salads strewn with edible petals, caramelized carrots, blistered cherry tomatoes and crisp greens grown. And, of course, baskets of warm, golden bread wait beside whipped butter and creamy sauces.
If you're in the mood for sweets, there's desserts in dizzying abundance: sugared fruit tarts, meringues shaped like blossoms, chocolate soufflés dusted with candied violet, and pastries of all kinds filled with custard, chocolate and all manner of fruity, flowery fillings.
A side table gleams with crystal decanters and goblets: bottles of wine, deeply colored mead and delicate floral liqueurs seem to be the alcoholic offerings but there's carafes of chilled fruit water steeped with mint for anyone who's not inclined towards spirits.
If you're feeling bold, the cleared space near the musicians makes a perfect dance floor. Perhaps you find yourself drawn into a dance, or perhaps you linger at the buffet, trading stories with a stranger over a shared plate of sugared pastries. Or maybe you'll take the opportunity to introduce yourself to your host now they've made an appearance.
Eventually, as the night wears thin, the quartet's melody softens to a gentle hum. Candlelight flickers low. The attendants appear once more, smiling as they begin to guide everyone toward the final stop of the evening.
At the head of the room stands your host, Princess Calanthe Rosabella Petalia de Amoré. Draped in pale gold, they look every bit the part of a royal... though the slightly nervous way they adjust their posture speaks of someone not entirely at ease in the spotlight. When they catch sight of the assembled guests, though, they brighten a bit. Their hands are clasped too tightly around their wine glass, but their voice is bright and earnest.
- "Ah - good evening, everyone! I - well, goodness, where does one even begin?
First of all, thank you. Truly, thank you all for coming here - to Rosavelle, and to me. I know this must all seem terribly strange - one moment you were in your own world, and the next you're here. It's strange to me too, you know. I've been imagining this for weeks, and yet somehow it still doesn't feel quite real.
Ah - oh! I suppose I should introduce myself properly. My name is Calanthe Rosabella Petalia de Amoré. I am the Crown Princess of Rosavelle, soon to be its sovereign, though I admit that still feels a little surreal to say aloud.
I invited you here because - well, I imagine all of you read your invitations. The Everbloom, our kingdom's oldest and most sacred magic, is bound to the heart and mine is… embarrassingly, quite uneducated in such matters. I couldn't imagine anyone in this world I could burden with such a problem and so I thought - perhaps - those who come from other worlds might help me."
... suddenly, they look sheepish.
- "That said, ah - there is a small complication. It is. Um. Frowned upon by most scholars to interfere with the affairs of other worlds, even with the best of intentions and I fear it would cause quite a stir if word got out. So for the time being, we'll need to keep your origins a secret. Please don't worry, though - we've arranged everything you'll need. Over the next month, we'll be teaching you about Rosavelle and all its customs so that when you venture out for the Wilting festival, you'll feel quite at home.
I realize that's rather a lot to ask, and I'm - well, I'm deeply grateful for your patience. I promise to do my best to make this worth your while.
So, once again, thank you. For answering my invitation. For being here, together, tonight.
Now then-"
They raise their glass, cheeks pink but eyes bright.
- "To new beginnings, and to the bonds we have yet to form. May they bloom as beautifully as the flowers of Rosavelle... oh, that sounded quite good, didn't it? A toast - to all of you!"
As the toast echoes through the hall, the music swells again - a graceful waltz this time - and attendants sweep forward to usher guests toward the buffet tables.
There's something for every palate: platters of lemon-butter shrimp and rosemary-crusted fish, seared scallops on saffron rice and fillets of calendula-cured salmon alongside oysters resting in crushed ice and lobsters cracked open beside dishes of herb butter. It's not all seafood, either - whole roasted ducks glazed in something fruity dot the table, alongside lamb, chicken and a mouthwatering roast beef.
Between the platters, bowls of vegetables offer roasted root vegetables glistening with sweet glaze, delicate salads strewn with edible petals, caramelized carrots, blistered cherry tomatoes and crisp greens grown. And, of course, baskets of warm, golden bread wait beside whipped butter and creamy sauces.
If you're in the mood for sweets, there's desserts in dizzying abundance: sugared fruit tarts, meringues shaped like blossoms, chocolate soufflés dusted with candied violet, and pastries of all kinds filled with custard, chocolate and all manner of fruity, flowery fillings.
A side table gleams with crystal decanters and goblets: bottles of wine, deeply colored mead and delicate floral liqueurs seem to be the alcoholic offerings but there's carafes of chilled fruit water steeped with mint for anyone who's not inclined towards spirits.
If you're feeling bold, the cleared space near the musicians makes a perfect dance floor. Perhaps you find yourself drawn into a dance, or perhaps you linger at the buffet, trading stories with a stranger over a shared plate of sugared pastries. Or maybe you'll take the opportunity to introduce yourself to your host now they've made an appearance.
Eventually, as the night wears thin, the quartet's melody softens to a gentle hum. Candlelight flickers low. The attendants appear once more, smiling as they begin to guide everyone toward the final stop of the evening.
HOUSEWARMING
The banquet winds to a gentle close and ne by one, the guests are gathered once more by the castle attendants who lead the way through dimly glowing corridors. The halls are quieter now, the rosy light of evening filtering through stained glass in sleepy shades of pink and gold. Everyone is lead through the castles and out into the grounds, their splendor only a little dulled by the darkness starting to settle over the castle.
"Your lodgings are just ahead," the lady in waiting says, her voice hushed out of respect for the hour. "You've each been assigned to a house - named for the flowers that chose you."
Slowly but surely, everyone's names are called and each person is supplied a heavy brass key to a house named for a flower you may have seen blooming somewhere today. When they speak the name of your house, something in you stirs with faint, inexplicable recognition, like you know it already - or maybe it knows you.
In any case, the barracks themselves are nothing like the name implies: warm, inviting, and softly lit by enchanted lanterns. Each house has its own cozy common area where low couches and plush chairs are gathered around softly glowing hearths. A long table in the center has been set with some late-night comforts, in case you somehow have any room left in your belly - plates of fruit and pastries, steaming pots of tea, and rich cocoa dusted with rose sugar.
The attendants leave you to settle in for the night, with a promise that the barracks staff will prepare meals from tomorrow onwards but mostly, you'll be left to your own devices. You could just track down your room and crash for the night but now seems as good a time as any to get to know your new housemates.
"Your lodgings are just ahead," the lady in waiting says, her voice hushed out of respect for the hour. "You've each been assigned to a house - named for the flowers that chose you."
Slowly but surely, everyone's names are called and each person is supplied a heavy brass key to a house named for a flower you may have seen blooming somewhere today. When they speak the name of your house, something in you stirs with faint, inexplicable recognition, like you know it already - or maybe it knows you.
In any case, the barracks themselves are nothing like the name implies: warm, inviting, and softly lit by enchanted lanterns. Each house has its own cozy common area where low couches and plush chairs are gathered around softly glowing hearths. A long table in the center has been set with some late-night comforts, in case you somehow have any room left in your belly - plates of fruit and pastries, steaming pots of tea, and rich cocoa dusted with rose sugar.
The attendants leave you to settle in for the night, with a promise that the barracks staff will prepare meals from tomorrow onwards but mostly, you'll be left to your own devices. You could just track down your room and crash for the night but now seems as good a time as any to get to know your new housemates.
A
That's the nicest understatement going through Ranma's mind seeing Bulat's messed up state. His eyes and mind were already mentally assessing the damage. Stab wounds, puncture markings and coughing up blood leads him with a simple prognosis of not fucking good.
Body moving automatically, Ranma was prepared to sling this guy's over his shoulder and get him to the nearest doc...
Until he cracks that grin and open his mouth. Cue the deadpan stare and the blunt:]
Call me crazy, but I don't think love's fixin' that, man.
[This isn't like that fairy tale with the frog and the princess.
... and if it is, ranma's calling not it on kissing.]
no subject
Sure about that? Seems right in the wheelhouse of a legendary flower princess.
[ Were all of them good miracles? Absolutely not, he would have much less of this whole blood situation if that were the case. He's in a lot of pain, but he's not going to spend what might be the last moments of his life not savoring being alive. ]
And if it doesn't, this doesn't seem like a bad place to die.
no subject
That don't mean he won't judge someone for pretending to be at peace. Like a hypocrite.]
You're not wrong, it is a pretty place. I'm sure the princess'll appreciate it if ya' didn't bleed out all over it.
[Also, bleeding out is a sucky way to die. Messaging the middle of his forehead, Ranma saunters over calmly to the kneeling man and-]
C'mon, up and at 'em, Charming.
[Slings Bulat's arm over his shoulder, and starts treading to. Find an infirmary? Magic doctor? One or the other or both.]
no subject
[ For the second time in the space of about ten minutes, Bulat hands over his weight to a heroic young man, leaning further and further on Ranma when it becomes clear that he's up to the task. He's paying attention to his center of gravity, and shifting now and then to avoid being figurative or literal dead weight. ]
Name's Bulat. But you can keep on calling me Charming if you like.
[ He's having to take deep breaths between words. This isn't going to stop him from talking. He's fairly sure that if he loses focus and falls unconscious, he won't wake up at all. ]
no subject
[Bulat's pitching in proves unnecessary, Ranma isn't struggling to support him, but nevertheless appreciated in making the trip easier. That doesn't spare Bulat from a bombastic side eye at the joke.
Monotoned and flat:]
Oh no, my grip's slipping. [It isn't. If Bulat's wounds weren't as disastrous as they appear, Ranma might've dropped him for real. Or fake it for a split second. All that spewing up blood from whatever poison's coursing through the other man's system is what keeps Ranma's joke just that: a joke.] Ranma.
[Dammit, he feels like pork breath. Where's the nearest infirmary in this place? In the meantime, while they're searching, Ranma decides to ask the big burning question he should've asked sooner.]
The hell happened to you, by the way? Besides the blood poisoning thing, I mean.
[Cause all those wounds and battle damage to the freaking armor don't line up with poisoning.]
no subject
As for Ranma's grip "slipping" - Bulat doesn't mind being the target of a joke, and he laughs weakly until he's interrupted by another unpleasantly solid coughing fit. ]
The man I was fighting could control water. I weathered his flashier attacks, thought I had him worn out, but he had an ace up his sleeve - a secret move called Blades Of Blood.
[ It's a very cool story. He might as well tell it if it's the last thing he does. Shame he can't give it more gravitas, but it's not like he had rehearsal time on this. ]
no subject
Ranma listens in to the man's anecdote, giving a sympathetic wince at the first half. People've used water before, the old mummy and Mousse coming to mind, but they weren't full on hydrokinesis as Bulat's making it sound.]
And those 'blades' are what messed ya' up. [Rhetorical question, it's a captain obvious uh-doy with a name like that.] You're takin' being poisoned better than most guys.
[They aren't nearly as cavalier like Bulat's acting. The similarities between the two of them keep on stacking, Bulat should trade out the pompadour for his pigtail to fool people into thinking he's him.
Eventually, the pair'll spot somebody patrolling the corridors of the castle. They look important enough (and have a stronger lay of the land than Ranma) for Ranma to approach with a near-corpse.] Yo, this dude could use a doc.
[It's almost comical how blasé, slightly cheery Ranma asked in contrast to the servant's face blanching a ghastly color in abject horror over Bulat's horrid state. "Right this way." They compose themself and leads to ushering the two men into a close by room, before stepping out to go flag down a proper healer.]
Fancy place they've got here, huh?
[Keeping the conversation going while they wait.]
no subject
Outside of the internal monologue, he says that leading a dangerous life means accepting the consequences, and then moves over into the future where rescue might be close at hand. The banter is keeping him focused. ]
Fancy and floral. I was expecting it to be a little like this, but not so much like this, you know?
[ Even in this sideroom, there are flower patterns in the decor from the rugs to the ceiling molding, plus a lilac bush pressed up against the window outside, plus somebody's forgotten book titled The Secret Language of Lilies: Part II. Not that Bulat can focus his eyes enough to read a book title at this point. ]
no subject
They really love their flowers 'round here, huh. Kinda excessive if you ask me.
[Nobody was, though that could be cause it's plain as day. Even the baroque bergère chair Ranma sat the injured man down in had roses etched into its design. On the bright side, that blood's close to the shade used in the leather enough to not stick out?]
no subject
There are worse hobbies to have; I'm sure you can think of a few.
no subject
[Without skipping a beat, face darkening into a grave expression and tone:]
Figure skating.
[... That. That's it. No further elaboration or context.]
no subject
Figure skating... over a frozen lake of skulls where they toy with the common people for their own amusement?!
no subject
[What.]
What? Nah, it's nowhere near as hardcore makin' it sound.
[Apart from attacking with the skate's blades, and getting most of your bones shattered to sawdust. That might be exclusive to Martial Arts Figure Skating.]
You got the 'toying with common people for their own amusement' part spot on though.
no subject
That's human nature... But it's also human nature to resist. You're a strong young man; did you give them what for with the skates?
no subject
You bet I did! All that womanizing jerk got to kiss after the match was the cold, hard floor when I kicked his butt! And a table. And whatever his half-pint brat walloped him with too.
[He was preoccupied with warming up with hot cocoa in the locker room, he only heard bits and pieces from Akane.]
no subject
Ha! I suppose if you're not fighting to the death, the pride's the worst place to cut someone like that.
no subject
He had it comin' after what he did to m- [Split second to catch himself, before backtracking:] -any chicks he smooched. What he was gonna do t' Akane too, before I showed him what for!
[Five-hundred punches was too lenient for a sleazeball like Mikado 'McHorny Sex Pest' Sanzenin.
The door to the sideroom gingerly opens, with presumably one of those magic healers the servant fetched for's head poking out. "Hello, somebody needed internal bleeding treated in here?"]
Blood poison, and yeah, this lug.
[Bobbing his head at Bulat.]
no subject
He waves cheerfully, if weakly, from the chair. ]
Yeah, that's mehrrrk, gakkk.
[ Another wave of blood violently exits his mouth. The healer activates in a panic and starts emptying their pockets. "We usually don't see poisoning cases like this, so I'm going to throw everything I have at your friend and see which one sticks." Everything they have, in this case, includes a tomato in a pot patterned with magic that makes it resist blight and several different tinctures intended for pets. Putting his hand directly on the tomato pot is weirdly effective. ]