pronouns: she/her

age: 26 years

hi! my name is grandemint, or as you all may know me: "grande" "mint" "minty" or "megs". all those nicknames are fine, and you are welcome to also call me by the names of my fc's! i am a girly pop, so you can refer to me as her/she.

i have a full time job and make it a priority to spend time with friends and family over rpr and mainly come on here for fun, so i will sometimes have slower replies. feel free to let me know if i'm taking a little too long.

• plotting remains in pms.

  • if we have known each other for over a month or so, and you have kkt or discord, i would be willing to plot there!

  • if not, we will stick to pms.

• preferred genres :

  • angst, romance, smut (i am particular with muns that i smut with, but you can always ask), drama, slice of life.

faceclaim: ahn hyoseop

birthday: (30 years)

residency: seltheris vale, thaloriel

ranking: magickal rights activist in the assembly of tides

first born

elarion, house of temptest

sexual orientation: bisexual

marital status: single

extroverted (but selective) and commands attention in court, choosing when to reveal himself. intuitive and sees patterns and manipulates systems with ease. he rules with logic and precision, feelings are compartmentalized or buried. judgement thrives on structure, discipline, and long-term vision.

"i don't need time to decide. i've already made the decision. i'm just waiting to see who dares to disagree."

✧ moral alignment: lawful evil — masked as lawful neutral

selairen follows a code, but it's his own, not society's. he believes in structure, law, and legacy because they gave him power, not because he inherently values fairness.

his actions often benefit the realm, but only because the realm is his to preserve, control, reshape, or bend to his will.

he's the kind of person who would:

• quietly rewrite someone's memory for their own "protection"

• sacrifice a rival to preserve magickal order, and sleep well after

• love you obsessively, possessively, and call it destiny.

• destroy a sacred object if it no longer served a purpose.

• pray, but only to remind the gods he's still watching them, too.

he's not misunderstood because he's secretly good. he's misunderstood because he's bad in all the right ways, wrapped in polish, silk and intellect. just enough to keep people running until it's far too late.

❖ temperament: choleric-melancholic

choleric: ambitious, dominant, sharp-witted, and proud.

melancholic: brooding, introspective, prone to obsessive thought and perfectionism.

he's the kind of man who'll spend all night rewriting a policy just to make the language hurt more.

✦ core traits

→ strengths

• charismatic: authoritative without trying; draws people in with sheer presence

• strategic: plays long games with frightening patience

• disciplined: total mastery of his craft and emotions... until they snap

• intelligent: fluent in ritual logic, magic law, diplomacy, and threat assessment

• protective (to a fault): if you belong to him, he will burn cities to keep you safe.

→ weaknesses

• possessive: sees love and loyalty as binding contracts.

• arrogant: believes he's the only one who can fix anything and resents needing others.

• emotionally repressed: doesn't allow vulnerability until it's twisted and rotted inside him.

• manipulative: will alter dreams, bind minds, or destroy careers without blinking.

• vindictive: never forgets a slight, even the ones you think he forgave.

→ good habits

• early riser, perfectly groomed

• writes by hand with immaculate penmanship

• prays (silently) in high selunari, just to prove he still can

• keeps his political enemies close, memorizing their patterns

• performs monthly audits of mythical ethics, not because he doubts himself, but because he knows everyone else will eventually.

→ bad habits

• keeps old letters and dream residue from former lovers

• redraws the same ritual sigil obsessively when agitated

• whispers arguments to himself before meetings, preparing not to win, but to annihilate

• self-isolates when he needs connection the most.

• yearns silently.

• sometimes listens to the voices in his head, and sometimes... obeys them.

  
  

→ likes

• lunar rituals conducted under total silence

• the taste of black tea brewed too strong

• power used elegantly

• control over every room he enters

• being underestimated- he finds it delicious

• the smell of ash after a ritual

• sacred objects that no longer serve anyone

• people who defy him intelligently.

→ dislikes

• arcano-tech (especially thaloriel innovations)

• disrespect disguised as freedom

• weakness framed as compassion

• the idea of forgiveness

• anyone touching what is his

• being told he was "made for more" by people who have never bled for it

→ secrets he'll share (in rare moments)

• that he sometimes dreams of drowning and likes it

• that he wanted to be a scholar, not a ruler

• that he envies the ones who believe the gods still answer prayers

→ secrets he keeps

• he knows who likely orchestrated his father's death

• he once broke the laws of moonbinding to see what someone truly feared, and he used it

• he is building something behind the assembly's back, a private codex of forbidden rites

• he believes the moon doesn't watch him anymore, but something else does

→ known fears

• losing control of his magic (or worse, enjoying it too much)

• being known fully, and then left

• that he's already become the thing his mother created him to fight

house elarion was less a bloodline and more a doctrine. in setheris vale, where silver ruins once whispered prophecy and sacred springs once healed the dying, they stood above all others. they authored law. they dictated magical conduct. they held claim to divine bloodline and acted like it.

the lowlands were changing, though. the sacred was being razed for the modern. great towers of light rose where moonstones once glowed. folklore, now sold as history, was paved over by progress. prophets hadn't walked this land in centuries. some whispered they never had.

selairen didn't care what others whispered. he believed in the sacred.. because it made him. and now, it was disappearing.

selairen sat beside her in courtrooms before he learned arithmetic. by age ten, he could recite binding law better than most magistrates. he wasn't coddled. he was forged. if he wept, she left the room. if he failed, she rewrote the answer and placed it beside his untouched dinner.

once, after a ceremony gone wrong, he bled from his hands. nysara looked at him and said, "next time, control your hands before they disgrace you."

he never forgot that.

he never forgot anything.

she may have loved him, in her own way. or perhaps she only loved what he could become.

selairen doesn't chase the truth. he carries the man's pendant - cracked, moonstone, flawed - and keeps it buried in a locked drawer. when he opens it, he doesn't feel grief. he feels a question, one that no longer deserves an answer.

he studied binding law like scripture, and while the public never saw his name beside any measure, those in power knew it. they began to watch him.

he does not love his mother. he does not hate her either.

he is her masterpiece. that is enough.

but the world outside their estate keeps changing. the ruins grow dim. the sacred is being dismantled in favor of light towers and arcano-mechanical transport. they call it progress. selairen calls it desecration.

and beneath his perfect composure, he holds rage like a ritual.

it started with words. not spells, not gestures. just words. when he was angry, people obeyed. when he whispered, others turned. when he said nothing, sometimes the room still changed.

at twelve, during the orator's trial, he delivered a flawless argument before a smirking rival of his mother. the man interrupted him with a question meant to undermine.

"do you speak from conviction, or from fear of your own shadow?"

selairen said nothing. and yet the man flinched.

there was no flash of light, no ripple of power. but the atmosphere shifted. the silence became a presence. it pressed down on the chamber, subtle and suffocating.

no one saw selairen move. because he didn't need to.

they called it echocharm. voice and silence shaped into command. he hadn't studied it. he simply was it.

later, his mother called him.

"you embarrassed me."

he thought she meant the outburst.

"you let them see it was unintentional."

she did not comfort him. she corrected him.

after that, selairen began to study his own magick. not to control it, he already could. but to refine it to the point of impossibility. he used tone as weaponry, silence as leverage. he memorized everything written about lunar-tied suggestion, but trusted none of it. his instinct was older than the books.

ocean's will came not long after. his presence shifted the tides. once, after a confrontation with a mourning widow, the canal rose and erased her offering stones. he didn't speak. he didn't try.

he simply resonated.

he once altered the dream of a tutor who betrayed him. just a whisper, nothing more. the man left the next day without explanation.

selairen never confessed. he never denied it either.

it was meant to advance his moonbinding, to deepen his command over magickal channels that most considered already dangerous. he didn't consult anyone. he believed that through it, he could tether his power directly to the source. to the moon. to selunareth herself.

he carved forgotten sigils along the salt cliffs. he recited names no longer spoken in the temples. he believed the ritual would elevate him beyond human limitation.

and perhaps it did. but not without cost.

the dreams came three days later. drowning. whispers. eyes in the water. and then, pain.

he collapsed in court during a review. the healers called it internal rupture from magickal oversaturation. but the verdict came clearer later.

sterile.

not from the moonbinding attempt itself, but from what he layered atop it. a forbidden invocation. a convergence of theory and arrogance meant to draw from selunareth's wrath, or what he imagined it to be.

he was not a figurehead. he was an enforcer. he ensured the ethical and lawful use of moonbinding, drafted regulations for new magickal practices, and prosecuted those who weaponized the sacred beyond control.

his tower in nymarielle stood against the skyline like a monument to memory. saltglass and shadow, lined with old texts and unlit corridors. his enemies said it was where justice drowned. his allies said it was the only place left that remembered what justice used to be.

to the kingdom, he was a steward of order.

to his enemies, he was the consequence of arrogance.

to himself, he was the last thing standing between civilization and collapse.

and maybe he was.

but he had begun to change. not outwardly, outwardly he was perfect. sharp. controlled.

inwardly, he was drifting.

he kept relics no one remembered. he rewrote laws no one requested. he dreamed of drowning and sometimes woke disappointed it hadn't happened.

the capital transformed beneath him. towers rose, lights burned the midst, and sacred ground became foundation stone.

they called it advancement.

selairen knew better.

it was burial.

and in the end, maybe that was fitting. for what better way to kill a god than to make the world forget it ever needed one?