Information

Noblesse has a minion!

Tulip the Bonnie

Noblesse
Legacy Name: Noblesse

The

Blacklight Archan
Owner: CMYK

Age: 14 years, 3 months, 1 week

Born: December 25th, 2011

Adopted: 13 years, 7 months, 3 weeks ago

Adopted: August 6th, 2012

Statistics

Level: 143
Strength: 104
Defense: 22
Speed: 11
Health: 65
HP: 65/65
Intelligence: 110
Books Read: 110
Food Eaten: 0
Job: Glitter Master

This guy's the third son of some king in some make-believe country. He doesn't give a damn about the throne, he just wants to make pretty clothes and look fashionable.

Despite what peasants may think, it's rather hard being a royal like me. Even as one son to the throne out of many and not even runner-up for the crown, the life of a prince is not something that one can simply languish away, despite what one's wishes are. The days are fraught with lessons, manners, postures, politics, history, fencing, horse-riding, speaking, and anything else a royal must learn before even being considered a suitable candidate for the throne.

But I digress, my life is far more fortunate than other individuals.

And oh, where are my manners? I've forgotten to introduce myself to you. My name is Prince Garret Broderick the VI of the kingdom of Farrensil as well as the third son to the throne of Farrensil. Though as I've mentioned before, the chances of my taking over the throne are slim for my brothers before me would be far more eligible to become king simply due to their elder age once my father relinquishes his king-hood and his duties. But I do not care for the throne, for it is far too much responsibility that I do not care to take.

Rather, my passion flows mostly towards the abilities of becoming a seamstress. Yes, the third royal prince of the vast kingdom of Farrensil indulges in womanly chores. What blasphemy towards the royal family this must be!

But I care not for consequence, so long as I can train my fingers to deftly take a sewing needle and weave intricate patterns of string across fabric, I will be forever happy with this simple hobby of mine. I wish to become a master of the arts and the lady servants of the castle are all too willing to help me learn their tricks.

Of course, not everything goes the way one wishes it to follow. But that is another story for a different time.

Though I indulged my loving parents by participating in royal rituals and studies, my free time was mostly spent in my own passion towards the art of sewing. I did not concern myself with the trifles of the kingdom or the troubles of politics; that was my elder brother's job as heir to the throne. Instead, I felt it was my job to robe my family and friends with the finest threads and designs that the kingdom had to offer, and it became almost a personal mission of mine. For a time, I was quite content with my lot in life. I was not forced to walk or speak when asked, I merely did what I was asked to before pardoning myself. So all was well within the castle, or so I thought.

For you see, before my 18th winter, my father passed away.

We mourned, of course, my mother most of all. The nurses and doctors said he passed peacefully in his sleep, but the maids and servants tittered with words that this was a conspiracy to kill the old king.

"The eldest brother." They'd whisper in the halls, unaware that outside ears could hear. "He's been seeking power for such a long time. After all, the king was hale and hearty just that evening!"

I refused to believe that my dear brother would ever resort to something so low and dastardly evil, but my beliefs were shattered on the eve after my father's funeral. The funeral had been a large, but quiet affair, the guards holding the casket with the dead king inside through the town square while the townspeople solemnly paid their respects. After the dirt had been lain over the casket and he was officially buried, the advisers quickly crowned my brother king of Farrensil. My brother had simply smirked and declared his first proclamation before the crown had barely settled on his brow.

His younger brothers were to be hanged on suspicion of killing the old king, our father.

Stunned, I could only gape in silent shock as the guards quickly corralled us with spears and swords into one of the dungeon cells. My second oldest brother had quickly retaliated, beating upon the heavy wooden doors and crying out injustice, using words that I know would have had our deceased father rolling in his comfortable padded casket.