| Andrios | Asteria | Carl |
| Castor | Cyllene | Dulcinea |
| Hadrian | Helias | Lorius |
| Minh | Noys | Percy |
| Pollux | Tina | Triton |
Parentage Unknown
Description:
A tall man, carrying a staff, has ash blond hair, and is dressed completely in black... save for the priest's collar he wears. An apparent contradiction...a man of peace with a weapon that he seems he can use very well indeed.
Asteria, daughter of Flora
Born -71Flora's younger child, the kid sister to William. She was born of Flora and a French nobleman of the Revolution. Flora often reminisces, even without being prompted, of the splendid affair.
As far as the child of the union, she grew up and matured in France, and she prefers Earth languages to Thari to this day. Flora reluctantly brought her to Amber to find her heritage. Asteria mostly has kept to shadows similar to the culture she was brought up in since.
Trump
A balcony over a city, as evening falls. The landmarks visible seem to indicate Paris, or an analogue. The subject of the Trump is sitting on a chair, her back to the city, her attention on you.
The subject's parentage is of no doubt. Also of no doubt is the power of genetics, as she has fully inherited the beauty of her mother and she knows it. A very loose gown of green is her attire, open enough at the neck to give a hint of what is below. A thin necklace of gold is around her delicate neck.
Yes, she is a heartbreaker, indeed. Gorgeous hair the color of a candle flame cascades from her head, framing her blue eyes, and lips of the same red-gold color. The sultry look in her eyes, and the slight parting of her lips all add to the sensuous subject. Her delicate white hands casually lie over the arms of the chair. She would be clearly dissappointed in you if you chicken out now, so will you step through and get to know her better?
Son of Julian
Born -275
Son of Julian and a Ranger. One of the oldest of the third generation. Spends most of his time in Arden, but not with his father, but in his own holding, Redwood. Brieanne's older brother.
Trump:
Somewhere in the thick Forest of Arden is the scene. A small thinning in the density of the trees allows enough light to see the man standing in front of you.
Clearly this man is used to the ways of the True Forest. His shirt and tights are something out of Robin Hood. The colors, however, are Green and Black. In dimmer conditions, you probably would not have seen him at all.
He would definitely have seen you, however. His bright green eyes look right at you, studying if you are stag, manticore, or not prey at all. He doesn't seem to have made his mind up yet. About 5 feet, 10 inches tall and well built. He is clearly well muscled, evident from the bow in his hands. A fine weapon, of mottled green. It appears to have a hefty pull, but he clearly has no trouble with it, as he has an arrow notched. Fortunately, he is aiming the arrow at your feet, and not your heart, a situation he could probably correct in an instant. And, it almost seems, he isn't aiming at your heart since he may not have one himself. His face is passionless, without hint of smile or sneer. He is merely studying you with those bright eyes, awaiting what you have to say, but without anticipation, or fear. What words would you exchange with the Hunter from Arden?
Sons of Gerard.
Born -110
In the days before the war, before Oberon dissappeared, he sometimes delegated the duty of opening new shadows to trade. One time, almost as response to a snide remark he overheard Eric make to Caine about the intelligence of Gerard, Oberon decided to have Gerard be the one to visit a Romanesque shadow, Antioch, and try to open up diplomatic and trade relations.
A month or so later, Gerard returned, not only with the signed Treaty, but with a bride, Portia, a daughter of a Senator. Jokes about Gerard taking his mission to open up diplomatic relations too far aside, the two were happy. About 10 years later, Portia gave birth to something rare, identical twins. Considering the culture of the mother, and the identity of the grandfather, there was no chance that they would not be named after the mythological pair. They are the younger brothers of Toireasa.
The two are an interesting living laboratory on the nature of identical twins. In their century and a quarter, they have lived sufficiently different lives so that they can be told apart. While both tower over most of the relations at 6 feet 2 inches, Castor is more powerfully built than his brother. Castor is known to take after his father, and is a commander in the Amber navy under him. Pollux, on the other hand has shown himself to be capable in the role of Ambassador to Antioch, and thus spends much of his time there.
Trumps
Castor: Although it is night, the time when most rest, or do other things. For the captain of a ship, it just means work is under the stars, and not under the sun. The light of the moon and the stars is the only illumination on the sleek vessel you, and the subject of the trump, are standing on the deck of.
He is larger than most, with proportions which remind you well of his father. His pythonesque arms are folded across his barrel of a chest. His brown eyes, dim in the light, are kind, as his very wide, open smile. Like his father, it seems that he expects you are calling him to for pleasure, fun or possibly help, but not to play politics.
Pollux: An office, somewhere in shadow. A window looks out onto an inner courtyard, bounded by a sheltered walkway, lined with corinthian columns. The whole scene outside reminds you of a cloister. In front of the window is a high desk of oak, and sitting behind the desk in a armed chair of the same is a tall, wiry man.
Unlike his relations, he is not massively built, but clearly this man does not spend all day sitting down, either. Those blue eyes of his await your request, his hands already with a pen in hand and paper at the ready, as if he will take notes on what you have to say or ask him.
Daughter of Caine
Born: -29
Appearance: Olive skinned Brunette. 5' 4" tall. Green eyes. Lithe. Colors are black and white.
She was one of Caine's 'recreational mishaps', aye. One of Caine's visits to Deiga led to a liaison with a Trader's daughter. Imagine his surprise when said daughter sailed into Amber two years later with a baby. He offered to marry her, on the spot.
Amused at his nobility, she refused. So, she raised the child more or less by herself in Deiga, with occassional visits by Caine. When Cyllene reached maturity, Caine brought her to Amber to walk the Pattern. She went to sail the seas of shadow afterwards, in imitation of her father.
She is known for loving to take the role of a pirate while in shadow. In fact, one of her favorite shadows has nothing to do with sailing ships at all. It is an FTL universe, and Cyllene has taken the persona of a rapacious(in several senses) interstellar brigand and marauder.
Trump description
A very unusual locale is the setting for the trump. The gleaming metal, the strange displays and devices, and the view of interstellar space behind her all indicate a very advanced shadow.
The subject of the trump leans backward on a railing, in front of the large oversized view into space. It is not easily determined if the view is yet another device, or a true window to the void. However, as she no doubt intends, your attention is drawn to the lady, and not the milieu around her.
She is short, only 5'4" tall, but well built for her small frame. She is dressed in a black ruffled shirt, and white pants of some strange fashion. Her skin is a Mediterranean olive, and her eyes are the Amberian green. Anachronistically, she sports a cutlass in her right hand, with a bone colored handle, and a strange blade made of a glossy black material, like onyx. Her left hand is drawn under her chin, her index finger parallel to her lips.
The expression on her face is clearly appraisal. No smile crosses her full lips and her eyes are full of intent. Whether you have something the pirate wants, or if you are male, you are her next conquest, remains to be seen. Are you sure you want to contact this rapacious brigand?
Daughter of Random
Trump Description
An antique, and gorgeous landscape.
A row of columns, the sun lancing between each one, creating a chiaroscuro. The columns are of milky marble, polished, as is the floor of the porch as well. A perfect place to enjoy the outdoors, and yet escape it to a degree if the heat or light become too unbearable.
Lovely scenery, but unmatched by the stunning golden radiance of the subject. She is leaning sidwise against the nearest column, almost bathing in the sunlight as it washes over her back as if it was the sea. Her long, flowing, hair of gold is but the first thing you notice. Her eyes are as blue as water, and if her face could not launch a thousand ships, it is clear her porcelain features can easily cause several hundred to set off at a moment's notice.
Getting past that, reluctantly, her fine dress of an oatmeal color clearly is of a cut of quality far above the mundane or even the noble. It is proper, but not too proper, showing that this lady's charms extend below her neck...which bears a beautiful chain of white gold...with a few small emeralds embedded along its length. Her fine, light shoes, slightly gilted and accenutating her short, but still pleasing legs make it clear. This lady must be a Princess of some kind. She is lightly hugging the column as those eyes continue to look at you, with a pleasant look on her face that is far from what you might expect from someone self aware of her charms.
A beautiful fairy tale Princess from a foreign land. Smiling, rather than haughty disdain. Can you resist NOT calling her?
Son of Gerard
Born -?
Trump Description
It is one of the towers of some castle or keep. A small circular room is sparse, from what you can see of it. Your attention, however, is on the gothic, pointed, open window. A man, average height, perhaps 5' 8", sits on the window ledge, head halfway turned away from you. His arms are clenched around his legs for balance. Fine leather shoes cover his feet. His hazel green eyes are gazing intently at the Moon, whose silvery bright light he is awash in, and that is the only illumination. His shadow spills out toward you.
Unlike most Moons, the moon whose light is shining is large and bright enough so that colors can be easily resolved in its light. Thus, the gold and green of his shirt is visible, as is the black of his pants. His hair, short, is also black. His nose is romanesque and his cheekbones are full.
The expression on his face, what you see of it anyway, seems to be slightly dreamy, as though as if his body is here, but his mind is wandering, somewhere else, far away.
Daughter of Bleys
Trump Description:
Helias stands on a plateau in a desert of vibrant, saffron dunes. Though the sky is a vivid shade of crimson, it is not evening nor morning as the light source is directly overhead. The parched, desolate look makes one wonder if the land ever sees relief from the punishing sun. A wind blows her hair to the left, allowing the viewer to observe the cascade of red waves in its fullest glory. There is a slight distortion of the air around her as if from heat. It's uncertain, however, whether this orginiates from the desert or is somehow generated by Helias. Her smile reveals no secrets.
Nearly six-foot in height, Helias stands somewhat defiantly on the plateau. Her feet are spaced shoulder-width apart and she's leaning forward slightly as if preparing for a tackle. One hand is placed on the ball of her hip, the other carasses the handle of a whip. The weapon seems to dance at her feet, lacing around and stopping ominiously at a thin crack in the soil. Everything about her body language screams, 'Come knock me off...if you dare."
She's dressed in an outfit that must have been designed specially for her. The trousers and boots are molded to her perfectly sculpted legs and thighs. The blouse is a deeper shade of bronze than her skin and is overlaid with a vest of blackened leather. The collar is unbuttoned to the cleft of her breasts, enhancing the mystery of what lays beneath. Her shoulders and arms are bare except for a bracer of beaten bronze encircling her left arm. She wears no other ornamentation.
Despite the mysteries of her surroundings and stance, it's her face that truly captures the imagination. Anchored by full , sensuous lips the color of the surrounding sky, her face is a perfect oval. Her cheekbones are high, and there's the blush of good health beneath her bronzed tan. Her eyes are perhaps her best feature, certainly the most unsettling. Deep and penetrating, they are black in bronze and seem to stare straight forward, no matter what angle the trump is held at. Haloing her face is a mane of thick red waves, streaked here and there with a metallic sheen. She is exquisitely beautiful.
Son of Fiona
Born -193
Magician, and much like his mother. Sarcastic, biting, and malicious. Known for fighting with his mother and siblings. He seems to enjoy it. His one-liners are infamous.
(As an example, he once said to Asteria: "Was the Million Man March composed of all your ex-boyfriends?")
Although he may seem a one note person, there is more to him than that. Noys, for some reason has an attraction to the sorcerer. Also, Lorius gets along well with Castor and Gerard, who share his interest in astronomy. There is always, of course, his two sisters Brandeigh and Shannon.
Trump:
The locale is the stairway to the city in the sky, Tirna Nogth. However, it is broad daylight. The three solid stone steps rise in front of the viewer. Standing in midair, however, right about where the fifth step should be the subject of the Trump.
He is a short man, only about 5 and a half feet tall, and thin. However, his position forces you to strain your neck a bit upward to look at him. The height advantage is subtle, but it is there. He is dressed in a sorcerer's robe, green, with a bronze colored sash, and the symbols adorning it are also of bronze color. The exaggerated wings of the collar are royal purple. His hands are in front of him, holding a crystal ball in his hands. It glows a soft pearly light.
He has fiery red hair, reaching that collar. Hazel eyes look coldly down at you, and he shows no smile. He is fairly handsome, if you can get past his obvious superiority complex and arrogance. Besides the crystal ball, and the robe, to mark his vocation, a trio of gemstones, a sapphire, a ruby and an emerald, all of fair size and of spectacular cut and caratage appear to be in orbit about his head. His entire expression suggests you might want to try someone else if you are looking for friendship, but if you want competence, then you are contacting the right person.
Son of ?
Born -?
An Amberite, but of unknown origin. He looks sufficiently unlike any of the elders to be easily claimed. His overall appearance is oriental, with regard to his black hair, his yellowish skin color, and slanted eyes, but the color of the irises is a strange orange color.
He was discovered by Bleys while out in shadow not long after Patternfall. The fun loving magician noticed the shadows that Minh gave off, and came to the conclusion that he was indeed someone real. Bleys tracked him down, and brought him to Amber. With much trepidation, Minh walked the Pattern, clinching his heritage. The matter of who exactly is his parent is still an open one. Theories mostly focus on the male Amberites, including, considering his apparently young age, even the third generation males such as the twins or Carl. [A cruel and common joke is that Minh is Lorius' son.
Minh currently spends a good deal of time with Bleys, and also with Llewella. He seems fascinated with Rebma, especially when he learned it was the only place in the real world where he could find sushi.
Trump Description
The quiet, friendly Minh's trump is very simple and basic. It depicts the 5' 8" tall Amberite in an oriental tea house, standing by a window. A beautiful garden of Cherry blossom trees is in view. The smiling Minh stands posed, in three quarter profile as if he was having a self portrait done. He is dressed in a shirt of brown, and pants of maroon.
Daughter of Eric
Born -45
A child of Eric and a noblewoman from the city. Flora claims that she arranged the match, thinking Lora was good for him. Noys was born and raised in secret, only the members of Eric's cabal knowing of her existence until after Patternfall. She has expressed interest, in the memory of her father, in serving Amber's diplomatic corps. She is known for having a strange attraction to Lorius, one which is far from being reciprocated.
Trump:
A winter's night in Amber. The subject of the Trump is leaning against a fireplace, and is standing in front of a window. The blowing snow on this cold night can be seen behind her. The warm flames of the fireplace, the portrait of a man who is likely her father above, and the glass of wine on the mantel all say that you are in her home.
You are welcome, too. Her left arm rests against the fireplace, but her right arm, extended across her torso, beckons you toward the fire. She appears lean and fit, about 5 and a half feet tall. Her raven hair hangs in bangs. Her dress is a fine silvery gray color. A black choke collar is around her neck. A beautiful emerald is set in it.
The smile on her red lips is friendly. Her eyes are pure blue, and the length of her lashes is evident even from this distance. Like her gesture, and smile, the look in her eyes shows her desire for you to come and share the fireplace on this cold night. Will you join her?
Son of Deirdre
Born -202
Deirdre's only known child. Like his mother a warrior born, and like his mother, not what he used to be. After her horrible death, he has solemnly walked the castle halls and shadow alike, as if a ghost.
A man who loved his mother, and has not, to this day, been able to come to terms with it. Before Patternfall, Percy was not only an excellent fighter, but a fair tactician, actually holding a command rank under Benedict at Patternfall. He also was known to enjoy rock climbing.
His Trump, definitely from happier times
Looking at the trump almost gives a sense of vertigo. The viewer faces a ledge on a rock face, and it is as if the viewer is suspended in midair before the subject of the trump standing calmly on the narrow space.
He is a tall, thin man, 5 feet 11 inches tall. Short black hair and the pale skin of his face and hands, combined with blue eyes peg him definitely as a descendant of Faiella. His white t shirt and blue jeans have just a hint of the dust he collected on his climb so far, although no sweat has formed on his brow as yet. A coil of rope remains on his thick black belt, with a silver buckle with the symbol of a rose.
While his right hand remains at his side, holding a grapple, the southpaw's other hand seems poised to help you onto the ledge with him, to continue the climb. Feel up to it?
Daughter of Llewella
Born -19
Tina to her friends, and she has many. Almost an exact opposite to her mother. Outgoing, gregarious, forward. The kind of woman who doesn't 'need' a man, but when she finds someone she is interested in, boldly makes a move herself, a trait necessary in a society where the typical male is less than extroverted. She, and not her mother, is the epitome of the typical Rebman woman. Her love is the arts, and her chosen specialty is dance. From ballet to tango, tap to modern, Tina loves to use her body to express herself. She claims that, with the aid of a magician (possibly one of the PC cousins, if they get along) to alter her appearance, she has danced in many productions on and off Broadway on shadow Earth, from Cats to modern dance at the Joyce Theatre.
Trump:
A wood paneled room is the scene. The wall in front of is a wall mirror and, oddly, it is there that you see the subject, rather than in the flesh. She is 5 feet 5 inches tall, and is wearing a halter top and sweat pants, both in dark grey. Her hair is a light shade of blue, and her laughing eyes a much darker one. Her lovely skin, likewise, is a light shade, this of a green. Her full lips are slightly darker, and likewise friendly. The sweat beading on her, and the moist spots on her outfit suggest that you've called her at the end of exercise, or perhaps her latest routine. Her long arms do not merely hang off her sides, they extend from her, palms up, as if she was ready to take you closer to her. They clearly convey, even if you know little about her art, openness, invitation, and welcome.
She seems hardly out of breath, so it seems likely that she will want you to see the routine for yourself, or, if you are so inclined, to help her create a new work, a duet. Care to?
Son of Corwin and Moire
Many are those who claim that Triton is his father reborn, so closely do the two resemble one another. Corwin's broodingly handsome looks have been replicated in the young Rebman noble, fused with the ephemeral grace that marks all those who dwell under the waves. In height, he stands just over 6'2" tall, and weighs somewhere around 185lbs of muscle made hard by the constant swimming and pressures of the deep. As a result of the variant environment in which he was raised, when on land, Triton moves with the nimble, fluid motion of a dancer or gymnast; he is instinctively prepared for any sudden shifts in balance and poise, his body unconsciously expecting them as a result of the strong currents. Consequently, his center of gravity is lower than one might expect, like a martial artist might feel, and it's obvious in every movement he makes. His hair is the perfect silver of moonlight across the calm ocean, while his eyes are the blue-green of sun-ripened kelp. Perhaps it might be more accurate to call his eyes the dark of the ocean's floor, where the sun never truly holds sway, and all manner of creatures thrive in the absence of such light, with an incandescent glimmering in the pupils. However, much to the shame of the royal blood, it is there that any true resemblance to the peoples of Rebma ends.
The normal folk of Rebma have skin the color of the water, with tinges of blue or green commonplace. It is not unusual to see aquamarine and jade, lapis lazuli and sapphire all reflected in the skin tones of the folk, since the sea is known to be the birthplace of so much wondrous variety, and indeed, all life itself. Triton, s the bastard son of Corwin, unfortunately, was not born as a common Rebman. Before he drew even his first breath, the child was condemned. His skin was a vibrant pink, just as his father's people. In time, the skin grew more coppery, taking on more of a deep tan rather than nascent pink. At birth, though, people recoiled in terror and fright, so unexpected was this outcome. The Queen had given birth to a freak of nature. His ears were slightly pointed at the tips, betraying his Rebman blood, just as his fingers and toes were webbed. And yet, the stigma remained.
When pictured on his Trump, Triton is pictured standing on the edge of a sea cliff's outcropping, his eyes focused at some point just beyond the horizon. A slight wind is detected, ruffling the folds of his midnight-blue shirt. A light vest of silvery chain mail is worn over the shirt, with twin silver pauldrons protecting his shoulders. A cloak of sea-green furls softly behind him, clasped by the left pauldron with a brooch depicting a silver dolphin, rumored the be a gift from his aunt, Llewella, on the celebration of his first Patternwalk. Were his silvery hair not cut quite so severe and short, one might imagine that same soft breeze curling the same.
Pants of soft dove-grey end in well-traveled boots of leather, with gloves of the same tucked into a narrow belted waist. On the opposite left hip, a black scabbard holds his infamous cutlass, the sword capped in silver and carved with runic sigils along its' length. A bright sun blazes overhead, the golden light not daring to touch the dark-countenanced man who seems poised between heaven and the deep waters below. His skin is the deep copper of a perfect tan, a mark of his heritage, and perhaps his greatest shame. Sea-foam sprays in the background, and in the distance, the lighthouse at Cabra might be spotted. He seems to share so much in common with the wind and storm and rocks of the sea surrounding him, it's difficult to imagine such a man walking among the halls of power, a living dichotomy between the man who is one with the ocean, and the prince who would be king.
