Noise and Shadows (Closed)

[Davros Velutina]

Davros' eyes wandered the town as they strolled to the bar. He'd been in Sunberth for a little while now and he'd known much about the town, through a combination of exploration and eavesdropping. He looked both ways when crossing the street and to the adjacent rooftops, looking for archers. Paranoia at its best. As the group went inside he very quickly wrestled with the action of taking a seat or standing. If a fight broke out, he would first have to muster the strength to stand up, draw his weapon and then enter a defensive stance, and react to the situation accordingly. However, if he remained standing, he could simply rest his hand on his weapon, immediately draw it and proceed. He had the upper hand on those who chose to sit down already. He chose the latter. Listening to the Symenestra female, he soaked in her subtle voice and memorized her tone of speech. His eyes moved from her visage, and gave a cursory glance to the bar, seeing if anyone chose to keep their eyes on them past the phase of entrance. He didn't see the white of anyone's eyes. He turned back to Roka listened to his reply and thought to himself, interesting, two without last names. He noticed that it was his turn to introduce himself, and did so in the same fashion he did with Vaxes. "I am Davros Velutina, son of Dalor and Aroya Velutina." His voice was strong, and rich with the accent of a dignitary. "I am an artist." He said seriously. "My canvas is the world, my brushes are my weapons, and my vision is death itself."

[Xavior Silhouette]

Xavior sat in silence, alone at the beaten and worn wooden table within the tavern. The tables had more age and wrinkles cut into it than a veteran of numerous wars. Yet there was little doubt in his mind that the table had seen its fair share of fights. If the brawls that the Drunken Fish were known for happened at this establishment, this table had seen much blood and violence. Though as he sipped the bitter liquid of an ale he had the fleeting wish that the table could talk to him. Oh what stories it must have. He decided that he wanted to play it low key today as he adjusted his cloak. He’d shake his wrist after he took another drink to loosen the fabric down over his sharp and deadly claws. The hood of the cloak draped over his marble like face and concealed the dark color of his skin in shadow. The oil lamps flickered as new guests arrived to the seedy tavern. Nursing the buzz he had caught from only two sips of the ale, it took all of his might to summon up the energy to turn his head and look. His efforts were rewarded however with a strange group of people. A young man, who gave off a strange sense of confidence, almost unnaturally so. Another man, one that he recognized from earlier in the season, they lived like rats for a few days. But his stomach turned when he noticed a pair of ugly people. The pale Symenestras made his way to a table near the center of the room. The Eth sat and glared as the seedy, slimy, filth of a race sat down next to one of his kind. The prejudice was developed over time as he heard stories of their bestial nature. Horror stories that were passed to him during his time spent in Lhavit. Curious to see what the group was there fore he sat and listened. To those sensitive to it, an aurora of fuming hatred surrounded him. When the the Crimson Edge breached the conversation a brief brush of hatred and uncomfortable feelings slid over Wren’s form. Xavior unwittingly projected his inward emotion through a weak emotional flash.Though Xavior didn’t know it at the time, his powers of hypnotism were far less than Wren’s. But perhaps the brief expulsion of emotion was enough to get the man’s attention.

[Vaxes Darlo]

The small tavern was abuzz with life as Wren entered, followed by his guests. Patrons sat at their tables, trying not to stare as he strolled through, as if he were walking on clouds. The confidence he extruded was that of a man that had seen his fair share of the world, and if given the opportunity or reason, would give worthy inquirers a glimpse at his depth.

Vaxes slipped through the tables to where Wren was sitting, glancing about the room. There were few who paid notice to him. They were fixated on Davros. He was not shrouded and Symenestra aren't highly thought of in many areas. Most seemed to sneer at his presence while others expressed more, deleterious intent. Vaxes drew only a few eyes and fewer that realized that he was of the spider folk.

He decided to sit adjacent to where Davros was standing. If someone wanted to attack Davros' blind spot, Vaxes would be in position to retaliate if need be. He turned a keen ear to each that spoke, hanging on each word they enunciated. Unwittingly they were giving him small amounts of information about their character and ambitions. It came time for Vaxes' introduction and he did so in his own manner.

"Vaxes Darlo. I'm a hunter of sorts." he said as he glanced around the table, resting his eyes on Chamaeleon. "I hunt things that do not know they are prey." Vaxes' words seemed to linger in the air as his eyes shifted to Davros and then shifted to Wren, who seemed rather pleased in his own mind.

"And you Master, to whom we owe the honor of such an.. invitation; would you be so kind as to grace us with your name."

[Wrenmae]

Shroud chuckled, nodding to each in turn as they spoke, but saving his words for the end. A varied group of modesty, pride, and history...certainly a mottled yield. The girl, she held some skill in medicine, a much needed skill among a guild of warriors. The Symenestra spoke for their own skill, no surprises there, and the other man was quiet...even uninspiring with his own skill list. It was just as well, a guild of the Crimson Edge's caliber had use of all personality types from the braggarts to the shy. Each would bring their own mix of unique flavor, each would contribute differently. He tried not to laugh, imagining the changes that awaited them if they chose to embark on this path. The arrogant would find themselves knocked down a peg or two and the quiet ones might develop a stronger sense of self than exhibited now. Sunberth was the equalizer city, giving to the masses only that which they earned for themselves. The uninspired would live to eat or be eaten in turn. The self assured were only useful so long as their abilities held the same tenacity of their boasts. He leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes a moment and gathering his mind to speak. But. Intrusion, sudden and blinding. It was a jarring sensation, the sudden disgust and discomfort. Symenestra, fear, loathing, horror. The Crimson Edge. These were not his thoughts...and only one sort of magic could fool the foolish into thinking thoughts not of their own. Turning suddenly in the chair, the alacrity of the motion no doubt shocking to the occupants, Shroud drew his dagger out and slammed it against the table behind him...the table with only one cloaked occupant. The blade clanged against the splintered table top, not stabbed, simply slammed to catch Xavior's attention. As the Eth looked up at him, eerie eyes catching light beneath the hood, Wrenmae transfixed his own gaze and poured Djed down the connection between them. To the Eth he planted two sudden brief hallucinations. One was Wrenmae standing, suddenly pulling up the blade and thrusting it into Xavior's chest, burying the blade viciously again and again, and the other was of Xavior calmly standing and taking a seat at the table with them all, removing his hood as the charismatic youth nodded approvingly. "I couldn't help but sense your interest in our proceedings, friend," Shroud said with a smile, drawing back the blade and replacing it at his waist, "Perhaps a more open dialogue would be more beneficial than your mysterious silence. Come, come, take a seat. I'm sure you'd be a welcome credit to our impromptu meeting." Taking a hard-backed chair, he turned it into the table beside himself, patting the seat gently. "You're just in time for introductions." He turned to the woman first, smiling easily. Smiles had always seemed natural on his face, charming, charismatic, open. There was no need for duplicity here, and although her pale skin and slightly elongated arms were...unsettling, he focused on the gentle curve of her jaw, the delicate shape of her eyes, and the twist of figure beneath her clothes. It helped to find beauty in all things, even the savage and misunderstood. Or perhaps the too well understood. Folding his fingers together he nodded at Chameleon, "It seems a popular question is what to call me, and although I find the term master flattering, I hardly find it necessary given the circumstance." He shifted, grinning, "Sunberth eschews the convention of 'master' or 'controller'. For a city so enamored with the slave trade, the lot of people here will turn an open hand into a fist when you start throwing around the word 'leader' or 'master'. My name is Wrenmae...and in the spirit of our only lady's preference, we'll leave surnames in the past." Closing his eyes for a moment, he sat back in his chair and coiled his fingers together tighter. "You're a liar, Chameleon, but I don't fault you for being careful. Stories are begun the moment consciousness exists, the moment you make a decision for yourself. I find it hard pressed to believe it has only been here, in Sunberth, that you have begun making your own choices. My story began a long time ago, but most of the details are for only a trusted few...a...select audience if you will." He cleared his throat, "But where injury is quick to follow our line of work, a medical practitioner would be a boon to our organization. Let the other syndicates make their offers, but they will not be so generous in their offer of employment as the Crimson Edge." His gaze darkened briefly, "Sunberth has a habit of funneling all necessary medical aid through a single man...and he cannot be bought, or trusted." Extending a hand to Roka, Shroud offered him a smile. This one he liked...a lot of room to develop. "Roka, our livilehood is based on our ability to eat and drink. When money dries from contracts, we will need hunters. Furthermore, getting out of trouble and remaining unseen opens a possibly lucrative career in... acquisition." Glancing to the Symenestras next, he uknitted his hands and frowned. "You'll fit in better with Cade and Mok, I think. They may not share your poetry for common violence, but they have similar views." He drew his blade again, placing it on the table and spinning it, stopping it as the point settled on Davros "Make no mistake," he murmured, "We are not all monsters on a warpath. Death should always be given with purpose, and slaughter for the sake of art...especially at the hands of your kind, will invite nothing but a swift reprise from the population. Your ilk...no, all non humans are not trusted here...mages least of all." He glanced at Xavior briefly, returning to Davros and Vaxes, "Watch your step and watch your blades closer. In a fight between a human and a symenestra, a human is most often in the right here in Sunberth. If you want to move unhampered, you will need to be unseen...or harder yet, accepted. I will not lie to you...you've chosen poorly in a place to make a name for yourself, but I can't fault you for not knowing...or," He grinned, "A sense of challenge." Leaning back he took the dagger again, and replaced it, shrugging disarmingly. "But you all look like you have something to contribute, so you'll all be welcome to try your hand at the Crimson Edge. I cannot speak for the upper management, that would be Eryss and Cade, but if you can swear to offer your hand to no other syndicate...here...now, I can tell you more." Waving a hand at the bartender, he held up a single finger and nodded, "Those uninterested in what I have to offer may go...and go in peace. The next time we meet, it may be at odds." A drink was brought to him and he savored the first sip, turning to Xavior. "You've been quiet, friend, come...join in our palaver and introduce yourself. What brings you to the city of thieves and blood? What makes you think you can survive here?" Blinking, he turned to the rest of them. "What makes ANY of you think you can survive here?"

[Xavior Silhouette]

Xavior barely had any time to bring himself under control before the sudden slam of a dagger against hard wood startled him. A drop of ale sloshed from the container and began to drift through the air and toward the floor. During that instant, his eyes had made contact with the man who slammed the dagger down. A quick surge of energy washed over his mind as images of being knifed crossed his brain. Half way down through its decent, the drop continued on its journey to the floor. A second image flashed into his mind, the scenario of him joining the group at the table. As the single drop of ale splashed onto the hard wood floor below, Xavior had viewed his options. He wasn't sure how, but he knew that the man in front of him had something to do with the images. He grinned and stood up being invited to the table. He didn't join because of the threat, no he feared no death, he brought his drink over as well but kept his hood over his head. He knew it would of been polite, however he wanted to potentially broadcast to Wren that he knew what was going on much to the confusion of the others he was certain. "I apologize for my dress, I do not trust Sym...people of Sunberth yet." He seemed to lean real hard on his back, it was obvious he was inebriated. "Just visiting," Wren could tell it was a lie. After the interruption of the other's conversation. Xavior settled down and remained quiet, he never lifted his eyes to meet the gaze of anyone, except Wrenmae. The others he could care less about, what intrigued Xavior in those moments was the mage. He heard Wrenmae ask him a question, but he decided to remain quiet and gage the other's responses.

[Chamaeleon]

Chamaeleon tried not to let her eyebrows raise too high at Wrenmae's statement that she was a liar followed by his own justification of why she was. She looked down, to the table, and tried not to laugh. Her black hair obscured her face and concealed her smile as she mulled over those words, and the ones that followed, pulling and prising them apart in her mind to get a deeper understanding of them and this man who spoke of stories rather than lives.

"I was not aware of my value, Wrenmae," she said lightly, her brilliant violet eyes lifting and glinting through her hair as she looked at him. She smiled sweetly as she leaned back and looked to the newest arrival to their worn, beaten table and unlikely crew. Her long, slender arms lifted and crossed on the table, her black claws snicking shut with an aubible sound as she looked at her current company with interest. She was, to put it simply, oblivious to the hate and anger directed to her current form. She took a careful note of the warning directed to her apparent brethren, keeping her comments to herself.

"I can, and will, survive because it is necessary." Those were probably the most serious words she could say, in her most level tone. The smile that faded from her pale lips turned up again as she looked at Wrenmae. Smiles in this body could be seen as disconcerting, for the sharp edge of elongated fangs would be visible if she parted her lips, but in her sun form they were much more natural. "However, it seems that my survival skills aren't that well, or I wouldn't have met any of you fine gentlemen this evening." Once again, like earlier, her tone lowered towards the range of teasing, or perhaps mocking, and her smile remained.

Her eyes settled upon the newest arrival, the clawed man with fur and wings. She had not seen something like him before and she was curious. She found herself following the curve of a claw, one of the only pieces of him she saw before he tucked himself away entirely.

She looked away and turned her eyes to Wrenmae again, watching him with her usual smile.

[Roka]

Roka searched the table over. He was interested, but also not wholly sure how he felt towards this syndicate. Brutes disguised as poets? It confused and kept him vigilant. Obviously he'd seen their nature he should know they would appreciate their own performances of power. Still it seemed such an intolerable and counteractive life to devote life only to taking life. Saccharine words could not mask their deeds or make them appear any sweeter to him.

Such was Sunberth though and he knew numerous men that resided here intermingled in an affair with death. Even Roka was sure if endangered he would not hesitate to protect his life by robbing someone of theirs. That was the law of nature after all.

He listened to Wren, the man spoke fair and reasonably, yet he found his sentences droned on and lost some of the conversation along the way. It wasn't that he did not buy the man's charisma it was only that simple words were all he needed to be conversed with. He retained the just of it though. Maybe it was the cities outlawed nature that had compelled him to listen more, to consider joining a group like this. Though he wasn't sure what exactly this group did that he could contribute to, and he still had no idea how their feeling on being such as him would be.

He courteously accepted Wrenmae's hand when offered, and gave a small nod. "I don't see the harm in expanding my abilities." He kept his bestial eyes upon the man, his pupils slitted in the glare of light that reflected from them "If there are skills to be learned I am eager to know them."

As Xavior was seated at the table he eyed him narrowly, almost unsure of the identity of this person because the scent he was accustomed with had been blanketed by the strong aroma of ale. Yes he remembered with some fondness Xavior, whom he had faired the storm with as they lived as rats for a night. He was cognizant to the man's obvious want to remain shrouded and only needed to glimpse his eyes in briefest to acknowledge him but held his tongue.

Again he wrapped his attention on Chamealeon, as they all appeared to whenever she spoke. She was modest and shrouded by mystery. It was intriguing to him.

He could feel that this entire conversation was being graded by each one listening in, despite the polite facades put forth, each person was untrusting and cruel in their assumptions of one another. Roka could see it deep in their grinding jaws. Particularly since his own seemed to be clamped tight.

[Davros Velutina]

When Wren turned and briefly gave the man outside of the circle some attention, Davros hand loosely fitted around the handle of his spear, still tucked in his scarf. It wasn't in anticipated actions of the other man though...not in the least. He was no threat, it was just a force of habit. Someone showing such obvious malice is more entertaining than anything else. He chuckled to himself in an almost unnoticeable manner, catching himself as it happened because it was very rare that Davros did any form of laughing whatsoever. He turned his attention off the man and looked to Wrenmae, listening intently as he spoke. "A challenge it shall be. Honestly, life itself is a challenge, and a natural challenge of life is to survive. I'm proficient at adapting to my environment and to situations as a whole, so I believe my testament of being here," he said as he slightly extended his free left arm moving it in a semi-circle as if to show off the bar, "in this place, in this town, proves to a certain extent already my will, or-" he paused and looked to the group "our will to survive." Davros swiftly thought on the aforementioned offer, and had already made up his mind prior to Wrenmae asking. He already had plans of dethroning his contractor. "I, Davros Velutina, offer my hand-" then modestly bowed his head toward Wren, saying "to the Crimson Edge, and to the Crimson Edge alone, promising to neither pursue another faction nor betray my current syndicate."

[Xavior Silhouette]

Xavior sat in silence as he listened to each of the people from the group. He considered their replies, but felt they lacked power. Xavior at the time couldn’t think of anything to top them, so instead he remained seated. “Better to be thought of a fool, then to open my mouth and confirm it, aye?” He spoke to himself as he brought the receptacle that held his ale to his mouth. He sipped and could feel his sight slow as his head moved faster than his sight. Perhaps it was time to stop. He set the glass down and offered it to the center of the table, “Free drink, I’m done for the night.” It didn’t take much, his stomach almost always empty feasting on the love and grace of Leth. Chamaeleon eyes deceived her about Xavior. Perhaps it was illusion, but more likely the trick of the light, those claws and hands were actually no more then rough, cotton, covered over the smooth, river stone like skin. The bottom of his chin teased out into the thin light as his head lazily shifted from person to person. Though seated, his body tended to sit a half a foot taller then most in the bar. “Mok?” He questioned his mind as the gears turned within his skull. “Yes, that one who was drugged out of her mind. I’m glad to know he is still alright. Pitty he didn’t gain my trust to be titled a friend of his. But who needs titles anyway? They are generally meaningless when you die.” Xavior sat back and listened as some agreed to join the Crimson Edge. It was a little alarming to Xavior about how easy it was to join, surely it couldn’t be as easy as word to join. “How interesting, humans and creature alike interest me. They practically set themselves up for disaster.” He continued to talk to himself, the alcohol worked through his blood as he reached the height of his drunkenness. The alcohol seemed to boil off and raise through his skin as the Symenestras spoke up. The steam was figurative of course but as he leaned forward over the old table he flipped his hood over his head as he finally caved to the blistering heat. His head turned toward Wrenmae, “I...I’m not sure if I can survive.” He sat back and ran a hand through his lavender-grey hair. “But frankly I don’t care.” He snickered as his lips had finally broken and his foolishness began to spill forth, “ however, your will to survive symenestra,” he wavers and points at Davros, before his back slinks back in the chair, “is what makes you disgusting. Just curl up and die, do the world a favor.” He snickers to himself rather loudly. One of his hands was up to pick at the tip of the white horns as he cleaned his finger nails. “I’ll never trust your kind, ever. Even if you took a knife and castrated yourself, my feeling toward you will not stray.” He turned his head toward everyone, clearly his inhibition had been lowered to an almost stupid level, “that isn’t to say that I won’t work along next to them. But I won’t be first in line to help them.” His head came to rest on his palm as he felt the room had begun to spin much to fast for his own good. The only person who sat at the table that might have an inkling that Xavior was out of his mind was Roka. But even then, perhaps Xavior's actions were to real to just be the booze alone. oocNothing personal Devros, you can retort but lets keep it to sharp words among brethren. Also for everyone in the thread, I miss understood the time of day that this thread was formed in. Xavior is an eth during the night and a zith during the day.

[Vaxes Darlo]

Vaxes, leaned forward in his seat, still not lifting his head to meet any eyes but Wrenmae's. The stone dagger on his right flank that lay asleep at his waste, decided to awake and slip into Vaxes hand. It was easily concealed by the cloak that covered his arms. He thought to show a more vibrant display but encroaching on the Eth would be of no gain but ill will. He hadn't come here for that. "Pay heed to your tongue, changeling. You want no quarrel with Davros. You are warned for you own sake. We would ask you to give us the same respect that we will give you." The brute of an Ethaefal, that was obviously inebriated, was a minor distraction but becoming a threat. In his drunken state, he could definitely cause an scene that could quickly escalate into loss of life. Vaxes couldn't allow this. There were answers he searched for and new questions that could possibly arise. He knew that many didn't think too highly of his kind, but such a disgusting disregard for tact, subtlety and manners was belittling of even his kind. Ignoring him for the time being, Vaxes addressed Wrenmae without reservation. "Survival, as you put it, is inconsequential" Vaxes said, moving his head toward the host of the table."If one wishes to "waste" his life, or devote it to a cause greater than himself," his left hand shifting above the table, resting in front of Roka, "it is of that person's choice." The words that Vaxes spoke were that of his teacher before him. "If you gain a purpose or not, accomplish your aspirations or not, it's trivial. Whether you are content with your choice or not is what matters." Vaxes lowered his head once again, seeing barely above the rickety worn table. He had just enough vantage to see the wastes of everyone at the growing party of people. He still pondered what possessed Wrenmae to invite such a brazen individual into their midst. Why did he jar so suddenly before turning to this drunkard? Was it a magic of some sort? Did the Eth try to read his thoughts or more likely did the Eth poor his own thoughts into Wrenmae? "My choice has been made. It was made the moment we convened this meeting. Need it be hastily, deliberate, merciful or relentless, be it the Crimson Edge's will, it shall be hunted by Vaxes."