The Game - Acting it out [Team Dawn & Dusk]

[Kamalia Timandre]

As Jaeden Kincade continued to fling insults towards Kamalia, the konti sorceress could no longer hear his words. She glared at him, but said nothing, and Jaeden would realize that the konti actually stared at nothingness. All the konti could hear was the dark, crystalline, siren laughter of her own voice ringing through her benumbed mind. All the konti could see was the exact copy of herself, beautiful as it was deceiving, standing in front of a burning orphanage.

In her mind, the other Kamalia smiled at her. Slowly and gracefully, her pale arms stretched out to Kamalia’s direction, palms wide open. She sang a spellsong, and flung a crackling ball of silver energy towards the real Kamalia. Instantly, the real konti was encased from neck down in a thick, immobilizing crust of ice.

The crimson-eyed clone stalked over the real Kamalia in a predatory manner. Behind her was bloodbath: Stitch and her beautiful sister, Aselia Timandre, lay lifelessly on pools of blood with their bodies pierced by long, sharp spears fashioned from ice magic. Her bondmate too, in his ivaski form, lay mutilated and impaled, his fur soaked in his own blood. “The end of your doubts,” her mirror whispered in her mind.

Three life-size frozen sculptures of children stood in the wake of the carnage, and they all looked achingly familiar. Kamalia’s eyes widened as the realization stabbed her heart. Those were Fentya, Damien and Trish, all frozen alive by powerful magic!

Kamalia tried to scream. She opened her mouth to tell her shadow to stop, but no sound came out. The phony Kamalia’s smile broadened. “The end of your fears,” purred the fake Kamalia with a false sweetness, yet her lips never moved and her smile never faltered. Her clone flung her hands skyward and spat a spellword that caused the icy statues to explode into glittering stardust.

“I am the answer.” The fake Kamalia reveled in a musical and exultant laughter at last, all the while real Kamalia stared vacuously at her lifeless bondmate. Gromhir seemed to look back at her with his dead, misty eyes—condemning and judging—blaming her for the cruel fate they all suffered.

And then there was darkness.

And then she was back to reality.

The rush of power and euphoria surged through her being. Without thought and will, her hands began to sputter silver res. Suddenly, Stitch was upon her. The chill intensified, and a spurt of power—jealous, dark, wrathful—shot up when Stitch enfolded the konti in his arms. Magic wanted him away, but Stitch was stronger. Kamalia snatched this opportunity and borrowed strength from Stitch’s presence. With all her willpower, Kamalia shut off the whispers in her mind and tore herself from the clutches of her darker nature.

She stared at Stitch, frightened and fearful, struggling for breath as they clung together. An unfamiliar moisture welled up in the corner of her eyes, yet she held the tears back. Her entire body still shook convulsively, and her every nerve now felt raw and exposed. She felt vulnerable, defenseless, and uncomfortable in the realization that her blind friend could utterly crush her in this alien closeness if he desired to. Against the sightless martial artist, the konti sorceress appeared so small, so delicate and fragile. Was he going to kill her?

Stitch whispered to her ears, and she knew she needed not to fear. She listened to him closely, and allowed the blind man to embrace her. Her eyes traced his hand’s movements as he stroke her long, silvery white hair. The seer still shook nervously, frightened by her own nightmare, but Stitch’s words soothed her, reassuring her that he would not abandon her behind. Tears streaked Stitch’s face, lightly dampening her cheeks, yet the konti girl held back her own. No Timandre wizard was allowed to weep and show weakness after all, and it had become a matter of habit more than anything else. Stitch would know through auristics that his friend restrained herself from showing too much emotion.

He held her hand in his, and touched her chin to look up at him. Her own voice betrayed her, and she could not speak even if she wanted to. She did not know what to say, for the konti was unsure how to react in heavily charged situations. She only nodded now and then as he spoke. Not knowing what else to do, Kamalia dried the man’s tears with her lustrous white locks. When he released her, the konti curved her lips into a smile. “I will come with you,” Kamalia said serenely. “We will finish this thing together.”

The konti did not even bother to look at Jaeden and Nyahna, and quietly followed after Stitch as the party climbed the corkscrew stairs. When they reached the room, Kamalia saw a familiar figure; it was the man who Gromhir had encountered a few times in her vision—the same man who warned the kelvic that Kamalia risked more than most from participating in the Game, the same man who had shown them the vision of Dira and the fearsome power of Unity. The konti’s studious nature wanted to ask tons of scholarly questions, while the know-it-all side of her wanted to point out how the rules in the stele were also inaccurate, but the Game Master made it clear that he was not entertaining any.

“And in the end, we shall all unmask together for the last dance,” the konti girl softly and quietly repeated, recalling that particular line from Gromhir’s telepathic vision. There was a moment of blank and utter shock when four masked individuals entered the small room from the wooden door. More shocking still was the striking likeness of their masks to their physical appearance. It was uncanny, how a human—or what appeared to be one—could completely mimic a konti’s surreally graceful gait, movements and posture. What magic was this?

Then came the last, most shocking surprise: kAMALIA chanted a heartrendingly familiar spellsong and weaved her hands together in heartrendingly familiar gestures. The water whip materialized from the congealed res, dancing menacingly in the air. Although their voices were not similar, she spoke the very same words, with the very same inflections and timing, spoken in the very same softly-accented Common. Kamalia’s heart leaped in surprise when jAEDEN pointed a finger at her, and spoke the same words the human had said when she was forcing him to commit a sin. The konti’s eyes swept a measured, calculated gaze over their masked opponents.

“If we are indeed to engage them in battle, then I must disclose with you my strengths and my weaknesses,” the konti said, addressing her companions. “I am an accomplished reimancer, and the elements of water and air are under my command. In this scenario, the water whip my actress wields is only but a magic she would need for a more complex spell. It will be employed as a source of water for more lethal ice magicks, and she will toss spells that will immobilize and obliterate all of us at once. She is also cunning enough to machinate clever traps and protect herself with elemental shields. I know the gestures and incantations of all my spells, so I will know which magic she will be throwing at us. So long as you do not allow anyone to get near me, I will focus on casting counterspells and distracting the enemies. If the situation calls for it, my actress will also use other weapons as well, such as the poisonous suvai and throwing stars, but she will be of little threat in close combat.”

“We have a weakness, but so do they,” Kamalia said plainly, calmly. “Stitch is innocent, and he cannot carry out any attack on anyone. Their weakness is their masks. Should their masks fall off from their faces, then they’re good as gone.”

Hopefully, Kamalia thought, they did not have to fight them. She turned to face their masked actors, and waited for them to answer Stitch’s question. She stared at her own mask, mystical, beautiful and enchanting, yet the konti mask's delicate appearance was completely at odds with her deadly reputation. She found herself the most threatening.

The konti braced herself for what was to come.

[Jaeden Kincade]

Jaeden stood there before the Masked individuals that now appeared to be their final challenge. Though what that challenge specifically was, remained vague. They all stood before them, poised with hostile intent as they repeating what the group had said in previous conversations. Yet they hadn’t moved to attack strait away. It made Jaeden skeptical. The Game overall, aside from the effects it had on those who leaned towards more magical inclinations, tended to make people over think, to become paranoid and judgmental. It seemed to be the point overall to, so that when the solutions seemed to turn out to be simple, it only served to frustrate the participants all the more. Jaeden soon observed the copy version of himself, letting the tip of his sword rest along the ground as his right hand rested along the hilt, keeping it standing vertically in front of him. “Well, you’re a handsome devil.” Jaeden said, his face static.

Kamalia’s words rang into his ears, the voice less harsh and her information forthcoming. It was a small relief to see that she had calmed down, but Jaeden still didn’t feel he had been entirely out of the woods yet. His head turned slightly, tilting his ear towards her words, but keeping his eyes on the group of copies that stood before them. “Well, I don’t think it will matter if we whisper, considering they were repeating our own words to us as their introduction,” Jaeden then said silently, “but if it comes to conflict, see if you can manage something a little wide spread. Focus the main force of your spell on your copy, the rest of it keeping the others at bay if you would, while I move in for something a little more up close.”

Jaeden then slowly turned his head slightly towards Sasin, his gaze still focusing on the group. “If you still got that scroll, hand it over to me would you?” Jaeden said holding his left hand out slightly. “May as well make things a little more official.”

If Sasin handed the scroll over, Jaeden would grasp it lightly, looking back up to the group. “Just one moment if you please,” Jaeden said as he began doing whatever necessary steps to use the scroll, and eventually join team Dusk.

When he was finally finished, Jaeden looked to Stitch for a moment. “If you really want to win this thing, I don’t think I need to tell you that you shouldn’t hit anything.” Jaeden then said to Stitch, just keeping his voice high enough so that he and the other two could hear him. “Avoid damage if any get behind us, but don’t dish any out yourself. Keep moving around until Sasin here can sneak in behind and deliver a strike of his own.”

“My own skills should be readily apparent so far.” Jaeden then continued, letting his right hand slip down along the hilt of his standing longsword. “I’m skilled with a sword for the obvious. I’m also strong, fast, have some skill with the bow. Hunting, tracking, trapping in case a conflict should arise and spreads beyond the confines of this room. I’ve also a small amount of skill in hand to hand, but mainly in conjunction with swordplay such as grappling limbs, kicking out feet from underneath. Some tactics, stealth and camoflague is also within my ability, though I don’t foresee it becoming a factor in this castle.”

Jaeden then brought his full attention back to the group of copies. Finally, he called out to the individual wearing the Tragedy/Comedy mask. “So what’s the rules and objective of this challenge, if I may ask?” Jaeden then said to him, seeing if things could the cleared up for this final challenge.

[Nyahna Sasin]

He flinched slightly as the door creaked open. He half expected to see some ferocious monster to come lunging at him. He relaxed as he saw nothing but stairs beyond the doorway. Turning, he saw Stitch, trying to calm Kamalia down. As he watched, they stood together and walked up the stairs. Closing his eyes, he grimaced. So much for that idea. Although with a bit of luck, he wouldn't need to do that at all. He didn't much like using people, for the simple reason that he was terrible at it, and was usually caught. He wasn't much of a strategist, and didn't seem to have the will to learn how to be. It would, he mused, be a useful skill, but not strictly necessary for his current job.

Reopening his eyes, he noted that Jaeden was walking up the stairs. Sasin simply shrugged to himself, and followed. This, he mused, had been a very interesting day. A castle that appeared overnight, that drove away most who entered it's walls, and changed the ones who didn't. And yet, he himself seemed unaffected. It worried him, and he wondered if the place only affected certain types of people. He forced his mind away from such thoughts. Best not dwell upon such things, he decided. They would get him nowhere, and he wondered idly if the actual act of thinking about doom would trigger it.

He reached the room just as the red clothed figure stood. He half listened to the man's speech as he scanned the room. Four doors, two of them black, one of them iron, obviously the final door, and one wooden. Wonderful. Just wonderful. He had a bad feeling about this.

Not misplaced, it seemed. Four masked figures, each wearing a mask obviously meant to resemble them. Sasin slumped slightly as he caught sight of the slight figure meant to be him. This was bad. He didn't see how two groups of people, who were supposed to be exactly alike could beat each other. They would all be here until someone got in a lucky shot, and frankly, he didn't feel like leaving his fate up to chance. Negotiation, it seemed to him, was the best course of action.

He listened to his teammates as they listed their strengths and weaknesses, making mental notes. Sasin grimaced as Stitch spoke to his actor. If that was true….if these puppets had the same motivation as they themselves did, then sTITCH would not back down. kAMALIA would likely do the same. If what Kamalia said was true, and the masks were the key….. that was not a satisfactory idea, actually. For all they knew, once the masks were off, they would revert to the masked audience. They would still try to kill the real them, and they'd lose the advantage that came from them knowing themselves……on the other hand….if they only took the masks off one, perhaps the others would kill them? Was that what she meant? Sasin groaned inwardly. This was ridiculous.

He wordlessly handed the scroll to Jaeden, before eyeing up his actor. Interesting….. If sTITCH had the same motivation as Stitch, perhaps sASIN would have a good reason to join up with himself. It stood to reason. A relatively peaceful solution was the best for all involved. However, if everything assumed was correct, both Stitch's and Kamalia would fight. That would leave their fate up to chance, which meant, for a peaceful solution, one of the Stitch/Kamalia teams had to die, and he would much rather it be the actors than the real thing.

Of course, this was all assuming the two teams thought and acted alike. Wonderful. He'd have to rethink a plan on the fly if he was wrong.

"Come now. Surely we can reach a peaceful solution." He hissed in his native language. He didn't want anyone but his actor to understand. He would see just how similar the two groups were before doing anything rash. "After all, I have no desire to kill needlessly. People tend to get mad when I do that."

He glanced at the others in his team. This did not bode well. At all.

[Tarot]

Testing the actors' reactions produced strange results. It seemed that their thinking got slower when they didn't have clear lines to imitate and fling back at the participants. Improvisation was always a tricky deal in drama. Stitch's question elicited a brief answer from sTITCH. "Indeed, milord. We all have something important to fight for. This one feels sorry for you even though you are but a mask with a voice." So, the actors seemed to believe they were the real ones, or at least they were acting like it. Sasin - arguably the most pacifistic assassin in the neighborhood - tried to negotiate with his alter ego. sASIN hissed back in the snake tongue, though it had an accent of sorts. "Neither do I," the mask said, "but there seems to be no other way. We are deadlocked, and it's got to end one way or another. You have a brilliant plan?" Jaeden had switched teams by reading a piece of nonsense written on the Scroll of Betrayal, his eyes also changing colors. The masked man sighed at his question directed at him. Throughout the Game the human had constantly tried to push his luck, most notably with the audience in Act I. Still, perhaps surprisingly, the Master of the Game decided to humor the man and actually answer the question. "No rules have changed. The objective is still for an innocent to touch that door," and he pointed at the door with the sun and the moon. The four impersonators blocked the way, lined up against the participants. "I am actually rooting for you. I want you to win. I need you to win. It's just that I can only give out my legacy to a select few, and I must choose carefully. I push you to your limit, I drive you into your corners just so I can see how much you can take. Those of you who have been complaining about the rules have little reason to do so; you entered the Game of your own will, and with plenty of warning. Among the lot of you there is but one who was blackmailed into participation, and it was certainly not my doing, but likely that of my enemy." The Master folded his arms across his chest and looked at Jaeden intently. "As for why I answered this one question, I did it out of pity. For what's going to happen to you in three… two… one…" Suddenly, Jaeden was overcome by a tremendous feeling of nausea. His legs gave out and he found himself on his knees, struggling not to empty his stomach on the floor. The Master of the Game shook his head. "Interesting player, that Symenestra. She timed her curse to take effect in the latest stages of the Game when the stakes are highest. That kind of angry players tend to die in the final round, though. They kill each other with their replicants." How the masked man had seen the curse taking effect remained unknown. Still, he had always known everything taking place within the Game. Then, suddenly and after a short time, jAEDEN dropped to his knees just like the original. The actor did not look truly sick - it was more like he was imitating Jaeden. Meanwhile, the sweet, seductive whisper warmed Kamalia's ear once more. It rose unexpectedly, just when she was considering her options. "You were not seriously thinking I would be silenced with a hug?" the Konti's darker voice spoke amusedly. Kamalia almost felt like something warm was nibbling on her earlobe. "This is not some cheap novel, silly. I am just as much 'Kamalia Timandre' as you are and I am way more fun." She felt like a tongue was playing with her ear and running down the skin on her neck. "You are the illusion, not I. You are just the byproduct of strict education and all the senseless morals they tried to kick into you. I am the real you, getting stronger and stronger. That masked thing lacks one thing, and that is me. Let me out, Kamalia. A chime. A chime is all I ask. Let me out against those pitiful non-beings, and it will feel so very good." Invisible fingers were running along the Konti's skin, teasing her with the promise of ecstasy. "One chime. Did you not want to help Stitch? I can do it for you…"

[Gromhir]

Where he had been, nobody was quite sure. There was an answer somewhere but not one to be found here. Whatever had happened did not matter, what mattered now, was that he was here. Too wrapped up in listening to the dark whispers that nibbled at her ear, Kamalia would not sense Gromhir until his wet nose brushed against her hand. Her soft fingers were then almost forced over the soft fur of his Ivaski form. It was a simple gesture but to Kamalia it would mean so much more. Gromhir could feel the darkness clawing at her soul through their bond. It wasn’t something visible but he could see it plain as day in her. Almost to emphasise the point as he walked past her, Gromhir looked back at her. His ruby eyes offered her solace, a port against the storm to protect her fragile vessel. The white tail flicked from side to side as he looked towards the four images. Question filled his mind. Where was his image? Would there be an image for him, surely they could not imitate a true Kelvic? His human form maybe, but this form, not his true form. A Kelvic was neither man nor beast, but Gromhir’s true form was always considered to be that of the Ivaski. It was the image that stood out when anyone thought of him. Did they truly believe they could produce such a form? Gromhir gave a low growl to the four images before him. If they truly were images of their real selves, then none of them would touch him. The reasoning was simple. Stitch and his children were given protection and friendship by the Kelvic. He had no reason to stop him. Gromhir was Kamalia’s bondmate, no matter what, she would not attack him. Sasin may have believed he was an assassin but the Kelvic was stronger. Jaeden was still struggling with the curse placed on him by the Spider-Lady. Intent on breaking the stalemate, Gromhir continued forwards towards the door. His gaze moved from it, to the figure in the corner. He was quite aware of the rules of the game now. He would not remain unchallenged, Gromhir felt sure of that. But what would challenge him, remained to be seen.

[Stitch]

Jaeden's warning echoed in his mind. He couldn't throw any blows, and hurt any of the other players. That much should hopefully be easy to do. He thought his plan to provide Auristic eyes for the group was a good one, although he was a bit doubtful on how well he would be able to do so. He took a moment to cast an eye over the opposing group, seeing what he could gleam just from a simple passing of their Auras. Did those Auras hold the same intentions and convictions that the current group held? Or were they simply pale imitations and actors, ones that moved only to a script that had already been written? So focused was he on his plotting that he didn't even notice the words of the Gamemaster, but when they registered, they shocked him. His head whipped toward the man in the corner, and if his eyes had sight, then they would have gone wide. "You... want us to win? And the people in this game were not the ones who sent this one that note...? They were your... enemies?" There was no lie on the Aura of the Gamemaster, but it didn't really matter. Stitch was all too ready to believe in what he had to say. If the people who had created this infernal game didn't mean him any ill will, then the game itself wasn't out to get Stitch, like something in his heart had believed. That made this experience a lot less harrowing for the blind man, and managed to calm him down quite an incredible amount. He could act with a clear head, then. He could move and win, without fearing that the odds were stacked against him. For the first time ever, he thought the game was actually fair. A smile flickered across his face, and he lifted a hand, right in time for the Lord Gromhir to pass underneath it. "Welcome back, milord. Since some things have changed in this one's eyes, there has also been a change of plans. This one apologizes to the group, especially since we spent so long in deciding each other's tactics." As Gromhir stepped forward, Stitch stepped forward, his hand resting on the strong back of the massive wolf. He gave the man a slight pat, feeling the incredible muscle responding underneath, feeling the body of the Ivaski stand strong. Only more relief filled his heart, and he stepped forward again, everything quickly draining from his heart. All he had to do was win, and he trusted his companions and their skills enough to do that. The game wasn't evil. It was being played out, for some reason greater than themselves. Stitch would just have to trust that there was a reason to all this, and that it was meant to be. Priskil willing, there was a reason. But, now wasn't the time to contemplate such things. Stitch stepped forward even closer with Gromhir, his eyes scanning the group they approached, his body completely on the ready. With a deep breath, he swirled the Flux within him, sucking it up to his belly with that breath, feeling the Djed traveling along his veins. He pulled it from deep within himself, filling his body with the magic, feeling the pleasant buzz of it all. As they came within the range of the opposing actors, he swirled it down to his legs, pushing it to his calves, strengthing the twitch muscles that were there. All he wanted to do was prepare his body for a quick burst of speed. As they neared, he was ready, ready to ward off any attacks that would befell him or Gromhir. Any others that tried to get past the two... He would handle them all, if he could. Not with blows, or with power, though. With misdirection and redirection. Redirection toward Sasin, if possible. The Flux bulged and flexed within him, and he tried to control it, feeling his leg muscles twitching. A dark aura surrounded Kamalia, and Jaeden fell to his knees, a sudden taint crawling across his aura as well. "Rest for a moment, milord. Do not worry, please. You have done more than enough. Simply get it out of your system, if you can. You are a sad sight, laying there on the ground." Stitch's voice was humorous, meant to encourage the Ranger in his own weird way. Sarcasm was something he seemed to like, after all. As for the taint on Jaeden, Stitch could see it for what it was, he thought. It seemed like a simple sickness, although how it had come about, he did not know. It was foreign to him. He knew it wasn't something he could help the man with, though. He addressed Kamalia's problems next, his words coming out strong. "Stand strong milady, and do not falter. You have shown you can resist the darkest of temptations already. You can do it again." His voice turned, now to Sasin. "And finally, milord... After this is over, shall we have some roasted pig? This one shall treat you." Sasin would hopefully realize where the reference was from. The Midwinter Fire Festival. His next words were for the ears of the Gamemaster, as well as his grin. "You wait right there. This is sure you are very tired of this, just as we are. This one appreciates knowing you truly wish us no harm, in your own unique way." The final words, to the puppets. The grin was directed at them as well, but as a smirk. "Come then, puppets. Let us dance the final dance, as the Master says." The next words hurt him to his core, but he forced them from his lips, spurring on the wrath of the puppets with a simple taunt. "You don't want the children to burn because a few masked men got in your way, do you?"

[Kamalia Timandre]

The sorceress was relieved to see that Jaeden Kincade’s golden eyes bled into crimson after reading the incomprehensible passage on the Scroll of Betrayal. He won’t be making any trouble now, the konti hoped. She turned to face the opposing team and took time to study their enemies’ reactions to the challenges posed by Team Dusk. The Konti’s blood-gem eyes shifted observantly, tracing every movement, every hint of hesitation, every little pause and wavering of their enemies.

The sorceress stared at her masked counterpart, narrowing her attention to the woman, and eliminating everything else in the periphery of her vision. Kamalia planned to use auristics to see through the mask, and to reveal what is underneath its siren and porcelain visage—the face of kAMALIA. The wizard commanded the magic to course through her temple, and through sheer willpower, directed the eldritch energy to her eyeballs, attuning her sight to the aura of her masked equal. She was not as skilled as Stitch in this magical discipline, but should she fail to see through the mask, she would leave this up to Stitch.

“Can your sight penetrate their masks, Stitch? Have they real faces to conceal?” Kamalia asked the blind man quietly. “Watch how they seem to waver and hesitate. They may not know everything about us as they originally appeared to be.”

The Game Master’s words reverberated in Kamalia’s mind, and she dissected them one by one, in an attempt to unearth whatever meanings that lurk behind them. To the Konti’s goddess-given gift—Truth Sensitivity— the man was only telling the truth. Her Gift would sift untruth from truth, and she would only sense what was real. “He speaks the truth, Stitch,” the wizard advised softly. “It is not he who sent the note to you. I do not understand why you were blackmailed into joining, but if our unseen enemy holds value in the Game Master’s legacies—whatever they are—then they must be treacherously powerful,” the konti half-whispered to her sightless friend.

Kamalia’s gaze fell on Jaeden when the swordsman scrambled onto the floor and on his knees. It dawned on her that it was the half-symenestra’s curse taking effect. She knew the evils Karona Isenbach was capable of, but she could never read her machinations.

And then she whispered again. It was dark, seductive, siren, and she felt something warm nibbling on her earlobe. Kamalia loved her, and magic loved her back. Magic was a possessive lover, and she wanted Kamalia all for herself. As soon as Kamalia began to form bonds, magic had become more jealous, more covetous. She won’t let her go, even if Kamalia willed her away.

"You were not seriously thinking I would be silenced with a hug?" the Konti's darker voice spoke amusedly. Kamalia almost felt like something warm was nibbling on her earlobe. "This is not some cheap novel, silly. I am just as much 'Kamalia Timandre' as you are and I am way more fun." She felt like a tongue was playing with her ear and running down the skin on her neck.

"You are the illusion, not I. You are just the byproduct of strict education and all the senseless morals they tried to kick into you. I am the real you, getting stronger and stronger. That masked thing lacks one thing, and that is me. Let me out, Kamalia. A chime. A chime is all I ask. Let me out against those pitiful non-beings, and it will feel so very good." Invisible fingers were running along the Konti's skin, teasing her with the promise of ecstasy. "One chime. Did you not want to help Stitch? I can do it for you…"

Kamalia trembled and shook with fear. Her knees quivered, and her heart was suddenly filled with uncertainties. “It’s what you want. It’s all you ever wanted. The end of your doubts, the end of your fears,” the darker voice purred. Why not? If she let her out against those pitiful non-beings, without a doubt, Kamalia knew that their battle will be effortlessly won. Why not? It would only last for a chime, won’t it? It won’t be too long, and she would be herself again.

The konti dreaded the consequences of accepting this single sliver of opportunity. Stitch cannot fight for being innocent, the human swordsman lay crumpled and weak on the floor, and Sahsin would be more apt for a surprise attack than a direct clash. Accepting this offer was the only way to break the impasse. Only one chime and this will be over. Only one chime was all they needed to triumph. Kamalia was afraid of what she might once again become.

Suddenly, something damp brushed against her slender hand and Kamalia instantly knew Gromhir had come for her. Her soft fingers were almost forced over the rich white fur of her ivaski bondmate. He stared at her, and the Konti’s heart suddenly brimmed with hope. Stitch stood by her, and although she could barely hear what he was saying, Kamalia knew that her sightless friend was telling her to be strong and not to falter.

"I am the Answer."

“No,” the konti thought defiantly, wilfully. “I am not merely a mask. I am no illusion. I am a daughter of Mura, descendant of Avalis and Laviku, whereas you are only but a part of me. I have learned to love,” she looked to Gromhir, who stood beside Stitch, “to mourn, to toil, to live, while you cower in my shadows, striking only in my weakest moments. I hate to break it to you, my dear, but without me, you are nothing. Nothing at all.”


“But I may still have use for you later,” Kamalia told her darker voice in a lilting, playful mental voice. “For now, however, this is my battle.”

Kamalia smiled menacingly at her masked counterpart. Her fingers rose to dance in the air in intricate gestures, as she sang an incantation in the Ancient Tongue. The konti’s song was starlight and magic and wind and every mysterious emotion they could name. Kamalia released res in gaseous state from her fingers and from her mouth. She willed the silvery res to form into the shape of a tower shield in front of her, covering almost her entire body. “You may have spells of your own, but you can never imitate my cunning. Shall we dance?”

[Jaeden Kincade]

As the masked man’s words rang into Jaeden’s ears, his countdown echoing out, Jaeden’s eyes went wide as that first feeling of nausea hit him. His left hand went to his stomach as a cramping sensation overtook him, causing his knees to buckle and his body to fall to the ground. His hand pressed along the cold, magically formed stone, his other hand keeping a tight grip on his sword. His eyes watered as a pained grunt forced its way through his lips. Then everything he had eaten had began to escape, on both ends of his body as vomit sprayed along the floor and a foul odor filled the air.

Dry heaves and painful cramps continued to keep him along the ground even as Stitch approached, uttering teasing words. He would have quipped a response, had it not been for the continuous dry heaves that continued to force themselves on his system and the pain his colon had been placing on him. “If I see that woman again, I’m going to cut her head off.” Jaeden thought to himself as the muscles all over his body flexed and tightened continuously. “Petch, how much more! I don’t have anything left to throw up by my nuts.”

Jaeden continued to grunt as Stitch’s words echoed into his ears first, moving further forward as he offered a comforting phrase to Kamalia, then stepping further forward, uttering casual words to the masked man and the copies that barred their path. Slowly, the pains ebbed a little, not a great deal, but enough that he could grab a few deep breaths of air. Kamalia’s voice rang into his ears next, confirm essence of truth to the words uttered previously and then issuing a challenge to her own copy.

It had all become so very frustrating to Jaeden, being forced to his knees without a physical attack being made. Then to lose all control of his body as he had. It wasn’t as if he had never thrown up before. He had done so quite often while Olevar had trained him, all those years. Several days he had worked Jaeden physically to such a degree that he would often throw up at the end, being to physically exhausted to keep it all down. This was different, as divine magic and whispered words in his ear was all it took. The act of a psychotic coward in Jaeden’s opinion, and one that wouldn’t go unanswered if he ever saw the woman again.

For now, however, there were more pressing matters at hand, and Jaeden would be damned if a few stomach cramps, as painful as they were, would keep him down. He had fought with swords and arrows stuck in him, he could move when he was too tired to, he could stay up for three days strait when it was necessary. Jaeden could push past this. In the end, all Stitch had to do, according to the masked man, was touch the door. “Enough talk.” Jaeden uttered under his breath as he slowly raised his head, seeing his copy doing the same quickly after. “Let’s dance handsome.”

Jaeden then pushed himself from the floor, grunting heavily as he forced himself to move despite the pains. His copy began to do the same, but there seemed to be a delay, like watching a mirror that reflected one’s image a short moment after they had made a movement. Imitation acting in a way. Jaeden would see if these group would actually take initiative, or simply reacted to their own movements in the end. “Use you powers and try and clear a path to the door if you can.” Jaeden spoke quickly in Kontinese as he rushed past Kamalia. “He just needs to touch it.”

Jaeden’s sword raised as he closed the distance, his own copy fixed in view. He would go for the simple and easily blocked strike, using his free hand immediately after to reach out and physically force his copy from the path of the door. Their copy’s abilities would show just how successful these attempts were in the end.

[Nyahna Sasin]

Sasin sighed, but merely nodded at the other him. This game was getting complicated, and he was still at a loss as to how he should convince the other to join his side, seeing as they were both completely alike. And both thought they were the real one's, apparently. Urgh.

He turned as the GameMaster started his countdown. He glanced at Jaeden, grimacing as the man dropped to his knees. Wonderful. Just wonderful. He relaxed only slightly as the other Jaeden fell as well. He turned away from the fallen man to take stock of the rest of his team. Kamalia was trembling. Stitch looked relieved, but wasn't doing anything. Gromhir had appeared out of seemingly nowhere. He smiled at the last one. This, he thought satisfactorily, would work. This would work very well.

He watched as the wolf started forward, and, not looking at the other, hissed quietly in Snake. "As a matter of fact, I do. I need you to switch sides. Informally, of course." He said bluntly. Things were happening now. Stitch was moving to join the wolf, and both Kamalia and Jaeden were threatening their counterparts. He sighed softly. This did not bode well at all. "As you can see, we outnumber you. Oh, yes, you might take down some of us. But that will do you no good when you're dead. Give us a hand here," he hissed "and we'll let you leave safely."

He could only hope none of his team mates did anything stupid. "What do they matter?" He murmured softly. "We're the ones at greatest risk here. They can go on and on about how weak they feel, but when push comes to shove, they're the ones who can fight, head to head with another."

If sASIN showed any signs of agreeing, Sasin would continue. "Get the swordsman." He muttered, not wanting them to hear their names. He took a few steps towards Stich and Gromhir, ready to rush anyone who tried to make a move on them. Being the fastest of Dhani, he reflected, was very, very useful.

[Tarot]

OOCHigh-priority posting to this thread so we can finally finish it!

The Master chuckled at Stitch's inquiry. "It is a bit more complex than that, but yes, that's the gist of it. My 'enemy' is likely behind your plight, and has selected you to win the Game as I won't let his pawns participate in person. You are the perfect person for the job: reliable, resourceful and easy to blackmail. I do know my enemy better than anyone else, after all." And he chuckled again, mysteriously. Maybe because Stitch looked relieved that the Game wasn't out to get him. As if the Game were the worst life could throw at him… not by a long shot. Fashionably late like the cavalry, Gromhir marched into the room. It hadn't been hard to get there, being that he had found his way into the antechamber while the play was still going on. Doing it again had been easier still. The audience were clapping their hands with their weapons dropped; the climb had been a breeze to the Ivaski, who now showed up in his canine form. And by all logical thought, a gROMHIR should have marched in from one of the doors to balance the scales that had been tipped. But no such thing happened. Why? Maybe Gromhir was just right and the masked actors lacked le physique du role to play a Kelvic in his natural form. Or maybe there was something else. Stitch, charged with Flux, advanced cautiously but firmly, together with the approaching Gromhir. Like a tidal wave in slow motion, they walked towards the line of the opposing actors, who did not move an inch. Passing them without touching them would be tough. Meanwhile, Jaeden slowly overcame the feeling of nausea and got back on his feet, as did his replicant. It was obvious they were going to fight. On the other side, Sasin tried to discuss terms with his counterpart. He was, after all, one of the most flexible players in the Game, and his actor was just as much prone to flexibility. "Deal," sASIN said after a while, and began slipping away, "but you owe me 10,000 gold Mizas." Take that, Sasin. He was quick to get away before the Dhani could protest the unilateral agreement. The deal was sealed in its own way. Kamalia silenced her inner magic, and could feel the mounting anger of her darker persona as she was being denied, but ironically decided to employ magic right there and then, Auristics and then Reimancy. Res began to form just as the voice inside her was fading was retreating within the folds in her Konti heart; and the tide of battle changed. "Your mouth says one thing, but your mind does another." The voice was no longer seductive, or tempting; it was seething and angry. It was pure desire, once scorned and twice passionate. "It's because of HIM, right? It's always about HIM. You don't love HIM more than you love ME!" The fake kAMALIA stood still as the shield Kamalia conjured began to change shape. The Konti started to tremble lightly, shaking as her body felt barely responsive to her commands. Kamalia's mouth opened, and steam poured out, mixing with the Res. The gas was taking on a new form, and within seconds the steam had started glowing. The whimsical vapor had taken on the form of Kamalia's head, bust and arm, coming out of the Konti's gaping mouth. The apparition's face was a deep, grimacing scowl and the subsequent scream was heard clearly by everyone in the room and sounded like the bubbling of hot water. "Let me oooooooooout!" The arm of steam flailed wildly, the fist curling into a ball and hitting the fake kAMALIA squarely in the head. It turned into ice just as it struck the figure, sending it against the wall like a ragdoll and snapping its neck instantly. The Master of the Game sighed. "You are a fool, Ivaski. I warned you. All this time you thought I was the enemy. Your enemy is the one you love." The arm of steam swung at Gromhir, grabbing him by the thick canine neck and lifting him forcefully off the floor. Stitch saw his large frame simply taking off under the pull of Kamalia's magic. The arm slammed Gromhir into the ceiling of the room, some twelve feet above, and kept pressing, icy steam curling around his neck. He was being hanged there, brutally, by the magic out of Kamalia's control. It was no mistake at all. The magic wanted him dead. He was a nuisance, a threat. He must be disposed of. It all happened within the span of a moment, and at the same time Jaeden and jAEDEN crossed swords, his first blow parried and both of them trying to push the other off the way. Physical confrontations with one's equal were always a tricky thing. Then, suddenly, jAEDEN dropped down without making a sound. Behind him, sASIN pulled out the bloodied dagger out of the masked actor's back. "One of yours has bought my services," the actor said simply. sTITCH looked up at Gromhir being pulled and nailed against the ceiling, distracted for a second. Stitch could finally see an opening towards the door. It was a fleeting thing, something that wouldn't last long. On the other hand, the Ivaski was in serious trouble. Should the blind man try and help him first, or did the Game come first?