The Game - Gathering the players [Team Dusk, closed]

[Nyahna Sasin]

Sasin was about to leave when he saw a man approach them and ask about this place. His eye twitched. A human.

"This is a Pre Valatarian building. We're going to play a game for something. Go read the rules. I'm off hunting." He said.

Then he saw Stitch. He smiled hesitantly, nodding at the human. He whispered to the Symenstra. "He actually can see." With that, he walked off into the forest.

[Demetri Velutina]

Demetri didn't even responded to Sasin only giving him a pleasant do as you please nod . Standing at the foot of the moat where the drawbridge was too be lowed Demetri waited soon turning round to start pacing, Not long after did another come into play. A off put human looking lost and confused, Rhylen. Demetri didn't hate humans just a strong dislike of them so all he saw in Rhylen was lower cattle used to breed female surrogates for harvest. Just Like a noble speaking to a pesent Demetri pointed to the stele of rules "Make yourself useful" after Sasin answered. In all truth Demetri didn't even know where they where but he wasn't going to act like an equal. Hopfuly Rhylen would make a good part of the team.

Continuing to pace out of having nothing else to do but wait Demetri watched as Stitch came in to view. The first thing he noticed where the bandages on Stitch's eyes..... If what Sasin said was true this blind boy was, special? "Velutina, Demetri Velutina".

[Kamalia Timandre]

Dawn touched the ashen wildlands of Sylira, and in the faint mist over the ashes, glowed a soft sunrise pink. On the eastern side of the small castle, a slender white-cloaked figure rode on a massive white beast as it flitted through the charred wilderness. The figure swathed in the cloak of silk brocade was definitely female in outline, with movements too fluid and graceful for a human; she was konti. Almond-shaped eyes gleamed twilit violet at the crack of dawn, glinting with a restless intelligence and the prospect of adventure ahead. An occasional cross-draft rippled through the cloud of white hair that fell in wavy locks to her waist. She was dressed for travel, in boots and breaches fashioned from thin, supple leather and a quilted jerkin. Around her waist she wrapped a gossamer sash that held the small ornate scabbard of her suvai— a three-pronged dagger made of white whale horn and the weapon favored by the konti.

“Stop making so much noise, Whitemane. He’ll find us and tell us to go home again,” Kamalia crooned in a gentle admonish, slumping low as she mounted the back of her enormous ivaski. Throughout the dawn, the konti-girl and the kelvic had been trailing after the blind human male. Stitch had caught the pair sneaking after him several times already and had grumpily asked them to go back home, but that was simply not enough to convince the stubborn and curious konti maiden to do so.

A few chimes earlier, back at the Welcome Home in the City of Syliras, Stitch had received a note, read it, and excused himself. He went to his room for a few moments, and came out, packed and ready to go. His face went pale, steely-jawed and looking quite stricken. With her goddess-given sight and her seer heritage, Kamalia could faintly sense a slight panic seeping off of him in the air. Stitch would neither speak about the note, nor where he was going, and made arrangements with his nuit helper to watch over the children. Curious, Kamalia offered to accompany him, but the man insisted that they stay at the city where it was safe. He left briefly, and after swallowing her disappointment, Kamalia decided that perhaps Stitch would not need to know. So the bonded pair, even after being caught four times and told to go back home again and again, pressed on and “stealthily” followed the sightless male.

Finally, they reached the castle. The konti sorceress carefully scanned the pre-Valterrian structure and the moat that surrounded it. Unlike Stitch, Kamalia did not possess magicks that could read auras, but since leaving her fey homeland, Kamalia had noticed that her eyes were becoming more and more attuned to the nuances of power. The ancient stronghold was permeated with arcane energies, perhaps to preserve the place through sorcerous means. Several moments passed and she saw Stitch, her heart leapt in relief, but Stitch was not alone. A scattering of beings from the other races also made their way to the enigmatic castle.

Kamalia swung down from her mount and crouched low. “What do you see?” The konti maiden asked the kelvic in a hushed voice.

[Gromhir]

Of every one of the children at the Welcome Home, Gromhir had a favourite. He wouldn’t admit it but he did. Fentya’s sarcastic demeanour intrigued Gromhir but she was the only person other than Kamalia who was most likely to spend a lot of time with him. If Kamalia was busying herself with her studies, Gromhir would seek out Fentya. Sandwiches were a different concept to the diet he was used to, but he had grown to like them. She had been kind enough to provide Kamalia and Gromhir with enough food for a week.

Now, the pair were out in the wilds. Kamalia had insisted she ride which, while Gromhir didn’t mind, was probably not the greatest of ideas the Konti Wizard had ever come up with. Her lack of experience riding made it hard for him to help keep her balance. Although their bond helped, it was no easy task to compensate for her despite her small form. As she swung off his large white form, Gromhir transformed to his human form and slipped on the clothes hastily packed into the saddlebag.

“I would make less noise if you knew how to ride,” Gromhir moaned quietly to her. “But we’re here now and I doubt he would turn away our help.” Gromhir took in the scene ahead of them. The castle looked out of place but to Gromhir simply looked like another human construction. There was however, a sense of foreboding that surrounded the structure, almost as if it didn’t belong here at all. His gaze then focused in on their not-so-blind friend. There were other figures with him. Another shape shifter, a reptile from the scent he gave off so not a Kelvic, he remembered reading about them, Ni-something maybe? Then there were two other figures. He was too far away to pick up on any emotions.

“We should make our presence known,” Gromhir stated. He never normally led but with so many males in the area he felt he should approach first. There was nothing at first glance to suggest that Gromhir was anything other than human. However, he did appear odd. His green cloak covered his naked torso, while his loose white breeches could be seen poking from the bottom along with his bare feet.

“Master Stitch,” Gromhir chose not to address the others yet. “If you were meeting with friends for more drinks, you could have said.” Gromhir’s time spent with Stitch and the Welcome Home had a strange effect on him. He was trying out this ‘sarcasm’ principle.

[Rhylen]

Taken aback at the initial gruffness of the other two, Rhylen moved towards the stele with a great amount of care, both as a means of testing the readiness of his body, as well as the potential threat generated by his unusual companions. His eyes scoured the rules, which were written in common. ”A game?” he asked aloud, reaching out tentatively to test the archway. A brief flash of pain in his eyes was all the confirmation he needed. This was real. Not a dream but a waking nightmare brought on by the dead shaman inhabiting his body. You truly intend for me to partake in this savagery? His question, safe within the confines of his own skull, met the fog in his mind and went unanswered. Shyke!

Rhylen turned at the immergence of three new players. The first, an invalid, his eyes wrapped in a manner fitting of the blind, stood calmly and without support as though he were not sightless at all. The Drykas felt troubled. None among his people would willingly bring the shame of such physical limitation upon their Clan. Those on the grasslands did not usually survive the weaknesses brought on by maladies of the sort and would often die quiet deaths, respectful and out of sight. The shaman’s apprentice couldn’t be certain as to how he felt about the strict norms of his culture, but his place was not to question, or at least, it hadn’t been.

The next two arrived simultaneously. First to catch his eye was the stark white vision of a human woman, unearthly in her faultlessness and poise. His sense of power had been unusually peaked in this locale, but still he sensed energy about her. Perhaps it was the early morning light that seemed to radiate from her pale features, but he would ask her privately to be sure. Second, and most commanding, was the presence of a scantily clad man with incredibly willful eyes and a bearing that reminded him of the Drykas warriors. Though, he was not sufficiently armed or armored, Rhylen’s level of anxiety increased tremendously in the man’s company. This was a feeling he would need to remedy somehow, lest his heart climb out of his throat. So long as these people were friends and not foes, he would play along with Raghnall’s little game, but should trouble arise, he would follow the sun and stars until his feet could take him no further.

”I am Rhylen,” he said, quietly enough that anyone not paying attention might easily have missed it. His Drykas accent would seem abrupt and inelegant, but it was not broken, suggesting he was no uneducated whelp from a distant land. ”Am I to assume that we are members of the same team?” His eyes glowed scarlet, a sign that there was no turning back.

[Nyahna Sasin]

Sasin made a face as he came back. Walking over to the archway, the Dhani pressed his hand to it.

He glanced at all the others. Stitch, Demetri, a Konti and a Kelvic. An odd group, for certain."Well, since we're in the same team now, might I know your names? I know Stitch and Demetri already. And which among you can fight?"

He asked, eyes already turning red. There was no turning back for him.

[Demetri Velutina]

Demetri paced as his midnight black cloak wearingly opened and closed showing his ink-black leather armor that was given more contrast against Demetri's pale skin giving the impression of a elegant phantom. His eyes started to glow a vibrant red as he looked upon the new arrivals and how the others greeted each other, his thoughts drifted to the beauty that was the Kamalia totally ignoring the group, letting the lesser keep themselves busy.

Demetri positioned him self around Gromhir as he eyed Kamalia giving her a soft smile and a polite nobles bow slightly tipping his head and raising his hands both to shoulders hight. "I am Demetri Velutina, A world without day is gloomy indeed, but a world without one so radiant would be pure misery. One so beautiful as yourself must have a name just as marvelous." Many a women loved the sound of Symenos so his accent was slightly harder when he spoke.

Demetri's attention shifted slightly to the scantly dressed Gromhir and to what the others may be saying moments after.

[Stitch]

Stitch cocked his head and crossed his arms over his chest, tilting his head at Gromhir as he approached, casting his hidden sight over the Kelvic's shoulder to catch a glimpse of Kamalia's aura as well. It was so bright, it was impossible to hide it, why had she even tried? He felt his jaw setting, and for the first time in a long time, he had to fight to control his temper. He had told them both to stay behind, he had told them both that very thing about four times, but they hadn't listened a single time, apparently. He didn't want them here, he didn't want them to be in danger, he wanted to shoulder this alone. This was his duty, his responsibility, the note hadn't mentioned them at all. They were free to stay back at the Welcome Home, to live their lives normally, and to be free of what he felt was going to be horrifying. Why had they come? Faintly, he heard the Kelvic man address him, and he re-focused on the situation. Even if he wanted to hold onto his anger, and remained slightly enraged at the two, he couldn't help but smile a bit as Gromhir tried out his hand at being sarcastic once more. Every time he assumed that particular tone, Stitch always recalled when he had first tried to copy Fentya's sarcasm. The girl had been quick to shoot him down, to show him how a real master of linguistics performed her art.

He wouldn't admit it, but he was relieved to have them both here, no matter how selfish that made him feel. He didn't have to shoulder this burden alone, not in the way. Unknowingly, everyone here was helping him shoulder it, even if they did not know it.

"Drinks, milord? Nonsense. Milord is very aware that if drinks were involved, this one would have made sure milord was the first to know. From what this one knows, milord hasn't experienced drinking in Mura, and it is something he should learn." Stitch offered the Kelvic a somewhat shaky, but beaming smile once more, another aura of slightly hesistant friendless washing through the immediate area. He turned to Rhylen, tilting his head at the man, offering a slight bow of the head. He had heard the Drykas's introduction perfectly, even if the others had not. "Well met, milord. This one is honored to meet you, always nice to find a new friend in this world." He gave the man his own personal smile, and Rhylen would perhaps feel a warmth caressing him, Stitch unknowingly extending his own aura toward the man. "Yes, this one believes we are a team now. Good luck to us all, and here is to winning?" Stitch's voice grew even more shaky at those last few words, but he was quite to regain his composure.

He also turned to greet Demetri as the Symenestra introduced himself, smiling and bowing his head. "Well met, milord. This one is honored to meet you." He paused a moment before posing the next question, his words a bit hesitant. "Might this one ask what exactly milord is? This one doesn't mean to be rude, this one is sure you have noticed this one can see a bit better than his damaged eyes suggest, but they still aren't that good... If you would rather it remain a private matter though, this one completely understands." Stitch bowed his head again, quicker this time, hoping the man wouldn't take any offense to the question. Then turning to Sasin, something triggered in the back of his mind, and he remembered he had someone of the Dhani's.

"Ah, Milord Sasin. This one is happy he met you here, this one possesses something that is actually rightfully yours." He had put Sasin's dagger in his pack a while back, after he had picked it up at the Fire Festival. He often took the pack shopping with him, to hold the items he bought, and he had figured that would be the most likely time that he would run into Sasin. How lucky that he had managed to run into him here. Unbuttoning a side pocket, he pulled out the wrapped dagger, wincing slightly at the weapon in his hands as he passed it to Sasin. As he did, he answered the Dhani's question.

"This one is able to fight, if needed." As if to prove any doubters, his muscles flexed, the orphanage owner rather well built, if slim. He paused, and spoke again, a sudden determination to his voice. "And this one can prove it, if needed."

[Kamalia Timandre]

“No, Grom! Wait—blast!” Kamalia hissed when Gromhir rose and declared that they should make their presence known. The konti maiden did not relish the idea of stumbling into the midst of strangers or, even worse, a dhani and a symenestra. A slender, white hand flashed in an attempt to tug the tail of the kelvic male’s forest green cloak and drag him back into their hiding place—a rather large charred stump that hardly even concealed the girl’s stark white form. Too late, she thought grimly, hopelessly watching Gromhir walk in the direction of the throng. Kamalia paused to observe as the events unfurl before her, still hiding herself (to no avail) behind the burnt stump of tree. Delicate silver brows furrowed in a scowl, but Gromhir’s attempt at sarcasm stole her annoyance and drew a smile across Kamalia’s face. An image of the little, human girl Fentya lecturing an enormous ivaski on the finer points of sarcasm and the intricacies of genteel putdown popped into Kamalia’s mind, and a bubble of delighted, musical laughter burst from her lips. Carefully, cautiously, the konti girl crept a little closer, eager to eavesdrop on their conversation and have a closer look at Stitch’s unlikely allies. First to catch Kamalia’s attention, of course, was the charming symenestra male. They were dark, graceful creatures, these symenestra. Kamalia had glimpsed of an occasional symenestra during her brief stay at the port city of Zeltiva. This one was morbidly pale with grotesquely beautiful features and dark violet irises, and just like most of her kin, looked as if he were a thing left for too long in the dark. Kontinese literature was abounding with tales and horrors that involved the symenestra people and the spider-like race did not exactly occupy exalted roles in the books that she had perused. Her curious violet eyes, then, drifted towards another figure. “Dhani,” Kamalia whispered excitedly. There was no doubt. At first glance, one would mistake the short man for a mere human male, but upon closer inspection and with her seer sensitivities, Kamalia felt that there was something . . . snaky that lingered about the man. The konti-girl swallowed hard. The dreadful tales about the serpentine race did not endear them to the konti women in general. Kamalia had little love for snakes, but neither did she like the idea of abandoning Stitch and Gromhir to a murderous dhani. Finally, her gaze fell upon the drykas. He was ruggedly handsome, with eyes the color of rubies and a skin the hue of earth. Untamed dark mane fell unbridled to his shoulders. Kamalia absently fingered a lock of her own white-silver hair. Dark where she was light, Kamalia mused, like some inverted mirror. This one was young, perhaps just slightly older than her own age as humans reckon time. For a few more moments Kamalia observed, until fear knotted her throat and raced her heart. Suddenly, the symenestra male broke away from the group, and in his phantom elegance, smiled and bowed courteously in front of the frightened konti-girl’s hiding place. Kamalia, poised for a fast retreat, paused and considered the inviting welcome. After a moment of fierce internal debate, Kamalia conceded that she simply had no choice now. Quickly rising to her feet, Kamalia returned the smile, almost awkwardly, and straightened the folds of her white cloak. “Fine winds to you, and well met. My name is Kamalia, and that,” she pointed to the green-cloaked kelvic, “is Gromhir.” Just those words, and then Kamalia strode away to join her bondmate and her not-so-blind human friend. Now swathed in Syna’s light, the konti-girl’s locks and cloak seemed to shimmer with silvery radiance, making her appear more like a fable than a reality. Kamalia spotted the stone slab next to the archway and hurriedly skirted towards it, ever the curious. She ran a slender finger through the inscriptions engraved on the stele as she read them. “A game?” Kamalia muttered and continued reading the rules. It was said here that by touching the archway, one agrees to be part of “The Game” and the eyes of “Team Dusk” will turn red. Excitement spurred Kamalia to action, approaching the the stone archway to test if this was the genuine article and not a sham. The moment she gingerly touched the castle’s archway, her mind seemed to shatter like glass and pain erupted behind her eyelids. The konti whimpered and rubbed at her eyes with her fists. She silently cursed the one who created this game for its stupidity, herself for her carelessness, and the clueless stone slab for not warning her about it. Once she opened them, understanding came to Kamalia quickly. Her once brilliantly violet irises now gleamed a crimson garnet and she could almost feel the djed churning within her eyes. Incredulous! Cheerfully, she hurried back to join the group. She stared smilingly at Gromhir, and then to Stitch—who she knew was slightly angry—and smiled apologetically. She rather hoped he had forgiven the pair. “Do you think red looks good on my eyes?” she asked, pointing to her bright ruby irises, utterly forgetting that Stitch could not see.

[Nyahna Sasin]

Sasin Was only half listening to Stitch talk, until the blind man addressed him. Something of his? What....OH! "Thank you. I'd forgotten you had it, actually." He admitted sheepishly. All thoughts of the knife had been driven from his head by Kadurro and his preposition.

He was turning away when the konti (Or unnaturally white human) appeared.

“Do you think red looks good on my eyes?”

He looked out of curiousity, and nearly laughed. "Red on white looks like a rather......interesting contrast." He said, smirking.

"I'm Sasin. And you?"