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

[Gromhir]

The theatre was huge. Intricate designs adorned the columns and banisters. Seats of expensive fabric to seat equally privileged guests. It was all utterly lost on the Kelvic. In fact, he found it rather irritating to look at. The Ivaski’s blood red eyes took in his surroundings. He could still feel the djed burning within the sockets but had become accustomed to the feeling now. Still, all the intricacies of design were something he didn’t have any real appreciation for. For him, true beauty lay in Nature’s works, not the hands of mortal beings.

Nature. It had no place here. Whatever malcontent being had created this place did not wish for the natural order to be maintained here. The strange creatures, the masked figures. Wait, masked figures for the audience? The man he had seen. He had worn a mask the same as these beings. Were they human underneath or something more? The sign, now he remembered, he needed a mask. The only one nearby was one of the audience. He shifted back to human form as Kamalia spoke, hastily pulling a cloak of pure forest green from his pack.

“I shall explore here. I have no place on a stage,” he replied, looking between his two companions. He could not act, he did not know how. He barely knew the meaning of the word. If it wasn’t for Avayra’s festival, he doubted he would know what it meant at all. Her last words to him and Stitch before she turned pained him to hear. The last time she had said those words to him, it had not ended well. That would not happen again. He swore that much to himself.

Gromhir stopped Stitch before he could follow Kamalia. “I cannot protect her from up here. I would ask that you protect her as I would the things most precious to you were they in danger.” He said nothing more to the man, waiting for his reply. He knew it did not need to be said but Gromhir could not leave it unsaid. She meant more to him than even he realised.

Once Stitch was down with the others, Gromhir turned his eyes to the stage. He would have to pick his moment carefully. Silently, he crept closer to the nearest audience member. He stayed to the shadows and as small as possible, the green cloak helping him to blend a little better than his Ivaski form would. As the play began and Gromhir was sure that the audience were focused on the stage, he struck silently. His hand darting out to grab the mask and pull it from the face of the creature.

[Rhylen]

Rhylen’s bewilderment only grew more profound as the interior of the central keep was revealed. His eyes darted between the neatly hung masks, his unrecognizable glowing-eyed opponents, and the spectral majordomo. Each was as awfully unfamiliar to the wildlander as the next, and his feeling of uncertainty grew more pronounced, causing his hands to tremble slightly. This next part of the game would most certainly be more difficult than the last. The thought of putting on a play for three days was harrowing. Surely there would be more to it than this. But what foul machination awaited them after this? Rhylen felt as though he were being led deeper and deeper into a trap. Once more his eyes found a black door, and once more he considered escape. He had a question for the egg. By no means did Rhylen intend to sacrifice his innocent status this early in the game. But the fragility of the object made the possibility of breaking it too great, and he had no desire to waste an opportunity to expose one of the Game’s numerous secrets. Rhylen made use of his fur cloak, which until now had hung casually over his right shoulder, to form a shield against prying golden eyes. He crouched low over his pack, and with the freshly dipped quill scrawled his question onto the rounded and unnaturally smooth surface. He blew on the ink gently and when he was sure it was dry, and tied his pack tightly again, concealing the question in darkness. Rhylen's Question : What legacy awaits The Game’s winners? Should the egg break, he would know whether or not the ends justified feeling like a wretched puppet, the strings of too many masters tangling with those of his equally ill-fated companions. He had little need or desire for treasure. What he coveted most was a place of esteem and influence among the Drykas. No dark god, no matter how powerful, could grant him that privilege. It must be earned. His business done, Rhylen came to his feet and took a leather tie from his wrist to pull back his wild mane, allowing only a few sun-bleached wisps to gently frame his face. The witch’s gruff return alarmed him initially, but quickly served to alleviate some of his earlier fears. Together they would be strong in the face of whoever chose to bring harm upon them. He hoped that it would not come to blows between the teams, but he was sure that the fiery resolve he’d sensed within his own teammates dwelled within the hearts of Team Dawn. Not wanting the pale beauty to feel she would be unaided, Rhylen moved toward the masks, compelled to look at each in turn, gaining a feel for what would be expected of them. Silver first, then grey and purple. His eyes held on the last mask, a skeletal visage reminiscent of the ghost he’d spoken to only minutes ago. He wondered for a brief time whether there was any connection. What did this play and its audience, the whole keep in fact, have to do with pre-Valteriran times? Were the inhabitants of this Game as hopelessly trapped as they now found themselves? His hand moved of its own volition, stretching towards the masks, an abrupt reminder from Ragnall that he would need to choose quickly, the play was already beginning. Without further thought he grabbed the silver one, fitting it into place quickly, with scarlet eyes looking somewhat forlorn as they peered out from the tragic disguise. He shouldered his pack again, pulling the cloak about himself in a way that would conceal its shape and his hands, one of which rested securely on the dirk at this side. Ashak? He thought to himself, surely a prince will come to the least harm. His deliberation was cut painfully short at the mention of the character’s name. “Prince Ashak travels to Invari Castle with a small band of friends…" He looked to Kamalia, his mouth hanging wide. Already Sasin had entered the stage, the slight man quick to jest in the face of an audience. ”I guess there’s no looking back now,” he sighed, mustering what courage he could in an attempt to sound comforting. He offered her his arm, taking on the stately posture of rank. The mask helped him to lose some of his characteristic apprehension, but sweat still clung to his brow, and the quaking of his limbs had subsided very little. Taking a deep breath he strode forward, into the light of a thousand lamps, and into the maw of the beast. ”Your Majesty I have arrived,” he boomed, his own voice carrying unexpectedly throughout the chamber. ”And let it be known that your presence warms my heart, for I can now see the beauty that surely lingers in the blood of my betrothed.” He bowed graciously, not a difficult task in the face of the strange woman’s poise. She was unearthly, and in fact made him uneasy. But she led the story with profound charisma. An admirable quality, even in an adversary. "Please allow me to introduce my dear sister, the Princess Queya. May you find her as splendid a relation as I, for our family sees great merit in this most timely of unions.” A newfound excitement made the whole experience much easier. But still, doubt clouded his thoughts. A movement in the upper balconies caught his eye. Gromhir!

[Kamalia Timandre]

The konti sorceress draped a slender, alabaster arm around the Drykas male’s bicep. Underneath the pearlescent, porcelain mask the hue of azure mists, the girl smiled at him. Those eyes glinted with a preternatural, almost disturbing union of determination and desperation. Rhylen and Demetri would hear the faintest traces of it in her voice as she spoke, “We must win this Game,” she murmured softly, almost despairingly, almost unwaveringly— never completely. “We must do everything we can to win.” Her eyes followed the dhani as he skipped out onto the stage and acted out his role as Muro the Squire, and all those dark, masked faces seemed to watch him in an icy, foreboding quiescence. A strange medley of fear, excitement and defiance clutched her heart and knotted in her throat. Rhylen could feel the small cold hand grasping his arm tense, and then almost tighten into a squeeze. Inhibitions began to creep in, laced by the fear of failure. Still the konti prayed silently to Avalis, depending on her faith like it was her salvation. She remembered the faces of the orphans at the Welcome Home and the predicament they were in, and that was all the konti wizard needed to muster courage once again. She straightened her posture, unearthly elegance and grace mirroring the poise of a royal princess. Kamalia was no stranger to stage play and improvisational theater acting, as the konti women of Mura endeared to themselves the sophistication of the thespian arts. The girl realized that the raconteur-bard had never spoken explicitly how the role of Princess Queya was played, and so she assumed that it was up to her to improvise. Kamalia herself had never acted on stage, but the girl was a devoted reader of Kontinese literature, and had dedicated time to invent dialogues with her sisters, some being playwrights and lyricists. The first thing Kamalia had to improvise was the place of Princess Queya in the big picture. The gears in hear head started turning as she spun the image of the princess in her mind, daubing colors and adding facets to a multilayered personality. The next plans she contrived were designs on how she would be able to manipulate this grandiose arena to the benefit of Team Dusk. Without delay, the girl had conceptualized a dozen schemes and borrowed plot devices from her books to one-up the opposing team. The last detail she had to ponder on was the grand entrance. It was not uncommon for supporting actors to outdo the leading characters in a stage play to compete with them and challenge them to do better—and that was what she was going to do. First impressions were a very powerful tool, after all. As they took the first step forward onto the stage, the konti girl was once again assaulted full blast by her fears and her inhibitions, knowing the nature of the audience and the dreadful penalty should they misstep. With great resolve, she reminded herself how desperate she was to win. Innocent lives were at stake here. She might no longer fear death, she who had been exiled and deemed a monstrosity by her own homeland, but the children of the Welcome Home had a life ahead of them. Kamalia knew what would happen to the children of Stitch’s orphanage if they did not succeed. If they did not survive, if they did not win the game, Welcome Home will get razed down by the flames of death. If they won the Game, what would she herself become? Kamalia shattered this train of thought and focused on the task ahead. She will do anything to win. No, she corrected herself; for such a thing, she would do everything. The moment she took the second step, she abolished her fears and inhibitions. She was no longer the konti maiden named Kamalia Timandre; she was Her Royal Highness, Princess Queya of House Mullonde. The princess swept into the court chamber with a regal hauteur, her silver-white locks cascading elegantly just a little below her waist, her coils anticipating the lights from the theater sconces. Her eyes glinted like rubies beneath her porcelain mask, and her silken cloak of white, formal and encrusted with silver embroidery, draped her movements like a pale shadow. The effect was beautiful, but cold and not quite human. As Prince Ashak introduced her to the Queen, Queya dipped into a curtsy. “Words fail me, Your Majesty. The gods doth side with us this propitious day! Our bards sing your praises from on high and low, as you deign our kingdoms with your royal grace,” she spoke with power and politesse, but her red eyes gleamed with malice. “’Tis indeed an auspicious day for the House Invari and House Mullonde.” Suddenly, with confidence, without hesitation, she left her brother’s side, and started to stroll slowly, back and front, from left to right across the stage as she addressed the audience to give her monologue. This was her chance—the introduction of her character, and she snatched the opportunity for a grand entrance. They only had one chance to make an impression, after all. “What does the Queen Eugenia think of us? Wistful hummingbirds?” Queya boomed, her voice rang with passion. She swept her gaze across the audience with a velvet glance, her gait feathery and her movements were gossamer. “Our grandsires had fought valiantly for our holy kingdom, and for ages untold, our men—both highborn and low—had died by the thousands! The lands had drunk deep of blood in the chiliads, and yet with this fragile peace it will covet only more. What gall!” The girl stood at the counterpoint of the Queen Eugenia, still addressing the audience as if speaking her thoughts aloud. “Tyrants of the Invari steeped the earth in blood’s sweet rain. Queen Eugenia’s grasping fingers lengthen all over our sacred lands. I cannot tarry here, though it pains me to see: my brother has finally gone mad! A darkness falls upon our realm, and it is but a matter of time before we are consumed by it. There is a nefarious evil afoot, who would take the helm of Mullonde and steer her to the doom of all.” “And many will not live to see the crimson storm,” her eyes gleamed dangerously. “This marriage is for naught. Show leniency now, and the House Invari will only strike harder. We fight to free the people of Eugenia’s tyrannies. Has my brother forsworn the use of his eyes for juvenile infatuation?” Hurry up and win the game, so I’ll be one step closer to taking over you. Queya stood rigidly at the heart of the platform, just before Karona, lifting her chin in regal pride. She could faintly feel the presence of her kelvic bondmate among the audience. Closing her eyes, the princess began to sing to the audience—in Ancient Language. "Fool of a brother! Heed well these words, the last your ears shall hear. Slain by their hand, our father, King Asheram II. This war had brought our house its chance to rule. He would but watch as hist'ry passed us by. His due I granted him, no more, no less. No sword yet wrought can parry poison's kiss. And so on you, Queen Eugenia, my gaze alights. Now know regret, a tyrant's recompense!” After the song, she would return to the side of Prince Ashak, remaining motionless like a marble statue, as if their conversations would once again resume. This was her introduction, and her challenge for the leading actors to do better.

[Karona Isenbach]

As the cards to this Game of minds fell one by one into the stage of this theatre of terror, there she remained in the thick of it all, the crimson of her garbs and the fire of her evil burning with a silent threat to all who step forward to claim their place. Flanked by the two newly arrived figures of Jaeden and Sasin, the monstrosity of glamor that is Karona Isenbach simply bid her time for the right moment to destroy them utterly through the Queen's dictatorial power of speech. The fan in her hand wisped the air towards her supple white skin, yet her lips remained wet and ready to radiate her words to grasp the crowd's unyielding attention. And while she felt no need to state her precocious character's commandment, it was clear in the glow of her irises and her stunning, unmoving form. "Let there be no one here to take this glory away from me, lest hell wrought its wrath upon such insolence." She answered Fyodor and Muro's declarations with an obvious tinge of disdain in the sweetness of her utterances, a roll of her eyes and a sudden, heavy heave of breath quieting them both. Royalty always had a way of belittling people of smaller rank than they, and Eugenia was definitely no exception. From the start Karona had already known how to portray her. "Such delays will not do. Why must you people perplex me so with your excuses and your words of idiocy? Fyodor, this kingdom is not one to tolerate such nuances, surely you know this already? I don't care if the Iolanda has sent you here, I have sent for her and not you. Now, begone from my sight!" she exclaimed haughtily, waving her free hand dismissively at the still humbled servant of Invari. Turning her back to Jaeden, she walked closer to Sasin, the slow, graceful steps turning ghostly and blanketed with the pallid resonance of her accumulating wrath. "And as for you, you ugly squire mongrel," she spat her words then paused, whipping her fan back to its curbed state and pointing it at the Dhani's face, "you shall only speak when spoken to. Has nobody from your kingdom dictated to you the normalcies and rules of standing before royalty? And such vile words to use in reference to your liege... This insolence I cannot tolerate! Bow! Bow I say, or risk your head on the block!" With her ranting concluded, the Queen of Terror swung the fan forcefully up and down before Sasin's face by its dull broadside, gesturing him to get down on his knees and tremble, lest she have him taste a lick of her real prowess as a carrier of chaos. Her hand began to resonate with coldness as the evil bite of Rhysol's power began to surge within it, profoundly turning her fan into a thing of devilish curses and effects. Anyone touched by it would surely feel the effects of her colossal madness, or even just a tiny bit of it. Whether it be Karona or Eugenia, or even a combination of both, there could be no doubt whatsoever of the splitting enmity that she harbored for one and all. Rhylen and Kamalia's entry into the fray somewhat cooled her anger down. Just as nobles and royalty can belittle and trod on those below them, Karona knew exactly how they treated one another: with an intense loathing disguised under a show of politeness and formality. She looked at the two scions of Mullonde with a feeling of triumph and glee; just as Rhylen had predicted, they were indeed in the maw of a beast, one named Queen Eugenia. They were in her lair. Not in Sagallius', not in the abysmal crowd's. They were both in hers, and everything that revolved around it belonged to her. She acknowledged Prince Ashak's coming with a welcoming nod and a glittering smile, her words suddenly calm and sweet. "My dear prince, glory be to your proud nation for having the magnanimity to send you to my humble halls! And how lovely are your words, I commend your exquisite manners." she again paused to bring her satin-covered fingers to her lips as she laughed darkly at the compliments he paid her. His introduction of her sister, the beautiful but seemingly unimportant Princess Queya, was likewise met with a nod. All of them were subservient to her, all of them bowed in humility before her might and authority. And with every showing of their willingness to wallow in their inferiority her emotions grew bloated and uncontrollable. There she was, the woman with no warmth and mercy, basking in the sun of gold which the silent, eerie crowd alloted to her. The mirth in her laughter was suspended in the callousness of a hunger for more, and she was going to get more for sure. For it was the fate of the Queen to play with all as if their lives belonged to her. As she was about to answer the young highness' greeting with one of her own, her tongue was stilled to silence by the closure of the unseen spotlight upon her being, instead turning towards Queya. The azure faced Queen listened gregariously to every word she uttered to the crowd, yet knowing that it was her own thoughts being shared, she was in no freedom to act upon the savage impulses that began to throb inside of her. Just as every actor of worth could cast off their true selves and don the visage and entities of their characters, the dark lady had taken over Eugenia's heart, calling it her own. Thus they are entitled to feel what their new realities are supposed to feel, be it happiness, sadness, pain or pleasure. And by the gods, how Kamalia's words stung her as reality would have, hurt her infinitesimal pride, roused her unspeakable fury. It put not only Eugenia to shame, but it expended Karona Isenbach herself, condemning her for the tyranny by which she had lived her life within the unwitting congregation of Syliras. Each word spent in the silence was a lash of veracity upon her and her 'honor', and while the smile on her plush mouth remained unmoving, the giants that gripped her heart pushed her mind towards murderous heights. The beating drums within her chest began to pound anew, not with a mere desire to kill, but with one to humiliate, one to wreck. What now coursed with the blood and spirit of the magnificent Queen's purported wickedness turned crimson with deadly hatred within her. Princess Queya had pierced her mantle of regal invincibility with an undeclared challenge, now she will be sure to know that the fate of those who have the gall to challenge the Queen of Invari is one in the horrors of the shade, under the poignant daisies of the grave. But it will not be so unsubtle as outright murder; it is going to have to be painful, scorchingly malevolent. The pawns who have dared invade her tranquil domain with their foolish rancor and heedless cries shall be buried under the ashes of the cold hellfire that scalded her very soul. Upon the end of Kamalia's haunting song and moving stint with defiance, the wide and kind slits of her eyes began to align with her dangerously tempered feelings. Turning away from the haughtily poised form of the young princess with another nod, she felt the spotlight moving back towards her, and how it felt so beautiful to have it grace her skin once more. Retreating more to the left beyond Sasin, she unleashed the hell that had been storming at her from the moment of her arrival to this Game. "How I see the future of Invari and Mullonde in all its blazing glory, how lovely it truly is!" she shrieked to the crowd, her gait disintegrating in the overwhelming madness that heaved inside her. Each radiant jewel behind the azure mask gazed down at hands that cringed to touch--or tear down--something, and each erupted with convolution. "How I see them, how I see them all! The comely sheep that shall line up one by one, all to become the sacrifices to water the roots of my empire! You, all of you...!" she thrashed back towards the other players, her hands bare in dramatic flair and freedom. "You shall all be the first ones to bear witness to this grand birth, where the innocent's blood shall serve to be the dip to my bread, and the sinners shall see their lives expended on iron stakes for my entertainment! How you shall bear witness to how my wrath will be encompassing; the sons of Mullonde shall see their fathers and brothers nailed to the trees, their mothers and sisters eaten by monsters in the arenas, and their homes consumed by the resplendent flames of my victory! Yes, MY victory! Then you, you persistent cretins shall disappear from history, with only the name of my beautiful Invari remaining to weather the millennia! Yes, life has been spilt on the battlegrounds of our borders, but more, so much more can be had! Why not have them while they are warm and fresh?! The blood shall be mine, so bow! Yes! Bow before me, my underlings! Bow, ye mighty and despair, for your earth shall soon fill with carrion men, groaning for burial!" She followed this by a long and macabre laugh, summing up everything she had said with her final words, "Oh, how lovely it is, my plans for our future, is it not my sweets?" Her natural Symenestra fangs began to come out and grow longer, reaching to touch the tip of her chin in their grotesque length. Flashing a hideous smile directed at Queya which lasted for only a moment, she stood up once more and froze in her place, the placid and haughty expression of regality returning to her. Her turn was up for now, and it was the others' turn to show their subservience to her, the epitome of beauty.

[Devandre]

OOC : if I get some of your parts wrong please give me a nudge. Also this post ends at about the time Kam and Karona begin there thing. I didn't want to spoil the epicness of both posts. Devandre waited in the wings on Dawns side, listening to the dialogue being said. The green mask on he decided to act as the comical character. Dawning the mask he took up a position near the proscenium arch of the grand theater. From his side he peeked from the darkness of the wing looking out over the nameless faces. He found it ironic, his entire life this was how he viewed everyone in the world. A featureless blank mask not unique in the slightest until proven otherwise. Devandre soon heard another mysterious man giving the narration to the play. "Rejoice, Kingdoms! …will she ever let go of him?" “Hmm rejoice indeed this play will be quite fun to do, shall the kingdom have more great tragedy. Shall this game end as a tragedy?” Karona was first to enter the stage, her voice ringing out over the audience. Her monologue was long and boring to Devandre, but it was then he realized what his job was to do. Karona when frozen almost unmoving Devandre took the time to step out and into the view of the audience mask on mace in hand. He leaned against the proscenium and acted as the comical aside addressing the audience. With a loud voice he called talked to the audience. “Oh my dear queen,” he mocked Karona’s voice as he put his hands to the porcalin mouth of the mask, head slowly swiveling toward the audience. he took this time to scope out how big of an audience it was and what exactly they had, needless to say he was not thrilled. He set the mace down and used it as a cane; his other hand went up to the forehead of the porcelain acting like he is faint. “Why must I be plagued with inconvinces?” He continued talking to the audience, “Prince Ashak should have been here by now. Oh Prince Ashak where art though for you are making me hot in face and swoon.” He over dramaticized swoon in a very high-pitched tone of voice as he faked a faint off stage. He had fallen on his back in a comical way his short legs where the only things to be seen before slowly sliding out of view as he drug himself completely off stage. Lying there he checks his body and mask, “I am not dead, praise be to the goddess of serpents.” As he walked back to where they had begun he noticed Evarette and Jaedan. Turning to Evarette, “Why helloooo there are you suffering from separation anxiety? Your horse must be lonely.” He didn’t wait for a reply as he busily used the stage’s elements for his own good. Walking to a lowered leg farthest up staged he waited for another moment to come on stage. He then noticed coming onto the stage someone familiar to him, Sasin. “Hmm thisss could prove to be interesting.” He entered from the far back, walking on the wooden the stage like a fool, knees lifted high as he tip toed marched his way toward the slowly forming group. He listened to Sasin's dialogue and began to circle around him. The rounded end of the mace toward the floor as he begins to swing it back and forth softly like a thurible. “You have manorss of a saint, yet what lay snuggly harbored?” He stops just to the right upstage of Sasin. “Open the queen’s gate, but dock it straight, I see it lists to starboard. Ohhohohohhoooohooohho.” He says pointing to Sasin’s groin. Skittering away toward Karona, “Fret not young squire for you’re not alone!” He stepped next to Karona, mace held in hand limp on his right thigh. “For I love thy queen!” His hand holding the mace erects it up suggestively. Only a moment past before he began to skitter to the opposite end where Sasin had entered. “I can’t stay and seduce my queen there is a fox hunt,” This spoken as an aside to the audience before he exits, “And I am the fox.” He proceeded to get on all fours and yip and yap as he made his way offstage. While he was speaking these nonsense words he realized just how correct he could be about a fox hunt if the mask had fallen off. This could be used to his advantage he thought to himself. Once out of view of the audience he felt a little liberated but soon was struck with embarrassment as two greeted him? Other people who he has assumed to be on team dusk. “Hello are you the fox huntersss?” He wasn’t serious. All the events that had happened onstage should of been ignored, Devandre was merely a court jester not even worth the time to acknowledge by the small group that was forming onstage.

[Jaeden Kincade]

Jaeden stepped back out of the lime light as both team members took to their parts, making their introductions. He took that moment to gaze over the crowds, observing their body language and the various weapons they all held. He searched for other escape routes that wouldn't take them through the crowds. Seeing only the way he came in, Jaeden grumbled silently before his gaze shifted towards the balcony seeing two of team dusk's members standing there without masks. He remained silent over the matter. He wasn't certain over the skill these audience members possessed, but he was certain that they outnumbered both team dawn and dusk considerably, and he wouldn't risk another's life over some game that had merely tickled his curiosity. His attention was then brought back down to stage as Princess Queya made her introduction. "Oh shyke," Jaeden whispered under his breath before his gaze then shifted to Karona, observing the reaction. While Jaeden didn't anticipated Karona's speech over slaughter, feasting on blood and other unpleasantries, he didn't find such a total surprise. His gaze shifted between Karona and the team dusk member portraying Queya as their duel of words had began. "This pot is going to boil over soon," Jaeden thought to himself as he moved back behind stage, avoiding the spotlight as Devandre made his entrance. "Alright," Jaeden said stopping in front of Evarette. "We have some bad news, and some worse news. The bad news is that the entire audience is heavily armed and likly going to act as amatuer critics. The worse news is that I see no exits beyond the one we came through and a couple in the upper balcony which would take us through the crowd. Which most likely means that we'll have to get through this play to open another exit." Jaeden then began tapping his finger along the mask in thought before looking back to Evarette. "Okay, I have a little bit of a crazy idea, but it may get me killed," Jaeden informed Evarette, "however, if it works, we'll possibly have to worry just slightly less." Jaeden then began making his way back out onto the stage before stopping and giving a scratch to his head as he waited for Devandre to finish his performance. He then stepped out onto the stage, his strides long and heavy as the spot light hit him. "Queen Eugena, I go to greet your other guests," Jaeden said before simply crouching at the edge of the stage. His hand braced along the edge of the stage as his feet kicked out and he jumped down into the main audience area. "All guests attending the royal celebration hosted by Queen Eugina are to be unarmed," Jaeden announced, addressing the very audience. He wasn't certain of the rules that applied to this play other than the fact that they had to be wearing masks and not break character. It occurred to him that trying to actually involve the audience in the play beyond being just spectators. If the group was just facing a large number of spectators dressed in fancy clothing rather than a large number of armed spectators dressed in fancy clothing, well that would at least relieve a fraction of anxiety that some may have felt. "Leave all blades, bows, blunt weapons, poisons and any other sharp, blunt or pointy objects with me," Jaeden then continued before holding out his hand to the nearest audience member, "you may collect them after the party has concluded." Jaeden then waited to see if such interaction with the crowd would work based off of breaking the forth wall. On the negative, the worst case scenario would likely mean his death, the better part of negative being that the audience members simply ignored him.

[Evarette Karmine]

Evarette's golden depths rolled skybound at Jaeden's attempts to lighten the mood. This is no time for jests...and as if encouraged by the very thought, Devandre slid past, his yellow eyes gleaming with wicked intent. “Why helloooo there are you suffering from separation anxiety? Your horse must be lonely.” Her gaze hardened, but she did not stoop to answer him. His barbed words were aimed to pain her, and she refused to give him the satisfaction. Instead, she stood by rigidly as he tumbled out to continue his perverted performance. Grimly resolute, Evarette tied the mask on, affixing it into place as the words of the players filtered through her head. She cringed inwardly as Karona took delight in verbally lashing out at both the opposition who played the prince's servant, and Jaeden. The atmosphere quickly thickened with tension... Evarette had managed several steps onto the stage, and was nearly past the protection of he heavy curtain before Rhylen's voice rose to greet Karona and the audience. Her steps arrested by the severity of the recognition, she froze in hesitation, her amber eyes sweeping the stage to note the tousled, dark hair detectable beyond the edges of Rhylen's mask. Her head swam momentarily...How was he here?! The last she'd seen of him was twisted upon the frigid plain of the grasslands, possessed by some spirit... The verbal battle waged between Karona and the woman playing Ashak's sister waned, and in the spell of expectant silence that followed, Evarette could do no more than step forward. She lengthened her stride, stepping lightly as she imagined one of regal bearing might present herself. Once alongside her 'Queen' mother, Evarette swept low in a curtsy, golden eyes snapping from the armed crowd to eye the cryptic woman warily...If she was to play the part, she'd best play it passably well. "You summoned me, Mother?" Her voice carried a hint of disdain, as though the summons was indeed pressing on another matter that she wished to return to.

[Nyahna Sasin]

(Demitri does not seem to be showing up, so I'll just post.)

Sasin smirked inwardly as Eugenia pointed at him and yelled. He was a comic character, but she didn't seem to appreciate it. He darted away from her. "Manners? What are they? Food? A way of speaking?" He stepped forward, addressing the audience. "Her ugly mug?" He prayed that Eugenia would get the hint. That this was not something her character was meant to hear. He stepped back, and then back again to make way for Rhylen coming onstage.

He swallowed nervously. Rhylen was playing Ashak. Time to improvise."Why, greetings, my lord Ashak! Do you need help? Are you alright? Need I tend to the horses?" He asked in a concerned voice. His character was starting to take shape. Devoted to his master, polite to the sister, and hateful to any of the house of Invari. Why, he could figure out later.

And, then everything changed. Devandre came on stage. His eyes widened as his friend played the comic. Sasin grinned at the peverted snakeling as he pranced around. Still, he ignored him. For now.

"Please allow me to introduce my dear sister, the Princess Queya."

And Kamalia took the stage. He stayed quiet through both their speeches, but his mind was running around, seeking an idea. He could see the dynamics of this court, and the personality of it's key players. And he decided to make it a little more interesting. But how? He grinned as an idea struck him. One that would spice up court life. Yes, that could work. And he could get Devandre to help as well. Oh, this would be good.

As the speeches died down, he realized that yet another two people were here. No matter. Stepping forward, he began his "internal" monolouge, his voice taking a more serious tone. "What cruelty is this, that our lord should be wed to our greatest enemy. For many years, out kingdoms have been the bitterest of enemies. We have lost may soldiers in defence of our kingdom. Was that all in vain? Did they all die, just to see our kingdoms be wed, when we could crush them? Did my father die in vain??!" He demanded angrily. He began stalking back and forth, working himself up. "How could this happen? Did our prince not love another? Has he forgotten her so easily? What has happened?" He shook his head, and stalked over to the other side of the stage. "No. This will not happen. This wedding will not be." He swore. "No matter what."

With that, he walked back up stage. "My lord, I'll go tend to the horses now." He said as cheerfully as ever. He took a deep breath, and did something incredably stupid. He took a run, a step, then did a flip off stage.

He landed next to Devandre. He stumbled, then turned to the snakeling, perfectly serious."Dev, we need to talk." He whispered.

[Tarot]

The audience watched the show unfold with their full attention. Everyone masked in white, some of the ladies sporting ancient handheld theater binoculars, some of the men bringing horns to their ears to improve their hearing. Nobody ever turned their head away from the stage. As each character spoke, all heads turned simultaneously. It was difficult, very difficult to gauge their reactions, for they did not applaud or boo the actors during the performance. There was the occasional nod, possibly indicating that they were liking the show, and every once in a while someone's gloved hand would slip towards the hilt of their weapons, probably carrying the opposite message. The heated battle of words between Queya and Eugenia seemed to be well-received by the audience, as was Ashak's arrival and the Iolanda's introduction. They did not laugh at the comical cameos of Muro the squire and Valery the jester, though a few did seem to nod at them, as well. When Queya began to sing in the ancient tongue, some in the audience brought their hands to porcelain lips, as if pondering whether they were liking this. The decision seemed to be received with mixed feelings on their part, though it did not generate any extreme reaction. It would take Fyodor's speech for that. Something did happen while the princess sung, however. A member of the audience fell off a balcony and crashed onto the arena. On the balcony, the assembled actors could see a man whom Team Dusk would recognize as Gromhir with a white mask in his hand. The audience below merely shoved their fallen comrade aside, as if it were disturbing the performance. What had happened? Gromhir had attempted to remove the mask with stealth and a little dose of luck. He had succeeded, causing the audience member to turn sharply in shock. Or at least, its body language expressed all the shock, for the creature had no expression whatsoever. It was completely faceless underneath the mask, its features smooth and blank from the chin to the forehead. It immediately covered its face with its hands, the act filled with a desperation rarely seen in a man. Back pushed against the edge of the balcony, the creature seemed about to go insane, however it was not Gromhir that caused it to fall. It was its two neighbors as soon as they caught a glimpse of its unmasked state. The two of them literally threw their exposed comrade out to its death. The rules seemed to hold for everyone here. Beware when not wearing a mask. The two masked creatures did not bother turning towards Gromhir and simply went back to enjoying the show. By now, it was Fyodor's turn to speak. And the audience did not like his breaking the fourth wall. Not one bit. Even worse, Iolanda's champion had asked them to leave their weapons with him, but had not specified how, nor how fast. As it was, the nearest audience member whom was asked to bring its weapon to Fyodor did exactly that. It was a throwing dagger. Jaeden heard its hiss as it spun its way towards him, missing him on purpose… just barely. The dagger chipped off the left side of his mask and opened a shallow cut to the left of his cheekbone, almost reaching to the ear. The man could feel his blood trickling down his cheek while the dagger continued flying madly across the stage. It passed exactly halfway between Eugenia and Queya before impaling itself against the cardboard castle scenery behind them. For a long moment, it looked as if others were about to follow. Then, their hands relaxed and retreated to their laps, waiting for the scene to unfold.

[Jaeden Kincade]

Jaeden's gaze fell upon the sole audience member who had been thrown off the balcony to the seating areas below. As the audience member laid motionless and dead along the floor, he noticed that his mask was missing, and the faceless visage that was remained. It was a tactic to consider in the event that things wound up in the worst case scenario of the audience's disliking the performances. Jaeden's head then twisted suddenly as the tip of the dagger grazed his cheek. He stood there, motionless, just for a moment as his hand reached up first exploring the chipped edges of his mask before wiping away some of the blood. He looked down to his hand for a moment, observing that he was the first to be officially injured in this game."Thought so," Jaeden thought to himself looking back to the audience. It was a gamble that didn't work, and truth be told, he didn't fully expect it to either. His right hand grasped his sword as he caught motions of others in the audience about to do the same, but he relaxed when they eventually fell back into their passive state of observation. He wouldn't push a different attempt at this point as he didn't want the next thing thrown at him to fully break his mask, lest he have an even greater problem at that point. Jaeden took a couple of steps back towards the stage, before his hand reached up, grasping it's ledge. Kicking off with his feet, he pulled himself back onto stage before rejoining the rest of the team members there. A simple shrug was given to those who gave him an odd look. Stopping, just beside Evarette as she finished her line, he would continue his role until the end of this play, or a better opportunity presented itself.