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

[Karona Isenbach]

The crowd had at last drawn first blood, with Jaeden feeling the wrath of all with a rather incompetent announcement. Inside her hollow shell Karona merely chuckled vivaciously. He should have known better than to gamble with his life, especially in front of a hostile crowd. Truthfully, she was probably the only one in the cast who felt no fear against the sea of volatile masks. She was truly living it, feeding off the horrid energies of the place. It was the right kind of atmosphere for one as her. She said nothing to the wounded Fyodor, neither turning nor saying anything, her peripheral vision boring into the knife slice trickling down from his cheek. Even the falling member of the crowd who fell from the balustrades did not tear her eyes away from the rich crimson oozing from the broken mask, and inwardly she licked her chops in thirst for it. Once the princess of Invari had entered the scene, the frozen Dark Queen turned her head to her direction like a manually controlled doll, that blank notion of seething rage on her lips turning into a sadistic, monstrous smile in the darkness of her anonymity. Her suspended arms, finally beginning to unwind from the silently brewing calamity her mood had become, began to waft sideways as she began to approach Evarette like a gentle, doting mother would her obedient daughter. She stepped closer once more to the center, with Queya and Ashak given full viewing rights to whatever conversation was about to happen. Then without warning, that smile still transfixed on her mouth behind the mask, her hand flew into the air, slamming with force into her stage daughter's mask's left cheek. Being as wispy and physically weak as she is, the slap itself would not have hurt Evarette too much. In fact, it would have probably hurt the dainty and sensitive Karona even more. The unfortunate thing about it, however, would be the fact that the hand had not been a normal one, for it had been one powered with a terrifying curse underneath its satin coverings. The cold and furious reaction to Iolanda's entrance was one which had been simmering within her since the beginning of the Game; ever since she had laid eyes on Evarette and Danica--whom she secretly wished was there to be tortured and berated as well--her most 'normal' emotion, her envy, has made her despise their warmth and simple beauty with increasing levels of disdain. And now she has found the perfect opportunity to showcase just what Queen Eugenia--no, what Karona Isenbach can do when she is at her 'finest'. Quickly the princess would have felt her sight blurring gradually, with accompanying headaches pulsating naggingly inside her head. Then, the light from her eyes were gone, with neither shade nor actual image remaining to be seen. She has gone blind, albeit temporarily, from the will of Rhysol's chaon mark, just as Karona had envisioned. The grand and tremendously pressuring theatre would have been replaced by horrible visions of death and torture, the subjects of which were her and her alone. Karona had, in effect, transferred the rampant imaginations in her mind to the poor Drykas, allotting for her a more personal introduction to who she really is. "My dear daughter, my life and love, why have you delayed so?" she chirped, her expressions immediately turning sweet and enchanting towards the now-handicapped Evarette. Regardless of what her reactions to the blindness and chaotic visions in her mind would be, she kept on addressing her without a care for her status. "Our prince, your bold and handsome Prince Ashak has finally come to stake his claim on your hand, and yet here you are, delaying your fate!" She then took Evarette firmly by the arm and dragged her towards Rhylen and Kamalia, letting her go with a slight shove forward to the two members of Team Dusk. Curtsying regally again, as if what she had just demonstrated was something benevolent, she sweetly closed her eyes in a sickening display of plastic mirth. "My prince and princess, behold my daughter, the crowning jewel of Invari, the lovely Iolanda. I pray that your highnesses look kindly upon my daughter, the image and fulfillment of my blood and flesh, for she had been waiting for this meeting many a sleepless night." Once again, her gaze turned deadly when she turned her attention to Queya for a moment, her golden eyes widening in pleasant surprise when she realized just who was playing her. Despite that full-faced mask, those were the same silver locks, the same opalescent skin, the same beauteous gait and posture, the exquisite voice. Her smile turned into a grin of expectant pleasure. "Well, well, well. If it isn't my precious little Konti from Syliras." she thought to herself, keeping the words grounded inside lest they alert Kamalia of her identity. "This is turning even better than I had expected." A high-strung laugh echoed across the wide hall of terrorizing masks as she froze back in place with a heinous kind of courtesy adorning her covered face underneath the sapphire mask of hatred, declaring "Now I grant thee my blessings, and shall be wed as quickly as possible!" before stopping again in suspension.

[Gromhir]

The moment the mask was in his hand, he pulled it over his face and fastened it secure to his head. But it wasn’t trouble fastening the mask that gave the Ivaski pause. It was something much worse. The Konti race were graceful and elegant creatures, a race of compassion and peace. But sometimes, they felt anger. The last he’d seen a Konti this angry…. It didn’t bear thinking about. He felt the anger but also the desperation she felt inside her. Kamalia’s words and song were usually beautiful to behold and a pleasure to hear. But this was different. Such anger was not good for Kamalia. Maybe the man in the mask was right? Would she make it out of this intact? Gromhir’s state of shock prevented him from hiding this through their bond, should Kamalia choose to be able to feel it. The man in the mask! He looked to his unfortunate victim. It had no face? This game was testing his patience now. Nature did not even touch the denizens of the tower. No, he had to believe. To deny Nature was like denying himself. He himself was Nature, bond to its pathways as it saw fit to guide and test him. He would not falter. He placed his faith in his bondmate, Kamalia would pull through this. Right now, he had his own tasks laid out for him. The Kelvic moved quietly, his gaze a little move restricted through the mask. He doubted he would disturb any of the audience but he used his little knowledge of stealth to ensure he did not. The audience were unpredictable at best; if they were to become aware of him he had no idea what they’d do. His first thought was to look for a door. A way out maybe?

[Evarette Karmine]

Evarette’s eyes widened as a member of the audience plucked a dagger from his person and hurled it deftly at Jaeden. The crack of the chipped mask seemed to be swallowed by the silence that followed. The blood that leaked down Jaeden’s cheek was no cheap theatre trick. Eva swallowed thickly, both hands clenching at her side as she sucked in a deep breath. It was as though icy fear had congealed within her legs and frozen her feet to the floor. She dared a glance to the audience. Dozens upon dozens of expectant eyes were coolly transferred to Karona as she floated towards Eva… She didn’t see it coming. One moment, Karona’s sickeningly sweet eyes were boring into her own, and the next Evarette’s face was snapped to one side with the force of the slap. Evarette’s mouth gaped open, and she reared back a step as though trying to get a better perspective on what had just happened. But the harder she tried, the less she could focus …Evarette blinked…and blinked again. Harder this time. With each passing of her eyes behind her lids, her vision blurred further… Then everything went black. The words she struggled to bring forth came out in a hiss…“What did you…” She did not get the opportunity to finish her question, for as suddenly as she was immersed in darkness, the visions slithered forth. A gory carousel of images, blood-strewn and writhing, all with the same pain-crazed eyes…her eyes…Oh, Gods, it was her…”No…” she whispered, shaking her head, wringing her eyes shut against the flood of brutality assaulting her senses… Karona’s words flared in front of her, and Evarette felt her arm snatched up as she was propelled forward. Stumbling, for her eyes were still lost to the horrific scenes parading before them, Eva allowed herself to be led forward…as though she had any other choice. Somewhere in the back of her mind it still registered a bloodthirsty crowd was waiting to plunge their daggers into the subjects on stage. Her Queen’s words barely registered as she was brusquely shoved towards the members of the opposing team. Eva’s hands shot out instinctively, and she caught herself against something—someone. Her fingers dug into the stranger’s arms, and she found her footing…her widened gaze appearing to bore right through the individual before her, lost in the shock of the torturous visions and hinting at the panic that was slowly consuming her. She could not find her voice. She could only tremble and stare, the mouth beneath her mask agape in shock…

[Rhylen]

His attention focused on the kelvic, Rhylen ignored the sparring words of the two exquisite players as Gromhir made for the mask. Held in the stasis of character, Rhylen was easily able to observe without the burden of the audience’s ire. This he appreciated greatly, for the quick execution of the faceless spectator followed by the thud of a dagger not far from where he stood served as callous reminders of the consequences for losing face. Assured that Gromhir would not meet the same fate as his mark, Rhylen returned his attention to the stage. His eyes perused the floorboards, scanning back and forth with the practiced eye of a Drykas, seeking any irregularity in the flow. Rhylen then stole a glance upwards, paying special attention for any way to elevate himself and his team to a position closer to the apex of the central keep. The sooner this was over, the sooner he would be able to feel Thalla’s warmth beneath him as they rode the Cyphrus. How he longed to be free of this place. Free of this misery. Let the sadness claim you. Words which were not his own flooded his mind, crashing against the insides of his skull in a cacophony of shattered voices. You are not the only one who knows loss. Again he was wracked by the crippling din, his steady resolve faltering somewhat. Thalla. Zakria. You both mourn a loss. You are as pitiful as he. Ashak! His thoughts suddenly collided with one another, the fog subsiding to its hidden resting place. Quite again. Like the forlorn prince, Rhylen was wracked with a profound sadness, brought on by his forced imprisonment in this place. He missed his home; his companion. So much he wished to be free of this travesty, the suffocating presence of Eugenia and their twisted audience. He allowed the sadness to well up inside of him, the initial anxiety bubbling over into a desolate distress, the veil of lament altering his bearing minutely, but in a way that would be clearly identifiable to the spectators. Hopefully it would serve to bolster Kamilia’s performance as well, giving her something to feed off of, though she didn’t seem to need much support. Mustering his nerve for an aside, Rhylen was interrupted by the Queen’s vulgar display, allowing himself for the first time to really observe Iolanda, the Princess to whom he… Ashak, was to be wed. Familiarity clung to her like a welcoming embrace. Her clothing was Drykas made, and somehow reminded him of another. A woman he’d met… what seemed like forever ago. Distracted by the severity of what he’d sensed in that brief moment of contact, Rhylen was nearly thrown from his stillness in an effort to lend aid. Was this a part of the play? He dearly hoped so. His hopes quickly faded, and then crumbled into the oblivion of Iolanda’s eyes. As Eugenia cackled in the background Rhylen moved slightly so that the woman’s grasping arms would find his. He held her firmly, but in a way that would lend support and not feel confining. The Drykas knew all too well what it was to care for the infirm, and this he recognized in the frailty which had swiftly overcome this player. ”I’ve got you,” he whispered in Pavi, the movement of his lips so slight that he wasn’t sure she’d be able to hear. He took her hand in his, facing the masked spectators, their fingers interlinking. “A beauty that exceeds even your own, my Delightful Queen,” the sharp glance he gave Eugenia betrayed exactly what he thought of this offence. “Fit for a Prince such as I. She will make a fine addition to my future Empire.” His words were thick with distain; he could not muster the earlier coolness, replacing it with a deep anger borne of Iolanda’s hurt and his earlier despair. He took a few hesitant steps forward, guiding his charge with enough attention that she wouldn’t feel off balance. His regard turned to the audience, the rage quelling any of his earlier fear in the face of failure. “This sorceress seeks to rule my lands with the same malice as she does her own, casting off this disinterested heir in an attempt to gain favor with my family. How long would we wait? How long before her web of lies fell into place? Before she bared claws and undid all that we have sought to accomplish. You think yourself a clever little witch, don’t you Eugenia? How long before I discover your plot? Before I unravel your snare and choke you with it?” His shoulders fell then, the anger dwindling to something else. “Zakria!” His voice changed as well, becoming gloomy, he could feel tears welling up behind his eyes. “Why have you left me to this fate? I had everything. We had eve-ry-thing!” He now fought against the heartbreaking echo of his own words, he’d committed a little too much. Shamefaced, he turned away from the audience, elevating Iolanda’s hand and taking a knee. Hopefully they’d take it as an inelegant proposal. “Be my wife!” he called out in agony, his gaze fixed on the blank eyes of his betrothed, imagining all that he had lost. “For I want none other than you.” Weakness claimed his words in the end, a silence extending throughout the theater.

[Alistair deGrey]

Evarette had departed the opportunity shop a minute or so ago. deGrey was now left alone to consider his next move. Exploring the church was a promising move, but perhaps the blacksmith. He moved readjusted his tunic, smoothing out some of the persistent wrinkles from his pack. The inventor moved to a window and pressed his straight nose against the glass. Peering through the window, he realized only Danica was left in the courtyard. A slight cold sweat broke out on Alistair’s forhead and he ran his hands through his hair, Damnation, what if I have been forsaken here? Not even to see the innards of the castle? deGrey haphazardly slipped his pack over his shoulder, snatched his cane and hurriedly pushed his way through the door.

I will never be able to examine the castle without my companions, dying is not within my immediate wishes! Alistair broke out into a half run, holding the partially metallic cane by the middle. He did not run quickly, for he was worried about the eggs in his bag; however deGrey kept one hand on it to reassure himself. The cold stone castle now loomed before him, the pedestal where the heart had been conspicuously empty and the door ajar.

The entire hallway with the armor suits was lost upon deGrey as he jogged to the end of the hall. Quickly his eyes scanned over the plaque and his worry fled. Alright, I do not think they have moved too far off then. Hopefully the stage is nearby, and they have cleared whatever lay between myself and them. Alistair picked the black, frowning mask. Rodosius, eh? I may enjoy this character. Admittedly I am not an act- deGrey stopped cold as he heard a haunting song in what seemed to be the ancient tongue come from behind the door in front of him. The play! It must have started! Alistair fastened the inky porcelain mask to his face, putting many knots in the attachments to secure it as best he could. Pity if it were to come off during the play. His hair tickled his nose and blotted his vision as the mask clamped it tightly to his face. deGrey slid a hand still cold from his earlier panic over his forehead, freeing his hair to hang down onto the equally midnight black mask. He wiped said hand on his breeches, nerve wracking . deGrey had never been in a play before, had never really acted. However, he knew how to lie and he knew how to pretend to be other people. He had done both enough whilst in Zeltiva. Acting and lying, there seemed to be a very blurred line between the two subjects in deGrey’s mind.

Thoughts fluttered through Alistair deGrey’s head as he touched the wood of the door, the metallic handle. A taste in his mouth seemed to mimic the handle. Regardless, he opened the door. And found himself on the left wing of the stage, behind the curtain. He could see other characters standing in the shadows both near him and across the stage. Looking at the far right section of the audience he saw that everyone else was wearing a mask, as well as a veritable armory of weapons. Pleasant. The singing had died down before he entered, but deGrey made no move to join the general chaos onstage. Karona had since began screaming with that twisted passion of hers, proclaiming such and such.

This mask is supposed to portray my character. So this, Rodosius, is supposed to be dark. A schemer perhaps. Mayperhaps he even wants to usurp the ruler? How will I portray him? Alistair’s mind suddenly fell upon his cane. He quickly set his bag down and began to practice walking with a limp while Karona continued raging. deGrey stopped shortly after she stopped, unwilling to alert the audience of his presence quite yet. Yes, I will have a limp. I will be the keeper of secrets, and confidante to all. My agenda is my own and my allegiance is to none. Alistair leaned against a wall and slid down it to a sitting position, watching the actors on stage. Yes, now is a time to watch. Now is a time to think. Now is a time to plot.

[Devandre]

Devandre had been waiting in the opposite wings while Sasin and the others where on the stage. While the mayhem of words being spouted by Karona, he was busy studying the stage for trapdoors, hidden entries, or some other clue onto where to go next. He assumed since Sasin who's eye glowed bright red was on team dusk. If they were all here that meant that their entry didn't lead anywhere but out.

"Curiouss." He said to himself. His thoughts were soon interrupted as Sasin made a sudden jump toward him and landing near him. He out of impulse and reaction jumped backward or more like stumbled backwards startled by the suddenness of movement.

He looked up at the Dhani with glaring yellowed eyes through the smiling plaster mask and said one thing, "You owe me a new pair of trouserss." He smiled as he joked with an acquaintance he knew he could trust to an extent. His focus was soon interrupted by the sudden flurry of noise and then a soft thud. His eyes focus on the painted scenery behind, finding a knife embedded into the background. His eyes then go to Jaeden seeing he had been the victim of the stray knife. It was then he had an idea, Karona was playing dirty so could he if he wanted to. A well placed arrow could knock someone's mask off and indirectly cause their unfortunate doom of pain. But a more immediate problem was brought to his attention, listening to Sasin.


"Shh don't be so open," he said to Sasin. "What the heck are you doing here? More importantly what is on your mind?" He leaned in so that the Dhani doesn't have to speak to loudly.

[Kamalia Timandre]

Standing motionless like a stark white marble statue, Princess Queya watched from the corner of her eyes as the Queen Eugenia delivered her own drowning, sweltering monologue to the audience. Good, because the Queen played along and acted out the role of the tyrant just as planned. Not that she had much choice, anyway; Queya had been accorded enough time and liberty to take control of the situation through her narration and her song, deliberately placing Eugenia in a position of an antagonist by way of a monologue. By the looks of it, Eugenia’s actress even seemed to be delighting in this multifaceted trap— the role that Queya had meticulously and deceitfully assigned her! Everything was moving according to her plan, it seemed. Princess Queya’s eyes gleamed treacherously crimson when her velvet glance met Eugenia’s, and for a while, familiarity struck the silver-haired princess with the force of a punch. The chic manner of clothing the dark woman wore, the way the queen carried herself in a patrician hauteur and that sultry, authoritative voice— everything about her was familiar beyond doubt, but the konti could not point out in particular who she was or where she had met her. This should not matter for now. There was much time for reacquaintance later. They had to win. They had to win. Queya faced Eugenia squarely with a pompous tilt of her chin, still unmoving from her stately posture. Silently, placidly, the princess observed while the remaining cast of the story moved into the macabre theatre of war and introduced themselves on stage. She found herself unconvinced by Princess Iolanda’s entrance, and the princess of Mullonde stared at the newcomer with a dark, icy malice, sweeping a gossamer glance from head to toe. She saw each member of Team Dawn as an obstruction— wretched obstacles to her true objective. They acted on greed and self-gain. They joined the Game out of churlish self-indulgence, not out of necessity. Each of them must be eliminated from this Game. Team Dusk must win, even if it meant having to resort to violence and fearsome magicks. Deep down, you know it's what you want. Deep down, a concoction of wrath, ambition, and desperation to win simmered and bubbled within the cauldron of her heart. Like the female scion of the Royal House of Mullonde, the actress of Queya had channeled her fear into anger. Just as Princess Queya desired intensely to shelter her holy kingdom from the fell, grasping fingers of the Queen Eugenia, the konti reimancer Kamalia Timandre sought to win this game to protect the children of the Welcome Home Orphanage from whatever foul aberration that machinated this entire conundrum. The person who channeled these strong emotions had not controlled anger so intense, so concentrated in a long while, inundating all her fears and insecurities. Her resolve was full, her determination indomitable. They were going to win. They had to win. When Fyodor had broken the fourth wall, earning the disfavor of the audience, a throwing dagger sliced and hissed through the air, chipping off the left side of his mask of tragedy, and exposing a shallow cut across his cheekbone. It was a superb demonstration that the Game was heavily laden with spell-crafted traps. Amidst the disturbance, Queya still stood placidly lifeless in the precise counterpoint of the Queen, they were black and white, as if they were the light and the shadow. Even in the horror of their dreadful situation, the princess did not react, not one movement, not the slightest of motions. She had expected this to happen, and she could always turn this knowledge to her advantage should the need arise. After all, if there was someone particularly powerful enough to cause masks fly off everyone’s face using the sorceries of the air, it was a reimancer of her skill level. Faintly, through their bond, the actress of Queya could feel her kelvic guardian’s presence in the audience. She could keenly sense his apprehension and uneasiness for her, and she knew right away that the kelvic was concerned for her. Oh, how she wanted him here. How she wanted him to take her away, like so many times before—away from this macabre theatre, away from this Game, away from the treacherous being she might once again had to become. But they had to win. Should she even die on this stage along all the members of Team Dawn, Gromhir and Stitch would still have the chance to become victors. What did her life equate to now, anyway? She could feel the surge of djed coursing through her silvery veins, eager to be woven into a dome of res that would suck in forcefully the element of wind. The arcane whispers and words of power fervently danced at the satin tip of her tongue, waiting to be spat. She could release the djed from the crown of her fingers like liquid bolts of silvery lightning in a matter of seconds, in a matter of moments and the deed would be done. It's all you ever wanted. Only through sheer willpower and the loud smack of hand slapping against Princess Iolanda’s porcelain facade that the reimancer was able to placate the surge of djed thrumming within her fingers. She almost felt the slap, and she was once again Queya, the Silver Princess of House Mullonde. Princess Queya felt no pity for Iolanda as the Invari princess was publicly humiliated by the queen in front of royal scions of Mullonde and in the majesty of her courtroom. Still the daughter of Asheram II saw Iolanda as a glaring threat to the crown and glory of their holy kingdom. Beneath the porcelain frowning visage of azure, Queya’s smile widened venomously. “Before us stands the seed of Invari’s loins? So much alike with mother Eugenia, the heiress of Invari’s numens unpossess’d! The queen’s flesh! A vessel without flaw!” Queya lied, of course, and she faced the audience again, pointing a slender finger to the scion of Invari. "Truth dawns within this girl's naivety. Who once was hers, now kin to naught but woe. Let not such trifles weigh upon her now. Ere long she shall know darkness deeper still! Oh, harlot princess! Those secrets beneath your visage of rubescence I know. Mullonde shall never be yours, For to it I am wed and unto me puissance beyond knowing granted! Vict’ry shall never, Never, Never be yours!” Queya’s voice rose in a keening inflection, her last words reverberating like an impending warning to all the members of the Team Dawn. Behind her mask, she smiled an icy smile towards the Queen Eugenia, before freezing in place again by her brother’s side. “Let us refrain from filibustering parlance, lord brother,” Queya said softly to Ashak, quietly slipping a hand behind the man’s fur cloak, and taking out the egg that they obtained from the Question Shop. With both of her hands, she lifted the egg, showing it to the audience. “Hark, for afore you the Egg of Mullonde, from the reliquary of our divine kingdom! Erewhile, Mullonde and Invari knew no peace, but today we come together as one. To fracture this holy egg shall entail a grand rebirth, a new era of peace,” she announced, before turning to Queen Eugenia once again, her garnet eyes glimmered with amusement. “By divine decree, by the age-old customs and holy auguries of our august crown, the daughter of Invari must shatter this egg,” the look Queya gave Iolanda was a bitter, wintry smile, “and peace shall swith steer the helm of our kingdoms at last!” She handed over the egg to Prince Ashak, expecting his actor to be loyal to his role. Queya Mullonde gave Queen Eugenia an icy glance for one last time before she froze in place, motionless like a mannequin. Would the actress of Eugenia break the ages-old customs?

[Karona Isenbach]

The speech was long and the hints were clear enough, but the Dark Queen did not budge an inch, not letting the simmering rage inside her overwhelm her composure. For a moment she struggled to come to terms with her desire to torture the loud mouthed konti the same way she did Evarette, but eventually her better judgment won over her. There has to be a more subtle way to settle this back and forth exchange between them. When the opportunity presents itself, whether it is by her own making or hers, she will be ready. Karona returned the icy glare with a cruel and fiery one of her own. It was quite atypical for her to meet such stiff resistance from anyone, much less a woman. But this Kamalia, this Konti has always been different. Ever since their meeting in Syliras, she knew. She just knew she was going to be a hindrance to her in the future. Her movement stifled by her own arrogance, her lips twitched into a blaring, uncontrolled grin of malevolence and intent. Sensing that it was right for her to move, she took out her fan once more and started to cool her blazing temper down; she had just showed them a hint of what she can do should they rouse her from her complacency, and thus wasn't alarmed. Even though she deeply suspected the egg to be a harbinger of misfortune for the incapacitated Evarette, she made no move to prevent her from breaking it, nor did she raise her voice in protest over the Princess Queya's obvious strategy. She merely turned her back to the three ungulates before her, raising her own chin in her powerful royal pride. Moving to deliver yet another monologue, she did it calmly this time, without tempestuous qualities to it. Yet the message was heavy with the embellishments of her wrath. So does the wanton believe her own folly. I say, tis be an amusing little act, and filled with optimism. Nay I say, for the curtains soon shall close thine little act, my mischievous child, tiara bound in idiocy. thine weak prince now grovel before me, as shall thee, in thine own filthy agony; my daughter thoust mayst keep, but a pawn she be to me. Hinder not my designs, lest the rain taste of blood upon your lands. Waving her hand to the royal highnesses in dismissal, the Queen of Invari turned her face towards her team's end of the stage, making a graceful exit from the spotlight--her spotlight--for now. At the back stage she found Alistair and the other members of her entourage, still preparing for their own entrances. "Ahh, late for the event, dear one?" she addressed Alistair, the mask casting an ominous tone to her voice in shielding. She paused behind the curtain, lying in wait as to see what the primadonna Konti and the bumbling pair of lovers were going to do.

[Nyahna Sasin]

Sasin grinned at the joke. "Ssilly ssnakeling." He teased. He tugged the half-dhani further in. "Devan-" He was inturrupted by a cracking noise. Whipping around, he saw one of Team Dawn, bleeding from a nick. A dagger was imbedded in the scenery. He stiffened, as it seemed the rest of the audience would soon follow suit. However, they relaxed after a few moments.

"As that so nicely proves," he whispered, "the audience have weapons. If we de-mask in their presence, or go out of character, like that guy did, we're doomed. That was a warning shot. But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about. "

Grinning, he brushed his hair back. "Both our characters are comics, right? But that doesn't mean we have to be silly characters to be ignored. We could play an important part in this, if we were to, say, prank the marriage endlessly." He said.

"On the otherhand, we could stay out of sight, try and find an exit, or go up and kill the audience. By de-masking, or just killing."

[Demetri Velutina]

Demetri had remained all but silent since entering the castle mentally putting together everything Kamalia told the group about Sagallius and this game. With the mysterious sword of truth still resting against the leather armor protecting his left shoulder wishing he had a holster for the damned thing as he held the strange egg given to him by the konti. At a casual pace behind the others the Symenestra man listened to the masked person in red, He wasn't sure if the man was truly a man at all from its odd slightly effeminate voice. When all other mask where taken Demetri picked the only remaining male mask left, The purple frowning mask of Olok the priest. "A sad priest, hahh...how... " Their was almost no emphusiasm as he spoke "...Quaint". Demetri retrieved from his backpack his black cloak putting it back on after setting the egg safely away in it. For the better part of the start of the play he remained behind stage with his mask on for added safety. Staying out of sight as he looked onto the stage enjoying the spectacle of it all. Finding it time to make his debut a pale finger traced along the frown of his mask. "I can do tragedy... " his last thoughts before folding his cloak shut after loosening his his leather belt just enough to hold the sword on his right waist. Demetri wore his hood up just enough to show the entirety of the mask and nothing else as he walked onto the stage with his hands pressed together as if he where about to enter pray at any moment. The only sign of his true nature where his pale white hand with razor sharp black claws. "My humblest apologies your majesty, Prince Ashak. For in my duties to the gods delayed my travel with your party by the longest of hours" Their was a subtle uncertainty to the priests words that held obvious discontent... He was after all to be sad and he wasn't going to give the other teams members a easy time. Seeing the (questions)' Egg, Olok walked over to egg to Prince Ashak with arms now spread happily to his side at chest level. **** Turning to Evarette, Demetri's eyes started to channel with Djed giving his red glowing eyes a slightly brighter glint, In a matter of seconds demetri's entire aura seemed to change as he looked the young women in the eyes. It was the art of hypnotism in work as he gave Evarette several 'Suggestions', playing his own part well... Always wanting to be the center of the party and the well known nature of his race. Talking himself out of fights almost every other day, Demetri was calm while on the stage. "The shattering of rebirth.... For the time has come like year upon years past for the future wife to shatter the blessed egg.. Princess Iolanda, Tiss a wondrous moment" Olok (Demetri) spoke with the zeal of any holy man. Facing the armed masked audience to make the shattering seem a major part of the play. After piling on the good stuff Demetri went for a 'Emotional response' of confidence to Princess Iolanda that no bad was going to befall her if the egg was broken. From every movement of his elongated arms to the tone in his voce was as if saying. ...Break the egg Princess Iolanda, theirs nothing wrong just break it... you know you want tooo..