Noise and Shadows (Closed)

by **Xavior Silhouette** on March 17th, 2012, 2:31 am

Xavior tried to fight the spins as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. He began to breath deeply and begin to relax his body, “why do I even enjoy this feeling?” He thought to himself, “it isn’t even a good feeling anymore.” The sounds of the room seemed to fade to black as he began to really focus. It was tough through the haze of poison that coursed through his veins.

“Xavior, what are you doing?” A voice, familiar to him, yet he couldn’t place a finger on who it was. It was soft and feminine much like.

“Christy?” Xavior responded within his own desperate world.

“Tsk, silly duck. Yes, Christy. What the Hai are you doing? Remember your roots and what we told you. I’d be ashamed to call you a son.” Christy’s voice continued.

Xavior sat and in silence as one of the symenestras began to protest his admittedly hot headed actions. “I know what I’m going to do.”

“What is that?” Christy’s voice inflection had a hint of curiosity.

“Remembering my roots, that one there doesn’t sound very happy.” The room began to fade in.

The room had stopped its rotation. Eyes soon opened and looked down at the table before up at the clearly offended symenestra. Xavior sat back in his chair and continued to listen to Vaxes. When he finally finished with an empty threat he began to speak again, “Symenestra, why do you believe in such myths as changelings?” He waved his hand as if to dismiss the clearly mythological notion.

He didn’t stop to let the symenestra speak again before he confidently interjected, “myths are strange.” He looked over the odd group that had formed. He never liked the way symenestras looked; pale, thin, frail, naturally deadly, disgusting creatures. “They are either completely made up stories or half truths. Symenestras,” he addressed the trio to get their attentions, “yet they still hold power and are the fuel to many cultures that are around to this day. Not many know the truths of Syms, only what they have heard. Horror stories of woman being raped and forced to have children that eat their bodies with deadly liquid venom.” Xavior sat still confident even though he was sure, weapons were held close and poised to strike. Even still he had not felt the urge to use his peculiar abilities. “Not many people know the truth about Symenestras this side of the great mass of water that separates the homeland of Syms. However, they do know the myths and legends. Though these myths are held higher on this end, you are not. Keep that in mind when you take up arms here in Sunberth. You will be hard pressed to find aid or the grace of kindness of strangers. Just keep that in mind the next time you fight in the city,” he punctuated the fight with his hand as if he knew about the short skirmish, “or threaten a group you barely even know. Tsk, and don’t think I’m a mindreader. That little display of muscle out in the city, didn’t garner savory responses.” He paused before he added, “news travels fast when your time is spent in a tavern. Now everyone,” Xavior brought both of his hands up and then bent them at the elbows swinging his wrists down toward his lap, “simmer down. I think the glaring flaws have been torn open between us. I can’t hold my liquor or my tongue, and you are too ready to take up arms. I apologize to you all for my antics.”

noteHey, I just want to give a heads up. If Chama didn't mention her heritage to you, I doubt your character knows what an ethaefal is besides maybe Roka. It is Metagaming, which is why I fabricated this post in the first place. This is just a note to everyone in the thread.

by **Wrenmae** on March 17th, 2012, 8:07 am

Folding his hands on the table, eyes closed, Shroud smiled and listened. The ups and downs of words, the valleys between letters and sentences. He read them not by what they spoke but how they spoke. There was simply, bleak, poetry in it. The careful seduction of Chameleon's voice, her throaty chuckle and shameless affirmation of simple facts...Roka and his quiet simplicity, nothing complex or worried in his his voice. Davros was the weaving one, his words drawn from the same charismatic cistern as Shroud's own. They soared and insisted on themselves, as did Vaxes...but he spoke in a language of oblique confusion. Xavior, the whelp hypnotist, existed only by will of his drunken stupor. Spoke, muttered foolishness, and corrected it with drawn out explanation, a greater nonsense had not been given between them.

When he opened his eyes again, smiling, he placed a hand in the center of the table. It felt rough against his skin, and he drew it back.

Holding it up to Xavior, he pushed forward till his skin was all that dominated the eth's vision. Just the shape of the hand.

"In the grim night around us, we live by the shape of our attacker, not their origin or skin, not their legends or myth, but by the blood they shed or the skill they use. Prejudice is pointless, racism is pointless. The world around us is a damned place, crumbling and decadent. Only the strong and capable can carve life from death, and be strong from the scraps of the weak. I once was like you, hated for differences, for stories. But I ask you...why fear them if you can defeat them? Simply be not weak and you have nothing to fear from anyone."

He looked to them, all of them.

"We are the strong, or we are the weak. We die when we falter, we bleed when we are clumsy. Be stronger and faster and you will live and prosper, otherwise you will feed the dogs and carrion crows."

He withdrew his hand, leaning back against his chair.

"I know your names, some skills, and your fealty...that is all I wanted to know."

He smiled.

"On the eighteenth, in three days hence, we will meet outside of towns near the Crimson tents. There, a superior will assess your combat ability. Come prepared or not at all, but your Second trial will begin there. The first..."

And he paused, winking,

"Has already been passed."

by **Chamaeleon** on March 17th, 2012, 8:01 pm

Chamaeleon watched as the others pledged themselves, curious at how willing they were to join a syndicate. She wondered how it would change them all. What would happen to her? Sunberth had the ability to change her entirely. What would joining the Crimson Edge do?

After listening, which it seemed she was best at, she lifted her face and smiled around her. Who would have thought that a fight she had been involved in would have evolved to a conference in a seedy bar?

"I will join your little gang, Wrenmae." She said between her smiling lips. "Lest I soon be the odd one out."

He should be able to open up about their purpose now. It seemed wise that he wouldn't trust them off the bat with delicate information about a group of violent men and women.

The last in their group spoke bitterly, she realised after agreeing to join the syndicate. He addressed her as one of the Symenestra, something she didn't disagree to, and held her tongue, unlike him. He seemed to actually hate her, as though he blamed her alone for the crimes he perceived the Symenestra to have committed. What he said stirred the fainrst of memories, which she couldn't piece together.

"I forgive you your loose tongue," she said softly to him. She was more apt to forgive than anything, it seemed. "But my brothers in race may find your words less likeable and forgiveable that I do."

She listened now to Wrenmae, noting how his words seemed to have a certain poetry to them. She hadn't realised she was being tested, but now that she did know she laughed. "Figures there was a test," she said quietly. "Well, I suppose I will be there for the second part of this little venture."

by **Roka** on March 18th, 2012, 4:19 am

Everyone seemed to be trying so desperately to prove something. Roka could only guess at what it was; their worth to the group, perchance? They were so keen to jump in feet first. Roka held no concrete allegiances to them. He was interested, and submerged willingly into the rabbit hole, but to pledge unwavering commitment, no, that seemed foolish in and of itself. He could not be so easily persuaded.

The men surrounding him prided themselves on boisterous words with scattered meanings, and their blistering opinions that oozed like a disease. Was this really the same Xaviour he had encountered before? If so he must have had reason to hate the Symetrians so, for he seemed a kinder man than his words suggested.

"Xaviour, enough..."he had coaxed quietly trying to hold eye contact "You draw too much attention to us, as it is we are a suspicious gathering." his voice wasn't as full of reprimand but apprehension. Though the man had little cause to listen to him, he hoped he would heed his words. It crossed him that Xaviour might harbor feelings of disgust or ill will towards his own breed, and it weighed heavy on his mind. Many citizens looked down upon his kind, this he had accepted, but not warranted.

As Vaxes hand slammed before him, a growl tickled his throat, he didn't appreciate the tense action so close to his being. He spoke only of ones pleasure in life, which seemed reasonable enough if one had little respect for the lives around him. This was a dangerous way to think, especially knowing that the man tossed about words of threat and death so easily.

As Roka had assumed, Wrenmae had confirmed, a test indeed, but he wasn't sure that the rest of the group and their objectives would pass the valuations he had set himself.

by **Davros Velutina** on March 18th, 2012, 11:12 pm

Davros had never seen anything more amusing in all of his life! He fought as hard as he could to hold his tongue as the drunkard made a Fool of himself, bellowing folklore and passed around stories.

"You're right changeling." He said, not respecting him enough to call him an Eth. "Its stories like those that should remind you to stay out of the dark. Moreso however, don't be afraid of the dark itself, but whats in it. Just might be a Sym." He smiled ever so faintly as the words escaped his mouth. He realized what was going on though. When people drink oil, and go past a regular dizzy state, even going far enough to let themselves be a drunkard; they usually began to spill their guts, whats on their mind, and what their biggest fears are. To this Eth, the Symenestra were all of thee above. If he loathed Syms that much, he would have the confidence to keep it to himself. But instead, since he lacks the skill to defeat one, he instead bellows poor words of intimidation in hopes of escaping physical conflict. Above his apparent fear however, he allowed himself to get drunk. And in a public bar of all places. He let everyone around him know he was less of a man than the other patrons who'd sat around, drank, and were feeling just fine. How weak.

"I didn't ask for your trust, fool." He said with a sarcastic sneer. Davros made himself light on his feet, should the drunkard feel the need to vomit. "Your feelings are obviously what make you weak. I don't care how you feel changeling."

Davros drew a calculating expression on his face. He'd never seen such a crazed, immature, and gossamer man before in all his journey. He played with the situation.

"Hey, fool! Do you know what it means to be inaniloquent?" Davros doubted it very much. The Eth's slight threat of telling the Symenestra trio to tread carefully was also chuckled at. How could the changeling say that their stories were held high, but they were not, so the trio should watch who they point their arms at. As far as Davros could tell the Eth had no support here. He didn't have anyone to stand with him, and essentially, like most people here, this Eth was a complete Nobody. The Syms were just as likely to get help as this fool before them.

Davros listened to the Drunkard finish his antic and suddenly apologize....apologize....How could a man make so much effort to belittle, disrespect, and even make such a fool of himself only to in the end...apologize? He wandered if he said all he said just to apologize at the end. It was truly amazing, the level of intellect this man had, if any at all.

"To Hell with your apology, Fool."

Turning back to the charismatic Wrenmae, Davros listened to his finishing remarks, noting that they'd all passed the first trial. Davros nodded, listening to Chameleon and Roka. Roka had a tone of familiarity with the fool who intruded their conversation, but he decided against embracing either of them. Anyone associated with this Drunkard, whether of friendship or family, are no better, no matter how quiet, mysterious or open they may seem or appear about the relationship. Being in the company of this fool is a complete waste of time. He wandered if he had any friends at all.

Davros individually gave a short, respectful nod to the members of the circle, save the Drunkard Fool, and took a subtle step back waiting for Vaxes' parting words.

by **Vaxes Darlo** on March 21st, 2012, 12:38 am

Vaxes smirked at the remarks of Davros. He spoke more than Vaxes thought he would at any given moment. He seemed more like one for actions than witty banter. Vaxes shifted forward in his chair, interlockin his fingers on the cracked rustic table in which they sat. He turned his head toward Roka, "No disrespect intended to you,traveler. I tend to be a little, heavy handed from time to time."

He turned his golden eyes toward the standing and obviously agitated Davros. "This is what you are inviting onto yourself, Xavier." Glancing back over in the Eth's direction. He clearly thought Vaxes warning were from action being taken by his own hands. "We know not of your talents but we do know of his."

Vaxes lifted his head slightly further and turned toward Wrenmae. He grabbed the front of his cowl with his right hand and pulled it toward his back slightly, showing just barely his facial markings.

"I extend my gratitudes to our host. He should at least see the face of the person in which he addresses." Vaxes stood at the table, removing himself from the wooden tablet of a table. He glanced at each one among the table in succession. He stopped to lock eyes with Davros for a moment before continuting. "It's been my honor to meet you all."

He stepped back away from the table and waited for Xavier and Wrenmae to speak their pieces.

by **Wrenmae** on March 26th, 2012, 10:33 am

Shroud clapped his hands together, drawing their attention. He was frowning, shooting a Djed lance of guilt into Xavior's head before turning his attention back to the others. With the exception of some solvable racism, the group was an interested organization of cutthroats and varied talents. The Symenestra drew his interest the most...such strange and delicate creatures to grace the bloody streets of Sunberth. Would they shatter? Would they strive and survive? It was hard to measure, but almost certainly something worth looking into for the future.

"Well then," the murderer finished, standing from the table and smiling, "I expect to see you all during the training session." He nodded at them individually, pausing a moment longer to note Vaxess tattoos. Certainly there was story behind them...but to what end?

"I've little more to accomplish here, but if you want to know more...come to the Crimson Edge encampment to the North of Sunberth's districts. I'd doubt you can miss the tents. With a short and final bow to them, he turned toward the door, noting the eyes that followed him.

"Ware well on your exit, Widows," he called back to them, "Not everyone is elated for your arrival here."

OOC :

by **Xavior Silhouette** on March 26th, 2012, 6:22 pm

His mouth was sealed by the man who had given him a mental start. He didn’t dare speak through the hand but listened to what the mage had to say. The man excreted an aurora of confidence and made practically everyone respect him without even knowing the person, before he even opened his mouth to speak. He followed the logic up until the mention of fear of others. That couldn’t be furthest from the truth at least for him.

Guilt! The emotion pierced through his head. He remembered the feeling of infamy but wasn't sure why it had manifested at such a great level, one generally reserved for his pets and not common humanoid. But as Shroud began to speak once more, a spark suddenly ignited in his head as realization came. His eyes shifted toward Shroud as he spoke, “it seems this night has grown a bit more interesting. I need to remember this face.”

Xavior eyes turned back to the center of the table. Mind wandered in and out of the current conversation and his own self reflection. He didn’t fear much of anything. But as he sat and wondered what exactly it was that he feared the most. “Men fear others, things they do not know, their gods, but what do I fear? I do not fear death, I have no god to fear only respect. Man I do not fear because they are the bringer of their own destruction. How could I fear something as stupid as a race that kills itself?” His thought process paused as the heated conversation and projections of personality continued. “Will I really be returned to Ukalas as a faithful follower of Leth? What have I done since I came to this forsaken city? I’ve killed a man, my drinking habits have gone through the roof, I’ve been in several fights, I haven’t been nice.” He paused a moment more as the conversations continued he remained silent through it all.

“But I suppose I have done much in my times that have been good. I helped my family grow closer than ever before. I gave inspiration to live to a lowly beggar and created a great friendship with him. I’ve shown people both the light and dark of the moon. I’m just second guessing myself, I think I am doing fine.”

When the interlude of powerful words and potential life altering possibilities finally came to a conclusion. Xavior turned toward the female sym. He didn’t know how but he felt more at ease with her acceptance of his apology. He could care less about the others, but perhaps Chamaeleon could feel the same sorrow in the man. Xavior didn’t know it, but they shared a common bond that went beyond mortal understanding. Their bond was brother and sister like, yet they didn’t know it. But like a close sister separated by distance, her words had more worth than anyone at the table to him.

“Thank you. I just wish we both can make a safe journey back to our homes.” He paused and wondered why he said that, but someway it made sense to him. Regardless, he gave a nod to Roka, [colors=white]“I agree. But then again, I suppose a bit of attention to us is a good thing. Perhaps we can test my theory on myths.”[/color] He gave a sarcastic, snide grin.

The symenestra he had insulted stood and began to prattle on. His words did little to pierce the stone like exterior of his skin as he ranted and raved. When he finished and stood in wait, Xavior sat back with a huge grin on his face. “Well it is unfortunate that we do not see eye to eye Symenestra, but if you wish to cause trouble I do not seek it. I do not like to repeat myself. Since my analogy of myths seems to have not penetrated through your frail skull, may I just be blunt. Your race is held almost lower than beggars here.”

He paused as he began to have a brief flashbacks of imagery. Imagery of someone he once loved, taken by a Sym and deceived by it. Shadow's one and true love taken away by a smooth talking symenestra. All the time she had been pregnant, he thought it was his. It tore his heart out to find that she had been unfaithful from the start. That symenestra, smiling through his teeth, promised she'd be okay. Ignorance was bliss for Shadow, Xavior's past life Zith, as the deception had been completed. “The way your kind is born, it is brutal. Have you seen a woman's womb turned to slush? Skin ripped open as the baby sym is born from death? Poetic, if the woman knows what she is getting herself into, murder if not.” He paused and sighed, then continued, “you can be strong. However, even the strongest emperor of them all can be slain by the power of numbers. You’re going to have to have the strength equal to the hatred of man’s heart symenestra.”

He paused and considered what he was going to say next. He remembered the brief flashes of memories Leth had allowed him to see, the ones of the tavern and Shadow being ripped to shreds under false pretenses, before he continued, “I thought I was strong too. That is until I met man's real monstrous side. I am not man, I’ve been killed once before because of hate, prejudice and rumors.” Even though the sym might not look him in the eye, an undeniable urge to listen washed through his body. He looked up and focused his energy to resonate from the pores of his sweat glands. “Of course that is another analogy that I won’t explain, but instead leave you to wonder if I’ve actually died or if my life before Sunberth was taken away due to hatred and rumors.”

He sat back and finally relaxed his focus of his strange powers, “maybe our paths will cross again. No, I know our paths will cross again,” he paused and then nonchalantly added, “everyone dies eventually. But I wonder who will reach death first and what will be waiting on the other side for both of us.”

The pause was longer than any before Vaxes stood as well. Xavior turned to Shroud, “what was the date again?” His words had become long and drawn out again, slurred to an almost cryptic tongue. Perhaps cryptic to those who walk the land, but muddled language of the stars. He received the reply before he turned his head to look at Vaxes.

The subtle marking on his face only made him chuckle under his own breath, “did you loose a gamble?” He chuckled, louder than he should of, before that slurred wording left abruptly and his voice became clear. Hands planted themselves over the splintered surface of the table. The crossbow, hung under his cloak shifted, moved, and taped the wooden leg of the chair. The sound only punctuated his words, “if you are attempting to intimidate just know such actions brush off of me faster than Dira's embrace; same as petty words spoken from the likes of you.” His head twitched toward Davros to indicate who he meant. “What exactly has been brought on me? A rival, a hit on my head, I made someone mad at me? Leth forgive me, for I have not been faithful!” He praised the heavens with his hands before he sunk back in his seat. His arms relaxed into his lap as he took in a breath. Though his tone had much force in it, it had barely risen a single decibel, though for whatever reason his words cut through like a sharp blade through cheese. “Tsk, whatever. I've only been here for eleven years and I'm already bored.” He muttered inaudibly to himself he turned his head back up, “I'm not afraid to make enemies. If your business is finished, have a glorious night and may the light of Leth be with you now and always.”

Xavior began to turn away before he flicked a finger up. He turned back to the two syms, “If you have ill feelings, I know one of your weaknesses. But if you want to reconcile those feeling, I'll be at the rendezvous for the CE.” Xavior turned his head back to the table wile he stifled another playful jab at the syms, “that is if you haven't already lost the balls to castrate.” The line was said only in his head. He didn't want to throw more fuel onto th flames.

oocDepending on y'all, this is going to be my last post. Xavior has plans to stay within the city till day break.

by **Chamaeleon** on April 4th, 2012, 3:21 am

Chamaeleon fell silent now as the group finished up, violet eyes observant as they spoke their last part and the gilded and sugared voice of their host once again sidled past his lips like an alluring music. No one else here was quite like Wrenmae. His confidence oozed out of him and filled the air. She wrinkled her nose slightly and prepared to exit, rising to her feet first and smiling at the gentlemen with a quick curve of her lips.

"I suppose this is farewell until that day then, gentlemen. Until then, I bid you farewell."

She inclined her head to them and stepped away, gracefully as her kind were oft to walk. She left them to their devices, exiting the tavern and fading into the city with her pony to await the day she could see everything she had gotten involved.

by **Archelon** on May 22nd, 2012, 3:27 am

Thread Award

"..."

And the Results!!!!:

Wrenmae :

Chaemeleon :

Davros :

Roka :

Would you like some extra turtle sauce ? :