The Great Vestarra (Closed)

[Colombina]

The sixty-sixth evening of the season was warm and its violet hours were slow to darken. People moved sluggishly after the day's heat, ready to unfurl into indolence. Courtyards were inhabited by bodies stretched on benches and the steady light of candles untouched by a breeze. The palace of the East Winds was softly lit, its patterned screens and colored glass cast trembling purple stars on the main marble walkway. Visitors trickled in from the street giddy, sedate and cautious as they floated around the stately entry. A path of lanterns bid them down a set of stairs half hidden by a cluster of jasmine and to a set of doors. Flanking the doors were two comely slaves draped in the gray and amethyst of the house. Though of opposite gender, the pair matched in weight of features and coloring. They were decoration as much as the patterned rug beneath them. "Invitations, please," they murmured. The artful missives found them all, hand delivered like a Pressorah's summons.   Izdihar Izdihar, Please do come. My party wouldn't be complete without West Wind flowers. It's on the sixty-sixth and will begin around eighth bell. There will be lovely things to eat, and good food, too. My guest list is small, so don't tell your cousins, I wouldn't be able to bear their ill-will. Here is your key to start your walk through the treasure boxes. Wear it round your pretty neck or the servants won't know where to lead you. Sincerely, Vestarra   Sahreni Sahreni, Not everyone got a box for their token. I can't deny I am aiming to impress you for your first party with me. I like a man with a bit of scandal behind him, don't take that wrong, I'm just a bit foolish in my fancies. Do come, won't you? I know I don't have to ask as prettily as I am. You are too gallant to deny any young lady's pleasure. Don't forget your key, you'll be lost without it. Sixty-sixth of the season around eighth bell. Truly, Vestarra   Hadreck You came well recommended. If you have any inclination towards pleasure, be at the Palace of the East Winds on the sixty-sixth around eighth bell bearing this key. Your Gracious Hostess, Vestarra of the East Winds Beyond the doors was a simple receiving room where women had cast aside shawls and men weapons. The resulting piles resembled something from a child's tale of hidden treasure. Past the curtains was the feast: glistening fruits made towers amidst browned meats, and patterns of palm sized morsels. Beer and wine was served in bowl sized portions. White cactus flowers and star shaped jasmine were in fragrant bunches across the table and hung in the dim edges of the room. Silver lanterns in the Yaheban style with pearlized panes offered the only illumination apart from candles carried by drifting slaves. Guests were already half tumbling into their cups, leaning forward to whisper, laugh and seduce one another (with varying degrees of success). The Eypharian guests possessed the room, while those of other races lingered and watched from corners. Some knew the standards of dress and others were obvious in their efforts to imitate. A poor Drykas girl had likely worn every bit of jewelry she owned, resulting in a barbaric display of over eagerness. Some guests had broken into dancing, pouring bodies over the sounds of lutes and pipes. The have nots were marked by their sincerity and the haves by their cast off approach to the complex patterns. They slipped in and out of embraces that would have been meaningful to any but a gilded. Keys thumped on every neck, bound by colored cords strewn across the table for such use. All were different and did not always reflect the wearer. Gliding through every scene was Vestarra. She was lovely. All the sordid rumors about her immediately seemed malicious lies when paired with her face. Even her forward invitations seemed at odds with the girl so warm and intent of welcoming. Race and means didn't seem to matter to her, each guest was a jewel she had been proud to gather and was intent on seeing shine amongst its fellows. She smiled at her new arrivals, her pulse fluttering with happiness. Oh, they were just the persons she had been longing to see. OOCThe room is your as is Vestarra's first words to you. I will follow these posts fairly soon, and then set you on your adventure.

[Sahreni]

"You look great, Sahreni!" a girlish voice chimed from across the garden. Her small shadow flitted like a thief through the yellow strips of torchlight spilling through the arches of the terrace. The echo of her sandals on the walkway filled the empty silence of the early evening. Genuinely stunned, Sahreni halted and turned to face his aggressor. Although there were servants just beyond the courtyard waiting to transport him to the Palace of the East Winds, he thought he was otherwise alone. He hadn't expected anyone to see him off before his departure. Sahreni folded his arms behind him patiently, waiting for his half-sister to finish running toward him. Her long, dark hair had been woven into three braids, two of which were now unraveling into wild, haphazard waves. Only Hasina could make unruly look charming. "What did you say?" he asked when she was finally before him, allowing a crooked smile to breach his formal veneer. Hasina tossed her wild hair behind her without care or thought for her mother's long efforts to keep her looking presentable. "You didn't hear me? I said, you look really handsome!" "I did actually. I just wanted to hear you say it again." He smirked when Hasina giggled. "Thank you. It's nice hearing that. Now go back inside. You shouldn't be out here this late." "I hope you have fun at the party, Reni. I wish I could go." "Oh, I'm sure you don't." "What is that for?" A dainty little hand pointed at the glittering brass key hanging from a cord around his neck. Sahreni looked down, taking the object and turning it in his fingers, just as he had when he first took it out of its gilded box. How extraordinary that such an innocuous piece of metal could imply so much mystery. "I suppose I'll find out. Good night, Hasina." ---- With a glass of red hanging from one hand, Sahreni watched the dancers on the floor from his comfortable and quieter spot near the banquet tables. He had already given his greetings and exchanged glib pleasantries with some of the familiar faces he'd come across, but found no place in anyone else's conversations. Donned in a collection of darker shades that mingled with his House colors, Sahreni had quite clearly put some effort into making himself look immaculate for Vestarra's event. His slightly long hair had been tightly knitted into neat braids, adorned with a pewter ornament in the shape of a stylized desert wolf. The night's purpose had yet to present itself—if there was a purpose. Sahreni had attended occasions like these before, but rarely had he ever received such a personally worded invitation, and written by the hostess herself. For him to be wanted anywhere, there had to be a reason. The halfblood was not fearful or worried, merely a tad on the side of apprehensive. Perhaps nervous, though he would die before admitting it. The keys everyone had been given were undoubtedly the… the key… to whatever Vestarra had in store for tonight. As the hour pressed on, the furtive meaning of it seemed to make the trinket grow heavier on his neck. Eventually the lady of the evening made herself known, and there were waves of appreciation rippling through her throngs of guests. Sahreni put on a warm smile as the woman actually began to approach him. "So you did come! I am so very pleased that you accepted my invitation, Sahreni." "I was honored to receive one from you, Vestarra. You look…" His lips parted, and his smile became a grin as teeth showed through. He swept a hand toward her elegant attire. "Simply ravishing. What an intriguing party you've put together." He sipped his wine as unconsciously his hand felt at the key around his neck.

[Hadreck]

Hadreck never thought that the body could so strongly smell of salt, raw and ripe from the very earth from where it was birthed, but he found the smell very powerful on him. He spent a majority of the day, before the sun rose to about the sixth bell in the evening, in the salt mines, breaking the precious mineral for whatever uses. The next hour was spent bathing himself thoroughly. Thoroughly, because, he was commanded to. You see, Hadreck was an Akalak, a slave and servant to the Royal House of East Winds, and though he had yet to understand why he was being told to clean himself so thoroughly (he was surely due for another full day of labor the next day), he obeyed happily. Happily, everything he did for the East Winds he did with pleasure. Odd, perhaps, to have a slave toil and exhaust himself for the sake of a few meals, clothing, and the right to live, but Hadreck was odd. And blessed by Nikali. He hadn't even gotten into his clothing before another slave of the House, a young Benshiran boy, no older than twelve years old, offered him more "suitable" attire, a letter, and a strange parcel. The clothing was little more than a kilt of silk, finely crafted just for a man his size (which was large by any standards, since he is an Akalak), and of solid violet color. Color of the East Winds. Hadreck had to have the letter read aloud to him, since he was still so new in Ahnatep that much of the language escaped him (and he never learned to read). At first, he wasn't sure what to think about the letter. He had heard of the hostess before, though not often and he couldn't remember have seeing the woman before (though he was still suffering from some culture shock; all the multi-armed people looked the same) but that didn't mean he hadn't. He was being invited, invited was the official word, and it might have even been the full truth, but to him it sounded differently. Like, what he had grown up hearing, demanding. His presence was demanded, and though his body was tired from a day of physical labor, like the many days before, he was still inclined to obey this command. He would be present at the gathering, and he assumed his task would be one of servitude, again as he was born and raised for. _____ Needless to say, Hadreck's journey to the palace was not a lengthy one, since he was owned by the very House that was hosting the event. When he arrived, dark iron key dangling between those natural-built pectorals of his (neighbor to the faint crimson mark of Nikali; revealing the location of his heart) and not a hint of jewelry on him (he was a slave still, guest or not, he dared not pretend to show rank/class/highness in the caste). He was delivered to the event at the lead of other slaves, and that was very awkward. Hadreck took several minutes of standing, just listening to music and laughter and dancing, watching the drinkers and dining and the gossiping and the thick make-up that so many Eypharian wore, and in which time he finally got the hint that he wasn't a slave here. He wasn't, perhaps, meant to serve food and offer drink, to provide this or that. Even the other slaves of the House, many he had worked with here and there, offered him food and wine as he stood silently at the outer circle of the event. He turned them down, yet still felt a strange sense of being out of place. Eventually, Vestarra revealed herself, spoke a few words to the congregation as a whole, then vanished within the crowd, sifting through and greeting each individual guest with a few words. When she found her way to Hadreck, she merely smiled, running a single finger across his bare chest, across the Ranuri that marked him, then left without even bothering to welcome him. The touch itself gave Hadreck chills, a feeling he hadn't had since he was a young boy, and as of twenty-two days ago, he was sixty-seven.

[Izdihar]

Ibrahim of the Westwinds tossed a key in the sunlight spilling through his sister's chamber windows. It glinted dully as he juggled it from hand to hand and back again in an intricate dance that would have boggled the eyes of any but another Eypharian. He stood hip knocked and shoulders back, eyes fixated upon the annoyance being presented him by his sister's frown. "I wouldn't be able to bear their ill-will," he recited from Vestarra's invitation, molten voice mocking. The key flipped thrice before he stole it with a dramatic snatch from the fall. "What rubbish, Izzy. You're going, aren't you?" "I'd have a head full of rubbish not to," Izdihar replied with a stifled sigh. She rose from her chair with liquid elegance to stretch two of her arms over her head and trail the fingertips of others along the gleam of the desk's lip. "Don't lose that, Brahim." "Why ever not?" The tall noble hid all six of his hands, sun gilded and strong armed, behind his back in a wink. A lynx smile found features long ago set in the male format of his sister's -- exquisite, distracting. "Wouldn't you be able to bear Vestarra's ill will?" Izdihar gave another frown to her brother, altogether too solemn an expression for the rest of her. "Is it business then?" Ibrahim shifted his shoulders as if beneath a great load. His hands remained hidden while Izdihar approached, bare foot and delicate as a moth wing, so frail seeming against all of his strength. "It is. Eh? Or it could be. Winds from the east reek of fucking intrigue." "Don't be crass," she retorted and held out her hand, palm up in expectation. Shadows slid through Ibrahim's pale eyes, but his smile maintained itself an he set the key in her hand with a low and an elaborate bow. "Don't be slow, sister." - - - It was as dance long learned. Izdihar had strung Vestarra's key about her throat with a crimson cord, still warm from her brother's grasping hands, and dressed herself in palest gold that clung to pampered curves enough to entice without discarding good taste. A few thick curls of hair had been painted with henna to match the cord and all of it looped and braided up with gold jeweled ribbons in a deceptively simple tumble of hair down her bare back. Nails were painted crimson and rubies chased the thick gold bracelets bracketing her wrists and yet, in the end, the effect was still low key in comparison to many of the party goers. Izdihar of the Westwinds had never been in poor taste. She smiled behind a silk fan at a Hawk and disdained the dance floor with a flirt. A glass of sweetened wine was sipped from and she made a witty retort to a political jest. Quick, but kind. Lovely, but not gaudy. Engaged, curious, charmingly interested but not, oh, not ever sliding out from behind the mask of politesse every noble was trained in since birth. It was just sometimes so very hard to tell the difference. "Vestarra," she greeted her hostess with a cool kiss to the cheek when approached. "Your party is delightful. How unsurprising." A compliment, it was, as told by the merry tilt of her fan. "And I see you invited Sahreni. How kind," and that a question as betrayed by her chosen undermode of language, a question that would wait to be pleased or upset depending on Vestarra's ultimate ambitions wherein Izdihar's half-blooded relation was concerned. Their conversation ended with warm smiles and Izdihar turned toward the banquet table by which Sahreni stood in expectation of locating a fresh glass. Her curious, clear-water eyes fell upon Hadreck.

[Colombina]

"Do you really like it?" Vestarra's question to Sahreni was uttered with a jolt of sincerity, but she hemmed it with a self-assured smile. "If you're just being kind, don't tell." Her looks were layered in tones dry and warm, complex as the wine in their cups. "It would ruin my evening." Vestarra was tugged at by passing hands demanding her attention: two girls in yellow chirping like finches, punctuating their comments with perfunctory laughter. After purring pretty compliments, Vestarra had sent them on their way. Without an obvious motion, she had looped one arm through Sahreni's, nestling him into her confidences. She began a turn around the room, moving with him as if he was a dear friend. Her voice was soft, forcing one to move closer to hear it. "I love large parties, they're so intimate." She stopped so she could select a fig stuffed with goat cheese and drizzled with honey off the table. "Try this, Sahreni. It's wonderful." Vestarra fed it to him with all sweetness. As he didn't have the chance to respond, she began to reminisce. "I used to see you about the East Winds. I'm glad you're here again." Her voice dipped into a warmer husk, "One gets used to certain sights without realizing it." The curtain door was billowing upward with a flurry of new guests. Ever a hostess, Vestarra made a pretty apology and floated away to greet her new arrivals, which included the shrewd Izdihar. "Lovely Izdihar!" Vestarra said returning the greeting. She seemed more enthusiastic about Izdihar's presence than the West Winder was. "I did," she cast smiles over her bare shoulder at Sahreni, "I like him very much. Much more gallant than most men." An undermode of reproach daintily touched her words. "Don't you think?" They smiled at one another and almost parted ways, until Vestarra caught Izdihar looking at Hadreck. "Isn't he marvelous?" her words were reverent with real awe, "Like Azure." Half lidded eyes regarded the slave Akalak. "One of ours. Wasted in the mines." Admiration smoldered to suggestion then tapered to playfulness: "Eager to please if you're interested." Vestarra smiled and it was both charmed and wolfish as she turned away towards the head of the chamber where a pair of slaves helped her stand on a bench to better address the crowd. "My guests, I hate to dampen such lovely music," she made a gesture of thanks to the musicians, "But I want to show you all the presents I have for you!" She laughed at the happy cheer this provoked from some of the room. "There's a bit of a game to them, though And everyone must play to the end. If you are dreadfully worn out and aren't up to it, take some morsels and leave with my affection." She clasped two sets of hands. "The rest of you! It's time to make use of those keys in the next few rooms. You may trade and persuade as much as you like, but everyone gets something." After being helped to the ground, Vestarra became the merry leader of an excited band of guests. They passed through red doors that were discretely locked behind them and into a room of fabric covered tables and sofas. The tables were stacked with locked chests and boxes of every imaginable size. On the sofas were quiet slaves with locks on light chains about their necks. Vestarra took a seat on a large tuft in the center of it all, calmly eating grapes from a tray. OOCThis is the fun part. Socialize and unlock whatever you like that could fit in a box or sit on a sofa.

[Sahreni]

Even if he had wanted to, Sahreni couldn't muster a response. He'd been sufficiently disarmed, first by her coquettishness, and then a passing caress over a painful memory. In two simple moves, Vestarra had carefully deconstructed his polished composure and left him bewildered and nonplussed. For a moment, he couldn't stop staring at her. As she drifted away like a leaf catching a breeze, Sahreni cleaned a drop of honey from his lip with the swipe of his finger. He drew a fresh breath and exhaled, collecting himself again while the hostess busied herself with her other guests. There was a foreign warmth in his cheeks, which he belatedly recognized as chagrin. She was unusual. Sahreni was accustomed to handling social situations wherein he would be mildly ostracized or ignored. Hardly ever did anyone approach him that directly, or so personally. He felt like he had been kissed, and then slapped. Shaking it off, Sahreni helped himself to another stuffed fig. When he turned to survey the party again, he passively watched Vestarra accost a new group of guests. His eyebrows pulled upward suddenly as he realized that among them was one of his cousins. He watched her just long enough until their eyes met. It wasn't a tremendous surprise to see more West Wind nobility at the party, but the guest list had been curiously exclusive. Vestarra seemed to have handpicked each of her attendees with unusual care and lack of prejudice. Sahreni wondered what he shared in common with Izdihar that attracted the hostess' attention. Once Vestarra had made her rounds, she announced the beginning of her party's game. For a moment, Sahreni considered leaving. A childish fear sat in him, planted by the noblewoman's earlier attention. In his youth, that sort of treatment usually preceded some sort of trick at his expense. It would be a bit silly to expect that here, he thought. So he gave her the benefit of the doubt and followed into the next room. While he inspected the boxes and glanced over some of the slaves, Sahreni noticed he had ended up standing next to the tall form of a dark-skinned Akalak. He was almost certainly a slave, by the look of him, but he had key around his neck as well, rather than a chain like the others in this room. Sahreni looked up to inspect the mark on his chest with passing interest. The bastard nodded to him, a gesture of greeting, or perhaps respect. He looked about as comfortable here as Sahreni was. After a bit of perusing and testing a few of the boxes on the tables, Sahreni began toward the sofas. Feeling a bit like a patron at a slave market, he passed each one slowly, sending glances over their faces and postures. He carefully removed the cord around his neck, attached to the key, and tried one lock fastened upon a golden haired, tan-skinned human—to no avail. Eventually Sahreni came across a milk-skinned human woman, light of frame but tall, with deep black hair cut abruptly at jaw length. At her neck was a brass lock, similar in design to his own key. The device snapped open, and the chain was removed. With a suppressed look of triumph, Sahreni replaced the cord around his neck. "Hm." She was lovely enough, he supposed. He drew her onto her feet by her hand. "Hello." Now in possession of his evening's prize, Sahreni turned to see if he could spot Izdihar, unable to keep himself from wondering what she had got. His eyes kept drifting toward the dark-skinned Akalak. He was hard not to notice.

[Hadreck]

Hadreck was silently as Vestarra approached him, yet rather than addressing him directly (a familiar feeling as a life-long slave) she turned to the crowd, and addressed them. Her voice, though sweet and soothing, held almost a hint of aggression, almost in a sensual way. Hadreck felt that strange compulsion to please wash over him again, that urge driven by Nikali herself, to make the people happy. He scanned the crowd, feeling the eyes on him, like a pack of predators eagerly watching their prey. And that's the more comfortable situation he was used to. She had hardly turned and left him before Hadreck was getting glances, there were whispers here and there. If they weren't interested in the sole blue giant of a guest before, thanks to Vestarra, there were more than a few tempted now. Luckily, Vestarra was far from finishing with her easily-captivated audience, and began to address the main event of the evening. She spoke of gifts, locked in the next room, ranging from slaves to... well, nobody had a clue what else there was, the lockboxes could hold anything at all. And, apparently, there was a single lock that fit each individual key. Hadreck slowly lifted his hand and gently held onto the key that dangled from his neck. He wasn't particularly fond of this game, it sounded strange. He felt so awkward, once again, now that he was to move to his own rhythm, obeying his own will, rather than another's. And he thought hard about leaving, yet he couldn't. He felt (be it truth or not) that he wasn't allowed to leave. He was a slave of this House after all, and he was personally invited/summoned here. If he were to abandon the party and Vestarra, who knows what repercussions would be in store. Hadreck moved with the crowd into the next room, where the locked gifts of all sizes and shapes eagerly waited. The sight of slaves, chained up and waiting to be chosen, revealed to their owners-for-the-night (or permanently?), made Hadreck's stomach churn. Never before had slavery bothered him, he was born into it, raised in it, but the thought that someone had paired him with a slave of his own bothered him severely. He wouldn't know what to do with one, only how to be one. Hadreck looked away, long enough to make eye contact with Sahreni, who merely nodded to him. Hadreck, however, responded by lowering his eyes and head, bowing his upper body slightly. A habit, no doubt, of his life. Eventually, everyone was bustling about the room, eager to find their personal gift, eager to envy over the presents of others, hasty to offer trades. Hadreck, he stood by, taking several long moments to build up enough courage to participate (though he wouldn't go near the slaves), and he began sifting through the gifts. Each lock tried with his own key seemed to fail, which made Hadreck fear more and more that he had been set up with just what he feared. Regardless, he kept trying to unlock parcels until one finally allowed entry to his own key. There was a sense of relief that embraced him, like a cool breeze during the middle of a hot difficult laborious. He took the box, a fine wooden container roughly a foot in length and width, and no more than three inches in height, and he took it to a bench on the side of the room. For some reason, he didn't open it, he wasn't certain he wanted to. If this gift was for him specifically, then he would cherish it (assuming it wasn't a joke of some sort), and feared someone else trying to swap for it. It was so very difficult for him to deny people after all.

[Izdihar]

"I'm told you're wasted in the mines." Izdihar's greeting of the Akalak was expected. It had been laid out by the rarely uttered words of society's board. Her hostess had directed her attention, tilting it with the same prowess other ladies might employ their fans. It left Izdihar curious despite the caution taught her by a life swimming with the sharks, Ahantep's court and criminal underground a battered shoreline resounding with the thunderclap of storm shoved tides. The ruby silk cord from which she had strung her key was looped loosely about her fingers, the instrument itself swinging to and fro like pendulum as she peered down at the seated slave. An inlaid wood box, a foot in length and several inches in width, was gripped in another hand. She had located it with alacrity, or rather she had been given it after applying a fair amount of charm to a gullible lock-holder. He had all but run to locate her present, buying her time to make a study of the flurry and laughter floating through her fellow party goers as they unlocked and bargained. Izdihar preferred to maintain a reservation about her negotiations -- as did her employers. "Izdihar," she introduced and bedamned if she did not smile and if that smile was not warm. "Are you going to open it?" Sahreni caught her eye as guests parted and she tilted her head. The rectangular box was flipped up and tilted in a beckoning gesture to her cousin. When he approached, she used that same box to tap him lightly in the chest. "Our entire family is green."

[Colombina]

The room was settling, once giddy hands now filled. It was a calm the hostess could barely tolerate. Boredom was death. Some bright thing had to be cast on the floor to catch the eye. Sosostris was summoned from whatever corner kept her. The Lady's lily gnosis bloomed between her breast. The petals spread under her collarbone in dramatic teal and red. She was a "Chashira", a combination common enough in Eyktol to bear a name. Her eyes were the unsettling black of Chaktawe and her hair was heaps of ruddy brown. Vestarra appreciated a thing that looked its part. Half-wild and baring more skin than the weather required, Sosostris was a seer befitting a Semhu stage. Her tongue was riddled with poetry and half-thoughts. A blessing more precious to her profession than any true gift. A table once full of presents was cleared for a small stone brazier. Sosostris lit dried strands of sky twine, daringly held in her fingers. A sweet powerfully herbal smoke curled blue from the kindling. The fortune teller flourished the air with the tendrils before nestling the kindling beneath shards of rare cedar wood. A fire burned before the seated woman, turning her black eyes infernal shades. "Sit with me and I will read the flame for your fortunes," she announced. OOCTalk amongst yourselves for a post or two then I'll progress you onward again.

[Hadreck]

Hadreck felt his hands clench around the box as Izdihar approached him. Her greeting was typical enough, neither requesting action nor had demanded service of him, two things he couldn't help but to notice. He exhaled slowly and shrugged his shoulders to the Ahnatep native's remark. "Perhaps there are some who think this, but there are more who find my skills valuable in the salt mines. Labor is a skill I am well equipped with, and I am pleased to serve those that ask of me." Perhaps an odd response, but he had never known what it was like to be free, even if his freedom was limited by his spiritual desire to fulfill the desires of anyone around him, rather than his designated master at the time. Honestly, he was just conversationally awkward. It had been so long since he was spoken to as an equal, or at least not an item or property, he hardly knew how to react accordingly. "Izdihar? Ah, a lovely name. I am Hadreck, Servant of the East Winds. I... It... I don't know. Do I want to?" Hadreck spoke aloud, though it was fairly obvious his question was for himself. Did he want to open it? What about Izdihar? Was she just looking to trade whatever she had been paired with, for whatever treasure he might have received. The Akalak felt an odd sensation about him, selfishness. He felt as though this gift was truly for him, and nobody else. He could count on his left hand alone, the times he was given a gift for him and himself alone to keep. This, this was special to him, despite not knowing what it was. And yet, he feared it was a mockery. Something meant to poke fun at him in some way so that the audience of this festive event could laugh and jest at his expense. Still, that wouldn't be too bad. It wasn't unheard of. Hadreck nodded slowly, as if answering Izdihar's question after several long silent seconds of contemplating. His large powerful hands slowly opened the lid, and what was inside only struck the Akalak with a petrifying sort of emotion. Good or bad, he shut the box immediately, hiding it before anyone in the area could see it. His skin, though cobalt in nature, seemed to whiten just a slight amount as he searched the sea of people for Vestarra. Wherever she was, he could not see. He had questions now, and despite the position he was so used to being in, he had to ask someone, something, as to why he received this. "Izdihar..." The Akalak stuttered slightly, considering intently the risk he was taking, to trust an Eypharian to keep a secret, to not take advantage of him, it was probably foolish. "What do you know of my people?" And an odd question it was. Hadreck, moved over on the bench, allowing the beautiful Eypharian woman a place beside him, and assuming she accepted the seat, he would open his box, only slightly, to show her what it was that he received. A Lakan. Being an Akalak born outside of Riverfall, raised outside of Riverfall, and never have set foot inside Riverfall, he never had the chance to perform the rite of manhood, to show his maturity. Yet, his gift was that of just such a thing, manhood. What was it supposed to mean? He knew well enough about the Lakan just from his several encounters with Akalak all around the world, but to receive one, he didn't know how to react. "What does this mean?"