February 28, 2004
Night of Lights Part I
A Large Bar in the Duke's Bounty
This room isn't overly small, though it appears to be for the four large circular tables crammed into it. Each table is beringed by squat wooden stools for patrons to sit on, and consume drinks collegially with others. For those who prefer a slightly more private place to drink, a few stools along the long, polished surface of the bar have been provided. The best view from there is the mounted kegs of ale and mead and other such drinkables behind the bar, and the swinging door to the kitchen. The air is thick with smoke and joviality, and is kept dimly lit by a few windows that pepper the north wall of the room. There is a small door set into the western wall. A section towards the centre of the room has been cleared, and some of the tables removed to allow for a 'stage' of sorts. Two wooden pallets have been pushed together to provide a slightly elevated performing area. Stacks of hay around the outskirts of the room and an array of chairs and stools make up the seating.
[ Exits: east south west ]
Several round tables are here, each surrounded by a few chairs.
A petite, bronze-skinned woman with long mahogany hair is standing here.
A platinum-haired man with multicoloured eyes is standing here.
A curvy young, woman with glistening blonde ringlets stands here.
The soft ringing of a petite, bronze-skinned woman's tambourine comes to an abrupt halt as she all but gapes at a youthful female Seari. Quickly, she turns her head and once more resumes the light accompaniment of the lute player's song.
A youthful female Seari pauses within the arch of the doorway, her arm hooked around the arm of a man of average height, her body leaning lightly against his side. As heads begin to turn, she unwinds her arm from around his and draws herself up tall, meeting each gaze as it falls upon her. She is clothed in a long flowing white silken gown, the fabric semi transparent in nature, leaving little to the imagination with regards the curves beneath and her under-garments or lack there of as the case may be. Her long russet locks are brushed till they glisten, the curls falling down over her bare shoulders to brush over the top of her chest as her head turns. Her skin is flawless, lacking in any kind of marring, no scars visible, or any other kind of injury.
A crimson-haired human is sitting on a bale of hay, his head propped up by his hand. He rests his elbow on a pile of hay, his eyes lazily considering the patrons at the bar. He pays no heed to those that just entered.
A platinum-haired man is cleaning his azure coloured ocarina, sitting on another bale of hay, completely oblivious to the others in the room, his hair is all moved to lay on his back.
A man of average height's gaze doesn't turn to anyone specifically, his attention seems idle for the most part and simply wanders the room with no clear goal or focus as he enters beside a youthful female Seari. His pace is at once both casual and confident, his expression lacking of the characteristic caution that he often displays, and no hint is given to any concern over his perhaps vulnerable choice of attire- his torso on display through the parted fabric of his open shirt, allowing a clear view of an array of elaborate tattoos.
A petite, bronze-skinned woman raises her arms up above her head in a slow and graceful movement. A hypnotic rhythm rolls past as she begins to sway, her hands weaving beautiful patterns with her tambourine. Through lower-lashed, the woman casts quick, covert looks at both a youthful female Seari and a man of average height.
A youthful female Seari tips her head down, her eyes half closing, the long lashes brushing momentarily over the tops of her cheeks. She releases a long breath of air before lifting her eyes and scanning the room for a likely seat. She turns towards her companion, the look she gives him questioning. The turn dually offers the room a direct view of her back, and the tattoo on display this eve.
A crimson-haired human sighs softly, his body slumping against the hay that supports his back. He is still wearing his usual guard's uniform, white tabard and all. His eyes close slowly as he rests against the hay, his free hand remaining on his skullcap, which lies by his side.
A platinum-haired man looks up slowly and freezes as he sees a man of average height and a youthful female Seari, shaking his head quickly as he tends to polishing his ocarina.
A shake of his head and the subtle lift of his shoulders is a man of average height's response to a youthful female Seari, clearly he had not yet picked out a seat for them either, but set with the task he does turn to regard the room again, this time an element of focus coming to his expression and eyes. After a moment he nods toward a bail of hey near the bar, already moving toward it as he murmurs: "Providing the straw doesn't make you itch through that gown, we can sit there." His words are a fraction distracted however, as a figure enters the small room- catching the movement from the corner of his eye he turns to regard the Temple Guard as she moves through the door and steps to the side and away form the portal.
A crimson-haired human starts, his eyes opening quickly, eyelids fluttering a bit. He stretches, uttering an oath under his breath. He turns to a platinum-haired man, glancing down at the flute in his hands. "I didn't know you could play an instrument, Illuzar."
A platinum-haired man blinks, looking up and nods "Aye...I don't show it very much...I have only had really one public performance...but..I was drowned out by the other people who were playing as well.."
A youthful female Seari lifts her right hand up, her fingers flicking a few loose locks over her shoulder before following in a man of average height's footsteps. Her feet are bare, and make little noise upon the floor boards as she edges her way through the patrons, avoiding staring directly at the agape mouths as her progress through the room exposes her back to more people.
You think to yourself: 'An interesting array of people here tonight-- the temple guard...? I bet it must really kill them to just stand there and not be able to touch- heh, that bitch is here too hmm? Maybe things will be more entertaining than I had hoped.'
A crimson-haired human nods a few times. "I think I remember how to play that kind of thing... or at least, it seems like I should be able to... can I give it a try?" The man scratches the back of his head absently as he queries a platinum-haired man.
A platinum-haired man seems uncertain for a moment, holding the ocarina close before nodding, holding it out, offering to a crimson-haired human "Aye, just be careful...my mother gave it too me.."
Turning as he reaches his destination, a man of average height begins to lower himself onto the hay, his attention returned to a youthful female Seari, his eyes meeting her middle and slowly trailing up over the rise of her breasts, pausing briefly on the subtle discolouration of her nipples through the semi-transparent fabric before finally coming to rest on her face. A light grin touches his lips and he murmurs: "I know not if they stare in such wonder at your bold exhibition of your body or of your mark."
You think to yourself: 'It is the mark, it has been some years since it or any of it's ilk has been on display. And certainly not without some element of purpose. Tongues will wag tonight.'
A crimson-haired human takes the ocarina into both of his hands, cradling it softly. He turns it over a few times in his hands, examining it. "Well made. It should sound wonderful." He puts the instrument to his lips, positioning a small opening before his mouth. He places both hands on the flute, though none of his fingers cover any holes for the time being. He issues forth a single breath of air, creating a soft, steady pitch from the ocarina. He stops it, apparently content with its tuning, smiling a bit at a platinum-haired man. "Mind if I play a song?"
Turning to regard the youthful seari female, the woman, so obviously a Temple Guard, fixes her firmly in the path of her mis-matched eyes before stating in an amused tone: "We need stand here idly only within this bar, there are no restrictions on what we do outside this room." Her words are uttered slowly, precisely, as if she were speaking to a dim-witted child.
A youthful female Seari remains standing before a man of average height, returning his gaze quite openly, though she reacts not vocally to his words, but rather lifts her hand up, fingers extending to nudge aside the flap of his shirt. The mark of the Nine exposing itself to the air and eyes of the room. Her hand drops as soon as the temple guard speaks, her body turning sharply about to face her.
You think to yourself: 'And nor am I restricted by the darkness that the night has to offer - nay it only aids me.'
A platinum-haired man blinks slightly, sighing he nods "Aye....." He turns and begins to run his fingers through his hair, reaching around into his pouch, pulling out a thin string, in which he ties it into a tail. "Go head Lumen.."
A petite, bronze-skinned woman slowly lowers her tambourine and continues to tap out a slow, soothing beat. A mockery of a smile pulls up thin, crimson lips as she cocks her head to the side, trying vainly to catch a multitude of conversations into her listening ear.
"Thank you." a crimson-haired human puts the instrument back to his lips, closes his eyes, and pauses just for a moment. Then, a slow, somber song begins to issue from the instrument, straining the lower ranges of the small flute. His fingers move slowly over the holes, covering some, then uncovering. He tilts his chin forward, and therefore his head upward as the pitch of the tune begins to rise, but it settles back down, surely enough. The flesh around his eyes begins to tighten as he concentrates on the music, blowing air over the opening at a slow, even rate. Punctuating and contrasting the song are his quick, short breaths for air as he continues the slow, sad song.
A man of average height's expression briefly cools at the words form the Guard, before, after a brief pause, his lips quirk into a half smirk and he idly reaches out to snake his hand into a youthful female Seari's; tugging at her arm gently he prompts her to take her place with him atop the bail of hay. "Sit down, there'll be plenty of time for games later- I thought you wanted to come to watch the entertainment?"
A platinum-haired man turns and closes his eyes, listening to the slow notes of the ocarina, a smile crossing his lips as his body visably relaxes to the sound.
Tapping the instrument against the top of her thigh, a petite, bronze-skinned woman uses her free hand to adjust the folds of her silken dress. Each gentle touch rustles the fabric, and changes the hues of the shimmering fabric from a soft ashen grey, to a dark stormy color. A slender brown eyebrow rises in a crimson-haired human's direction. Without breaking the beat of her own music, she says to him "You play quite well, Lumen."
A youthful female Seari is easily pulled down to sit atop the stack of hay, the height of it enough such that her bare feet hang a good couple of inches above the ground. She idly starts to pluck a few loose straws from where they cling to her dress, tossing them aside to land upon the floorboards. The young, female guard steps to the side, offering a youthful female Seari a direct line of sight with a crimson-haired human, her attention drawn to him like moth-to-a-flame as the sound of the instrument rings through the the noisy bar.
As with his companion a man of average height's attention is slowly drawn over towards a crimson-haired human by the sound of the ocarina, which pierces the air so cleanly, and yet remains smooth and flowing- easily drowning any conversations which might threaten to obscure the melody being played.
As the song begins to pick up a bit of volume, a crimson-haired human leans his head back more, issuing forth faster air to produce higher pitched notes, now more in the middle range of the instrument. The notes swirl together in a legato rhythm, much like waves of a beach softly breaking against the sand. a crimson-haired human moves his own body to the rhythm, swaying back and forth slowly as he concentrates further. The song takes a sudden emotional upswing, and he closes his eyes tighter as the notes approach the upper ranges of the instrument in his possession. As the climax of the song passes, he returns to the lower pitches that started the song, ending on a soft note. As the note ends, he keeps his eyes closed for just a moment before opening them and lowering the instrument from his lips, a faint half-smile accompanying the rose tint of his cheeks.
The shrill noise of a tambourine rings out as a petite, bronze-skinned woman claps her hands together. She gives a respectul nod in a crimson-haired human's direction as she mouths, "Well done. Well done."
A platinum-haired man winces as the tabourine rings, growling quietly he glares at a petite, bronze-skinned woman before turning to a crimson-haired human, nodding "Very well done Lumen...it is nice to meet another ocarina player.."
A loud clapping sound is heard, followed by a sharp piercing whistle as the curvy young, woman tries to gain the attention of the room's patrons. "Excuse me... ahem... excuse me! May I please have everyone's silence so that the first may choose to take the stage and officially begin the Night of Lights."
Turning his head a fraction, a man of average height brings his lips close to the base of a youthful female Seari's long, pointed ear, though his eyes remain firmly on a crimson-haired human as the song draws to a close. As he murmurs into her ear, he slowly draws his left hand up to rest idly on the woman's thigh, the tips of his fingers idly curving about to dip just a fraction toward her inner-thigh.
A man of average height whispers to you, 'He plays well, a great deal better than the mage at least.. We should, perhaps, thank him for delivering the reagents I required, it would have been far more difficult for me to have acquired them after all.'
A petite, bronze-skinned woman emits a soft, polite cough as she turns to the left a bit to give a curvy young, blonde haired woman due attention. Her head cocks nonchalantly to the opposite side.
A crimson-haired human blushes fiercely at the praise, turning his head away from both a platinum-haired man and a petite, bronze-skinned woman. "Thanks." he says softly, though his word is easily swallowed up by a curvy young, blonde haired woman's attempt to get attention. He snaps his gaze towards the sound, listening for a moment, then looks down at the ocarina in his hands, then at its owner. "Perhaps you should start us off, Illuzar?"
A platinum-haired man shrugs slightly, sighing as he looks down saying softly "I do not know if two ocarina songs in a row would be a good idea Lumen.."
A youthful female Seari 's lips part a fraction, the air released slowly and soundlessly past them. She dips her head forward in a nod, her cheek brushing against a man of average height's before she starts to withdraw a fraction and extends her arms out behind her for support. Her fingers spread out over the top of the stack as she leans back into a more reclined pose all the while watching a crimson-haired human.
A man of average height glances back only briefly, offering a curvy young, blonde haired woman no more than a cursory glance before turning again to regard first his companion, and then a petite, bronze-skinned woman. His gaze sweeping over her form idly before moving away to focus on the room at large.
A petite, bronze-skinned woman flashes a platinum-haired man a dazzling smile. Sticking her lip out, she gives him a petulant pout before asking, "Please, Illuzar? I don't think anyone would mind."
A crimson-haired human chuckles softly. "Is it that, or is it that you don't want to play for us?" The man goads a platinum-haired man on in subdued tones to not incur the wrath of a curvy young, blonde haired woman. "If you like, I could break the tension of having to go first myself...?" He winks at a platinum-haired man.
"Or perhaps the experienced lady Zoyalla who has entertained us on many occasions previous would like to begin with one of her acts? Or will you be offering something new tonight?" The curvy young woman exposes a warm smile in the direction of the petite bronze skinned woman.
A platinum-haired man chuckles softly, reaching out for the ocarina "If no one minds...I will go but I believe that woman wishes Lady Zoyalla goes first.."
A petite, bronze-skinned woman's voice raises with merry laughter before she responds, "Something new. My typical bar room ballads seemed to pale against the festivities." With a grin she raises her tambourine and gives it a rabid shake.
You think to yourself: 'I wonder how it is you wish me to thank him Narus?'
A petite, bronze-skinned woman dips her head first towards a platinum-haired man then to the center of the cleared area in a pointed gesture.
A crimson-haired human hands the ocarina back to a platinum-haired man, chuckling softly as he leans back against the hay. He watches the stage with earnest, though he remains a silent observer.
A man of average height's lips mouth the word 'experienced' slowly as his eyes return to a petite, bronze-skinned woman at the words of a curvy young, blonde haired woman. He doesn't offer her any insightful expression however, and beyond the silent word there is no other reaction, but his attention is fixed firmly upon the woman now.
"Right well someone better take the stage or else it will be a very short evening and the prizes will go to no one.... " The curvy young woman levels a warm smile towards the platinum haired man, "Surely not you, sir, will grace us with your talents?"
A platinum-haired man nods slightly, hopping off the bale of hay to move towards the stage, looking around slightly, trying to find a chair, he spots a stool and brings it over towards the center, sitting upon it, he smiles saying loudly into the crowed "I dedicate this to my mother, who taught me everything I know about this.." He sighs as he brings the tip of the ocarina to his lips, begining to play a soft tune, as it rises a note, then falls two, it seems to echo around the room, creating a soft (C)
You think to yourself: 'Hmm.. I hope I don't fall asleep... I think this might be a long night.'
Atmosphere, like mists rolling in on a embankment near a stream. a platinum-haired man seems to sway as he begins the song.
A crimson-haired human seems to take notice of a man of average height and a youthful female Seari for the first time, but oddly enough, he smiles to them, nodding once and offering a slight, abbreviated wave to the pair before turning his attention to a platinum-haired man, listening politely to him play. He sits with his back straight, his hands in his lap, a good picture of proper posture.
A youthful female Seari turns her head to the side, her cheek resting upon the top of her right shoulder as she further relaxes back against the haystack, her legs drawing up from the ground to half curl up beneath her, half of the length of her bare calves visible. Finding her gaze met by a crimson-haired human's for the first time this eve, she holds it for a few seconds, before turning sharply away to look towards the stage and the man upon it.
Furrowing his brow slightly, as if momentarily trying to place the melody being played, a man of average height regards a platinum-haired man, but after a moment and a shake of his head he allows his attention to return to wandering, clearly unable to recognise the tune.
A platinum-haired man continues the same beat for only a few seconds before increaseing the rythm of the song, slowly upping the beat of it as he continues, the atmosphere changeing as he does so, as the song has reached a high note, he takes a quick deep breath, and blows, his fingers rapidly switching and moving, createing a quickly desending beat that ends in a low mid-range song, the notes are now slower, and they are slowly building up.
A crimson-haired human listens to the arppeggio that a platinum-haired man plays, his chin inclining with the scale, then lowering again as it reaches lower notes. A faint grin marks his lips as he bops his head to the rhythm created. His hand pats against the outside of his thigh, softly enough to just barely create noise, if any at all.
A platinum-haired man switches to going from low mid range tones to low high range, the pace is quick but the notes remain soft, never letting a sharp sound escape the azure instrument, his foot is tapping against the wooden platform, createing a beat for him to go by as he begins his second rapid descend. After the last note of the desending action he begins to end the song, returning to a slow, one up, two down sounds as he finishes the song in a powerful last note.
A man of average height's eyes lose focus briefly, his right hand slowly trailing up toward his throat, his fingertips tracing the contorts of his muscular torso. Once his hand reaches the collar at his throat, a very subtle sound is emitted, not dissimilar to aged leather being twisted and stressed by movement, before the collar seems to shift its position very faintly; coiling tighter, twisting about his neck for an instant before relaxing again.
A youthful female Seari snakes her tongue across her bottom lip, moistening it with her tip before repeating the gesture upon the upper. Her right hand lifts from the stack of hay, her fingers shaking to be rid of a few stray strands of hay. She places her hand upon the arm of a man of average height, her head inclining towards the stage.
A petite, bronze-skinned woman gets to her feet and applauds a platinum-haired man with gusto. "Well played! Well played!" she cries out, her voice raising above the din of the other applauding patrons.
A crimson-haired human chuckles softly, leaning against the hay, losing his posture. He begins to applaud after he is certain a platinum-haired man is finished playing, a soft sound accompanied by the clinks of his chainmail clacking together.
The sound of applause is thunderous, the rowdier of the patrons banging their mugs upon the table and stomping their feet. A middle-aged woman near the back calls out "Get yer shirt off luv!"
A platinum-haired man brings the tip of the ocarina off his lips as he rises, he is panting fairly fast, as he bows, taking the stool he carries it over towards the side, he walks past a youthful female Seari and a man of average height as he returns to his bale of hay, laying down on it as he wipes the sweat off his brow.
A rotund halfling male arrives from the east.
A platinum-haired man chuckles as he hears the middle aged woman call out, raiseing a eyebrow it is obvious he didn't understand as he continues to attempt and catch his breath.
Turning his head sharply as a youthful female Seari's hand brushes over the top of his arm, a man of average height asks: "Hmm-- What is it?" Though after noting the incline of her head toward the stage a scowl already begins to form, but not letting it touch his tone he asks further: "You want to preform?"
A petite, bronze-skinned woman's gown rustles as she makes her way past tables and hay bales, before coming to stand directly centered in the cleared area. She turns around in a tight circle, meeting eyes with many familiar faces. She stands calmly, waiting for the room's noise to die down.
A youthful female Seari eases her hand from his arm down to the rear of a man of average height, giving it a light nudge. Once a petite, bronze-skinned woman finds her way to the stage, she halts the gesture, releasing a light 'grump' like sound and settles back into her reclined position.
You think to yourself: 'No dolt, I want -you- to preform.'
A petite, bronze-skinned woman half-turns and begins to move slowly to her left. Her footfalls are so gradual and slow that she all but floats across the floor. Her clear soprano voice sings out, "Into the forest a warrior rode.; Never a tremor the long branches showed, ; Never a rustle of movement betrayed; She who was guardian of the dark glade."
A rotund halfling male dashes in from the east, sweating and panting rather heavily. He plants a hand firmly on the doorframe, doubling over as he breathes hard. "Oi! I lost track o' the time out there!" He says this to no one in particular, but as his gaze wanders up to find a petite, bronze-skinned woman on the stage. "Oooop!" He whispers, "sorry!" In a tiny voice, matching his stature. He begins to tip-toe with comic over-exaggeration quietly around the stage, making his way to the bar.
A petite, bronze-skinned woman crosses in front of a man of average height and a youthful female Seari before melting back against the wall. Except for the deft movement of her hand softly rustling the tambourine, she stills into perfect immobility. "Unseen, unnoticed, she paced at his side, ; Ghostlike and graceful, through moonlight she'd glide ; Warning each creature to hasten from doom, ; Leaving his path wrapped in silence and gloom."
A man of average height easing back slightly, his gaze moves back to a petite, bronze-skinned woman as she begins to sing, an echo of a scowl remains upon his expression, though easing somewhat as he settles to listening to the song being sung.
A petite, bronze-skinned woman holds up her polished oak tambourine letting the light play off the hammered bronze discs. A slight breeze catches the many brilliantly colored streamers that hang from the instrument and lifts them slightly. She sings, "As the dawn beckoned, her powers declined. ; She slipped towards green shadow, but still stalked behind. ; His steed caught her scent when she ventured too near-- ; He calmed it, and whispered, 'No fear, love, no fear.'"
A platinum-haired man finally seems to calm down, his attention resting upon a petite, bronze-skinned woman, his ears twitch before flattening against his head.
A petite, bronze-skinned woman kneels slowly to the ground, all the while singing softly, "Softly, she called to his steed in tongues wild, ; 'What brings you henceward, my bridled heart-child?'" Leaning forward, the woman's brown eyes search each face in the crowd. "But the warrior answered, to her great alarm, ; 'Guardian, know thee, we mean here no harm.'"
A petite, bronze-skinned woman flinches as she pulls herself back up to standing. The tambourine held tightly in the woman's hand quickens, and anxiety slips into her voice as she sings: "'We only wish passage-- no flame will be shown,' ; He called in a tongue he should never have known. ; 'No leaf will be injured, that too is my vow-- ; Take it, or come hence to cut me down now.'"
A rotund halfling male glances sidelong at the performance, bumping into no less than three people's chairs along the way. Each one elicits some sort of "watch wher yer goin', little 'un.", to which the halfling responds "A thousand apoligies, plus one, plus one..." He finally finds himself at the bar, and pulls hismelf up with some effort onto a stool, watching a petite, bronze-skinned woman perform.
Stepping away from the wall, a petite, bronze-skinned woman paces slowly forward towards her audience. The music of the tambourine slows once more as the woman taps her instrument with a rhythm deliberately timed to her steps. "No answer came from the one who watched him. ; Through green-veiled branches and sun shafting dim, ; Onward he rode, through a silence like death. ; Silent, she watched every step, every breath."
A petite, bronze-skinned woman comes to a halt less than three steps away from the first table filled with people. ""Nightfall: he dismounted, watered his horse, ; Sat down to think and determine his course. ; No fire burned, and no shelter he'd built, ; But his hand never strayed towards his weapon's carved hilt."
A youthful female Seari rests herself more to the side, her right leg extending out over the lap of a man of average height, followed shortly by her left as she curls up on her side. Her eyes start to close, though by the twitch of her ears, she still follows the words of the song sung.
A petite, bronze-skinned woman's brow furrows, deep enough to add a wrinkle or two across her tanned forehead. "Never had one such as this sought her glade-- ; Always men came here to harvest and raid. ; Ever they died for the rape of her land, ; Ever they died at her silent command." A forlorn look underscored with pain and rage enters the woman's brown eyes. "Ever they ventured to kill and despoil, ; Always their corpses enriched the dark soil. ; But honor's white flame burned within the calm knight. ; Wondering, she watched him until the first light."
A petite, bronze-skinned woman's eyes close as she slowly stills her tambourine by placing a hand over the tightly drawn hide. The instrument's bells ring out their final forlorn notes into growing silence. "Slumber-wrapped, still he perceived she drew near, ; Graceful and lovely, not yet free of fear." The woman steps forward to walk slowly between the members of the audience. a petite, bronze-skinned woman's expression is earnest as she searches the faces all around with her eyes. "When he awoke in the dawn-misted air...." Cymbals chime softly together as she kneels, touching a space in front of her with one slender hand. "One cloven hoofprint revealed she'd been there."
A rotund halfling male cranes his head to watch the performance, but finds hismelf unable to see past the taller occupants. 'Harumphf'ing softly, he scurries to stand on the stool, finding that to be a much better vantage point for viewing.
A petite, bronze-skinned woman drifts back towards the center of the room with a sleepwalker's pace. As she moves, she lifts her tambourine into a playing position and begins once more to shake the instrument against her opposite palm. "Nights and days passed, and his vow remained strong. ; Slowly, squirrels crept back, and birds spoke in song. ; Each night, she wrapped him in magic-wrought dream, ; Each day, she fled with the sun's first shy gleam."
A petite, bronze-skinned woman manipulates her tambourine with ease, her hands tap the instrument with the lightest of touches to invoke a softly haunting tune. The rich harmony readily compliments the woman's clear soprano, "Then came the dawn of the long journey's end--; Out of the forest, this proud knight she'd send.; She'd never spared another-- but this one would go.; Her heart filled with grief, and her steps became slow."
Brown eyes slide closed as a petite, bronze-skinned woman bows her head. She gently strikes the tambourine against her hip, pauses, then lets her fingers roam over the cymbals to coax a wistful, beautiful chiming from the instrument. As she plays, she paces slowly back towards the far left side of the room until she is nearly huddled against the wall. She sings, "Just before leaving her forest domain, ; He rose in his saddle-- he turned back again."
For his part, a man of average height seems content to listen to the song, he moves only slightly as a youthful female Seari's legs settle over his lap, though the movement is enough to allow the fabric of his shirt to fall cleanly away from his stomach, the cool air of the bar causing a subtle ripple along the muscles that line his torso.
A petite, bronze-skinned woman raises her head and opens her eyes. Hope flares in her features, and the tambourines cymbals clang musically together. Her voice moves away from the sing-song quality it held earlier, growing huskier as she recites: "'I thank thee-- I'll never return to this place. ; Guardian, I pray-- may I once glimpse your face?'"
One corner of her bottom lip disappears into a petite, bronze-skinned woman's mouth as she bites down sharply. She takes a few steps to her left, then to right, obviously unsure of what her next course of action should be. One tentative step forward is quickly followed by another as she straightens slowly and sings, "Shy as a doe, she stepped into the light, ; Throat arched, long tail flagged, as graceful as flight. ; His nervous steed sidestepped, too anxious to stand. ; He dismounted and knelt, and he stretched out his hand."
A platinum-haired man tilts his head slightly, seemingly trying to concentrate on one thing as he looks towards the tambouring, then a petite, bronze-skinned woman, ears swivaling around.
A petite, bronze-skinned woman continues to sing and pace between the hay bales and around the cleared centre, sending her soprano voice to ring out and echo back from the walls. "Her mane was a river of moonlight-swept snow. ; Her cloven hooves shared in her spiraled horn's glow. ; Her eyes were green sapphires, entrancing but chill, ; And, daring, she crept closer still, closer still...."
A rotund halfling male listens with rapt attention, his head bobbing to the beat of a petite, bronze-skinned woman's song. A wide smile displays his off-white teeth to the audience that bothers to look at him during the performance.
With a faint smile, a petite, bronze-skinned woman plays a slow crescendo that gains speed as it builds. At first, each thump against her hip is deliberate and soft, but then the volume increases, and the cymbals grow more anxious, tumbling quickly over each other. She lets the crescendo reach a vibrant peak of volume and then kills the sound by dropping her hand flat across the tightly drawn hide. At the same moment, she ceases her approach at a point perhaps ten steps away from the a platinum-haired man.
A platinum-haired man blinks slightly as he seems to lose concentration, looking towards a petite, bronze-skinned woman, fingers tapping against the edge of the hay.
The tambourine makes a light noise as a petite, bronze-skinned woman sets it on the edge of the hay bale. Pulling a steel longsword from the sheath at her waist, she grips the hilt in both hands with the blade pointing upwards. Brown eyes drift closed, then open a moment later as she brings the longsword slashing down in a wild, frenzied arc. Her muscles tense sharply as she attempts to abort the motion at the last moment - but too late: the longsword crashes into the floor.
A petite, bronze-skinned woman staggers as the force of the longsword's blow reels through her petite body and scars the polished floor with an ugly gash at least half an inch deep. A brief flicker of panic shows in the woman's expression as she realizes the damage, but she blocks it out immediately as she sings again: ""The stroke that brought death came as perfect surprise-- ; She fell with betrayal alight in her eyes. ; Far granite cliffs echoed back her shrill scream, ; Scarlet drowned two hundred years like a dream."
A fidgety Dryth woman arrives from the east.
A youthful female Seari follows the woman's progress about the room, her toes idly wiggling against the side of a man of average height's thigh in time to the music. She squirms a little, seeming to find the strands of straw uncomfortable to lie on as she redistributes her weight before settling back down, elbow to the stack, and chin upon her hand and her attention once again upon a petite, bronze-skinned woman.
A rotund halfling male keeps the happy grin on his face, until the sudden, dramatic turn of the song. His eyes widen, and both of his wrinkly, stubby hands come up to his mouth, covering it as he gasps. "No!" He barely keeps his voice soft so as to not interrupt a petite, bronze-skinned woman.
A petite, bronze-skinned woman smiles bitterly, though the expression might be equally a snarl-- her lips writhe back over her teeth as she throws back her head to stare at the ceiling. The anguish in the woman's voice robs her song of any sweetness or softness, but each broken word can still be readily understood, "The knight wept his grief as the unicorn died. ; His weapon's hilt jutted from her snow-white side. ; His hands bore her blood as a dark crimson stain-- ; But the forest was safe now, its guardian slain."
The too-bright shimmer of a petite, bronze-skinned woman's brown eyes suggests tears as she lowers her gaze again to look across the audience. Somehow, her voice retains control as she sings, ""How many died to her spiralling horn? ; Ranks of new widows and children forlorn--" A brief shudder crosses violently along the woman's petite form. "Still grief choked through him, and waves of despair. ; He mounted his steed, but he left his blade there." She releases the hilt of the longsword, but the force with which the blade struck the floor was so great that the weapon remains pinned upright in the wood at a strangely slanted angle.
A platinum-haired man jumps slightly as the sword fell, quickly calming himself again to listen to more of the song.
Picking back up her tambourine, a petite, bronze-skinned woman begins to draw a broken, grieving melody from the instrument. Notes stagger strangely past one another as they flow from the instrument's cymbals, and the rhythm falters several times before recovering to stumble onwards. She sings, "He rode towards the mountains, and cast off his name. ; Never the prize for his kill did he claim, ; Nevermore did he speak words of the wild, ; For she'd trusted him fully-- the gaze of a child."
A fidgety Dryth woman Her ears seeming to twitch with each strike of the tambourine, though her expression would not show distaste. Her eyes downcast, she makes her way into the room, her steps beginning to slow not very far from the halfling.
A petite, bronze-skinned woman takes a breath, holds it, releases it, and settles her gaze on the audience again as she regains her composure and her calm. The rhythm of the tambourine's song gradually stabilizes. Her voice is low, almost blending in with the soft pulsing of the tambourine, but her words still carry even to the back of the room: "I honor his act, and I honor his pain, ; And I honor the guardian slaughtered and slain. ; The world's worst grief comes not from evil's cold deed-- ; But from two who seek good, but can neither concede." (fix)
Zarika
A petite, bronze-skinned woman gives the tambourine one last frantic shake before silencing it against her hip. The sound lingers in the air for a time before dying away into silence. Cradling her instrument in one hand, she catches up her gown with her other before sinking into an extremely low curtsy, bowing her head and holding the pose.
A platinum-haired man seems saddened at the end of the story, he lowers his gaze and sighs slightly, his hair falling over his left shoulder as he does so.
Saving aliases and location.
A youthful female Seari lifts her head up enough for her to be able to bring the palm of her hand against it's opposite. Her hands clapping together, though lightly enough that little sound is produced. Not that it would matter, the sounds of the applause echoing around the room drowns out all but the rowdiest of the patrons in the Inn.
While a man of average height's expression registers some reaction to the nature of the song, it doesn't make clear what that reaction might be- his eyes stare out with a calm, analytical coldness to them, and his lips are held in a neutral line.
Coming to lean back into a corner of the wall, a fidgety Dryth woman makes no move for applause, though she continues watching the woman as she curtseys, her arms coming to fold beneath her breasts as her right ankles crosses over the other while she stands.
A rotund halfling male slowly moves his hands away from his mouth, glancing about at the other patrons that he shares the bar with. He leans over to one, whispering, "Is it over now?" Upon finally hearing applause from the crowd, he joins in, the big smile returning to his lips. "Well played, madam, well played, I say! What a wonderful way to start this day!"
Echo Again, towards the back of the room someone can be heard calling, "Get yer shirt off!"
A platinum-haired man looks up at the clapping and begins to applaud as well, matching the sound of the other patrons.
A petite, bronze-skinned woman's face breaks into a dazzling smile as she gives her tambourine a frantic shake. On light, merry steps - she makes her way towards her former seat. Sitting down, she raises one trembling hand to her forehead and wipes away the gathered sheen of sweat.
A petite, bronze-skinned woman Brown eyes flicker from the sword left standing just left of center in the room, and over towards a curvy young, blonde haired woman. She gives the woman an apologetic smile and a quick shrug of her shoulders.
Brown eyes flicker from the sword left standing just left of center in the room, and over towards a curvy young, blonde haired woman. a petite, bronze-skinned woman gives the woman an apologetic smile and a quick shrug of her shoulders. (fix)
A fidgety Dryth woman sniffs the air, causing her nose to wrinkle and her eyes to shut tightly for a moment, a hand coming over her nose and mouth as she draws in a breath, releasing it with a sigh as her eyes open once again, and the hand moves away.
A platinum-haired man turns his gaze towards a fidgety Dryth woman, offering her a slight nod, he reaches and pulls back his hair, returning it to cover the mark on his neck.
You think to yourself: 'And who goes next now. Dare I take the stage, but what to sing..?'
Rising sharply to a straight-backed seated position a man of average height lifts his right arm trying to signal a curvy young, blonde haired woman, but with little luck as the press of bodies obscure his view of the bar. A low snarl is issued before a venomous curse, both directed at the young woman who stands in his away though low enough not to carry far beyond, his action draws it's fair share of stares from those standing near them, but the woman- her cheeks fused with a heavy blush and an embarrassed and upset expression quickly moves aside, and at last a man of average height is able to signal for a drink to be delivered.
A curvy young woman places mug upon mug of ale and mead upon the table tops as she walks through the room, her steps barely slowing as she sets on in the palm of the sable haired man. "And who now dares to take the stage and quench the thirst of our hungry audience?"
No sooner than a fidgety Dryth woman's hand moves away from her mouth, her torso jerks forward with a violent sneeze, her hair falling like a dark curtain in front of her face. Remaining so for a moment, she then flips her hair back, sniffling, the tip of her nose left red.
A youthful female Seari draws her right foot up from a man of average height's lap, using her toes to nudge into his side. Again calling for his attention, though carefully, mindful of the drink he now holds within the palm of his hand.
A rotund halfling male sits back down on the stool, chuckling to himself as he considers the patron next to him. "I don't know about you, but -I'm- not about to follow a performance like that." Recieving little in the way of a response, he shrugs, then contents himself with spinning on the stool.
A platinum-haired man stands and walks over towards a fidgety Dryth woman, offering her a piece of white clothe "Hay fever?" He chuckles slightly, smiling.
Barely having taken a sip from his ale, a man of average height peers down to a youthful female Seari over the rim of the tankard, and after a pause, he grunts lightly, as if acquiescing to an unspoken request. He then takes a full pull of the ale and once done, replies verbally, though at a level low enough to conceal his words form others.
A man of average height whispers to you, 'If you wish to perform, though I don't see what you could do- you ain't talking much, unless that's just with me, for Gods know what reason.. Anyway, if you think your up to it, fine.'
A youthful female Seari draws up her second leg, her body swiveling around so that her feet can find the floor, a few low murmured words returned to a man of average height as her ears brush past his on the way up to a stand, the hem of her long silken gown falling to caress her ankles.
You whisper to Aavak, 'Announce .. me.'
You think to yourself: 'Gods, Elbhan, offer me some aid in this. Fill my lips with words.. the right ones for it seems I have forgotten how.'
A rotund halfling male stops spinning on the stool, planting a firm hand on the edge of the bar. "Woah..." Upon regathering his senses, he whips out a parchment and a quill from on his person. The patron sitting next to him, which the halfling attempted to initiate conversation with peers down at the paper as the halfling scribbles something down on it. "Things To Not Do?" the burly man says in a questioning tone. "Of course! Don't you keep notes like this?" The halfling queries back. The man gives the halfling a wide-eyed stare before draining the rest of his tankard. The halfling looks at those looking at him due to the man's comment. "What?" As they looks away, he murmurs softly, "Crazy humans..."
A man of average height lofts his pierced brow in an unrestricted expression of surprise mixed with puzzlement, he begins to argue something with a youthful female Seari, but drawing a slow breath he simply shakes his head and climbs to his feet before her. Pursing his lips he issues a piercingly loud whistle, silencing much of the patronage before calling out: "And now Miss Zarika Mao would wish to perform for us." His free hand sweeping down to indicate a youthful female Seari at his side.
A fidgety Dryth woman shakes her head slowly, dragging her arm beneath her nose, her eyes a bit glazed after her sneeze as well. Her body seems to tense at the man of average height's words, her eyes then wildly darting about the room until they find the youthful Seari woman, and then fall upon the man of average height, seemingly surprised.
A petite, bronze-skinned woman sits up straighter, making her posture convent-straight. The tambourine twinkles softly as she releases her hold on it and sets it just to the side. Brown eyes focus solely on a youthful female Seari as a look of rapt attention floods her features.
A platinum-haired man raises a slightly eyebrow before shrugging, returning the cloth to his pocket before his attention is given to a youthful female Seari, eyes glancing towards a man of average height, as he moves towards the bale of hay, resting on it.
The crowd parts, even before a youthful female Seari starts to move forward creating an unobstructed path to the stage. She nods once and starts to walk forward, her stride wide, well as wide as the floor length gown she wears will allow. She steps up over the edge of the pallet and finding the centre of the stage, turns slowly around. Allowing the patrons of the bar time enough to drink in the sight of her, and the tattoo that marks the entirety of her back.
A crimson-haired human starts suddenly at the whistling sound, apparently awakened by it. He groggily pulls pieces of hay off of his face, which have left red marks where he had fallen asleep on them. "Meh..." He turns a lazy gaze to the center of the stage, finding a youthful female Seari standing there. He cocks his head to the side, pursing his lips as he straightens hismelf up to a sitting position.
A fidgety Dryth woman begins to laugh heartily as the Seari takes the stage, though whether that action is what has caused her laughter is unclear, a hand coming to drape lazily over her abdomen as she convulses in her laughter.
The corner of her lip twitches, amusement held just barely within a grin as a youthful female Seari brings her gaze around to fall upon one of the patrons seated near the edge of the make-shift stage. She walks over towards him and extends her hand out to grab his, winking once before guiding the palm to hit the wooden surface, repeating the movement till he, and then others take up the sound of a beat.
A man of average height releases a soft puff of air in a sigh before draining the remainder of his pint and sets it aside, turning to regard a youthful female Seari again, though not seating himself- instead he brings his arms up to fold across his chest, for now obscuring some of the tattoos so clearly visible through his open shirt. A keen eye may notices the very subtle presence of a pattern beginning to form on the scaled surface of his collar, though the colours, all dark, blend well and make the pattern difficult to spy.
A crimson-haired human rubs his eyes free of sleep scales as he his gaze travels about the room. "Where..." Apparently regaining the notion of where he is at, the man, nods once to himself. He looks confused again, turning his attention to the source of the noise. He watches as the patrons begin to slap their hands against the table.
At the sound, and disruption of the fidgety Dryths laughter, the temple guard steps silently toward her, moving from her position just to the side of the door. A hand idly resting on the head of a massive war-hammer which hangs at her side. "Keep quiet while folk're performin'." She states in a flat tone, though low enough that her words themselves would not disrupt.
A platinum-haired man tilts his head slightly, getting into a more comfortable position, as he listens to the beat.
Still standing before the man whose hand she'd prompted to begin the beat, a youthful female Seari draws up her right leg and places her bare foot upon his knee cap, her lithe body leaning forward with cat like grace towards him. She extends further forward till her lips touch the base of his neck, her words coming out soft. "I am she..." She begins, the words wavering at first, though gaining in clarity as she continues, "Elban men clamour for me."
While a man of average height doesn't unfold his arms, his left foot, reluctantly, begins to tap in time with the beat slowly taking hold of the room- though at first it makes slow progress, many of the patrons seem unsure of this new performer, openly staring at the mark upon her back, many of them perhaps having had dealings with the Mao family before, there is nervousness in the room- plain enough for anyone to tell.
Especially upon a crimson-haired human does the nervousness radiate from. He swallows hard as he watches the performance, pressing down on the bale of hay he sits on to push himself backwards, as if the hay will provide him some measure of comfort.
A platinum-haired man raises a eyebrow as he watches on, glanceing towards a fidgety Dryth woman for only a few moments before looking back towards a youthful female Seari.
A fidgety Dryth woman's laughter trails off just before she is approached by the guard, her brows narrowing as she is apparently scolded. "She'd done nothing yet, therefore the was no -performing- to be interrupted," she snorts in a quieted voice.
A petite, bronze-skinned woman's thoughtful brown eyes follow the movements of a youthful female Seari as crimson lips quirk up into a small, sly grin.
Using his thigh as a step, a youthful female Seari hops up onto the table at which he sits, drawing herself up to a full stand she starts to 'walk' across the tops of the tables, closing the gap between herself and where a man of average height stands. She takes a wide leap to place herself atop the table in front of him, her body landing with a crouch before a man of average height. She draws herself slowly and smoothly up to a stand, her body purposefully drawn up against his as she murmurs the next line, "I am she, Morhiag men bar up for me"
A fidgety Dryth woman grunts lowly, her eyes shifting back to the man of average height, her expression maintaining the displeased look previously shown towards the guard.
The line of a man of average height's jaw seems to tense for a second, his eyes half closing as a youthful female Seari murmurs words into the neck of the original patron, though as she begins to hop around the tables his pierced brow begins to rise, as if somewhat surprised at her energetic movements. The tension of his muscles however finds only brief cercease, as when she comes to him, and more so when she utters the name of the Goddess, his body becomes stiffly erect, the shadows sent to play across his stomach as the muscles there become more prominent with the tension, though the seductive movement of a youthful female Seari's body seems to draw a reaction from more obvious places as well, despite himself proving the words she utters.
A platinum-haired man grins slightly, watching a youthful female Seari, his eyes however glance toward a fidgety Dryth woman every so oft but mainly his gaze is upon a youthful female Seari.
Before a man of average height has a chance to respond, a youthful female Seari turns from him, a subtle wink given before she draws herself away, moving smoothly, her hips swaying seductively as she parts through the crowd and towards the opposite side of the room. Her target this time obvious: a crimson-haired human. Once before him, she brings her right hand up to the side of his head. Fingers pulling back through his hair as she says, her words starting to take on more the air of a song, "I am she, Cymur men pray for me."
A crimson-haired human widens his eyes significantly, the grogginess of sleep very apparently gone from them now. He attempts to move his head away from a youthful female Seari's hand as he subtly tries to cross his legs.
A fidgety Dryth woman pushes from the wall, still in somewhat of a tensed state as she approaches the man of average height's side, speaking in a nearly hissing whisper as she leans in towards his ear.
A platinum-haired man grins slightly, the grin fading as she moves over towards a crimson-haired human, quickly forcing the grin to return, he turns his head slightly towards a fidgety Dryth woman, as if trying to see her reaction as she moves over towards a man of average height.
The grip upon a crimson-haired human's hair tightens from a loose hold to one that is intended to hold him there, the other hand coming down to rest upon his knee. A youtufhul female Seari's knee finds it's way to the edge of the haystack, drawing herself on the tip toes of one foot. "I am she, Ylessa. From the beginning of time to eternity men are enthralled by me. I am she, whom men look back at deaths door for a last glimpse of me."
You overhear a fidgety Dryth woman whisper to a man of average height, 'Her daftness rubs off on you more and more each day..she nearly reveals you as a member of the nine, and you think too much when others beside myself can hear.'
You overhear a fidgety Dryth woman whisper to a man of average height, 'Yet it is -I- who am also scolded and marked as daft?'
A crimson-haired human moves his jaw as if to say something, but intelligently clamps it shut as he watches a youthful female Seari. He swallows hard again, trying to back up away from a youthful female Seari as a scarlet hue, not unlike that of the curls peeking out from between a youthful female Seari's fingers, blazes prominently across his cheeks.
A petite, bronze-skinned woman's smile seems to freeze on her face. The only other outward sign she gives is a rapid blinking of her eyes - as if to clear some stray thought. Nervously, she plucks a piece of stray from the hay bale and begins to idly twirl it around in her hands.
A youthful female Seari's ears flatten back against the side of her head, a long breath of air drawn before being released against the ear of a crimson-haired human. "I am she, who soothes, I am bliss, I am insatiable happiness. I am men's dreams, in the scent of my sex their honour doth deliquesce...." She releases the hold upon his head, allowing that part of him to draw back, though the knee upon the edge of the haystack draws further up, her foot curving up till it rests upon the upper torso of a crimson-haired human, leg bent at the knee between them. "I am she whose feet are in the hearts of men."
A man of average height turning to regard a fidgety Dryth woman, his attention reluctantly torn from a youthful female Seari, though the half-expression he wears is far removed from the lusty ones that are worn about him. His eyes focus on the Dryth before him, and then promptly lose their focus. In the passing seconds the collar about his neck flashes angrily, the dark coloured scales consumed in a rush of bright, dangerous yellows and reds before dying down again into the muted black of previous, and in a very low tone he replies.
You overhear a man of average height whisper to a fidgety Dryth woman, 'And yet you speak so freely when there are others in this room whose ears are as keen as ours..'
A crimson-haired human falls against the haystack, half propelled by the force of his attempted escape, otherwise pushed by the foot on his chest. He quivers ever so slightly as the foot touches his chest, producing a small 'clink' of chainmail links contacting each other. He begins to sweat at the brow, the persperation sending light glancing off of his forehead.
A platinum-haired man raises a eyebrow towards a youthful female Seari, watching her actions with mild amuzement on his face.
A petite, bronze-skinned woman's hands begin to deftly twirl the piece of hay faster and faster, until its head is a blurry whirl. A look of intense concentration keeps the woman focused on her task, as if all of her thought and control has gone into making the hay her toy. All else fades from vision except the saffron-hued, dried fluff twirling in her hands.
"I am she who sucks her life force from them.&" a youthful female Seari draws herself further up over him, the foot sliding down from his chest to rest along side of his chest, her lips coming down to hover above his face, "I howl.... I bite.." A pause and her teeth mimic the movements suggested in her words, her teeth coming to bear upon his lower lip, holding the flesh captured before releasing it and drawing back suddenly into a stand. "I turn men into swine who I entice."
A scarred young man arrives from the east.
A platinum-haired man lets out a slight sigh, his gaze moving from a youthful female Seari to just the ceiling, he shakes his head for a moment before returning to the performance.
A crimson-haired human nearly falls to pieces at this point, his head lolling back against the haystack after his lip is released. His eyes roll into the back of his head, and his body loses any sort of tension as he apparently faints right there.
A furrow touches his brow as a man of average height's gaze regains focus, peering into a fidgety Dryth woman's eyes with an element of familiarity to the situation he murmurs in a more subdued tone, his word intended for her alone. As they finish, his gaze flickers toward a youthful female Seari and a crimson-haired human just as a crimson-haired human seems to pass out, his pierced brow lofts.
A delicate snort comes from a petite, bronze-skinned woman's direction. The hay twirling in her hand disengrates, sending out a light scattering of seeds. With a startle, the woman looks up from her mess and once more concentrates on the performance at hand.
A scarred young man walks in silently, eye scanning the crowd as he does so. His gaze rests for a moment on a crimson-haired human, smiling softly. His gaze then moves to rest upon a man of average height and a youthful female Seari and his face tenses, and lip quivers slightly. Allowing his gaze again to wander, he finds a spot against the wall to lean against.
"Enchain entrap with them with their lust like vice..." a youthful female Seari's lips form into a full grin as she watches the effect the 'kiss' had upon the now fallen form of a crimson-haired human. Her words are sung as she starts to back up, her body turning around to face a petite, bronze-skinned woman, eyebrow lofting at her actions, and her song continuing with her eyes upon her, "Men to animal form I transform as pleasures price. For their human souls I offer paradise."
You overhear a man of average height whisper to a fidgety Dryth woman, 'I can see your pissed off, but don't be- there's no need. You're right- you aren't the only one to make mistakes, I make my fair share-- but tempting a Temple Guard? That's tantamount to suicide. MY suicide, because I'd hardly be able to stand by and watch you cut down in front of me, even if I knew I'd only be adding my corpse to the pile by joining in.'
A platinum-haired man looks over towards a scarred young man, and slightly relaxes, nodding once towards him before returning his attention to a youthful female Seari.
A crimson-haired human remains comatose on the hay, part of the stack giving way. It causes the man to fall from a sitting position to where his torso is parallel to the ground. He blinks as he strike the hay, apparently regaining conciousness. He swallows hard, sending a cursory glance to a man of average height.
His eyes on a crimson-haired human almost entirely, a man of average height remains where he stands, his arms crossed across his chest as shadows play across his abdomen. As a crimson-haired human's eyes meet his, his lips form into a tight-lipped smirk, and for a moment his eyes flash wickedly.
A youthful female Seari halts suddenly, her mouth poised as if to offer more words in song. Instead, she quickly stops, her head dipping forward as she performs a low bow towards a man of average height, "Narus, is that thanks enough? Or should I continue?"
A crimson-haired human shudders violently, and curls himself up into a little ball, a fetal-like position, and buries his head between his knees.
A scarred young man eye's narrow at a crimson-haired human's actions, and catching the nod of a platinum-haired man, he returns it warmly. Turning his head back to a crimson-haired human, he intently watching the proceedings with an illcontent look on his face. He sighs heavily and adjusts his position against the wall.
A platinum-haired man sighs, lowering his gaze while he shakes his head, he looks towards a scarred young man again, catching the return nod, as he moves back his gaze to a crimson-haired human, a frown upon his face.
"From the way he acts, I'd say you've scared him more than thanked him- but his loss.." a man of average height replies simply, his shoulders barely moving into a shrug, though enough to unsettle his arms, which fall to his sides; the right gesturing idly toward the bail of hay near him. "Clearly doesn't see as much action as he likes people to think.." He murmurs, largely to himself as his attention returns to the curious antics of a crimson-haired human as he seems to suffer from some form of breakdown.
A petite, bronze-skinned woman's brown eyes land squarely on a crimson-haired human's curled up form. Both eyebrows loft up as she stares at him, curiosity making her eyes shine with a rarely seen light. No sound comes out as she parts her lips and mouths, "Thanks?"
A fidgety Dryth woman's attention seems elsewhere as the man of average height's words fall upon her ear, her head turning away from his as her eyes find the Seari once again, and watch her movements with tensed body once again, moreso as she nears, though she does not move from where she stands.
A crimson-haired human blinks a few times, breathing heavily. He straightens his form out slowly, looking at all the eyes on him. He swallows hard, looking first at a youthful female Seari, then to a man of average height. He thinks for a few moments, then says softly, "What can I say? She's a knockout."
A petite, bronze-skinned woman smirks.
A scarred young man grunts softly and stifles a cough. Shooting a glance towards a crimson-haired human he shakes his head with a disapproving look on his face, but an odd smile on his face.
A youthful female Seari dips her head further forward, her gaze remaining on the floor between herself and a man of average height, "I suspect our Lumen is virtuous still in more ways than one perhaps, my Narus." Only then does her head start to lift, her gaze adjusting between the two before settling back upon a man of average height. She states to the room, "I am done." and starts to cross towards where she had sat before the performance.
Again a man of average height's pierced brow rises, then falls, a light sigh passing his lips as he mumbles something beneath his breath- likely too muffled to be made out by anyone. It is clear however that a crimson-haired human's words and actions puzzle him, his expression almost indicative of someone who feels shame on behalf of another person.
A crimson-haired human shakes his head slowly as the red tint begins to fade away from his cheeks. He mumbles something to himself about a terrible save, but he runs his hand over his mouth to further obscure the words. He keeps his eyes diverted from the crowd, looking so intently at the bale of hay beside him, that he may, in fact, be counting the number of straws within it.
A crimson-haired human looks at you.
=====================================================================
Thanks to Carolyn Magruder for the permission to include some of her works which Zoyalla used in this piece of roleplay. To view the original, please visit her site here: http://balder.prohosting.com/tanager/ps-guardian.htm
Posted by ShadowSiege at February 28, 2004 12:40 PM