Original Submissions
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The Grey Hunt - Part 2 by Adhira
Added on Nov 15, 2009Precentor Rysha announces the winner of the Grey Hunt - with an unexpected conclusion.
Scene: The Silverwood Estate.
Event: Announcement of the Grey Hunt winner.
Note: Since this was logged by staff thinks and feels which are normally only viewable by the character in question have been left in.
<! As seen by High Precentor Rysha Uaptal>
Whistling lowly, the curvy, jallal-tressed maiden looks up at the short-haired, jade-eyed Lirathan templar.
Nodding deeply to the short-haired, jade-eyed Lirathan templar, the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"And High Precentor Rysha Uaptal, show them the same attention you have kindly showed to me."
The trim, ashen-skinned man leans back against a long wooden bench and sits up little straighter.
The svelte, top-knotted woman dips her head respectfully to the group approaching the stage.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman's posture straightens, watching the pearl-haired Lirathan templar and the short-haired, jade-eyed Lirathan templar with a respectful, deep inclination of her head.
Bowing his head low as he turns his attention, the stocky, clean-shaven man looks up at the short-haired, jade-eyed Lirathan templar.
The freckled, light-skinned man clears his throat and lowers his head, bending at the waist slightly as well.
The very short and thick male wearing a bloodied runic, fire-scorched mask twitches slightly then looks over and seems to relax.
With a deep bow of her head, the short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales looks up at the short-haired, jade-eyed Lirathan templar.
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden bows her head completely, but still claps wholeheartedly.
The lofty, cunyati-tanned man thinks:
"Rysha Uaptal... why did I think the High Precentor was Faithful Lady Fyloria?"
The trim, ashen-skinned man thinks:
"Oh fuck."
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar lifts her hands for silence, tilting her head gracefully to the newly-entered group.
Someone thinks:
"I... am in the presence of a High Precentor Faithful Lord. I am truly blessed by the Light."
His eyes focusing keenly, the swarthy, aging man looks up at you.
The dusky, sorrel-curled woman thinks:
"Don't look at them! Just sit in their ...fucking serious presence."
The spangled-blond, muscular woman sucks in a gasp, and deeply bows her head.
The short-haired, jade-eyed Lirathan templar clasps her hands before her, standing in front of the small stage.
Someone thinks:
"Eh, I gotta keep better track of this stuff. Could mis-address someone and end up in a real uncomfortable situation."
Short, straight black hair hangs down around this woman's face and falls
around her cheekbones. Her eyes are a rich jade color, round and wide
in shape. She is very taut in stature, with long limbs and delicate
hands and features.
The short-haired, jade-eyed Lirathan templar is in excellent condition.
<neck> a blue and purple inked band
<worn across back> a glossy-grey knapsack
<worn around wrist> a whitened bone key
<left wrist> a silver moon
<worn on hands> a pair of red silk gloves
<worn around body> a hooded, white and gold-trimmed templar's robe
<worn on legs> a pair of white-trimmed, red sandcloth pants
<worn on feet> a pair of soft, white silk boots
The trim, ashen-skinned man swallows then lowers his head once more to the arriving group of templars with a slight tilt at the waist.
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden thinks:
"High Precentor! What an honor, y'know?"
The lofty, cunyati-tanned man eats his small portion of a thick sausage and cheese sandwich.
The freckled, light-skinned man keeps his gaze lowered, staring directly at a long, white painted table.
Retaking her seat, the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar sits at a long, white painted table.
With curiously wrinkled brows, head inclining ever so faintly, hesitant, the scruffy, brown-haired youth looks up at you.
The pearl-haired Lirathan templar glances around the crowd, returning a few nods lightly.
With a deep, respectful bow of her head, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette looks up at you.
The short, dusky woman seems still out of shock for a while, among the crowd, then mimics those around her in showing respects toward the templars.
Dipping off in a nod, the spindly, grey-haired man looks up at you.
<< The stocky, clean-shaven man feels really, really, really fucking nervous. >>
<< Someone feels curious indeed. >>
The willowy, brown-haired young man clears his throat and leans forward, his elbows on his knees.
Unclasping it and letting sweat-tangled hair fall to her shoulders, the ethereal, fair-haired woman stops using her black and red fringed headdress.
<< Someone feels gleeful. >>
Someone thinks:
"How many of my brothers and sisters would love to be able to see this?"
The spindly, grey-haired man looks up at the pearl-haired Lirathan templar.
Tossing her head, her black hair cascading back over her shoulders, you say, in sirihish:
"Citizens of Tuluk... Guests... we come now to the announcement of the Hunt."
Dusting the last few crumbs from his hands, the lofty, cunyati-tanned man bows very deeply, to the point of essentially kneeling along with many others in the crowd.
<< The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar feels a bolt of excitement in your breast. >>
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden thinks:
"I don't even know who all entered!"
The willowy, brown-haired young man thinks:
"The Hunt?"
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar smiles proudly to the ancient, brutally-scarred Jihaen templar.
The very short and thick male wearing a bloodied runic, fire-scorched mask perks up.
At a long wooden bench, the willowy, brown-haired young man speaks, nodding to the short, lithe young man.
Someone thinks:
"Here we go."
<< Someone feels keen, interested excitement. >>
<< The ethereal, fair-haired woman feels dazed. Utterly and completely dazed. >>
The very short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales thinks:
"Rokov. It's gotta be Rokov."
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man gives his spiced steak to the freckled, light-skinned man.
As the crowd falls silent, the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar fastens her attention on the stage.
As surreptitiously as he can, the freckled, light-skinned man begins to chew on his baguette of brown bread.
Smearing her spindly hands together the svelte, top-knotted woman casts a glance to the freckled, light-skinned man and then back at the stage.
Dipping her head in the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar direction, you say, in sirihish:
"Faithful Lady Serilla. Join me."
The dusky, sorrel-curled woman thinks:
"Not Rokov. Not Rokov."
The spangled-blond, muscular woman thinks:
"She's using the lack of decoration to good effect. It looks dignified on her, rather than plain."
The freckled, light-skinned man eats a portion of his baguette of brown bread.
The tiny, reed-like Jihaen templar folds his arms over his chest, staring at the crowd with a somber stoicism that is in direct contrast to his appearance.
Lifting her brows with a gracious nod to you, the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar stands up from a long, white painted table.
The willowy, brown-haired young man nods slowly to you, quickly straightening his posture and gazing forward fixedly.
The tall, muscular man watches quietly, one corner of his mouth quirking in a faint smile.
The freckled, light-skinned man eats a portion of his half eaten baguette of brown bread.
Someone thinks:
"Fuck me."
Sliding off his shoulder before easing back down, the trim, ashen-skinned man stops using his dusty steel grey duffel bag.
<< Someone feels dazed, dull shock. >>
Her hands clasped behind her back, the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar steps down the slope to join you, standing back a pace quietly.
The stocky, clean-shaven man thinks:
"There's no second place. At least this won't drag on."
Plopping, the trim, ashen-skinned man sits on a long wooden bench.
The willowy, brown-haired young man thinks:
"You're in trouble"
The dusky, sorrel-curled woman thinks:
"......"
The freckled, light-skinned man thinks:
"I never thought I would ever see them."
The freckled, light-skinned man thinks:
"The High Precentor?"
Dipping her head towards her, you say to the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar, in sirihish:
"We thank you for the festival you have provided his citizens. As primary recorder for this Hunt we ask that you call each entrant to stand before us."
Nibbling quickly, masked gaze fixed on the stage, the very short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales eats her half eaten ball of soft white cheese.
The tall, muscular man's eyes shift to you as she speaks.
The willowy, grey-streaked man nods over to the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette.
Handing over, the trim, ashen-skinned man gives his dusty steel grey duffel bag to the very short and thick male wearing a bloodied runic, fire-scorched mask.
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden thinks:
"Where's Valin?"
The trim, ashen-skinned man tips a nod to the very short and thick male wearing a bloodied runic, fire-scorched mask in a slow manner.
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden begins looking around uncomfortably, her eyes searching the crowd.
The ancient, brutally-scarred Jihaen templar remains stading amidst the crowd by a long, white painted table, his reserved and reverant gaze set on the stage.
Nodding deeply to you as she steps forward, the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar says, in sirihish:
"In order of recording."
<< Someone feels nervous. >>
Voice lowering, the short, dusky woman whispers something to the sinewy, bald-headed man.
The spangled-blond, muscular woman looks down at the tall, muscular man.
The willowy, brown-haired young man thinks:
"Thought she meant just leave her alone... obviously not."
The chubby, brown-haired man glances to the stocky, clean-shaven man.
Someone thinks:
"Keep quiet, you shit, or you'll get a beating."
<< The trim, ashen-skinned man feels humbled, hopeful. >>
The sinewy, weather-worn man's head turns in causual survey of the crowd, a faint grin on his lips.
Someone thinks:
"Bad fucking timing GO AWAY, woman!"
<< The ethereal, fair-haired woman feels a touch of sympathy for Vash. >>
Shaking his head, as he speaks quietly, the sinewy, bald-headed man whispers something to the short, dusky woman.
Her voice ringing out, the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar says, in sirihish:
"Vejaan A'jinn of the A'jinn Academy."
The trim, ashen-skinned man thinks:
"Just keep it together, keep Aja in yer thoughts, she trained ya some 'fore all this happened."
The ancient, brutally-scarred Jihaen templar looks down at the tall, muscular man .
The ebon-haired, ruby-eyed man steps forward proudly, moving over near the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar.
The ebon-haired, ruby-eyed man stands up from a long wooden bench.
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden thinks:
"Hasn't his family won before?"
The short, dusky woman whispers something to the sinewy, bald-headed man .
Curiously, the spindly, grey-haired man looks up at the ebon-haired, ruby-eyed man .
Inclining her head to the ebon-haired, ruby-eyed man, the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar says, in sirihish:
"Master Bard Adarana Irofel."
The stocky, clean-shaven man thinks:
"Vejaan's a serious contender. Can't discount him. ALL of these people are potentially going to be pissed at me if I win this."
Someone thinks:
"Huh. Was wonderin' who that guy was."
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man thinks:
"Ahhh, Aja... will that be the one?"
The spangled-blond, muscular woman looks down at the tall, muscular man.
The sinewy, weather-worn man thinks:
"All this hubub just ta get t'the announcement? Krath, Kurac could do it better."
The short-haired, jade-eyed Lirathan templar keeps her hands clasped before her, watching each contestant as they approach.
Hesitantly, the sinewy, bald-headed man whispers something to the short, dusky woman.
Someone thinks:
"Grey hunt? I really ought to listen more closely to what's happening."
An amethyst-eyed, golden-haired woman has arrived from the east, hurrying in.
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden thinks:
"Good grief! I should have at least entered, with a list of names like that."
The trim, ashen-skinned man licks his lips quietly as he watches the quiet procession.
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar smiles to an amethyst-eyed, golden-haired woman, inclining her head.
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar says, in sirihish:
"Advisor Rokov Kurac."
The ebon-haired, ruby-eyed man remains silent and proud, standing with his hands clasped behind his back.
The svelte, top-knotted woman's brow raises in surprise.
The tall, muscular man's eyes move along the entrants as their names are called out.
The short, dusky woman whispers something to the sinewy, bald-headed man .
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden thinks:
"Oh, like he needs to win anything!"
The stocky, clean-shaven man takes a breath and makes his way down the aisle, approaching the stage.
An amethyst-eyed, golden-haired woman takes her place beside the ebon-haired, ruby-eyed man with a sheepish, nervous smile.
The swarthy, aging man, gives the stocky, clean-shaven man a quick pat, grinning.
The spangled-blond, muscular woman looks up at the ebon-haired, ruby-eyed man.
The sinewy, bald-headed man whispers something to the short, dusky woman .
The very short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales shoots a smile at the stocky, clean-shaven man, tipping an encouraging nod.
At a long wooden bench, the chubby, brown-haired man speaks, chuckling after.
Someone thinks:
"Losing is... so difficult. I have trained my entire life. My tribe has given me strength, wisdom, fortitude. But all these things mean nothing to you."
The stout, heavily-scarred dwarf grins up at the stocky, clean-shaven man , clapping briefly.
<< Someone feels like you are trying to calm your nerves. >>
The short, dusky woman nods once at the sinewy, bald-headed man , straightening the lapels of her sleek, crimson leather duster.
Quietly grabbing his arm, the sinewy, bald-headed man whispers something to the scruffy, brown-haired youth.
Face set in a serious expression, the stocky, clean-shaven man bows his head deeply to the Faithful and moves to stand beside an amethyst-eyed, golden-haired woman.
The spindly, grey-haired man looks up at an amethyst-eyed, golden-haired woman.
The willowy, brown-haired young man thinks:
"Advisor? What kind of a title is that for a hunter..."
You feel a growing sense of anticipation.
The scruffy, brown-haired youth nods softly, swallowing hard.
The willowy, brown-haired young man thinks:
"Ah well..."
The pockmarked, well-toned man looks up at the stocky, clean-shaven man .
The willowy, brown-haired young man thinks:
"You know, there are so many people here..."
The swarthy, aging man chuckles at the chubby, brown-haired man .
The grey-haired, fiery-eyed woman smiles fondly at the ebon-haired, ruby-eyed man from her seat on the bench.
A thin trail of rich, heady smoke trickles from the chubby, brown-haired man 's mouth as he smokes a naked harlot spice pipe.
The willowy, brown-haired young man thinks:
"If they were to just all drop dead and freeze in time, I'd learn more now than most people in a lifetime."
After a beat, the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar says, in sirihish:
"Recruit Valin of the Sun Legions."
Someone thinks:
"It's tough to read the Chosen Lady though..."
Someone thinks:
"Valin? Seriously?"
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden thinks:
"He's not here, stupid, I don't know where he went..."
The willowy, brown-haired young man thinks:
"I have no idea how she'll take to my... hobby."
Someone thinks:
"Now wouldn' be the best time ta attack. Not with everyone's attention fixed."
The ancient, brutally-scarred Jihaen templar thinks:
"Private Valin."
The short-haired, jade-eyed Lirathan templar tilts her head, gaze shifting over the curvy, jallal-tressed maiden .
The scruffy, brown-haired youth's jaw flexes and relaxes, his youthful features tense though he attempts the faintest of smiles to offset, gentle brown hues locked upon the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar as they speak.
<< The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man feels a sense of resignation. >>
The shaggy-haired, sun-branded man thinks:
"So, ka. If that be my life in His service, then so be it. But know that my heart aches for your smile."
The caramel, alabaster-haired woman stands up from a long wooden bench.
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden clears her throat softly, her eyes unmoving from the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar .
Her tone formal, the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar says, in sirihish:
"Thiza of the Al'Seik."
The caramel, alabaster-haired woman walks east.
The pearl-haired Lirathan templar glances over at the sinewy, weather-worn man for a long moment.
Hopping to her feet quickly, the dusky, sorrel-curled woman stands up from a long wooden bench.
The dusky, sorrel-curled woman's head inclines deeply as she walks along, falling in line.
The stocky, clean-shaven man thinks:
"So that's who she is."
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar says, in sirihish:
"Ani and Zharal of the Tan Muark."
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden thinks:
"Stupid, stupid man. We could have won. I could own this place. And renovate it. And make it beautiful. And me beautiful. And have Hlum babies. Beautiful ones. But stupid skips out on us."
<< The stocky, clean-shaven man feels shock. >>
The sinewy, weather-worn man meets the pearl-haired Lirathan templar's gaze for a moment before his attention drifts back through the gathering.
<< The trim, ashen-skinned man feels nervous as Drov. >>
Someone thinks:
"I guess Thiza's pretty nice. Wouldn't be too disappointed if she won it..."
Her face registering clear surprise, then a respectful nod given, as she steps forward, the short, dusky woman says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Just.. Ani, Faithful Lady. But I will stand for her as she is not here."
<< Someone feels claustrophobia easing in as the crowd tenses. >>
With a milld nod to the short, dusky woman, the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar says, in sirihish:
"Those are the completed entries recorded officially in the books of our Order."
<< The sinewy, weather-worn man feels a sudden sense of dread. >>
The sinewy, weather-worn man thinks:
"Krath, that was just brilliant."
The scruffy, brown-haired youth curls his lips inward, hesitantly taking a half-step forward beside the short, dusky woman before he controls himself, remaining silent beside the sinewy, bald-headed man .
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar says, in sirihish:
"I believe Vash of Salarr has completed the second task, as well."
Her expression gone completely stiff, the short, dusky woman just nods, managing another more polite one as she steps up onto the stage.
Uncertainly, after a moment's pause, the trim, ashen-skinned man stands up from a long wooden bench.
Her shoulders completely tense, the short, dusky woman whispers something to the stocky, clean-shaven man .
The trim, ashen-skinned man makes his way slowly, humbly, through the crowd to stand by the short, dusky woman, giving the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar and the others a slow, polite nod.
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar inclines her head to the row of entrants, turning back to you.
With a benevolent smile, you say to the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar, in sirihish:
"Thankyou Faithful Lady."
The dusky, sorrel-curled woman's eyebrows rise over her pair of dark-lensed sunslits then immediately drop.
With a smile, the svelte, top-knotted woman looks up at the dusky, sorrel-curled woman.
<< The trim, ashen-skinned man feels nervous as all get out. >>
The lofty, cunyati-tanned man thinks:
"Oh, it'd be pretty wine if Vash won too, I guess."
The stocky, clean-shaven man drops a fraction of a nod as he stands stiff, eyes ahead.
Taking a step away from the stage, motioning to the space on the grass before her, you say, in sirihish:
"As I call you, please step towards me."
Someone thinks:
"PLEASE be Rokov-da or Thiza. They should've chosen one or the other...I hope."
The very short and thick male wearing a bloodied runic, fire-scorched mask leans over his new dusty tortoiseshell and black-leather shield watching the stage carefully.
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar steps to the foot of the stage, watching closely.
Someone thinks:
"How are they doing this, I wonder?"
Glancing at the assembled notables, the swarthy, aging man looks up at the pearl-haired Lirathan templar.
The trim, ashen-skinned man straightens up and eases his dusty tortoiseshell and black-leather shield to his side, hand held flat against the other hip.
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden leans against the stage as she watches, eyes bright with activity.
With a glance towards the ancient, brutally-scarred Jihaen templar, you say, in sirihish:
"First we note that Private Valin made admirable effort, and has proven his loyalty to His Legions and His service. We regret that the Private is no longer considered in contention."
Shifting a bit closer, the very short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales sits on a long wooden bench.
Gaze settling on an amethyst-eyed, golden-haired woman, you say, in sirihish:
"Master Bard Adarana Irofel, please stand before me."
Someone thinks:
"...it just needs to be those two. One of them."
An amethyst-eyed, golden-haired woman moves gracefully to stand before you with a bow of her head.
The pearl-haired Lirathan templar blinks at the ancient, brutally-scarred Jihaen templar.
The freckled, light-skinned man clears his throat, eyes flitting to the stocky, clean-shaven man briefly.
Extending a hand, your ruby crystal pyramid set atop her palm, you say, in sirihish:
"Master Bard, we thank you for your entry, and your loyalty and service to Him. We regret that you are no longer considered a contender."
With barely any sound at all, the stocky, clean-shaven man whispers something to the short, dusky woman .
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden thinks:
"No longer considered? But-- why? I don't understand."
The trim, ashen-skinned man stands perfectly still, gaze ahead, chest barely lifting with each breath.
You say to an amethyst-eyed, golden-haired woman, in sirihish:
"Take this as a token of your entry, and achievement."
You give your ruby crystal pyramid to an amethyst-eyed, golden-haired woman.
The chubby, brown-haired man taps his naked harlot spice pipe with a finger as he watches.
The short, dusky woman nods shallowly, staring at the proceedings.
His hand slipping from his pocket, the scruffy, brown-haired youth snaps his gloved fingers softly before placing his hand at the small of his back.
Looking over to the trim, ashen-skinned man, you say, in sirihish:
"Vash, please step before me."
An amethyst-eyed, golden-haired woman accepts her ruby crystal pyramid gracefully and moves offstage.
The ancient, brutally-scarred Jihaen templar stands solemnly looking to you with an appreciative nod before turning his attention back to the stage.
The trim, ashen-skinned man tips a very slow nod before taking a breath and careful, determined strides to stand before you.
For a brief moment, the willowy, grey-streaked man looks at the earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar .
The trim, ashen-skinned man tips a low, polite nod to you.
Someone thinks:
"I knew he wouldn't win, but I was impressed with his efforts none the less. I am glad he was given consideration."
The ancient, brutally-scarred Jihaen templar thinks:
"I will have to do something nice for him in honor of it."
Attention focused on her boots, the very short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales chances only the occasional glance to the stage.
The svelte, top-knotted woman touches her hand to the freckled, light-skinned man's only briefly as she studies the event on stage.
With a smile, her gaze set on him, you say to the trim, ashen-skinned man , in sirihish:
"Your effort in this hunt has been noted and appreciated. Know that Tuluk considers you a fine contestant."
Easing onto a seat beside the tall, muscular man, an amethyst-eyed, golden-haired woman sits on a long wooden bench.
The trim, ashen-skinned man starts to lift his gaze to you but instead tips an even deeper nod.
Holding your ruby crystal pyramid towards him, you say to the trim, ashen-skinned man, in sirihish:
"Take this as a token of your achievement and appreciation, you have done well in His eyes."
You give your ruby crystal pyramid to the trim, ashen-skinned man.
The stocky, clean-shaven man thinks:
"... she didn't say he lost."
The trim, ashen-skinned man slowly lifts his hands and accepts his ruby crystal pyramid with claw covered hands, a warm smile creeping over his lips.
With a nod, you say to the trim, ashen-skinned man, in sirihish:
"We regret that you are no longer considered a contestant."
The robust, coppery-curled teen has arrived from the east.
The lofty, cunyati-tanned man thinks:
"Dang, nice prizes. I should just enter this every year."
The trim, ashen-skinned man tips another nod to you then slowly steps back and off to the side.
<< The trim, ashen-skinned man feels content, happy, you did this and you did it well. >>
Looking to the ebon-haired, ruby-eyed man, you say, in sirihish:
"Vejaan A'jinn, please stand before me."
The pockmarked, well-toned man glances to the chubby, brown-haired man, quickly returning his eyes to the stage.
The ebon-haired, ruby-eyed man steps forward, bowing his head respecfully.
Tiptoeing in unobtrusively, the robust, coppery-curled teen sits on a long wooden bench.
For a moment, the very short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales looks up at the ebon-haired, ruby-eyed man.
The freckled, light-skinned man glances towards the ebon-haired, ruby-eyed man, the corners of his mouth turning downwards.
The trim, ashen-skinned man lifts a finger to carefully trace over the edges of his ruby crystal pyramid as he stands some distance from the group of attention.
Her gaze solemn, you say to the ebon-haired, ruby-eyed man, in sirihish:
"Vejaan A'jinn you have lived up to the name of your family. You were a fine entrant and He was pleased."
Leaning over, the robust, coppery-curled teen whispers something to the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man .
Extending your ruby crystal pyramid to him, you say to the ebon-haired, ruby-eyed man, in sirihish:
"We regret you are no longer considered a contestant, take this as a token of our appreciation."
The ebon-haired, ruby-eyed man nods his head deeply to you, taking the pyramid.
You give your ruby crystal pyramid to the ebon-haired, ruby-eyed man.
The freckled, light-skinned man covers his mouth with a gauntleted hand, coughing.
The freckled, light-skinned man thinks:
"YES!"
Leaning close, the shaggy-haired, sun-branded man whispers something to the robust, coppery-curled teen.The svelte, top-knotted woman clasps her hands tightly in front of her.
The scruffy, brown-haired youth's index and middle fingers remain crossed at the small of his back, the other hand still tucked deeply within the pockets of his desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak.
The tall, muscular man stretches, sauntering up towards the stage.
The freckled, light-skinned man thinks:
"Zharal, then. Odd."
The freckled, light-skinned man thinks:
"Odd choice..."
The short, dusky woman glances sidelong to the stocky, clean-shaven man , flashes a brave smile, then steps forward to show respects to the short-haired, jade-eyed Lirathan templar.
The curvy, jallal-tressed maiden thinks:
"When did Zharal get beat out? So it's Ani and Rokov? Gee. What great choices. Not even a citizen among them."
The stocky, clean-shaven man takes a deep breath and steps forward toward the short-haired, jade-eyed Lirathan templar.
Watching the tall, muscular man approach the stage, the vibrant, jade-adorned brunette looks at him.
Someone thinks:
"Fuck. At least we have some sort of defensive agreement between each other."
The tall, muscular man steps up onto the stage, moving between the short-haired, jade-eyed Lirathan templar and the stocky, clean-shaven man and the short, dusky woman .
The willowy, grey-streaked man tilts his head, watching the tall, muscular man.
Her brow raising, the svelte, top-knotted woman looks up at the tall muscular man.
The chubby, brown-haired man looks up at the spangled-blond, muscular woman.
The stocky, clean-shaven man pauses, a hand reflexively going beneath his cloak.
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar thinks:
"A twist?"
The stocky, clean-shaven man looks up at you.
With a slightly narrowed gaze, the scruffy, brown-haired youth looks at the stocky, clean-shaven man .
Glancing over quickly at the lanky, indigo-tressed woman, the willowy, brown-haired young man quietly exhales and leans forward.
The freckled, light-skinned man looks up at you.
The short-haired, jade-eyed Lirathan templar nods slightly as the tall, muscular man approaches.
The chubby, brown-haired man looks up at you.
The short female wearing a mask of glinting, emerald scales thinks:
"The fuck?"
The earthy, sienna-maned Lirathan templar tucks her hands into her sleeves, watching silently.
With a curious shift of his gaze, the sinewy, bald-headed man looks up at the tall, muscular man.
The freckled, light-skinned man quirks an eyebrow briefly.
With a glance over, you say to the short-haired, jade-eyed Lirathan templar, in sirihish:
"This one is mine."
Scene: The Silverwood Estate.
Event: Announcement of the Grey Hunt winner.
Note: Since this was logged by staff thinks and feels which are normally only viewable by the character in question have been left in.
Whistling lowly, the...
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