Kevril Loreweaver
Kevril huffed quietly and let the tense subject drop. He had never been accepted by his people, at least not completely, and he had never spent much time trying to change that. Nevertheless, their disgust at his half-human appearance hurt him somewhere deep inside. A place he rarely went, and never let anyone else go. There were many reasons for his choice of seclusion…
Brushing the complicated subject off, he let his soft brown hair drop back over his pointed ear and continued out across the stone-specked plains. He had half a mind to simply walk in silence, but the universe did not seem inclined to permit it. The soft brush of paws I grass caught his attention first, and he had an arrow knocked before he could think straight enough to wonder what it was which had moved. His reflexes, at least this time, proved to be useful.
The great snarl as the grass-cat sprang out of its hunting crouch was the only warning the ranger received before he aimed and released the string. He was practiced at battle-time shooting. He knew how to aim in the space of a split second. The arrow struck the cat hard in the chest, brought it easily out of the air.
The only problem with grass-cats was… they never hunted alone.
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Yasryne Everhund
Yasryne smirked slightly. She certainly had a flare for the dramatic – she was almost certain that it was impossible to live underground and not have a flare for the dramatic. Life could get a little boring when all one had to look at was a bunch of tunnels and stone walls. Even she, a lover of darkness and rock and night-time, had to admit that much. She loved to show off, to perform, in her way. She liked to make people stare at her. Make them wonder. Make them lust. It didn’t matter who, as long as they were watching her, as long as she was having fun.
“I’m not sure,” she answered Luna’s next question, still staring at what she assumed – wrongly – was the expanse of the Gates of Ice. “You said we’re not supposed to knock, but how on earth else are we supposed to—”
She cut off as, with a great rumbling creak, the gates swung open. Her sharp silver brows crunched together.
“Did… they just…?”
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Narisaa Feledor and Kitherine Damacus
Narisaa could hardly containe his excitement, all studies forgotten. He was going to do it… he had to… surely Kitherine would not suggest it and then simply revoke the right? His mentor was right in saying that Helkara would not mind if he went. Kitherine had to be. Nari could not take another year locked up in this great tower, hardly even allowed to leave it and explore the home-streets of Delta. He had barely seen the face of another humanoid for the last several years. Kitherine did not count – he showed his face so infrequently that, though he had seen it, Nari was not sure that he would recognize his Master by his features without already having known that he was who he was.
Kitherine seemed oblivious to Narisaa’s pent up excitement, though in truth Narisaa knew that Kitherine could feel his every tremor. The archmage watched Claenereth without faltering, eyes bright like a pair of stars. He did not fidget, did not even move. Simply watched.
“There are others,” he agreed quietly. “Several others. Your coming was prophesized, my Lady. Helkara suggested that I should like to kill you upon your arrival.”
Narisaa’s breath caught with panic. If Kitherine did that, he would never escape the necromancer’s tower.
Kitherine was silent for another instant, considering Claenereth, as though she were a rather juicy piece of venison. Then he shook his head. “I would not like to kill you,” he told her softly. “Helkara gave me no direct command, and so I must do nothing. I will follow the path set down for me in the prophecy.”