[center][color=C2B280][h3]Fleo Plector – Phoenix Wing Guild Hall[/h3][/color]
[@Leslie Hall][@Caits][@YipeeXD][/center]

For a brief moment, Fleo was stunned.  Did this guy really just say that?  [i]What an asshole![/i] she thought, but what she said was, [color=C2B280]”Hah, no...I'm not taking part in the games, um, not strong enough.”[/color]  The declaration felt particularly morose when it followed Isabella's assertion of the dusty woman's talent.  Fleo crossed her arms, a dry sort of smile replacing her usual beaming variety, and watched this girl use her mouth to silence her companion.  Seeing that settled it in her mind: these two were kids, and though one acted mature they both appeared to have a long way to go.  Fleo, however, didn't fault them for it.  All too often she wished she could be the same way.  

Ignoring Bullet's lack of humility, she nodded sagely when she understood why these two remained unknown to her.  [color=C2B280]”Months?  Wow.  I'd hate to be tied to a single task for that long.”[/color]  Any leftover joviality vacated her as the conversation swung toward her bandages.  By now, Fleo's lies came quickly and easily, so often had she used them.  [color=C2B280]”Oh...burns from long ago.  It's mostly healed, but exposure to air inflames them.  I'd rather not talk about that, though.”[/color]  Her eyes turned to Sasha, newly-arrived, and the dusty woman appreciated a change of subject.  [color=C2B280]”Good morning, Sasha.  I'm doing well.”[/color]

A few moments later, Jamie's grand announcement began.  Fleo paid her rapt attention after she noticed that the guild master went to the trouble to set up a communications lacrima to Dragon Fang, and she grew progressively more surprised as the story went on.  When she finished, despite the heartwarming tones in which the story had been told, Fleo felt a chill settle over her.  [color=C2B280]”Resurrection...”[/color] she breathed.  Death wasn't something to trifle with.  Jamie's statement of the price, her transformation magic, only invigorated the curious worry embroiling Fleo.  While she resolved to be as nice to Samantha as she could, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.  What Jamie mentioned about family also perturbed her somewhat.  Was it bad that Fleo had only ever thought guild life felt more like a job?  Was she missing something?

Mayt provided for Fleo another unfamiliar face, and she allowed the promise of another story to drag her mind away from thoughts of death and family.  More wizards appeared by the moment, and after greeting Lazarus, [color=c2b280]”Hi there, Laz,”[/color], she recommended, [color=c2b280]”There's a bunch of us standing around now.  Why don't we take a seat?  There's a big table right there.”[/color]  She strolled over and put a bandaged hand on the back of a chair.

[center][color=8F9779][h3]Cormorant Sanders – Frenzy Plant Camp[/h3][/color]
[@Oblivion666][@liferusher][@invisible man][@Caits][@hatakekuro][/center]

A row of things lay before the eyes of Frenzy Plant's general.  Some were bound and sedated, and some merely sat there, but all fell under his intense gaze.  On either side of Sanders stood Jane Putcher, Demetri, Ange Bolganone, and Bytan Brass, the soldiers selected to guard this tent overnight and make sure its contents did not escape.  On the far left, resting on a mattress, was the rogue wizard captured by Zander, Magni, Mercury, and Hyun the day before, the one who could allegedly manipulate the senses.  In the middle, propped up on a stool, was a painting of one of the guild's newer members, Ike Riven, in kingly attire.  Every time Sanders laid eyes on it, he felt a pang of regret that another moment had passed while his guild was unable to free its comrade from his painted prison.  On the far right, covered in chains and held in a constant state of sleep by the Marsh Songs of Morimoto Tsubani the healer, were the Lovers.  Overnight, Ludo had stopped by to examine the imprisoned Mystic Beast, and delivered a dire warning to the guild he favored: the Lovers shared pain, and when sufficiently agonized, they could create reality-altering anomalies to gain the advantage.  Only after that omen had Tsubani stepped in.

Sanders turned and retreated from the tent, headed to the center of the camp.  With the sun in the sky and the third day of games about to begin, Fiore's number-one warrior guild had risen.  A steady clamor of conversation, cooking, mending, and other preparations filtered through the lake of tents, and smoke from fires wafted toward the heavens.  

This peaceful scene did not capture the General's attention, however, as much as Xyster did.  At the moment, the Dullahan had commandeered the main cooking area in the camp's center, dancing across wooden spits and metal cauldrons as she ladled a rich, creamy oatmeal to anyone bold enough to risk being splattered by approaching with a tentative, outstretched bowl.  He observed, holding back a chuckle, as poor Nandy Rewman took a solid clump of oats to the nose and yelped.   After laughing heartily, Xyster leaped down to help wipe it off.  [color=8F9779]”Oh, monster,”[/color] Sanders murmured, his eyes shining.  [color=8F9779]”You are not as inhuman as you think.”[/color]