[h3][color=lightgoldenrodyellow]Sorja the Malrakki[/color][/h3][hr]
	[color=burlywood]"I don't like waiting around!"[/color] whispered Lydia, fiercely.

	Leaning forward, Sorja replied, [color=lightgoldenrodyellow]"Neither do I, but it must be done."[/color]

	Glancing at him, the red-haired Fire Gem shifted, agitated. 

	[Color=burlywood]"What if he gets into trouble?!"[/color]

	[color=lightgoldenrodyellow]"Then he'll make sure to signal us. Granted, the signal will probably come in the form of agonized Drakken screams, but still."[/color] He cracked a smile at Lydia's hard, maroon-eyed stare. If looks could kill, Sorja had no doubt that the little one would've no doubt skewered him by now.

	They resided on the roof of a small cabin, built just below the canopy of several large oak trees, and within its branches- off the ground and out of sight. The way it was designed allowed the inhabitants to climb up a ladder, sit halfway through the canopy, and watch the great big fortress looming in the distance. [color=lightgoldenrodyellow]"Castle Dum-watch it's called, if I recall correctly,"[/color] Sorja had playfully announced, when they first saw it the day before, some distance away.

	[color=burlywood]"You think this is a joke?! A [i]game?![/i]"[/color] 

	[color=lightgoldenrodyellow]"Not at all, Lydia. Valence will, as usual, do what needs to be done and get it done as best as he can, and come out without a mortal wound. That, and we couldn't possibly penetrate the mountain fortress. Like the Cultist one, it'd be too difficult to get inside and even more difficult to navigate it. We're at least twenty minutes' run away from it, anyways."[/color]

	Her eyes flared and her jaw clenched, but she said nothing. Sorja couldn't help himself, just one last needle.

	[color=lightgoldenrodyellow]"Fear not for your love; he's not going to come marching back with a so-called 'Bride' in tow. There won't be anyone competing for him!"[/color]

	And like a good tactician, he figured this to be the perfect time for a tactical retreat. So he bolted for the ladder, dodging the knife that the blazing-red Lydia set after him, laughing all the while. One last glance as he swept down the ladder in the too-small Cultist cabin- her lips set into denial, her cheeks blazing, and her eyes ready to murder.

	Oh what fun it is, watching Valence grow up with so many admirers that he never noticed. If he saw any of them as a threat or in any way suspicious, he'd re-evaluate them and notice it, but they were nothing but friends and family, and he didn't see anything more than sisters in them. A shame, it was, that he was so blind to those that were so close.

[hr]
[h3][color=Sienna]Valence the Cultist[/color][/h3][hr]
	He strode through the hallways, somewhat small horns attached to his head by a headband. Most of his hair fell over it, hiding it, and it was nothing more than decoration at the top of his forehead, with a small insignia, proclaiming him to be from the far Southern border. A relatively foreign Drakken, by their standards, still looking young enough to be unknown to the vast majority of them and so, easily to imitate and copy. The actual lord that insignia- which was very much legitimate- was dead, hidden in a small Cultist bolt-hole for contacts within Drakka, maybe a week's travel south. They took him out, having read everything he knew and studied him very closely.

	After the ceremony, someone might notice his true absence. That didn't bother Valence any; Drakken traveling in small groups often disappeared, found mauled by wild animals. Strong as they may be, Drakken were still subject to nature's wrath. The Cult had made a habit of slowly picking off lesser Drakken in their travels, with clever traps and 'pet' bears, wolves, wildcats, and more. Desperation and revenge went a long way, in this world.

	Two Drakken guards flanked him; both were technically followers of the Cult. They changed into armor that was painstakingly sneaked in over the last year, looking to be like his personal guard. They expected to be given some position of power within the next decade; indeed, just seeing a male Gem walk about the fortress like he owned it, completely invisible to suspicion, was enough to secure their trust. More or less. Valence had already beaten one of them in a fight, to prove that he was 'worthy' of them. Fighting Drakken was a very, very difficult business, and his very sore shoulder and back was enough proof of it. 

	Finally striding through one of the alternate entrances of the Claiming Ceremony hall, he surveyed the room, automatically recognizing and filing away who was attending. A great many middle-class lords, several higher-class lords with some amount of prominence, and even the Lady Tiger, looking for her own Bride. How curious.

	Too many lesser Drakken to count, though. Most of them were beneath surveillance, having not shown anything particular interesting or dangerous to warrant attention. The most average and dull of them were, though, so that they could be assassinated and replaced to infiltrate events such as this, or to be won over later for military support.

	Valence clasped his leather-clad hands together, rubbing them excitedly. Steel slivers ran over the top of it, providing a strange sort of decoration, and acting as reinforced claws. No one would notice an absence of real claws with these on, after all. A shining black silk shirt and a harefur-lined leather jacket hanging down to his mid-thighs completed his look, blending well with the warm woolen trousers he wore. All of it was worn by the more 'important' Southern lords, who fancied themselves better than they actually were. The headband was new, but again, he got the idea from other Drakken down there who wore it, in a vain attempt to set themselves apart from the normal, as if they were something new.

	Surveying the women- the 'Brides', it saddened him to correct himself with- entering the hall, nearly immediately being snatched up by Drakken, he took note of the ones he did know- the Twins were really the only ones he knew-knew. He had just read reports about the others. The twins, he thought, wouldn't recognize him if they saw him right now, but maybe if they saw him in hunting gear. As a child, his father had brought him on a couple trips across their people's major cities, and he had met them, once. His father had some business with their mother; he never found out what. For whatever reason, he had very briefly met them, and found them to be adorable. Even if he'd never admit it. But then again, many of the women were beautiful, cute, or adorable, in this room. 

	He coldly eyed one of the nearby Drakken, eyeing him in a funny manner. He glared at the beast, and the two guards flanking him, in turn, glared at the lesser lord. 

	Satisfactorily, the Drakken looked away, surrendering.

	Valence turned his attention back to the floor, wondering about whether or not he should grab a Bride. He wasn't entirely sure why, but the idea appealed to him for some reason. 

	Oh! But there was someone more interesting to talk to in the meantime. He didn't usually socialize, for the sake of having his cover blown, but he was so intrigued he couldn't help himself.

	Sweeping up next to the Drakken Lady Siadamkiru Beneni, he greeted her.

	Bowing slightly, indicating that he thought her his superior, he greeted, "Good evening, Lady Siadamkiru Beneni. An unusual change in your usual life, don't you think? But I do like your ambition, pushing all these stuffier elders by coming to get a Bride. If I recall properly, the last Bride that was claimed by a woman was, what, five hundred years ago? Quite a long time, I think. Good to see some new blood doing something new. I'm a bit of a scholar, you see." He gave the female Drakka a slight smile, making direct eye contact.

	Ah, here it is- he made it apparent that he was lesser in station, but that he was still a sort of equal, and not to be messed with. Drakken seemed to just want to fight; on the other hand, he did enjoy their politics. All these subtle and not-so-subtle messages. Doing something first, or just outright slapping someone. All so predictable, yet, unpredictable as well. He enjoyed it even more, casting probes around one and forcing them to yield to him, to give him what he wanted.

	He didn't offer his hand; he didn't want to appear as if he was forcing her into anything.

	"I am Valryk Galak of Sylra, far down South, on the border. Different up here. Much warmer, too."

	He waved absently at the guards, dismissing them- even if they were larger than him. Hopefully, that made an impression too- that he had such large specimens' loyalty and respect, that he could wave them off like they were naught but gnats, without a worry.

[@RomanAria]