[center][h3]Nenra Corislen[/h3] [sub]interacting with Sera [@pupperr][/sub][/center] Though she could not clearly see far enough to understand what was happening, the cries of agony were unmistakeable. Nenra swallowed, easing out of her chair and falling to her knees on the ground, mostly under the table. Thankfully, the Drakken "lords" didn't seem to notice her, even her act of "defiance" as they would have likely assumed. She wordlessly followed after the group towards their lessons, hovering towards the back (though she was careful to not be the very last one in the line) as they were paraded down the hall. As they walked out she flinched, too clearly hearing the meaty thud of a boot striking a girl, her whimpering gasping cry. Nenra turned towards the sound, seeing the white blur of the girl's hair as she was sprawled on the floor. The girl was picked up and roughly shoved, or at least that was what it seemed, as she came hurtling into the ragged line- directly towards her. Nenra gasped, at the last second extending her arm to catch the other girl, drawing stability, balance and calm from the stone floor beneath their feet. For a long moment they looked at each other, the other girl swallowing nervously and mumbling something before turning to rejoin the line. She was absolutely stunning- even Nenra could see that, with her so close. Beautiful snowy white locks, fiery red eyes- Something jiggled in her memory, a story of some sort, but she pushed it away. Now was not the time for such thoughts of stories- now was the time to think of staying alive. As they went about their day, being forcefully indoctrinated into beliefs they could not accept, she kept the white-haired girl in the corner of her eye. Like herself, the girl was very isolated, very self-contained. Perhaps they could do well to stick together, as most of the others had already formed pods of twos and threes for their miserable company. She seemed... different than these vapid noble girls. Carrying the weight of something as Nenra herself was. She tried not to think too hard about the lessons. Unlike some of the girls - judging from their faces, at least those who were close enough for her to see - she had only a tie of convenience to her faith. It was born mostly from necessity. After all, the gods would not bring in the harvest, only their own hands. Faith was great, when they had the time for it, and in the winter months they were entertained by the myth and legend of their people. But for the most part their lives were of work and only work, and had been for five summers. All of them had to grow up far too fast. After lessons, they were brought back to the dining hall. She carefully seated herself beside the white-haired girl from earlier, though she said nothing. Then again, that was hardly surprising itself. Spoken word had grown increasingly rare in Myllendh, almost as rare as laughter - it had been months since they'd spoken above a whisper, and even that only when comforting their ailing relatives. They knew too well what their jobs were to keep the town running, and they did not, generally, care for idle chatter. They scarcely had time- or energy- for that, after all. The white-haired girl spoke, snapping Nenra out of her thoughts. "Look what you did." For a horrible moment Nenra thought that she, in her clumsiness, had knocked something over. Though she could see her immediate place setting, and the earthenware goblet of water she had poured herself, her vision quickly turned to a blur at the edges and she feared she must have knocked someone else's goblet over. After a good moment squinting around the table and seeing nothing amiss, she glanced over at the girl, her face softening, and tentatively extended a hand, placing it on her shoulder. "Are you alright?" she whispered, her voice hoarse from disuse and so quiet it could scarcely be heard. She reached for the pitcher of water, after a moment of fumbling clumsily taking it and with a trembling hand pouring into the other girl's goblet. Some splashed over the side as she overfilled it and her face flushed as she fumbled to set down the pitcher and wipe up the spill. [hr][hr] [center][h3]Aymiria Unalim[/h3] [sub]Interacting with: Zakroti Unalim [@darkwolf687][/sub][/center] Miry's body instantly relaxed as Zak moved to sit beside her. She folded herself against his side, curling up and resting her head against his chest and letting him fold his arm around her, offering him the book as his fingers traced over the well-worn page, his voice sure of the words without any hesitation. It sort of gave the impression that he could have read the book with his eyes closed. As he read she swallowed sharply, internalizing the words. Her brow scrunched up with her thoughts, and out of habit she pulled a thin stream of water from the nearby fountain, slowly twirling it through her fingers and pooling it in her palm, then weaving it between her fingers in intricate threads so thin they nearly separated into individual droplets. It was a control exercise of her element, (one she'd mastered at the age of ten, and scarcely had to consider it now) but doing something with her hands helped her to think. She felt his eyes on her as he read and tried to school her face into impassiveness, something she wasn't sure she succeeded at. A faint bitterness rose in her throat, her convictions of what this text was suddenly solidified. Three sons, mountains in the east, terrible monsters... Her initial reaction had been one of recoil, considering the text blasphemous at best. Then the more... reasonable side of her mind kicked in, reminding her (against her will) that even as the mother and three younger children were made out to be dimensionless monsters in this book, so the three elder children were made into in the mythos she had been raised in. Perhaps each was made for its own agenda, and only told half the story. She peered up at Zak, waiting for him to continue reading or speaking about it (and mentally noting that she probably seemed like a petulant child), not yet trusting her conviction enough to speak it aloud. Her brow furrowed slightly, a troubled expression coming into her eyes, but she said nothing, instead snuggling up a bit closer to him and skimming the next part of the passage. [hr][hr] [center][h3]Scyrvensrel Talyrrth-Gunnvaldr[/h3] [sub]Interacting with: Gwillim Gunnvaldr [@Tracyarmav][/sub][/center] Scyrven carefully braided the upteenth lock of fiery orange hair, expertly weaving the small brightly colored feathers back into it now that it was mostly dry (even as thick as it was, the perk of air magic was that she could dry it.) She left the bones and beads out this time, knowing her head was going to be in a helmet come the morning and that she didn't want those to be pressed into her skull. The bath had certainly been nice, doing its part to relax her muscles. Gwillim had done his part as well- even if he wasn't her first choice of partner, having spent a century or so together meant he did know exactly how to please her. She tied off the final braid with a bit of wet rawhide, looking in approval at her reflection. Just as fierce and wild as ever, but perhaps a little more tame. If only because it was all going to be inside a helm. She put her boots back on, moving down the stairs with practiced, cat-like grace. She wore a simple long tunic - knee length, with slits up the sides to her waist so as not to impede movement - over soft hide leggings. "Thank you, my love." She said to Gwillim, approaching to stand beside him and looping her arm around his waist, more as a gesture of companionship than anything. "We will be the most graceful, deadly fighters on the field tomorrow, I am certain." Of course they were not to kill, such was not the nature of the tournament, but all the same they would certainly be able to leave a mark. "Are you ready for the tournament?" [hider=Summary] Nenra: is quiet all day, shuffling through lessons, strikes up a conversation with Sera. Miry: Zakiria fluff! And mythology. Scyrven: Getting ready for the tournament.[/hider]