• Memory • [Lair] True Beauty

[Omesintihlih]

23 Cylus 697

Warmth beckoned Omesintihlih through a jimmied window into a storage room. The girl went to a corner behind the boxes, and settled to listen to the voices muffled beyond the walls of the establishment. It'd been twenty trials since she left home, and she hadn't gone back yet. Lair was far too exciting. She wanted it to be her new home. Even if she did somewhat miss the warmth of her bed... but she wasn't completely helpless on the streets either. She found places to sleep easy enough, she swiped food from various spots and people, and even when she got caught, she managed to eek away with only a warning or two.

Her father had found her the other trial though, and tried to take her home. She'd screamed a fuss however, enough that he gave up when attention fixed on them. The girl had enjoyed the attention, but her father fled from it. It suited her fine.

Still, she wondered if she might go home until the snows melted. Her green dress had gotten even more ragged than the first night, torn in spots with a sleeve that didn't stay up on her shoulder anymore. Her cloak was ripped and hung over her in fringe-like strips of cloth. She'd found a pair of scissors though, and they had become her closest companion... next to the other girl and boy who nestled behind the crates with her. They were slightly younger, orphans each, and just awful at performances but Omesintihlih found that the worst their performances were, the better her own acts appeared.

Their names? She could hardly remember. Something after animals or colors or... she just called them Boy and Girl. It was their roles, after all.

Omesintihlih held the prized scissors, checked the edges that she'd recently sharpened with a chipped whetstone. She whispered to the Boy and Girl, "You two, go beg for food. See if you can gets anything out of the grown-ups."

"What're you gonna do, Carma?" asked the Girl with her wide brown eyes.

The Boy shuffled, arms crossed around as he rubbed at his own arms and breathed hotly against his hands. He muttered, "Don't hurt anyone else. I don't want anybody coming for us."

"Don't fret, Boyo," she mimicked in sing-song what a Viceman had called the boy the other trial. "I won't hurt nobody that don't hurt me."

Boy and Girl looked at each other, then back at Omesintihlih. Boy said, "I'm serious, Carma. Maybe I should take the sci-"

"No!" Omesintihlih held the scissors protectively against her chest. She glanced toward the sliver of light that peeked through the underside of the door. She lowered her voice and said, "Only leads get scissors. Are you a lead, Boy?"

He shook his head.

"Go on, you're going to miss your cue waiting here..." she pointed the scissors toward the door.

The other two urchins crept over to the door. The Boy went first, leaving the storage room. Girl hesitated, looked at Omesintihlih and whispered, "Be careful..."

"Watch your own performance," insisted the Yludih. She watched the Girl leave as well, then crept over to listen. The two urchins headed down a hall, then hurried into a brightly lit lounge. She heard a few laughs, then a shrill woman's voice inquiring as to where the urchins had come from.

Omesintihlih tiptoed out of the room, and down the opposite direction of the hall. She held the scissors at her side, tightly gripped in her gloves that she'd snipped away to make fingerless. The girl found a staircase and hurried around the steps while keeping herself down and slight so the shadows helped hide her. She saw candles flickering along a corridor, the cloying scent of perfume fragrances. Odd music played, but she'd started to get used to the various harmonies made in Lair.

She started to look for an open door, and found one on the third test. The girl glanced side to side, then slipped inside the room. It was a suite, and she saw a woman lying over a couch. At first, Omesintihlih startled and held the scissors ready - her reactions having gotten sharper in her trials spent alone in Lair - but then she eased when she recognized the glassy look in the woman's eyes. The smoke that filled the room made it obvious that the woman, even if awake, wouldn't bother with any acknowledgement of what was going on around her.

The Yludih girl crept around the back of the couch, then went to a vanity table. She stared at herself in the mirror. Her face had dirt and remnants of scrapes from ice and frost to the thorough illusion that made up her appearance. Her long hair had gotten tangled in knots, unwashed and unkempt. She set the scissors on the desk surface and opened a box to look at tiny vials of fragrances and some cheap jewelry.

Omesintihlih poured out all the items in a chaotic pile, then she started to open the drawers to search through them. She paused and then glanced at a dress laid across the back of a chair. She eyed the satiny sheen to the bright red color. Omesintihlih grabbed at the hem and rubbed it against her cheek. She hummed, high-pitched and melodious. Her attention flitted back and forth between the items. She picked up the scissors, then crept over to the couch.

The woman didn't even look at her, lids mostly shut except for a flutter of dark eyelashes against black-smudged eyeliner. The Yludih girl ran her hands through the woman's curly red hair. How pretty... she hummed, in a melody that almost sounded as if it were meant to comfort, and she lifted one of the cherry-red ringlet curls. She gathered the long strands around the sharpened scissors, then snipped the hair away.

[Zunylanih]

Since the night that Geneva had dragged Zuny away from that strange girl in the streets, try as he might he couldn't forget the fun he'd had with that unknown playmate. He decided, for the sake of simplicity of referring to her, to think of her as the Arthwraith Princess, or just Princess. He inquired to his mother, Minerva, and even Geneva to see if they knew if she belonged to one of the women living in the Fallacy. They just shrugged and shook their heads at him.

As the trials went by, however, his birthday was coming up, and this occupied his thoughts more than anything. The women of the Fallacy were always generous in their gifts to his birthtrials. Always giving him the most wonderful gifts and trinkets and toys. However, his mother mentioned more than once that he ought not to expect such special treatment beyond his tenth year. He'd be a young man soon, and be expected to find his own weight to pull, or a role of his own to play in the city.

This set him in a melancholy mood, dropping his expectations. Which were INSANTLY driven through the roof when he saw what they had for him, on the 13th of Cylus. A full, masterwork, silk motley suit in crimson and peach. It was everything he'd hoped for, right down to the satin fabric, and the bells on the hat. The women stared at each other knowingly as he marveled at the hat, and placed it straightaway on his head.

Minerva bent down, to smile at young Zuny, "Now Zuny, the rest of the suit is for special occasions, but I want you to wear that hat whenever you like... The bells on the things will let us know when you're wandering nearby."

Geneva stood to the side, strangely distant from Zuny for whatever reason. She shrugged, "I'm going to be working most of the time, to pick up for my mother. You're too old for a babysitter."

"Alright! Great!" Zuny exclaimed, barely noticing what they were saying. From then on, he never went anywhere without his bell and motley, satin hat.



He was thinking of the strange girl more, as he became lonely without Geneva to pay attention to him. He needed out of there, he needed some real friends. He adored the women of the Fallacy, they were family, but they weren't much fun. They had something called 'Privacy', that they guarded jealously and seemed to hide away beneath a robe whenever Zuny happened by. He asked several times in his childhood what Privacy was, and further what it looked like, which received raucous laughter from anyone who heard him. This made him happy. Nothing made Zuny happier than seeing people laugh.

And so he wore the motley hat everywhere he went, including down the hallway on the 23rd of Cylus, where he saw one of the doors that were normally shut this time of day, ajar.

The boy tip toed toward the open door. His footfalls were silent enough, but the bells on the end of his hat were ringing and twinkling their silver song. With two hands against the door frame, he peeked his head in, to see who was there. In the dim light, he saw Agatha reclining in the chair, fast asleep or under the vapours of the hookah. But she wasn't alone, like normally when she had her vapors... There was a little girl with her... the same girl he'd seen before! Although looking much worse for wear, her clothings nearly falling apart.

He tilted his head as he watched her snip the hairs from Agatha's head, and covered his mouth in shock, trying to stifle the laughter this game roused. Nevertheless, his bells jingled. Why was she cutting her hair?

Zuny had experience with wild cats in the streets of Quacia. It'd taken a few scratches from these little beasts to learn though they were cute and probably fun to play with, they responded poorly to forced confinement. Maybe this girl was a runaway, a feral girl?! This gave him a new idea for a game.

Suddenly, he burst into the room, waving around a rolling pin, and holding it like a polearm. "Stop there! Be thou Yaralon mercenary, or feral girl savage? Be thou changeling?! Friend or foe, name thyself!"

[Omesintihlih]

Omesintihlih heard the gentle jingle of bells. But then she heard many things all the time. The bells only added to the music of violins and harps that played in her head. She continued to snip away at the ringlets until she had five in hand. She turned around, returned to the vanity, and looked at herself in the mirror. Omes hummed the melody of what music she heard. She gathered one of the ringlets, then set it against her head to look at herself with the cherry-red hair framing her own childish face. She turned one way and the curl bounced. The girl smiled slightly. "Hm, hm, hm, blood hair, hm hm hm..."

Her gaze flicked up when she saw movement in the mirror's reflection. She saw a warped shadow, then a... odd shape that reminded her vaguely of The Things. Omes grabbed the scissors back up and spun around. She paused, then recognized the boy but struggled to recall his name.

"Zombie," she gasped instead. Then she cleared her throat, and announced in a haughty tone that contrasted greatly with her dour and ragged attire. "I am no Yari nor savage! I am but a..." she glanced around, then grabbed the red dress from the back of the chair. She awkwardly draped it around herself like a cape and said, "I am a Herald of our Wounded God! Come to find heretics to burn and cut off their heads."

"Be you one of them? With your weapon brandished like so?" Omes pointed her scissors at his rolling pin. "Do not changelings be the ones who assert others are changelings first?"

The woman on the couch stirred, with a quiet moan. The Yludih girl glanced at her. She ran away from the couch and the boy, scissors still in hand, and she jumped up on the nearby four-poster bed. There was a canopy to it, and she drew the curtains to hide inside... for a moment, and then she peeked out and said, "Sit and watch."

What was his name? Why does it matter? What doesn't matter anyway... Something with a Z, most definitely. Zombie is that, is it not? Zkeque!

"You'll like this, Zkeque," she assured in a voice unlike the one she'd used before. She pointed near the couch where the woman was and motioned for him to sit. Omesintihlih disappeared behind the curtains again. Hidden backstage she holstered the scissors in her dress pocket, then fixed the red dress so that it fell more neatly over her. She raised the fabric over her head to make a cowl-like hood. She cleared her throat, then pulled the curtains aside to reveal the bed again.

The girl waved her arm through the vapor-rich air, and she pointed her toe out in front of her in a dancerly stance. The bed dipped under her slight weight. She sang in a whisper-quiet voice, "Blood prayer, blood prayer, how we find the heretics and changelings." She drew her foot in an arch to the other side, then lightly skipped to the very edge of the bed. She grabbed onto the bed post, leaned over and whisper-sang, "Blood prayer, blood prayer, we will find what you hide if anything."

She hopped down from the bed and twirled. "If you cannot bleed, then you cannot be." She hummed, going in and out of faint notes as the song played mostly in her head. The girl moved closer and took out her scissors. She brandished them high up above and gestured with her free hand to present them to the audience of two. "Only the true of faith can bleed! So say we, the church of thy Wounded Lord!"

Omesintihlih spun around again. She hurriedly took off the red dress and tossed it aside. The girl lowered down onto her knees and held the scissors up. She glanced once at the boy, to make sure he was still watching, then cleared her throat and lightly sang in a clearer tone: "Oh, but if they find me! What might they think? I am a poor and lowly Heap, my lord is not wounded but great! Yet I must bleed!"

She shoved the red dress toward the boy. Omesintihlih hissed at him, "Put it on. Be the Tribunal!"

The girl had tired of her very own created role. Now she wanted to play the tragic heretic, a much better role in her opinion. Once the dress had been handed over, she tossed the scissors aside and collapsed against the floor in theatrical sobs though no actual tears fell from her eyes.

[Zunylanih]

Zombie She called him, then he remembered again, the game they'd played from before. Before Geneva dragged him back into the Fallacy. He could've kicked himself not to remember, but then his mind was filled with other thoughts lately. He looked at her, and waited to see how this new play would twist out.

The girl was even more agile on the solid floor of the Fallacy than she had been on the ice, and he found himself mesmerized by her movements. When at last she took up the stage, and bid him to sit, he did so obediently, accustomed to obeying what girls told him to anyways.

The girl recited something, a blood prayer, something he'd not heard of before. While some word came into the Lair of the Theocratum, he himself had been sheltered from those conversations, which often fell silent as he entered their midst. He took it to be something very sinister or perhaps not for children. This intrigued him, then, when it came his turn to take on the role of an inquisitor.

He stood for just a moment, before throwing the dress over his shoulders. He smelled the perfume and scents that the girl had decorated the 'costume' with beforehand. They were sweet and spicy, like blood cider. Finally, once the dress was fit snugly over his form, he took on a solemn pose over the fallen Heap before him. "Well! Tell me thy name heap. You must have one, f you be anything other than Creep."

Without waiting for her to answer, he gave his own, or rather the one he imagined his inquisitor would take. His longest name thus far was Zunylanih, so that's what he went with. It meant 'Our Joy' in Ulehi. "I am Zunylanih, grand Inquisitor of the Bloody Fane! Thou stands accused of bearing the Creep. If thou dost say thine blood is of the Heap, then bleed for us. If thy blood runs thick, and sappy and sweet, thou art a Creep, Creep, CREEP!"

So saying, he picked up the scissors, and approached the feigned sobbing of the girl. "Your Creep crying won't save you, CREEP. I see that no tears fall from your eyes, you are no HEAP." He lifted the scissors above his head, doing a skip in place several times in an attempt to take on her manner of dancing and moving, which he was fast growing an appreciation of. "Now, bleed, Creep! Bleed red blood and thou shalt be let free, in the name of the.. the... line?"

[Omesintihlih]

She hid her smile behind her arm when the boy picked up his role without hesitation. He was so good at following directions, and she remembered how much of a natural he was. So much better than Boy and Girl who were likely still downstairs, making a poor performance of it. No matter, she had a fine audience and fellow actor in one.

Omesintihlih stuck out her lower lip and looked up. She placed the back of her hand against her forehead, and quietly whimpered in an overly dramatic expression in reaction to the Tribunal who stood tall beside her.

The girl paused, a momentary slip of her role, when she heard the Ulehi name. She recognized the words easily. Her head tilted to one side and she forgot her pretend-fear and wallowing. But then she remembered it when he made such a nice performance of the Tribunal anyway. Omesintihlih drew in a shaky breath and gasped in singing, "I am no Creep! I am a mere Heap! Trust, trust! I speak true!" She didn't look at him, however, but at the mostly-unconscious woman - who served as their audience.

Omesintihlih held out her hands in theatrical display of shock at the scissors that he held above. A giggle escaped her when he skipped and jumped in place, an odd little dance if there ever was one. She tilted her head to the side. Her long matted black hair fell across her face. Through the unwashed strands, her vivid green eyes stared up at him. She rid herself of her smile in forced display and then turned away with a sharp twist of her shoulders as if to accept the fatal fate of a heretic.

Line?

The girl glanced over her shoulder. She frowned, then rolled her eyes and sighed. "It's the Wounded God," she scoffed. "How do you not know that?"

She turned around to face him, though now she sat a bit more casually against the floor. Using the flat of her palms, she leaned back and kept an unblinking stare on him.

"What kind of Tribunal has a name about joy anyway? Is that meant to be..." she listened to the murmurs of The Things, then said in a hurt voice, with the slightest look across her features as if she'd gotten slapped, "...Ironic? Or are you teasing me? That isn't very nice of you, Zkeque! I don't care if your hat sings or not. I let you hold my scissors and you make fun of me."

"There aren't any Yludih in the church." Whether it was true or not, didn't matter. Omesintihlih believed it was the case. "Now, if you'll be nice, we'll start again from the top!"

Omesintihlih gathered herself to her feet. She fixed her ragged dress, though a portion of her cloak had torn during her motions and laid on the ground in a strip of faded black cloth. The girl clambered back onto the bed, then stood on it. She placed her hands on her hips and then her eyes grew wide. "Oh wait!"

In a leap, she left the bed, ran past the boy, and returned to the vanity. She picked up one of the ringlet curls and watched her own reflection while she tied it into her dark hair. Omesintihlih grinned at this, then she did the same to the other side of her hair so that she had two ringlets framing her face. She pulled on a cheap necklace of polished shell-beads, then turned around. She leaned against the vanity table, posed with her head turned up and gaze away from the boy, and she asked in a breathy dramatic voice, "How do I look?"

She paused, long enough to wait for an answer, then asked in follow-up, "Which Immortal do I talk to, you think? Being a heretic means that, talking to Immortals instead of bleeding for the church."

[Zunylanih]

Wait, she knew Ulehi? Was she... she must be one of his people! Amazing, he knew there was something special about the girl. When she accused him of making fun of her, he shook his head vigorously, and his hat sang for them both.

"Hey, I'm not making fun of you, I really don't know much about it! The ladies don't tell me much." He shook his hands for emphasis. "Wounded God! Got it! I..."

But as soon as she was done admonishing him, she was off to the races again, jumping up onto the bed, and then off of it. Now she was playing games with the vanity, tying the ringlets harvested from Agatha to tie into her own hair. "Oh! I like the red on black."

Zuny tilted his head, admiring the splash of color against the dark of her hair. "You look... very cute! Uhmm..." He didn't know what else to say. He could tell she'd be nice looking when she was older, but he preferred the ladies that were soft and warm. Not cold, skinny and with feral claws for scratching when you tried to play with them. They'd both grow up one day, of course, but with the way the days dragged on, that would take forever! He wanted a girl friend like Geneva now!

"Immortals? Hmmm... You talk to them? I hear a lot of ladies around here talking to... Zanik and Syroa." Zuny smiled at her, "Did I guess right?"

He squirmed slightly on his feet, nervously wondering if she'd take back her scissors, and scratch him now.

He finally mustered up the courage to ask her, and pounce in his own way. He wanted a friend, someone that would play games with him that were fun, and run around in the streets having all kinds of games. She was the most fun of all the kids he'd run into so far. So, with one deep breath, he blurted it out.

"Do you want to live here!? I can hide you or..."

[Omesintihlih]

Omesintihlih wasn't sure if the boy was sincere in that he hadn't been teasing her. She didn't quite make the connection that he must know Ulehi too. It had slipped her mind, the concerns of The Things overriding any logic about it. She did like his singing hat though... The girl moved on, deciding they could run through the performance again. The idea to add to her costume struck her and she danced over to the vanity. Some of the strands fell out of the ringlets when she tied them into her hair, but they mostly stayed put as she'd created tangles to make them stay. She asked her fellow talented performer what he thought of it.

You look... very cute!

Cute...

Ruddy blush gathered on her cheeks, warming the caramel tan of her skin. She giggled wildly, and covered her face with her hands. Her feet danced against the floor in little hops. No one outside of her parents had ever called her cute before, but she knew what it meant. She'd heard her brothers call other girls in the markets cute and pretty. It was a good thing to be, from the sound of their tones. A few people in Lair had called her pretty while she passed them in the streets, but she'd taken that in stride. Something felt different about the boy saying it. Of course, it had to do with the red. Red was one of the most pretty of colors.

Overwhelmed, her other question had fallen to the wayside of her attention. She peeked through her fingers, green eyes staring at his smile. She lowered her hands, a shameless grin on her features. The girl shook her head 'no', but she didn't inform him on which immortal was right. Instead, she turned around and climbed onto the top of the vanity. She brushed the jewelry off to the ground, then she stood on the table surface.

Omesintihlih twirled, around and around with her feet together in flat then pointed on her toes, then flat to the soles, then onto her toes as she roughly pirouetted on the vanity. She tried to get enough momentum to have her hair fan out and the ringlet curls become whirls of red in her own vision. She looked up to the ceiling, and then her foot slipped out from under her. The girl fell off the vanity, but caught herself in a stumbled landing on her hands and feet - like a cat - to soften the sound of it. She crawled forward, then stood and brushed off her skirt.

She had stopped in arm's reach of the boy and stared at him when he blurted out an invitation to live in the warm, strong-smelling building. A momentary confusion showed on her features. She blinked, then tilted her head to one side.

The brunette Yludih held a hand out and said, "I want my scissors back."

Omesintihlih glanced at the woman on the couch, then at the boy, and she realized that he must live here. For some reason that hadn't even occurred to her until this moment. She sniffed quietly, then asked, "You don't live in the shadows like them?"

She hesitated, pulled at her ragged dress, then said, "I'm thirsty... and hungry... and..."

The girl reached out and grabbed onto the boy's arm. She said, "I'm Carmen."

"My troupe calls me Carma. Did you want to join us? We perform lots and you're... with some work, you could be okay." She shrugged and then flipped her hair over her shoulder like she'd seen some Lair women do while talking to men. "We don't need a singing hat, but I'm sure I could convince them to let you in."

[Zunylanih]

She seemed to enjoy his 'cute' comment, which made him glad. As she giggled, he mimicked her mirth with a bit of laughter. Her voice had a crystal quality to it, of course she was one of them! This was going to be great, he finally had a real friend!

He clapped for her as she did her twirling dervish dance on top of the vanity, then nearly slipped. Zuny wanted to run and try to catch her before she fell, but instead she righted her balance, just like a cat! And slid to all fours, crawling down and right up to within arm's length of Zuny.

She held out her hand for the scissors, which he was happy to give them back. She probably needed them to add more locks of hair and ribbon to her hair. He wasn't about to get in the way of that.

"Here! I..."

"I live here, with mother Minerva, Mother Helena, Sister Geneva, and that's Mother Agatha..." He pointed to the red head who was still out cold.

"I wanna join your troupe! Nice to meet you Carma. I'm not really called Zkeque. It's just Keque, but you can call me whatever you want..." He waved his hands, motioning for her to not make too much noise as he cast his glances about, his silver bells jingling as he did so.

"Stay here! I'll be right back with some food for us, then we can join your troupe!"

Zuny was excited as he ran from the room, darting from hall to hall and looking at the various baked goods that were lying about. He managed to find a bottle of blood wine underneath one of the vanities in the room, as well as a few biscuits and sweetrolls. These he placed in a basket that he gathered up from the floor.

Then he was running back into the room where he'd found Carma...

Only to find her gone already.


"Carma! Carma, where'd you go..." He pouted as he realized his feral girl had slipped away, "I'm so lonely..."

[Omesintihlih]

Omesintihlih giggled again when the boy said how many mothers he had. She commented without thought, "I didn't know boys could have more than one mother." She looked to the woman whose hair she'd stolen, then back to the boy and she said, "You don't look anything alike though."

She ran her fingertips over her scissors, and drew a thin slice of blood on her thumb while she checked that the edges were still sharp. Her green-eyed gaze flickered at the wave of his hands and the jingle of the bells on his odd hat. She teased, "Just Keque."

The brunette girl watched as he ran off to get some food... and she looked over at the unconscious woman. Omesintihlih slunk over to the vanity, pocketed some of the jewelry, the remaining strands of red ringlet curls. She opened a dresser from nearby, dug around, and stole some stockings. They were thicker than the torn ones she had on. She twirled the scissors around, on her fingers. Time's a-wasting... Tick tock tick tock Better run before he tells them. Do you really want to go back? Think of your audience! You can't let them down with such boring performances as warm homes and happy mothers.

Omesintihlih gathered her stolen items in a coat she found at a nearby post. She bundled it, then knotted the fabric together. Bundle full of pilfered goods in one hand, and scissors in the other, the girl slipped out of the room. She glanced around the hall, and could hear the light jingle of the boy's hat in the near distance. Omesintihlih held her breath, then darted past the room he was in. She hurried down the stairs, ignored that there was a woman that she passed at the threshold, and then sprinted into the storage room.

The girl dragged a box over, and quickly scrambled out the way she'd gotten in. In the alley street, she looked side to side, then saw Boy and Girl across the way in the shadows of the opposite street. She ran away from the Lust's Fallacy and headed over to her troupe. It was better this way. Keque was too much of a natural. It'd be a risk to have him in the troupe, he might garner attention for himself instead. Boy and Girl were too mediocre and poor at their acts to worry about it, but Keque... she thought about his Tribunal performance... no, too risky. Besides, he had so many moms, they'd all come looking for him. Not to mention The Things didn't like him all that much.

Omesintihlih glanced at the red-lit building while she handed the bundle over to Boy for him to sort through the items. He had an eye for what to sell and what to keep. Girl was saying something about managing to grab some moldy bread and that the women gave them tea but Omesintihlih barely heard her. She was too busy listening to the jingle of bells in an upbeat melody. The Yludih girl twirled further into the shadows, away from the illumination of the bloodlights and out of sight.

[Abra]

ZUNYLANIH

Rewards

Knowledges:

Skill:

1. Acting: Technique: Improvisation.
2. Acting: Developing roles.
3. Acting: Conveying emotion with gestures.
4. Appraisal: Judging a girl's looks.
5. Cooking: Finding food that looks halfway edible.
6. Persuasion: Lure them in with promises of warmth, food, and drink.
7. Stealth: Sneaking up on an open door.
8. Stealth: Sneaking while wearing bells.
9. Stealth: Moving on the balls of your feet to reduce foot noise.


Loot:
Injuries:
Wealth:
Renown: couldn't really see a reason to give renown. the way I read it, it was just two kids playing alone

EXP: 15

Feedback

That’s an interesting story behind always wearing a motley hat. I couldn’t have thought up a better reason myself. It looks like Zunylanih plays well with others even if he is a bit… odd. I felt genuinely bad for him when he realized he was all alone again. Enjoy your rewards.

OMESINTIHLIH

Rewards

Knowledges:

Skill:

1. Acting: Technique: Improvisation.
2. Acting: Developing roles.
3. Acting: Conveying emotion with gestures.
4. Dancing (Ballet): Chaines Turn
5. Dancing: Maintaining balance by locking sight on a spot.
6. Dancing: How to twirl.
7. Design (Fashion): Red looks good on black.
8. Design (Fashion): Bright red is the prettiest color.
9. Singing: Controlling the volume of your voice.
10. Stealth: Sneaking up stairs.

Loot:
Injuries:
Wealth:
Renown: couldn't really see a reason to give renown. the way I read it, it was just two kids playing alone

EXP: 15

Feedback

Omesintihlih is an adventurous one isn’t she? I enjoyed the childlike behavior… everything from the whimsicality to getting bored quickly. Watching you two play reminded me a lot of actual kids playing and how sporadic they could be. I can’t wait to see how Omesintihlih develops in the present time. Enjoy your rewards.