Kyllan Remalece
Day 1 | morning | crumbling building (Displacer Ruins)
Ione (@Tiger Dragon), Yer'on (@Moogle-Girl)
Wanting to keep an at least somewhat safe distance from Ione, Kyllan had flown to the window, not the opening in the roof. Fortunately for him, he did not attempt to leave and thus was not met with such a startling realization. He did, however, feel a force pressing back at him as he crouched, making it difficult for him to keep his balance. Recognizing the resistance as something of a magical forcefield, the wary bloodwing did his best not to touch it.
As he surveyed the landscape beyond, he listened to the interplay between the other four beings present but turned over his shoulder at the announcement of the first challenge. It sounded simple yet discomfortingly invasive, but given the rules that Ione had laid out, he had to comply. For a moment, he considered lying to protect himself—did the other three really need to know that much about him so soon?—but he worried that the pseudo-god would have the capacity to see through his untruths. If that were the case, he'd soon find himself in a much worse situation than any provoked by such quick and total transparency.
Dropping backward off of his perch, he twisted in midair and spread his wings, timing the maneuver perfectly so that he landed smoothly and lightly and folding his wings back against his back as he walked across the cracked stone to rejoin the rest. He halted just out of striking distance of the one nearest to him, folding his arms with posture tall and guarded.
"My name is Kyllan Remalece," he introduced himself, his terse, mid-toned voice tinged with an accent that resembled an odd fusion of Scottish and Greek
"I'm an Ætolan bloodwing from a moderate tribe dwelling in the northeasterly Eischlan mountain range. I was trained in the standard ways of a warrior of my kind for much of my life and have had significant experience in solitary wilderness survival in more recent years. Some of my skills might be obvious in what I carry." The comment might draw further attention to the bow and stocked quiver slung across one shoulder, the mildly abused knapsack over the other, and the sheathed dagger belted to his hip.
"Unless a certain 'god of play' insists otherwise—" this remark was accompanied by a pointed look to Ione—
"I will not be going into specifics."
Now for the most uncomfortable of the mandatory questions. His posture tensed further, his brow furrowed and mouth drawn in a thin line. He found himself looking away from the rest, a fierce glare fixating itself on a particularly large crack in the stone floor.
"I was rejected from my tribe for being..." He paused, gritting his teeth before he was finally able to spit out the final two words with a disgusted vehemence as though they left a foul taste in his mouth:
"emotionally weak." If the venom in his tone did not already make it exceedingly clear that he would not take well to sympathy, his stiff, guarded posture certainly would.
There: he had gotten through the challenge. Hopefully, the "god of play" wouldn't require elaboration on any points he had brought up. In the meantime... he lifted his gaze, still fierce but now with more of a threatening light, to the one who called himself "Yer'on."
"And as for you, crow child—" he uncrossed his arms just long enough to touch the hilt of his sheathed dagger with implications that surely everyone understood—
"I'd like to see you try. I will address you by your name when you have earned enough of my respect for the courtesy, and not a moment sooner." Point made, he returned his arms to their original position folded across his chest.
