A'rytiss was, by near and far, the most... unsteady of the group. Where everyone else had stepped off that boat in a Mass Effect Suicide Mission style, he... Was sitting on the boat, curled into a little ball, with a blindfold covering his eyes. His body curled up for safety, he made a small whimpering sound as the boat gave its thud against the docks.Â
"uuu...." He'd moan out, "Whyyyy... Why does it have to be boats..." He'd bemoan the situation. No one said anything about boats. He hated boats. They terrified him. The fact that he had to be blindfolded or unaware of the boat was just one sign of his adamant distaste for them.Â
He sniffles a little, rolling towards the direction of footsteps. Even pinned against his head, they could still hear the delicate sounds of feet stepping around the boat, ruffling towards the shoreline. He tries to fumble his way to the docks, reaching around absently and - probably grabbing someone's tail at some point - before finally finding his way to the docks themselves.Â
His hand pulls him up, and he -lifts- himself, albeit weakly, on the docks. He tries to stand, but instantly, finds himself tripping, falling face-forward on the docks. Still... The solid ground was welcomed - even if it was just wooden planks, it wasnt' a boat!Â
He seemed a little dizzy'd by his harrowing experience of boatness, slowly lifting himself up into a semi-seated position. His hands tremble a bit and he moves to grasp at his blindfold, pulling it off in one smooth motion.Â
His eyes weakly look up. He was a young man - clearly not older than the rest of the group, a very young individual. Perfect Amethyst eyes reflect a gentle pink that perfectly encapsulate his black orbular pupils. His white hair, long  with tips ending in a faint red crimson, contrast neatly with a white robe and pale complexion. His skin is kept near-perfect and free of wounds, not a single scar able to be seen on him. And at his back - he carries his staff, which is kept in the shape of a flower at the top, though it currently had the form of a bud alone.Â
He shivers a little, feeling his stomach wretch. But it wasn't from the boat - it was a far more... intense, feeling. That pulsing dark energy, seemed like a battering ram to his delicate sensitivity to the corruption of Aether. He fidgets nervously, having not moved to his feet, instead seeming... to just sit there, on the ground, waiting for the group... He shivered, and his eyes kept to the ground, ears pinned back and body seeming to shake on occasion.Â
"A-ahm..." He'd say out, nervously, "P-Please... just a minute... I'll be right with you..." he'd say simply, ready to get up and move when the rest were... but for now, taking his time to get his barings and become accustomed to the sensation that filled his stomache.
"uuu...." He'd moan out, "Whyyyy... Why does it have to be boats..." He'd bemoan the situation. No one said anything about boats. He hated boats. They terrified him. The fact that he had to be blindfolded or unaware of the boat was just one sign of his adamant distaste for them.Â
He sniffles a little, rolling towards the direction of footsteps. Even pinned against his head, they could still hear the delicate sounds of feet stepping around the boat, ruffling towards the shoreline. He tries to fumble his way to the docks, reaching around absently and - probably grabbing someone's tail at some point - before finally finding his way to the docks themselves.Â
His hand pulls him up, and he -lifts- himself, albeit weakly, on the docks. He tries to stand, but instantly, finds himself tripping, falling face-forward on the docks. Still... The solid ground was welcomed - even if it was just wooden planks, it wasnt' a boat!Â
He seemed a little dizzy'd by his harrowing experience of boatness, slowly lifting himself up into a semi-seated position. His hands tremble a bit and he moves to grasp at his blindfold, pulling it off in one smooth motion.Â
His eyes weakly look up. He was a young man - clearly not older than the rest of the group, a very young individual. Perfect Amethyst eyes reflect a gentle pink that perfectly encapsulate his black orbular pupils. His white hair, long  with tips ending in a faint red crimson, contrast neatly with a white robe and pale complexion. His skin is kept near-perfect and free of wounds, not a single scar able to be seen on him. And at his back - he carries his staff, which is kept in the shape of a flower at the top, though it currently had the form of a bud alone.Â
He shivers a little, feeling his stomach wretch. But it wasn't from the boat - it was a far more... intense, feeling. That pulsing dark energy, seemed like a battering ram to his delicate sensitivity to the corruption of Aether. He fidgets nervously, having not moved to his feet, instead seeming... to just sit there, on the ground, waiting for the group... He shivered, and his eyes kept to the ground, ears pinned back and body seeming to shake on occasion.Â
"A-ahm..." He'd say out, nervously, "P-Please... just a minute... I'll be right with you..." he'd say simply, ready to get up and move when the rest were... but for now, taking his time to get his barings and become accustomed to the sensation that filled his stomache.
