The Glimmering Goldenscale
Log Info
- Title: The Glimmering Goldenscale
- Emitter: Cryosanthia
- Characters: Cryosanthia, Galidor, Geir, Seyardu, Sjach, Un'eth
- Place: W02: Mictlan
- Time: Tuesday, June 29, 2021, 3:09 PM
- Summary: Seyardu and Cryosanthia have arrived at Mictlan to seek out the sunniest rock, in part because the one at Cryo's village was lost when her village was destroyed. Sjach is arriving with a successful hunt, and Shaman Geir is out, tending to his armour. Lily is very interested in the food, when a golden scaled Sith'Makar arrives. Cryo is in awe, perhaps intimidated by the goldscale of the many titles. Many, many titles. She inquires after some of his exploits, and then fills him in on the latest in Alexandria, skipping over some personal details. Sjach instructs Lily in how to pluck a bird, although the Kobold youngling seems familiar, if rough at it. Un'eth prowled around in her Swiftclaw form, having been Cryo's mount, and Seyardu tries out Cryo's Anygarment sleeves, and finds she is skilled at designing clothes but is unable to manage colours. The all break for the most important thing, eating!
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Located within the Deep Woods, and hours past Wilderness Pointe, in the heart of its northern woods, bones frame this hollowed-out space. Massive and heavy, they reach towards the sky, meeting--almost--in the center like great and worn stalagmites. Or giant teeth. After a few seconds--it's quickly evident that this is a space carved from a dragon's bones. A very, very large...dragon's bones. The air smells of ash, brimstone, and earth. Underneath the apex of the bones lie the workings of a central Fire.
The grounds are run by shamans of the sith-makar, and the sacred space dedicated to the Death Singing Dragon, one of their names for the goddess, Vardama. There are always a number of them about, from a mixture of tribes. Formally, the sith use it to sing the souls of their dead back to the land of Wing and Flame, and celebrate the Memory of Blood. It was here that brave heroes stood, and vanquished the ashen warriors of old, thereby freeing the land from Thul's curse. Informally, it is a gathering place.
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-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- At a glance around W02: Mictlan -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Cryosanthia 6'9" 291 Lb Sith-Makar Female A dashingly tall, elegant white-scaled lizard woman. Galidor 6'9" 265 Lb Sith-Makar Male Sith-makar with golden claws. Geir 5'8" 200 Lb Sith-Makar Male A short, copper-scaled Sith-makar. Seyardu 5'6" 150 Lb Sith-Makar Female A friendly silver sith-makar with a perpetual squint. Sjach 7'0" 268 Lb Sith-Makar Male Lithe emerald and charcoal sith male. Un'eth 6'2" 275 Lb Sith-Makar Female An ebon-scaled female Sith-makar Swiftclaw 11' 6" 643 Lb Swiftclaw Female A black-scaled Swiftclaw with a white pattern along spine. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= NPCs of Note =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Little Fang 'Lily' Kobold Female A pinkscale youngling in a bathing suit, Cryo's daughter. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=
It's a hot and hazy day, with a bright blue sky full of towering clouds.
Inside Mictlan's magical barrier, it's still hot and even more humid. Not approaching the jungles of Am'shere, but close enough to evoke some homesickness.
The People are going about their business.
Galidor is here putting in some time to do his shaman duties, but also getting to talk and be around some of his own kind. As exciting as live is among the soft skins, it's nice to be in a place that is primarily your own people.
With the heat, the copper-scale is dressed down, wearing just a simple (for a Sith's body) pair of pants that are cut off at the knees, which leave his lower legs and tail free. The scars upon his chest and back are quickly and easily recognizable as the remains of many, many wounds inflicted by a whip. Geir's scales have healed or regrown in a haphazard manner, so that even the covered scars are noticeable.
With his armor and kit laid out around him on the ground, it looks like the Sith is tending to his armor.
Despite her promises of finding the sunniest rock that she could find to Cryosanthia, Seyardu immediately settled for the first large rock she found once settled into Mictlan from the journey. Dressed in more traditional am'shere leathers to make soaking in the sun easier, the silver sith-makar was splayed out on their stomach across the stone, eyes half closed as they rested. They were doing a lot of resting these days, and it was certainly needed.
Sjach, too, is enjoying the exceptionally warm weather- having arrived from Am'shere in the dead of Alexandrian fall, it was quite a shock for him that it got quite so cold here. On the bright side, he had discovered snow. On the not so bright side, he had discovered snow. He pads his way back into the camp, carrying over his shoulder a trio of nice fat wildfowl, strung together by the ankles. Like Geir, he is wearing only a simple pai of burlap trousers, tied at the waist and the knees with bits of hempen rope.
He has a crust of drying mud covering parts of his chest and face- and his swiftclaw companion is absolutely caked, from head to talon, in it.
The whitescaled Sith'Makar arrives in the area on an ebon and blue Swiftclaw, having taken a ride around Mictlan in her search for the sunniest rock, or something else. Likely something else. Riding on her shoulders, is a carnation scaled youngling. She's wearing everything, both of them. Cryosanthia has on her swashbuckling outfit, and Little Fang has a fawn coloured leather dress. Very much softskin fashion.
"Shaman Geir! Peace on your Nest. This one was... oh, Seyardu..."
Then, "Oh." She halts, and stares at a golden scaled male she's never encountered before, whose colours are hypnotic and ever shifting.
Little Fang, less easily impressed, waves at Sjach and asks the important question, "You have food?" <draconic>
Un'eth kept the trappings of her mul origins, which is why her scales are black and her fur is white. There is also some blue, in fact, in paterns. Not unlike tattoos or other body markings. She still finds it odd that there are sith wearing clothing. Admittedly, she doesn't wear clothing in any form, especially as a Swiftclaw.
Galidor spots the others as they come in or are all ready here as he makes his rounds, "Peace upon your nests." He says with a toothy grin as he doesn't seem to mind the warm weather in his robe. He spots the trio of fat wildfowl and nods to Sjach, "Congratulations on the successful hunt."
Sjach still sounds like a country bumpkin, even in draconic.
The copper-scale chuckles at the Kobold's important inquiry, his expression mirthful as he eyes Sjach, waiting to see the answer. The work of cleaning and mending armor temporarily forgotten. He looks to Cryosanthia. "Speaker.", he intones, "Peace on your nest. This one has met and acquainted himself with those present, excepting the golden-one." A clawed hand gestures to Galidor.
"But this one does believe that the little one has asked a very pressing question, one we should all eagerly await the answer to." A rumble in his throat can be heard, Geir attempting to suppress his chuckle.
The Swiftclaw is dressed in only her scales. Unless the white- and carnation-scaled riders qualify as accessories? Following the halt near the latest gathering of scales, snout points to said gather as others are watched for the moment, and scents are taken in.
Sjach dips his head in greeting to familiar and unfamiliar faces alike, "Peace on your nests." he offers in collective greeting. At Little Fang's question, he looks her way, "Yes. This one will pluck and trim them. Will you help?" he asks her.
Meanwhile, his swiftclaw- her belly quite fat, likely having had a sucessful hunt herself, flops down onto the ground. Her powerful hind claws scrape at the ground behind her, as she drags her belly along the cool earth for a few inches, before settling down, splayed out on the floor with the sun on her mud-covered back.
Galidor's egg may have been overcooked in the hatching nest.
She huffs a snort, sending flecks of not quite dry mud flying from her nostrils.
There was enough commotion to wake the silver sith-makar from her half slumber on the rock, at least enough for her to open her eyes while remaining on the rock with a dull thump of her tail against the stone.
"Perhaps I managed to find the best spot by accident, with how many are gathered here, I am sorry if I took up all of it." She notes, chuckling just a bit. "Peace on your nests, all of you. And hello, Cryosanthia, Lily. It is good to see you out here. Do you need any help with your catch, Sjach?"
Galidor smiles at all the new other sith-makar he has yet to meet and he's extremely happy to introduce himself. "I am Galidor Goldenclaws, Sorcerer of the First Circle, Scion of the Great Gold Dragons, in service to the Silver Empress, the Destroyer of Demons, the trolls know me as Andivar the Acid Splasher, the undead know me as the Davin the Disrupter, the plants known me as the Petrocov the Pruner, and the spiders know me as the Mikal the Missiler. You all may call me Galidor or Gal, if you prefer. I have recently come back to this area after being away for some time on a mission of great import. It is a pleasure to see you all here, the last time I was in this area there were very few other sith-makars at least that I knew. Although to be fair I did spend a lot of my time in the city helping the softskins with their seemingly numerous problems."
This is one shaman who loves to hear himself speak.
"Yesss." Little Fang insists, happy for Geir's support and to be part of the adult conversation, especially when it's so close to her interests.
Cryosanthia's scents aren't strong. She has a curious habit of unnecessarily wiping them away coupled with a tight hold on her emotional expression. It makes her seem wrong, like she's faint, a ghost, or not really there. Someone her size should be easy to scent.
Her youngling, Little Fang, is much easier to detect and smells both like herself, which is a Kobold, and her clutch-mother, Cryo. It's not a disguise exactly, but the first impression is she's a tiny Sith'makar youngling and then it's obvious she isn't.
Cryo slides off her Swiftclaw, patting her side then lets Little Fang down off her saddle so she can run over to Sjach. Which the pinkscale does, carefully avoiding the little Swiftclaw. Although that belly drag looks fun. She'll have to do that later.
The whitescale turns, listening to Galidor's introduction, then bows formally , "This one is Cryosanthia, Speaker-Caste. And... this one does not have titles."
Sjach looks over towards the goldscale, scaly eyelids unblinking, though the nictating membranes beneath do sweep horizontally across his amber orbs once or twice during the voluminous introduction. "Sjach." he offers his own name in reply, a pause, "Hunter-caste." he addends.
And then his attention goes back to Little Claw as she approaches. "We keep the feathers. The softskins trade for them." tells her then. He sets his catch down, and then heads over to his nearby tent, dragging out a sheet of burlap and a carved wooden bowl, which he sets down. "Feathers here." he indicates the sheet. "Innards here." he says, indicating the bowl. And then hands a knife over to the little kobold, antler-handle first. He takes his own obsidian blade out of the back of his pants, setting it down for now as he gets to pulling the feathers out of the first of the birds.
Geir eyes Galidor at length as the list of names seems in danger of being endless. "This one wonders if one has been in the company of soft-skin shamans for some time?", the copper-scale askes, his expression once again mirthful. "This one is Geir, shaman, one of the Deathdragon's own." He chuckles at Li'l Fang then, his mouth opening in an approximation of a soft-skin grin, though with probably too many teeth, and all of them pointy. "If hunter Sjach's catch is not pleasing, the stew pot by the main fire offers a surprise. Someone has made a curry dish. It is flavourful, and loaded with meat. Good for younglings."
Swiftclaw watches the pink youngling dart off for food... including its preparation, before turning her attention to the golden one of many titles. She then takes a stride towards the others and joins the introductions. "Un'eth, Shaman of the Tyrranik, Warder of Mictlan and Ea."
Little Fang takes the knife and watches Sjach, the copies him and sets it down. She pulls feathers. She has some experience at this, though it's clearly from her old tribe, she rips them out effectively and indelicately. At Geir's suggestion of the stew pot, her head pops up and she looks in it's direction.
"No, Little Fang. Finish what you start." Cryosanthia admonishes. This is followed by a laugh as she looks at 'her' Swiftclaw. "One day."
Followed by her attention returning to Galidor, "Confidant of the Silver Empress? Is the mission about the Shards? Have you spoken with her Emissary at the Gate? Does she have further instructions?"
Seyardu blinks some, pulling herself off of the rock, and into a seat. It was a lot of titles to take in, and people she had not met before.
"Seyardu, shaman caste, servant of the celestial mother." She adds herself. "I do not expect Sjach's catch to be unpleasing most likely."
"I have never heard of one with so many titles, however."
Cryosanthia, who has never met a gold-scaled Sith'makar before, puts it down to 'he's a Gold Scale', as her white dragon inferiority complex engages.
Galidor gives a head bob to each person that introduces themselves to him, "Wonderful to meet you all. I am of the Shaman-caste, although not of a particular diety. Although there was some indecision at the time of my choosing if I would go to the Shaman caste or to the Speaker caste. Ultimately I wished to delve deep into the mysteries of magic and thought the Shaman caste to be the best fit." He nods in agreement with Geir, "Yes the curry that was made today had plenty of those delicious spicy small vegetables in them, gives it a real whallop."
Galidor nods, "I have spent some time with the softskins. I have recently come back on a very important mission to Stormgarde, one of the elder shaman's had a missive he wished delivered by hand and to avoid suspicion he asked me to take it there on foot. It was a long journey, but I'm glad to be back.
Galidor ohs at Cryosanthia, "Well you see, I've never met the Silver Empress before in person, I'm in service to her like we all are in service to her. It was more to indicate that I don't follow the Teacher and an am argent supporter of the Empress. Has the Teacher been dealt with?" He asks curiously. "I've heard others talk about these shards, but I know very little. I have not spoken to her Emissary at the Gate, although I did try and was told they are very busy." He seems a bit deflated for a moment that he's not that important of a shaman. He looks to Sjach and Little Fang, "Do you need some help with that third one? I'm a fair hand at preparing meals."
The copper-scale returns his attention to his armor, and begins to pack everything up. Tools and bits of wiring are stored in a leather pack, and his armor is carefully folded, and then wrapped in his tabard. He chuckles as Little Fang is easily distracted by the offer of ready-to-eat food. "Yess, mother Cryosanthia knows best. Which is good, more for this one." The copper-scale snorts, a plume of acrid smoke rising from his nostrils.
"That, then, is the source of your endless names, no doubt.", he says in reply to Galidor, another chuckle sounding in his throat. As Seyardu abandons her sunning rock, Geir capitalizes on her mistake, moving to settle upon the rock, settlings back slightly and sighing, soaking in more of the sunshine.
Seing Little Claw distracted by the stewpot, Sjach says, "You can have the heart." he says, and taps his claw against the breast of the bird she is de-feathering. He is a little more practiced at dressing the bird, but still not particularly gentle about removing the feather by the fistfull and moves them over to the laid out burlap. When most of the large feathers are removed, he picks up his blade and scrapes it against the bald bird's skin to help remove what remains. And then he cuts off the head in one stroke, tossing it into the offal bowl.
Next is the gory business of removing the innards, which he does with practiced ease, adding them to the bowl. He fishes through them for a moment, picking the liver and heart back out, popping the former into his mouth and tossing the latter over to his juvenile swiftclaw, who opens one eye and then scrapes along the ground a bit more to snap it up without having to rise from her comfy sprawled position.
He wipes a blooded hand on his trouser leg, and then goes about the process of seperating legs, wings, splitting the breast in two, working the sharp bolcanic glass through skin and flesh and into joints to pop them apart.
"Well you speak like a Speaker-caster!" Cryo says with a laugh, and likely intends as a compliment. She does talk an awful lot. For the moment, some silence as she watches Galidor and organizes her thoughts. Or her next barrage of questions.
Little Fang grins widely at Sjach, hissing, "Eat the heart and grow strong." More feathers are eagerly ripped out and dumped in the bowl. She works along the chest, then back. She's slower than Sjach, clumsier, but watches his techniques whenever he changes to a new thing. She picks up her knife and runs it across the skin of her half-plucked bird, then goes back to the quick plucking.
Cryosantha smiles at Geir, and then at the Swiftclaw, saying quietly, "This one wishes to ask regarding a personal aspect, when it is good to."
"This one hopes to go to Stormgarde, this one has heard it is pleasantly cold." The whitescale tells Galidor, "The Teacher has not been dealt with. This one also supports the Treaty, the Silver Empress." She arches, running her hands down her front and emphasizing her mithril armour, "This was a gift, for representing her to the Arvek Nar. This one met her once, as a youngling with lots of others. She was very large and bright."
"The Shards of the Dead God are appearing in many places and the softskins scramble for them. Two noteables are in charge, Griva Brassbringer, a Khazadi wizard of Rune, and Lady Akoniril Belvade, of Charn, and priestess of Taara. The Emissary instructed this one to investigate further, and has done so with Iuitl and other's assistance, but have not many results to share."
"Yessss." Little Fang agrees, "You, Ssassa talkss a lot."
"The silver empress is very nice." Seyardu agrees simply. Though she looks at the rock, now occupied by Geir, and sighs. "I hope that everything being handled will be resolved safely. I will likely be taking a trip on related business, at some point."
Geir snorts loudly at Little Fang. "The softskins have a saying, 'from the mouth of babes'. You are quite astute, Little Fang, and tell the truth openly. Good girl." He chuckles, his eyes bright.
The copper-scale cants his head slightly, looking to Cryosanthia curiously. "Oh? This one is willing to discuss, when one is able." Geir watches as the catches are carved up, nodding at the uses of the heart and liver, though his gaze looks to Seyardu. "This one could relinquish a portion of the rock, yes?"
Sjach remains conspicuously quiet on the topic of the Silver Empress- then again, he is usually quiet. He nods his head as the youngling works, "Good." he offers, simply, in approval at her handywork. Having finished dressing and seperating this particular bird out, he drags the second one over by the ankles, and gets to work on plucking this one as well.
Galidor chuckles a bit, "I suppose so, I did not take these names until after I had joined the softskin's Adventure Guild. They seems very impressed when I say them loudly." His attention goes to Cryosanthia and he nods at the compliment, "Thank you. It was indeed cold although not too harshly. I had experienced what the softskins called winter here so I had some fur coverings with him."
Galidor leans in a bit too look at the mithril armor, "A beautiful gift from the Empress and you are lucky. If you need more help in investigating I am at your disposal. I have heard nothing but good things about the Silver Empress I hope to one day meet her myself. It is unfortunately that the Teacher still finds those that seek more violent solutions. Thank you for catching me up on what's been going on."
"I'm not a nestling." Little Fang says firmly, hearing but not understanding. Although the Shaman did say she was good. Her bird plucked now, she stabs it with her little knife and cuts open the belly the way Sjach did. Eagerly she pulls the innards outwards and dumps them in the other bowl, sawing where necessary. Her little claw-hands covered in red.
Cryo dips her head towards Geir, "This one is grateful. A cleansing ceremony would be appreciated also." She grins as the copper and silver-scale share the rock, checks on Lily's progress, Sjach, the small well-fed Swiftclaw, the large, likely hungry Swiftclaw before returning to gaze at Galidor again.
She almost gets lost watching how the light reflects off him. "This one needs aid..." She straightens, glances at Seyardu, faces Galidor once more. She hasn't blinked at all, "There is more. There are demons and devils in Alexandria. Seyardu was present at an attack. They have been there for some time, since last year. Svarshan, best demon hunter, has not been available lately. Your talents in that area will come in useful."
Seyardu faced Cryosanthia for just a moment, bowed her head, and looked away. She was still bothered by the thought, but not as much as before.
"There were demons, devils, something of that sort, yes. And there were others that were working with them. I haven't heard since thankfully, but I cannot help but wonder if they are just biding their time."
Sjach makes swift work of the second bird, though he is careful not to go so quickly that little fang is unable to watch as he works. Feathers, head, innards, then seperated into eight pieces. When it is all done, he wipes his knife off on his now bloodied trouser leg and tucks it away again. "The feet are good to chew on." he tells little fang then. "Crunchy and chewy." he adds then. He gathers up the bits of the bird, ready to take them over towards a campfire for cooking.
Galidor listens intentionally, "Demons and shards of a dead god, I also heard that someone from that accused nation of Charn is involved, well we must see that whatever that softskin from Charn wants they do not get." He ahs, "That is too bad that Svarshan is not here. He is a great demon fighter. I did fight a demon once and did destroy it with the help of others and well it wasn't a very big demon, but it did not like the magic missiles I cast upon it. If we are fighting devils and demons I shall have to get cold iron and silver bolts for my crossbow. Although I hope I can remember which goes with which one the time comes." He chuckles.
Little Fang is quick to catch up, sectioning her bird, seeming to know where to put the knife to pop out the leg joints. She nods, the feet are good to chew. She somewhat more messily grabs all her bird parts and follows with bounds and a bouncy tail.
Cryosanthia remains challenged by the goldscale and his many titles, and grabs more random things to talk about. She has titles she could use, theoretically, but they're all embarrassing and denote failure, or her strange hobbies, such as playing the drums in a golem-only band. Her tails sways slowly from side to side, "This one met a devil undertaking accounting fraud. He begged us to kill him. Which, we didn't. It's best not to do what devils ask. I did correct some addition mistakes he'd made. He wasn't happy. This one and her party came across him when we were searching an old Temple of Animus for a shard."
"Ultimately nothing really came of it." The whitescale purses her lips, "I think, cold iron for demons and silver for devils. Mostly, I hope to hit hard, and try not to get showered in boiling blood."
Galidor laughs as he hears about Cryosanthia's adventures with the devil, "Yes I've never met a devil before, but I have heard it's best not to take their deals. Oh I'm sure he wasn't. Really you searched an old Temple of Animus. It's too bad you didn't get to a shard there, but still it must have been something to see an old Temple like that. Have you been adventuring around Alexandria for very long? I'd love to share stories with you, although I don't have too many, just mainly fighting trolls, undead, plants and spiders." He reaches into his pack, "I still have a bottle of mana infused water I think from one of my adventures. I'm fairly certain I didn't drink it."
Her rock was taken now, with Geir seeming to be resting for the time being. So with great reluctance, She stretches and leaves her spot, standing up properly and still falling short of most of the nearby sith-makar.
"Demons in various places. I should see about getting more weapons to deal with them myself at some point."
She glances to Sjach, and to Cryosanthia, pausing a moment. "You should likely get cleaned up after your hunting, Sjach. And I was wondering if you may be free, Cryosanthia. I still would wish to see how those sleeves you acquired work. And if you still wish to share a memory with me, as I have been curious."
Sjach nods, heaing off and cooking food with Lily.
"Oh, about a year, a year and a half." Cryosanthia says with a laugh, "I took a couple weeks off in the middle for eighty years but most of my time has been in Alexandria. The Temple was unusual, Poor repair. The squatter who summoned the devil had made a mess of it. Something drew him there, but it wasn't a shard, and he used the site as his base."
The whitescale listens, "This one has fought trolls, bandits, infernal lizards, more bandits, demons, a vampire, and has had many interactions with Fey."
She turns to Seyardu, "Oh, yes, of course!" The whitescale concentrates and her clothes vanish, leaving only a cape, corset, gloves, boots and her mithril mail shirt. She takes removes two sleeves and holds them for Seyardu, "Slide them on to your elbows, and then think about something you'd like to wear. The first few times it helps to rub at the sleeves. It can't do armour, although it can cover it up."
"Let this one think of a good memory..."
Galidor looks a bit confused, "You took a couple of weeks off in the middle for eighty years?" He asks for clarification, "It is a shame to see a devil summoned in what once was a holy place." He nods as he's super impressed, 'You have been very busy helping the softskins around here. I hope that one day I can boast such accomplishments as your's." He turns to watch the demonstration of the magical item. "Impressive, I had hopes of getting some magical items in Alexandria, a headband to increase my magic and a cloak to better protect myself, do you know of any in the city that create such magical items."
"It is Cryosanthia's choice if she wishes to speak of it." Seyardu notes, blinking as the sleeves were taken off, and she accepts them. "It would be good for it to be less obvious I am armored usually. I am sure there is a memory that could be thought of."
The sith-makar slips on the fabric, finding them covering a bit more of her arms than Cryosanthia's due to the height difference. She rubbed the fabric and closed her eyes, a set of clothes popping into existence. The same vest and skirt from before, both in shades of light gray. Seyardu takes a moment to inspect them, and nods. "They feel normal, and look normal. Did the blue turn out properly? I was going off of a shirt that someone was showing me in a shop one time."
"Yes." The whitescale says. She has large horns, the kind it might take a century to grow. There's a heaviness on her eye-ridges, elbows, that suggests some maturity despite her mannerisms. She has a body language which is strange, more like the Fey than the People, even if it's rounded on the edges.
Cryosanthia nods again, moving onto the next question, "Yes. There is Mikilos, and he is wonderful. His shop is up the mountain and has a giant giant's sword advertizing it. Also, Morgan is quite competent, she's often at the Fernwood Pub. My scale-sister Braelnoir is there, and a good friend of hers. There's the Seer of Eluna... Merek. He is an accomplished crafter. He made those sleeves."
She hesitates, then says, "Normal work will be good for him, yes, he should be consulted. This one can't say where to find him, but he wanders Alexandria a lot, you are bound to encounter him sooner or later."
Cryo turns to examine Seyardu, pacing slowly around her, tail bobbing, "The fit is excellent, you may wish this section a little lower over your tail. The blue did not turn out, it is more a matte silver-shade."
She exhales slowly, "There are lots of memories, most mundane and insignificant, others too terrifying."
Swiftclaw stalks away.
Galidor holds up his claws, "I wouldn't want to dredge up painful memories, sometimes the past is best left in the past." He smiles, "Thank you for the recommendations. I shall look into them when I head back to the city." He watches as Seyardu uses the sleeves and he is again impressed, "Amazing. Yes except for the color not being what you wanted one could not tell that these were not real clothing."
"I thought I got it right. Oh well." The sith-makar sighs, rubbing one of the sleeves again and makes the suggested change, swiping their tail around a few times and nodding. "much easier than working behind oneself with buttons and pleats to get a tail through something as well." She notes while pulling the sleeves off and handing them back to Cryosanthia. "There is no rush to think of a memory just right now. Perhaps it would be easier if I was to share one of my own first, though I have never actually done so myself."
"I should go help with the cooking most likely, I have spent too much time sunning on a rock as it is." She finishes, turning to where the fire pits were.
Cryosanthia nods, taking the sleeves back and slipping them into her haversack. She seems inclined to dress down, now that she's in Mictlan, but doesn't start stripping just yet. She nods, "Yes. It... is quite personal, sharing memories. You will feel everything the other felt. The sun, the grass, an upset stomach. The embarassment potential is great."
She looks in the direction of the fire pits. "This one should come also, and ensure Lily isn't into mischief. She gets along well with Sjach, which is good. He is distant also."
The whitescale follows along, glancing around, "I wonder where Un'eth wandered off to. Ah well."
Dramatis Personae
Galidor
Galidor stands 6'9" tall and has an array of metallic scales covering his body. Like a melting pot of metals, there are streaks and swirls glittering scales that meld into one another. Veins of metallic scales will run for a time before disappearing into another other only to reappear later. He has no consistent color of scales on his body except for on his hands. Looking as if they had been dipped in pure gold the color runs from the tips of his finger to midway up his forearm. The gold colored scales then disappear into a more molten bronze with streaks of silver. Even his claws are a slightly darker shade of gold. *Galidor build might look solid, but he has a definite lack of muscle tone. His head has a row of horns coming out from where his jaw meets his neck and goes up along the both sides of his head. The horns are pointing back towards two larger horns. He also has a small row of horns around his eyes and a trio of horns on his chin. (Please see link for inspirational reference: http://paizo.com/image/content/RiseOfTheRunelords/Dragon-Gold.jpg)
Galidor wears simple sapphire blue robe with a matching sashed tied around his waist, which holds his dagger and spell component pouch. On his back is a pack that has a heavy mace strapped to one side and a light crossbow on the other.
Geir
The Sith-makar before you is dressed in heavy scale mail. The armor has been coloured a dark grey, like untouched basalt.
The tabard, pulled over the armor, is the same colour, and is marked with a golden scale. The mark of Vardama. From their belt hangs a sheathed khopesh, and upon their back is a kite shield, daubed the same colour as the armor. Occasionally a spear is carried over one shoulder, as well several other bags and pouches, hanging from his belt or straps tied to his armor.
The dragonborn's face is dominated by a scaled ridge that extends from his nose to the back of his head. The nose is a short snout, and lines up perfectly with his pointed, and horned, chin. The ridges over his yellow eyes run into the two, sweeping, horns that extend a good foot and a half past his neck. The pupils of his eyes are slits, like a large cat's. Also very catlike is his long, flexible tail, which follows along behind him, his armor (and clothing) having been tailored to allow it freedom of movement.
The colour of his scales is a rich, orange and copper glow. Some of his scales, like those on his face, are prominent and spade-shaped. His hands and feet are covered in such scales too, with all of his digits and toes ending in black, curved claws. The rest of his scales, on his face, arms, legs and torso, are small, well formed... fitting together so precisely as to become invisible. Which creates the effect of solid, but flexible, metal.
Cryosanthia, Speaker of the Sith'makar
Cryosanthia is an elegant sith-makar woman in the first year of her second century. She radiates confidence, a deep power from within. Her scales are a brilliant white, highlighted by ones which are the palest of glacial blues. These pale scales trace out the scars she used to bear, her hide is restored. She bears two fantastic patterns of these, one on her chest, the other completely covering her back from crest to tailtip. When the light hits right, one sees the dragon within. Her bearing is intense, her motions minimal grace. Two horns sweep back from her brow. Her eyes are like glittering saphhire gems, and when she blinks her eyelids have the glacial blue to them as well. She carries no weapons, and still keeps a tiny bag close to her heart.
Her clothing is various ensembles. At times she wears a layered robe, a mithril swashbuckling outfit, kilted leather, a loincloth, or nothing. The colours inevitably mirror her own. Brilliant white with shimmering blue highlights, piping and whorls. Snowflakes and dragon-eyes are a common motif.
Cryo has been changed, physically and fundamentally by her experiences. She grew into herself under the Queen of Endless Winter, and struggles to reconnect with herself, her body, and friends she hasn't seen in decades. Alien at times even to the sith-makar, her heritage is written on her scales, along with her spells.
Seyardu
While not as physically imposing as many others of her kind, Seyardu still towers over most regardless. The sith-makar is covered in bright silver scales, with almost metallic, silvery eyes that are usually found in what looks like an appraising squint. Two long, ridged horns curve forward on their face, and a long tail trails slightly on the ground, keeping them balanced. Usually they are seen in town with simple, plain clothes, a simple vest and accompanying gray skirt. A large rucksack is usually slung over her back with most of her worldly posessions, with a large wooden shield, well used but completely bare, save for a rough dark black painting of a dragon's head.
Sjach
This male sith-makar stands at an even seven feet tall, though is considerably longer from tail tip to muzzle. He carries himself with noble grace, not as bulky as many of his kind but possessed of a lean, well-toned physique suited to swimming and running.
His scales are two tone, emerald green and shiny on much of his body, though his belly and chest are charcoal grey and matte. He has Amber eyes, his pupils vertical slits, and possesses translucent horizontal nictating membranes in addition to eyelids, which sometimes open and close independently.
He has ridges of bony spines, which begin above his nostrils, following the contours of his muzzle, framing the top of his eyes, and increasing in length as they crest his head, before merging into a single ridge that runs the length of his spine all the way to the tip of his tail.
He wears a simple unadorned breastplate of burnished bronze, which protects him from throat to hips. He has a length of rope coiled diagonally across his chest, and a quiver hanging from his hip. In more civilised climes, he can usually be found wearing a pair of simple burlap breeches, though tied at the digitigrade knees to leave his clawed feet bare.
Un'eth
This Sith-makar is lithe, lean muscle moving beneath scales along long limbs and torso. Said scales are near monochromatic; glistening ebon across most of her (she is female, for those able to determine such) form. The front of her torso shifts from charcoal to near-white across her stomach, matching with the points of small ivory horns in a row sweeping back across each brow above segmented ear-frills. From the nape of her neck to between her shoulderblades, the ebon scales are broken by a smattering of scales that form patterns in starkly contrasting aquamarine before returning to pure black down spine to tailtip. There are other splashes of color here and there: beneath her chin and down her throat, scales shimmer in a coppery hue, and flecks of green pick out a broken, spiralling path down her arms as if vines about a tree.
Her attire, if it could be called this, is minimal and simple. A worn henna cloak drapes from her shoulders; an amulet from her neck; a leather belt; a small pouch.
as a Swiftclaw
This Swiftclaw is like many of it's brethren: sleek, muscular, and with notable teeth and toe-claws. The lengthy tail extends behind it to balance head and neck and allow for quick movement. What could be unusual is that the scales are midnight black, save for contrasting white highlights across head and down its spine. Amidst the white scales are several in teal that form a pattern of wavey lines and sworls.