Survival and Prosperity

Log Info

• Title: Survival and Prosperity
• Emitter: Cryosanthia
• Characters: Cryosanthia, Geir, Un'eth
• Place: W02: Mictlan
• Time: Wednesday, March 11, 2020, 6:07 PM
• Summary: Cryosanthia has finished Speaker Dance practice in Mictlan. Shaman Geir is wrapping up his story telling session. The two meet, and a giant Dire Wolf joins them, and swiftly turns into Un'eth, Warden of Mictlan. Cryo has some questions of the other two, centered around Ancestors and what their opinion of modern times would be. She is concerned that having direct communication with them, the way Seldan does, would make her a worse person. The two assure her that while sith-makar ancestors and traditions are rigid, they are not inflexible and they survived and prospered, and that is something. Geir has shaman duties to attend to, and departs. Un'eth shares a story of her past, her connections with Durrankar and Svarshan, her birth as a mul'neissa and re-birth as a sith-makar. Cryo is astounded at both the tale and amount of trust Un'eth has to share it with her, and promises to absorb the messages and share it when appropriate.

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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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-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-  Appearing, in Order  -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Cryosanthia  6'7"     245 Lb     Sith-Makar        Female    A dashingly tall, lithe white lizardgirl with tattoos.
Geir         5'8"     200 Lb     Sith-Makar        Male      A short, copper-scaled Sith-makar.
Dire Wolf    9'3"     525 Lb     Dire Wolf         Female    A large white-furred dire wolf.
Un'eth       6'2"     275 Lb     Sith-Makar        Female    An ebon-scaled female Sith-makar
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The Speaker-Caste has been holding dancing classes, for those Speakers so inclined. As before, an area has been prepared for their practice and made magically warmer by the shamans. It approximates the heat of Am'shere in the summer, to allow for looser muscles and more flexibility. It can also lead to overheating, and the dancers are regularly sent off to cool down, either walking it off or lying in the snow.

Cryosanthia is hit by the heat a little harder than most, being a cold type, and took breaks more often. She's dressed in only a small skirt. Her heavy leathers set aside for the moment. She manages to make it through the final routine, and then the troop breaks for the day. She waves to the other dancers, then sets off for the edge of the temperature controlled zone with a jug of cold water she's holding to her chest.

Some distance away from the area set aside for the dancing, a horde of younglings flock around a singular Sith. The copper-scale is clad in his usual armor with its grey hue and prominent symbol of the Death Dragon. The younglings appear to be enraptured by a story the shaman is telling, using magic to enhance the telling. There's a sudden burst of light, with a cacophony of squeaks and squawks, and the laughter of Geir is loud indeed.

And then, he brings forth a sizable burlap sack, from which he pulls a variety of goods from Alexander... all of them tasty, with the potential to ruin dinners. After a short burst of activity, the horde begins to disperse.

The sound of younglings is always joyous and draws Cryo's attention. She looks over to see the dispersing group. They streamoff in all directions; a younger echo of the dancers going their own way. The flash of copper scales is familiar, and she alters course to approach Geir.

"Peace on your nest, Shaman Geir. Is there anything left in the sack, or was the looting tremendous?" Cryo cranes her head with a smile, making a small courtsey. Her movements have the heavy jerkiness of fatigue. She also takes a long drink from her jug.

Geir's attention remains on the retreating younglings for a brief moment longer, before he looks to Cryosanthia. His expression is mirthful, and he reaches into the sack, and pulls forth a small object wrapped in wax paper. "Peace on your nesst.", he intones, offering up the object to the white-scale Sith. "This is a small passtry. They make a mixture of crusshed apple slicess, brown sshugar, and ssinamon, and wrap ssmall dollopss in a thick passtry. Coated in more sshugar and then baked. Almosst sinful."

The scampering of younglings is a delight, even if they may or may not have had meals (or otherwise been) spoiled with treats from elsewhere. The sight brings an amused rumble from the large white-furred lupine that emerges from the treeline, dragging a felled boar in its jaws. Because all need to eat, and most enjoy bacon.

Cryosanthia sets her jug down and eagerly takes the pastry, ripping open the wrapping. She's unsure what to do with that so it gets tucked into her waistband for later. She sniffs at the pastry, licks is, is about to bite into it when she sees a dire wolf emerge from the treeline. It's dragging a boar, no one is reacting, this must be normal even if she's never seen it before.

Still, just to be safe, she ask Geir, "That wolf is known?" She's also ready to cram the pastry and eat it quickly, in case the wolf has a sweet tooth and comes for her treat. No cookie left behind!

The copper-scale watches Cryo's inspection of the treat with humour in his eyes, though when she points out the wolf, his expression grows serious. "Perhapss.", he says quietly. "One cannot imagine the hunterss and warriorss would allow ssuch a large one to remain in the forestss around Mictlan." He sniffs and straightens. "There are many here. Only ssick or injured are a concern."

Dire Wolf releases the boar and turns to trot towards the discusson her. "Peace on your nests. I would be a poor Warder if I was a threat to Mictlan or The People."

Cryo blinks. She does not drop her pastry. She does however, bobble it up in the air and has to snatch at it twice before she catches it again. Suddenly straight in posture, she blurts, "Peace on your Nest! This one was not expecting conversation. The wolves I have seen were ridden by goblins and unfriendly. This one is Cryosanthia, Speaker."

Geir eyes the wolf as it trots to their location, his eyes widening slightly as it begins to speak. He chuckles and taps a clawed finger to his nose. "One knows of you, shaman-who-wears-the-wolfpelt. Peace on your nesst." The copper-scale looks to Cryosanthia then. "How doess it taste?", he wonders, of the pastry.

"I am Un'eth, Shaman of the Tyrranik, Warder of Mictlan and of Ea," she returns the introduction. "The creatures of Ea are not enemy nor vile by nature. It is others who turn them such." Geir's comment draws a rumbling, bemused growl. "I held this form for many, many years. It is comfortable, and fur weathers snow and chill far better than scale."

"Oh, ah, oh!" Cryo replies, feeling like a youngling after Un'eth's introduction. She makes a quick curtsey, although she returns to her very rigid 'at attention' posture. Geir's inquiry does give her an out, though, and she finally gets a bite of her pastry. It is swirled in her mouth, poked at by her tongue, then swallowed.

"It is delightful! The crust crunches like a cicada, the filling is very thick, slimy and still holds a lingering warmth. The sugar blends nicely with the tart of the apple-fruit, the flesh of which has become spongey in an amusing way."

The copper-scale cants his head ever so slightly at Cryosanthia's commentary on the treat, and he snorts, following that with a chuckle. "That is more ssaid about the passtry than any ten otherss combined. One is pleassed. Perhapss ssimilar pastries will follow thiss one home in future." Geir looks to the wolf and nods solemnly. "One doess not mind the cold, even if the warmth of Am'shere is misssed."

Dire Wolf ripples and alters, gaining or retaining humanoid form, yet growing a muscular tail as her body smooths over in fine ebon scales.

Un'eth's form alters so that she may properly, if amusedly, thump her tail upon the ground. "Welcome to Mictlan," she offers formally, before her snout turns to Geir. "When the younglings fail to rest this night, the choice of whom should aid their cartakers whill be an easy one."

Cryosanthia stares, watching the transformation. The rippling shift of form. She blinks again, then her questions unload, "You are striking both ways. Does your mind change? Your eyes did, the colours, how you see, does the world become different as well? Are the scents of mammals unlocked? Do those of the people become mysterious? Sounds, are different? Is what was palatable become inedible and your stomach turn? Fleas and... no, you would not be plagued with either I expect. How does fur feel?"

Cryo has a chance now to get the rest of her pastry in her mouth, and does so, savoring it, before picking up her jug of water and taking a long draught.

"One has just the sstory for putting little oness to ssleep.", Geir says with a chuckle. "The Care and Feeding of a Mountain Temple. All the proper proceduress for caring for a Temple. All the way down to how to precissely mix grey paint to match all the drapess and robes." He pauses and looks to Cryosanthia. "Or one can ssimply have her assk many quesstions of the little ones. Hmmm hmm mmmh."

Un'eth looses a staccato hiss at Cryosanthia's curiosity. "My mind is my own, yet all else changes. Sights, scents, the touch of the breeze about or ground underfoot... all this changes." A brief snort. "Fur is pleasant. Moreso than scales in some ways, less so in others. Fleas are a less than pleasant addition."

"It sounds incredibly challenging." Cryo steps back at the hiss, her tail swaying slowly, then holds out her jug, "Do you want some water?"

She looks over at Geir, "There is a precise way to mix the paint? Are you sure adding my questions to the little ones' would be an improvement?"

"Hmm, jusst so. One may experiment with such sshifting magics when one has the time to do sso.", the copper-scale says quietly. "Fleess do not sseem like something to welcome. One is glad to be sscaled." Geir looks to Cryosanthia and chuckles. "One wonderss if there is anything in thiss world that could not improve ssuch a thing."

"Truth. This one shall fill them full of things to ask." Cryosanthia grins, dipping her snout in her jug and taking a sip of water. "This one has magic cleaning gloves that get rid of them, even lunch, if one is not careful."

"What was the story you were telling them?"

Geir's eyes narrow ever so slightly, and his expression takes on a rather cheeky look. "One musst come to sstory hour if one wantss to learn of it. One speakss of adventure. Of the ancestors. Of ancient thingss. Of one's travelss." He straightens, and winks. "Thiss night it was the Ssith that climbed a hill but came down a mountain."

"One wonders how that is possible, but supposes that is the lesson. This one is very interested and will strive to appear." Cryosanthia glances over her shoulder at the practice area, "When one is available too."

She bends low, arching her back, then straightens up once more. Her tail ticks side to side behind her. "Were... our ancestors noble and heroic? I honour them, but when I think long on the events of their time, I... wonder how the world looked to them, how they saw other kinds." She looks at Un'eth.

"The Ancestors knew little of others," Un'eth notes, "for most of history. Am'shere was separate, unknown, isolated, and others knew little or were unconcerned. There was little room for concern of others beyond one's own tribe, as the jungle is not forgiving."

Geir nods slowly to Cryo's request, and cants his head at her question. The copper-scale nods once more after Un'eth's reply. "One would say they were noble. Heroic. Though, as Un'eth sayss, the jungle is unforgiving. They did as they must, sso, is it noble and heroic?"

"That... is a concern of mine. One of them. Survival... is not always heroic." Cryo says, holding her jug close. Her clawtips tap on the side of it. She exhales and takes another sip then launches into her thoughts. "This one has been speaking with a human, who has many of his ancestors in a blade. It is quite entertaining to speak with it. They are of different times and argumentative. One thinks it might even be a form of hell, to be trapped in a prison of thought with ones grandparents or grandchildren and unable to escape. They speak of their former homeland and hope to guide him. It made me think of the long future, and long past. At first I thought it would be enjoyable to speak with the anscestors..."

The white-scale looks at Geir, "I know they did as they must, and were the foundation for what we are now, so thre must have been some seed. But when the Sith-Makar tribes warred with themselves, and with the Ko-jodakh and the Nar-sektoth, how would one from that time Speak now, interpret going forth? Would they not find themselve allying with the Teacher and not The Empress? Would they say that the sith-makar outside Am'shere dwindled because they were not isolated enough? That there is no friendships with softskins as they were before even Castes? Are these things the Shaman-Caste knows, having touched the past more?"

"That one's tribe, one's younglings, survived and prospered is worthy of praise," Un'eth notes. "When life is a battle, there is little need for other grand adventures or epic conflicts to find heroes. As for the softskins, they should be judged on their own, individual merits. They are far more scattered in purpose and desire than The People."

Geir goes silent as Cryosanthia speaks, his expression fading to a passive neutrality. He nods to Un'eth, agreeing with what the druid says. "Heroic often doess not feed a family. Heroic often resultss in death. Fear is a useful tool for ssurvival, heroic goess too far in quelling fear." The copper-scale rolls his shoulders, and tilts his head back and forth a few times. "It is often difficult to do what is right. And what... right meanss changess over time. One cannot easily judge the passt through the lensse of the present." He slowly raises a hand, to gently squeeze her shoulder. "We all try to do what iss right, or heroic. Ssometimess we are wrong. Sshould we beat ourselves for all eternity afterwardss?"

The coppery one lets out a long breath, and looks away. "The ancesstors are what they are. They have not exissted in nothingnesss, they have watched over us. They ... well, many, are not blind to change. Traditionss, casste, many thingss of our People are rigid. Not unchanging. But resisstant to change. Yet, the People have changed. Finding thiss world has wrought much change. Ancesstors, for the mosst part, are not foolish.. excepting a very sselect few."

"This one was thinking more personally." Cryo says quietly, thinking everything over. As a nervous habit, without even really noticing she casts a cantrip and draws her arcane mark on the jug she's holding. There's a brief glow amongst the markings on her arm. She chuffs a breath, then adds a small laugh, "and this one has not laid yet, so the measure of prosperity is incomplete. My worry is, knowledge of the past will make me worse. I'm foolish, I make a lot of mistakes."

Un'eth snorts lightly, not derisively, "Seek the wisdom of the past only if you wish, as The People of the present can guide you just as well, if not better. Those of the here and now are far more accepting than those of the past. I would not be here, as I am now, if not for my brothers, my cihuaa, and their tribes."

Geir looks to Un'eth a moment, and nods. "Just sso." He looks back to Cryosanthia. "One lookss at thingss thiss way. If one cannot remember the passt, one is doomed to repeat it. That is the wissdom of the passt. We all live in the present. Un'eth's is the wisdom of the present. Remember the passt, live in the present. That is the wisdom of the future."

"This one can remember that!" Cryo says with grin and a gleam in your eye. She nods, looking at Un'eth, then back to Geir, a solemnity returning. "This one will ask you things, then, from time to time, with permission. This one's ties are few. Most in Am'shere, broken. Here, new, weak as spider silk.

"He speaks the truth," Un'eth affirms Geir's words, then offers to Cryosanthia, "As one who arrived without tribe or people and perhaps not even myself... All that was lost and needed, whether known to me or not, was found here. May you may find the same, and more."

The copper-scale is silent for a time before nodding to Cryosanthia. "One would be happy to answer what questions he can. And to offer kinship. Friendship." His eyes flick to Un'eth, "You were lost, but have found yourself. You possess an uncanny wisdom others would do well to listen to."

"How were you lost of self? You seem very much... you! Scales of striking colour, that aquamarine is lovely, full of power, comfortable in fur." Cryosanthia blinks at Un'eth, her words tumbling out with surprise.

Geir's words are not missed, however. The palescale focuses on him, "This one would like friendship, kinship."

She turns her attention back to Un'eth, "My apologies, the questions came, you do not need to answer them."

Un'eth's ear frills flutter and her tail flicks in mirth. "I owe any claim of wisdom to my younglings and cihuaa. Wise is not how I would consider myself, certainly not before..." All three appendages then still as she looks to Cryosanthia and her questions. "The marks I bear are the blessings of Ea's Breath, the very spirit of the wind. Yes, I am comfortable in fur... as I bore fur long before I ever bore scales, Speaker Cryosanthia."

The white-scales eye ridges crease in concentration. She blinks. Her tail has likewise gone still, and she's got a good grip on her jug. She carefully asks, "How... is that? Your scales were wrong, some mutation? You were not born a sith?"

"Ssa," Un'eth confirms, snout dipping in the softskin gesture of affirmation. "I was born, not hatched, and it was far from the jungles of Am'shere. Aggressors then came," her voice lowers in pitch and hisses low. "They claimed our land, murdered my family, destroyed or enslaved my people. They ceased to be. I had nothing. There was only myself," her claws spread wider, more expansive, "and Ea. For Ea always surrounds us."

Cryosanthia nods, listening intently, focused entirely on Un'eth and unblinking. Her tail has stopped moving. At the expansive gesture, she looks around following the claws. She bobs her head again, staying silent.

Un'eth crouches, tail begining to sway anew. "I travelled upon and under Her for countless winters. Rarely did I see another, and never did I seek others out. It was not until I arrived here that I was near others for any time. It was here that I first met the Sith-maker. Svarshan, The Brightscale. Now my brother."

Cryosanthia follows Un'eth down in the crouch, letting her tail sway in balance and setting the jug she's been clutching aside. "As a spirit? This one does not understand. I know Svarshan! He has been a great security and comfort to me. Very protective, and I have needed it."

"As a wolf," Un'eth expounds, "as you saw... or perhaps smaller, then. I was not as close to Ea at that time, not as blessed. That form aided my travel, hunting food, and shielded me from the mul'niessan soldiers. The murderers."

"This one is familiar with those." Cryosanthia says quietly, slouching a little closer to the ground, "and feeling foolish to not connect the obvious. You were a wolf, born a wolf? This one did not know they had that much mind. I can see how that form would be a thing of Ea, overlooked and unremarked. Safe, in a sense."

Un'eth's snout shakes. "No, I was not born as a wolf. Ea's blessings granted me that form, and I embraced it. I avoided all on two-legs. Some were despised, all were distrusted. As I said, I was lost. No family, no tribe, not even a people. Not that I could acknowledge."

Un'eth shifts and distorts, eventually forming into a wiry Mul'niessa partially covered in a worn cloak.

"Ea's blessings allowed me to escape," Un'eth adds following her change, "and not see a murderours fiend in every pool and stream. Speaker."

Cryosanthia was not expecting that transformation. In her surprise she backs up, ending sprawled on the ground with one hand raised protectively. She lowers it, slowly and with great embarassment. She stares. "I apologize for my fears. This is... a lot I had no idea could be."

Uneth ripples and alters, gaining or retaining humanoid form, yet growing a muscular tail as her body smooths over in fine ebon scales. Cryosanthia remains sitting on the ground, staring upwards, somewhere between terror and amazement. "And yet in all three your mind is the same? It does not change even though everything has? Water is the same no matter what glass it is in, but it still has the shape of the container. This one struggles to imagine ... all of it, how you think, how you be."

She rocks, gets her feet underneat her, then rises up. "You have taken me where I have no words."

Un'eth does not appear surprised by the reaction, and her reversion is prompt. "Do not apologize, young one. My reaction was the same, though time turned fear to anger. To hate. Even that form was abhored, and so I avoided it. In time, it was never used... yet I was still tied to it."

Un'eth pauses to stretch, as if the brief shift was uncomfortable. "With further time, I grew close to the Sith-Makar here. Svarshan, Durrankar, Sebropert, and others. Those closest learned of this, yet did not shun nor revile me. I learned to take this form." She gestures to herself. "They then brought me to Am'shere, and, with the help of the Shamans, I was welcomed in and blessed with the true gift of The Blood. This became my true self, and not only what I wished to be."

"This one knows you are of the Blood. This one recognizes your true self." Cryosanthia says, very formally, facing Un'eth and locking her eyes with her own. "Svarshan and Durrankar are known to this one. They give me guidance, I follow it. Do not question. I am sorry to dig into sad memories of yours, and cause you to take a form you despised."

The palescale looks down at the ground, scratching a small part of it with her talons, then up again. "I am sorry, that what you used to be is tied to so many bad things. It is sad to hate a part of yourself, even if you've left it far behind."

Cryo grins awkwardly, then laughs very hard at a random thought, her phrasing sounding very human as she says, "Although if you want to get into a losing weight competition you've got it made. Start as the wolf and turn into the mul'neissa, you'll have killed it."

Un'eth's earfrills splay wide and her tail sways broadly. Both are indications of anything but sad, and more quite the opposite. "As sister to one and cihuaa to the other, it is my duty to question them both." A claw is held up as pause or exception. "Save for Durrankar's cooking. Do not question his methods and only enjoy the meal, as you most certainly shall. Do not apologize, still, Speaker. I hated and despised, but I do so no longer. I was freed from that stain upon my thoughts, upon my body. There is no longer anything within me for me to hate, and I share this with you as a sign of good omen. I do not belittle your troubles, yet I doubt you were lost as I, yet I found what was necessary."

The final comment leaves her huffing a series of short soft hisses in laughter. "Speaker, the great wolf is very far from the largest form I know."

Cryo's jaw drops at the last comment. She blinks, smiles, "I shall ask you save that surprise, so my mind does not scream at the strain."

"I do hope to share meal and wisdom with them, and will leave you the questioning of them, for now."

She sighs and shakes her head, closing her eyes. "My hatching, as hatchling, youngling, all pleasant. I was pretty and strong and fast, and occasionally clever. What I wasn't stronger than, I was faster than, and when neither, was smarter. I think the boys let me win also, because I would be sore in losing and less friendly. Not many of my clutch were lost to mis-hap, all were strong and full of promise. I didn't taste failure until I did."

She holds her hands up in the air and makes a small circular dance on the spot, hopping and rotating until she's faced forwards again. "I think I have moved past it, but it went deep, some fears still not shaken off."

Un'eth's mirth remains, though her posture softens. "You shall find your path. Along the way, you shall find those who shall help guide you along it; to give aid when you are lost or stumble. All have some fear; it serves to warn. Those without it rarely survive long without a temper to foolishness. I am pleased by and envy your past, and hope that my young shall grow to be as fast, or strong, or smart as you."

"This one will do what is necessary to ensure Mictlan remains a place where that can happen." Cryosanthia promises, smiling and relaxing throughout her posture as well. "Thank you for your kind words, and your thoughts. And story. This one is honoured you would share it, inspired by what you have endured. It is much to take in, I will be mulling for many days."

She pauses for a moment, looking distant, then up at the sky. "It is like a second shell. My young times, my adulthood, the line between them. Like hatching again, the world breaking in, or me choosing to go out. I had not thought of it this way before, perhaps that will help my view of it all. I am thinking aloud, I do not mean to tease you with two hatchings to your none. Or is it one?"

"I did, indeed, hatch as one of The People," Un'eth decides after a moment of consideration on that question, "even if I was grown in body at the time. My story was appropriate to yours, and so I shared. If it aids you journey, then the sharing of words was fruitful. If it does not... the words were not wasted, still. You are a Speaker, and could share the tale to others for their betterment."

"That is what I do." Cryo says proudly, "I will share it, when appropriate. The story will help, in perspective, and things to think about. There is much there to think about. This one is grateful, very so."

Cryosanthia bows to Un'eth, feeling much like one of Geir's younglings, inexperienced and especially after her workout, growing hungry. Food was mentioned, and while she still has the taste of the pastry in her mouth, it was a while ago. "Shall we see if the bacon is ready? This one is starving."

Un'eth chortles softly. "Durrankar always keeps some bacon aside. Come. I know where he hides it..." She's his cihuaa, so of course she knows all.

Cryo eagerly bounds after.

Dramatis Personae

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.

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.

Un'eth as Dire Wolf
This white-furred wolf is nearly the size of a warhorse, though with slightly less bulk. Splotches of grey and black streak across her pelt and break up her silhouette. The fur of her mane is streaked with an odd wavey pattern of ice-blue fur.

Cryosanthia
Cryosanthia is a tall, lithe lizardgirl with flamboyant mannerisms and a flashy style. Her scales are a bright, snow white, complimented by her frills and keratin-scale 'hair' which are the pale blue found in glacial ice. This gleaming tapestry is marred by dark tattoos gouged in her hide, green-black in colouration, which at times have a dark glow. Her snout is long and tapers elegantly. Her legs and tail are likewise graceful, despite being a significant portion of her size and mass. She seems light on her talons and energetic, head glancing quick from side to side. Her eyes are bright and like her frills, the palest of blues with a dramatic slit pupil.
Cryosanthia's clothes are a simple kit of kilted leather armour in white. It is close fitting enough to seem a part of her, but it lacks the lustre of her scales having instead a dull finish. She has sandals that leave her talons free, as well as a hat that is hanging to the back as often as it is on her head. A long blue feather is tucked into the woven band. Finally, she wears a cloak, likewise fashioned from white leather but with a satin interior that matches her eyes. It gleams when the light catches it right. Belted to her hip she has a rapier, a couple of pouches, and a tiny bag on a thong around her long neck.