Artistic Rendering

A glorious sunny Spring day brings the throngs of people to the District. A contest of might is taking place in the Colosseum, with the crowd roaring at someone's victory. Vendors hawk their wares, from weapons and armor, to all manner of cooked thing on a stick, to mementos from the Colosseum.

To one side of the many vendor stalls and piles of merchandise, sits an albino Goblin in copper and blue robes. Her knees are pulled up, upon which a small notebook rests. A yellow pencil wiggles back and forth as she sketches the district, focusing on the large building in the distance.

A particularly proud looking sith-makar was casually strutting down the street; hands hanging over the shaft of his glaive, a lazy roll of his hips and his tarp hanging open, exposing his scuffed scales and what looks like superficial injuries. Probably. The stained autumn-scales carried no ill will though, warmed as they were in the sun.

With his tail swaying behind him, Aelwyn takes a stop as he sees the familiar flash of white, clicking his teeth quietly. Finally, he decides to turn his way around and slowly make his way towards the sketching gobbo. "Doing more studies, White?"

Harkashan has been going around the Colosseum region in order to learn more of the Alexandrian weaponry and armor. They are, in many ways, very different from what he's used to in Am'shere.

It's both the sight of a particularly short, tiny, itty bitty Sith-makar - and the pale white of Simony. The latter whom he's seen before, but not gotten very familiar with as of yet.

It isn't long before the draconic one's hand firmly lands on the shoulder of Aelwyn. A heavy grip to the shoulder in a friendly manner; "Peace upon your nest, Warrior." He speaks to him with a sweet smile on his face. The sun, as usual, catching his scales in that pleasant manner that makes the warm-feeling dragon seem like he's truly a source of flowing lava.

"It seems your scales have lost their shine again." He remarks, before looking over Aelwyn's head to the albino gobbo and makes for a low bow of his head. "Peace upon your nest, pale one. Capturing the Moment on paper once more?"

It takes a moment for Simony to clue into the fact that Aelwyn is right there, and after a moment she blinks and peers at him. She cants her head, but before she can speak, Harkashan is clapping Aelwyn on the shoulder.

"Hmm, hello Aelwyn, hello Harkashan. Peace on your nests."

Her notebook is set aside, revealing the half-completed sketch of the Colosseum. "Indeed, I am.", she replies to both, "I enjoy feats of architecture such as that building. This whole area is a delight of archaic and modern, and awash in colours."

Her gaze falls on the ruddy-scale's scuffed scales and minor injuries. "Are you alright, Aelwyn? Have your injuries been tended too? Did you wish some relief?" The Gobbo fusses with her holy symbol, as if in preparation for a prayer or two. "Aside from that, how are you both?"

The definitely-not-itty-bitty sith-makar slowly clues in on that there's someone behind him by the shade - but the hand on his shoulder makes him straighten up slightly. Turning his head over towards Harkashan, he slowly spreads his teeth apart. "Tch, this one said the hands here do not know how to handle the oil." The draconian points out. His tail moves to thwip at its far larger counterpart. "Peace of the nest, Lava."

Orange eyes turn back over towards Simony, and he tilts his head. "This one is not injured -" What with the bruises aside, "Yet this one is grateful for the offer. Relief - that is another matter." Sharp teeth flash. His horned head turn towards Harkashan momentarily, before returning towards Simony. "The study of the vendors and traders this one understand, yet what is there to study in the colors?"

Harkashan makes a low and thoughtful sound when he's welcomed by name. A minor sense of guilt there, as he never ended up properly learning Simony's name at the time the last met.

When she finishes speaking of the architecture, Harkashan interjects slightly between that and her ask of Aelwyn; "I never got your name. Might I ask it of you today?" He bids politely, with a touch to his armored chest. He then shifts a bit aside and looks to the buildings themselves.

He's considered them a many times himself, even without a love for Architecture. After all, the softskins do truly build their cities very differently.

"This is true. I was referring how it seems you have been traveling a lot - or perhaps had gone into battle." Harkashan then notes to the runt, to clarify his intention with his statement. His tail answers with a small 'bop' on top of the shorter one's tail.

Noting the talk of relief, Harkashan answers with a soothing spell of healing. Indeed, the small one said he was not injured, yet here Harkashan offers 'relief' through healing after all. While gripping his tail into his shoulder a bit. He could probably offer a firm massage, but these are the streets. And the softskins are very... prude.

"And I have been well, thank you for inquiring." Harkashan then notes to Simony - looking so much larger of a Sith-makar when next to Aelwyn. "Seeking ways to earn further coin and hone my skills these days."

Simony stares at Aelwyn for a moment, a hint of red reaching her cheeks. "That is to say, relief from whatever pain you are experiencing. And what oil are you speaking of? You should be careful rubbing things into a wound." Her arms cross and she huffs. "What is there to study? Artistic merit, for one. Also the effects of colour on the local arcitecure, colour can make or break a design from an aesthetic standpoint."

She glances to Harkashan, and hops down from the small crate she'd been seated upon. Bowing from the hip, she reaches out a hand, "Simony Smithsdottir"

Aelwyn's eyes turn towards Simony - before his whole body suddenly straightens as he inhales in deep. Slowly, he relaxes, dropping down to his more sinuous pose. "Hmmh, this one admits that felt very sensuous; like a hot bath this one was dreaming of."

To Simony's query, the ruddy sith replies, "No, not for the wounds." The Dragoon answers with a devilish shime, as he slowly drags a finger between his chest and abdomen. "For the scales." The mirth obvious, he turns towards Harkashan. "An important part of one's bodily care, is it not?"

Aelwyn steps out of the way from the pair and the red ribbon covered, and golden decorated, glaive lowers down onto the ground. "Once a city - this one has seen many. The colors - never seem to meet the vibrancy of its occupants." Tail sways behind him. "They and the way they interact, there is art."

"Don't make this strange, Warrior." Harkashan remarks to the short one as he comments on something being sensuous. But he does admit to the small one; "Yes, we use oils to shine our scales. It helps keep them clean." He explains. "Many oils naturally serving as a way to reject waters and filfths."

Harkashan releases Aelwyn when Simony hops down from the small crate, requiring him to tilt his head down and to the side, so he can see her better from just one eye. He then croons; "I am the Deathsinger, Harkashan." Of the Sith-makar, but she can clearly see that, she he doesn't mention that part.

He then slowly kneels down to one knee, so he can offer out his hand to shake hers. His palm practically eclipses her own, so he decides to change tactics and offer just a finger to shake instead.

She'll note just how incredibly warm the male is. Smooth scales, and a heat that goes well beyond that which she is used to with softskins. Like a comfortable hot sun on a cool fall day. He remains kneeled for a bit, having had certain experiences with Gobbos so far when they make this particular discovery.

"Hmm, still, have a care while rubbing things onto yourself when wounded. Surely your scales won't fall apart without being shiny for a few days, yes?" Simony shrugs, "Yes, I am sure many cities are similar in many aspects. But there are still many colours. The brickwork, the sort of wood used, different shades of limestone. You can't take colours for granite."

The Gobbo eyes the giant hand, and then grins, happily shaking the more comfortably sized finger. After a few shakes, she pauses... and shakes with the other hand. "You are quite warm to the touch. As if you had fire for blood." Both of Simony's hands take a hold of Hark's. "Well met, again, Desthsinger Harkashan."

"This one knows nothing of which Lava speaks of," Aelwyn responds, just like someone who knew exactly what was being spoken of would. He keeps swaying his tail behind him as the introductions are being made, instead spending his time to pull his cloak-like tarp over his shoulders. The ruddy sith-makar had weathered the winter without making a change to his sense of style - with completely burying it under that awful looking tarp.

"Tch, this one was barely wounded. A few lucky hits count as nothing but an ill wind in the stage of combat." The draconian says dismissively, before rolling his head over. "Lava is warm. One wonders how it will be, come summer? Will he be set alight?" Sharp teeth flash again. "This one dances with fire - it would be a change from the song of ice, as Silver only deals in sharp and blunt staccato."

Harkashan makes a bit of a sound when she makes that pun, before noting that she is also shaking his finger with her other hand. "Well met." He answers. "And indeed, my ancestors' blood runs warm within me." He speaks to the small one as she keeps her hands on his.

"And you are correct. Oiling does not occur near the source of a wound. Our people, regardless of popular opinion, know quite well how to do wound care." He then impresses on the Gobbo, with a tone that suggests that Sith-makar are often talked down upon.

"In summer, no doubt many will flee from my scales' heat." The Sith-Makar then notes to Aelwyn.

"Why a tarp?", the Gobbo wonders, "Why not a leather cloak? It would make your scales look all the finer. And it does not take much for an infection to take hold, especially when you are irritating the wound by rubbing it."

She looks to Harkashan, and nods slowly. "Of that I have no doubt, however, this one here...", Simony gestures to Aelwyn, "Seems a little different." Her grin brightens, "I would enjoy your heat, as usually I have to hide away from the sun."

Aelwyn looks over towards Harkashan then, twisting his body. He was obviously gauging those lava like scales. "A little bit of heat has never killed anyone - never understood the fear of a flicker of flame caressing one's flesh." Spoken like someone who has more resistance to fire than common sense of modesty.

The question from Simony is completely fair though. "... this one..." He clicks his tongue and turns his head towards the side. "... leather cloak would not look fine on this one, would it?" He asks from Harkashan then. Gesturing upwards, "Imagine him and his scales with a leather cloak on."

A moment passes, and then he turns towards Simony and her sketchbook. "Can White sketch Lava like that?"

There's a long low rumble as the Gobbo speaks of warmth and hiding from the sun. Those pale of skin are not unknown to those of Am'shere. As such, he understands her words. "Hrrrm - I am certain that one will seek my warmth even in the deepest of Heat." He answers the Gobbo.

He then turns to look at Aelwyn. Much of his scales are hidden by armor at the moment, and a plentiful of lavarocks that embelish said armor. The small one proving him and Simony both right.

"A mere leather cloak might burn upon my scales." He jokes, before he begins to rise up before Simony. Offering to lift her back to her crate if she needs it.

"Ah, am I to become a work of art now?" He asks of Aelwyn. "Surely, you ask this for purely self-serving reasons?"

The Goblin accepts the lift, settling herself back down, her feet poking out the bottom of her robes, swaying back and forth.

The notebook is taken up again, a fresh set of pages turned to, and the imposing Harkashan gazed at.

The pencil begins to move back and forth. "Yes, you will be a work of art. Sketched only, but I could do another with paint, or coloured pencils if desired." Broad strokes lay out Hark's frame first, before finer details are added. Scales, armor, other bits of clothing. A lot of attention is paid to his facial features, and the lavastones that he is decorated with.

"You could treat the leather to resist your heat.", Simony comments, "And yes, Aelwyn, you would look magnificent in a leather cloak. They are quite fetching, especially compared to tarpaulin."

GAME: Simony rolls craft/painting: (12)+9: 21

The question from Harkashan makes the draconian turn his head upwards. "Now, this one is simply curious to see how one would look in leather." Tail sways behind him, before his lips expose his teeth and he rumbles, "Besides, where is the joy in self-serving? Would it not be more public service? 'Danger, too much heat?'"

The way smaller sith-makar slides his hand down into the satchel resting by his buttocks. "This... maybe a little less of the armor..." He rumbles at Simony, but he slides a silver coin to her, while she is working. "It is Lava after all, not a standee for the expensive metal." Yep - definitely nothing but self-serving.

Harkashan is... old. And with age, seems to come the ability to remain slow and still. The male's gaze turning a bit, slowly blinking, and giving Simony plenty of time to perform her work.

He isn't particularly a vain creature. But it seems Aelwyn really wishes for this. As such, he will let the younger one have their prize. He doesn't speak during this process, as to not make things harder on Simony.

Speaking not when Aelwyn gives her more direction either. There's simply this low rumble that eminates from him. This constant subtle growl that never quite leaves him.

The coin is quickly taken up by Simony, the coin being chomped on, inspected critically and then tucked away in a pocket. The pages are turned, and she eyes Harkashan once more. The basic framework of Harkashan's body is redrawn, and then the finer details returned. This time, just the cloak adorns the older Sith. Scales are detailed for the arms and legs, while the chest and lower body are less distinct.

Once more, the face, horns and lavastones are intricately detailed.

The Gobbo huffs at Aelwyn, chuckling. "You could always ask him to take a bath, if you wanted to use more than your imagination, or mine, to see him fully."

Aelwyn looks towards Harkashan, tail moving behind him. He responds to the thrumming rumble with one of his own. "Has Lava done this before? He looks like as if he were natural." Glancing down at the pages, he then tilts to look at Simony. "Was she not in search of a male model to pose for her? Would that pay in coin, as Lava was in search of?"

Yet his attention falls down to the pages being drawn. "Tch, now how would that help this one to decide if this one should invest in a leather cloak? One does not wear armor - and this one is quite enjoying his own thoughts quite plenty." he ruddy sith-makar's lips spread apart from his sharp teeth then. "Besides, this one thinks her imagination is very explorative."

There's a low and patient rumble from Harkashan as baths and imagination are mentioned. He is quite comfortable with the usual ways that Sith-makar work within society. Clothing are oft not particularly needed. Yet, this armor he is adorned with is old, and has been worn since his days in the Am'shere jungles.

"I do not wish to embody vanity by modeling like this." He answers Aelwyn. "Please, do let me know when your work is complete." He notes, not answering whether he's done this before or not.

The suggestions offered by Aelwyn cause Simony to redden further, though the pencil does not stop.

"It is simply art, not vanity. If there is any sins here, it is envy and lust."

The sketch is then offered up, the Gobbo standing on the crate, to offers Harkashan first look, and then to Aelwyn. The drawing is an accurate representation of Harkashan, minus the armor. The cloak, indeed, adds to Hark's magnificence, accentuating a regal bearing, embellished upon by the Goblin.

Aelwyn clicks his teeth, "Difference between vanity and pride, Lava. One is of not knowing, but one is of knowing who one is." He watches the sketch progress with more anticipation than he originally though, and her comment about envy and lust barely registers. "Hmmh, this one was always told not to read too much into art." Not that he ever understood what reading into art meant.

Yet when Simony gets up and offers the look of the sketch, Aelwyn grins widely. "Yesss," He breathes out in a hiss. "... this one believes he may invest in a leather cloak. Even if it may make him stiff."

A moment later, the ruddy sith-makar walks over and offers a silver to Harkashan as well. "Lava took the stance in stride and without hesitation." His tail moves to once again twhip the larger sith's own. "This one's gratitude."

"Hrrrm, the art is indeed art. But were I to show my body much more, such would be vanity." Harkashan answers Aelwyn. "I have done little to deserve statues, paintings, or the like to be made in my image." He points out, as he leans down to look at the artwork.

"Hrrrm, fine work." That rumble not leaving his voice. It never does. That constant growl ever-living in his chest.

He then lifts his hand, refusing the coin offered to him. "Keep the coin, and grant it to the artist." The male notes to Aelwyn. "Fine work must be rewarded. And this work was done for you. My participation was mere happenstance."

Simony snorts at the coin being offered to Harkashan, but nods her head, "It is common to pay people to pose for such things, sketching, painting.. you should accept the coin. Perhaps you could put it to better use than it burning a hole in Aelwyn's pockets." Her expression brightens at the praise of her work, and there's a sense of an ego being inflated. "I could do better, if one wanted. A painting. More details can be added."

"And deserve is hardly part of it. A fine form is worth enough to be captured. To be shown off."

The Gobbo blinks and closes her mouth.

"Tch, if we made a statue for those who deserved them -" Aelwyn shakes his head, but instead, he steps about Harkashan and slides his hand into the nearest available nook, pocket or cranny to push the coin in. "There are no undeserved gifts for this one. As White said, he did fine work." Sharp teeth. "And must have, to be such a great inspiration for the little artist." His tail coils and points at the small gobbo.

Turning, the ruddy sith-makar looks at Simony. "Coins do not 'burn' in this one's pockets - this one puts them to great use." Case in point - he gestures towards the sketch. "Yet this one will look forward to seeing the more polished pieces." A wider grin up towards the lava-scaled sith-makar.

As the Gobbo remarks on fine forms being worth capturing and shown off, he looks down at her. There's a little pause there, before he notes; "I thought the Envy and Lust you spoke of was that of the Warrior's." He notes in a growling tone. Those who do not know Sith-makar very well might mistake the joking tone for a gruff and acussatory one.

A relenting huff comes from the Inferno, followed by a grunt, as Aelwyn forces the silver on him. "Trouble." He mumbles, taking the coin from said nook, and puts it into a proper pocket.

Looking down at the runt as he so pointedly grins at him, the lava-colored dragon turns his head away. "You just want a polished piece." He rumbles.

The Goblin sits back down, settling cross-legged on the crate. The pages are turned once more, and her pencil begins to draw the scene before her.

"Haah, don't read that much into it.", she cautions them both. "Inspiration, yes, but not of the salacious kind." She eyes Harkashan and snorts, "I do envy the scales and great internal heat source, this much is true. And judging from where he almost tried to put that coin, he's the source of any lust here."

Aelwyn spreads his hand towards the side, "This one should feel offended," The draconian, with feigned and theatric offense. "Then again, this one is quite pleased if he inspires lust." He flicks his tongue out.

Looking back over to Harkashan, he tilts his ehad at the larger sith-makar looking away from him - so he moves next to him and elbows him to the side. "Ah, does this one? Hmmh, this one meant no disrespect." A lean way and tilt of his head upwards. "Just if there happened to be such a piece. Yet only skies can tell, what the winds shall bring."

Harkashan nods his head as she cautions them. "If you require my heat, you are welcome to it." He answers her. The same offer he's always made. It's something he's more likely to offer than showing himself off to people.

He tilts his head at Aelwyn, then bemusedly shakes his head. Ah, the fervor of the young - he thinks to himself.

The Sith-Makar then motions. "I shall depart for now. I have some... 'shopping' to do." He bids to the duo. "Enjoy your new piece of art." He bids to the two, and then wanders on off for the time being.