Prologue
+ NAME + Tchenko Njall Sindri
+ ALIAS +Chen, Nahji
+ AGE + 37
+ GENDER + Male
+ ORIGIN + Hyoite
+ SPECIES + Human? (Mostly, probably), Sionadyaki
+ RESIDENCE + Village of Carlig, Frequents Hyoite as well
+ OCCUPATION + Fisherman 8D
+ FACE +Lavender hair / Amber eyes
+ STATURE + 5'11" / 200 lbs.
+ SEXUALITY + Who knows! *throws confetti*



__________________IN-DEPTH

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION
Growing taller than his father, Tchenko stays strong from his work, with a powerful back, arms, and chest. He's warmly tanned, most likely from his lineage, than wandering around in all that hot sun the tundra and it's waterways are known for. His long lavender hair is usually held back with braids and falls down to just past his shoulders. His beard is generally unkempt, growing thicker around his chin and mustache above thin lips and rarely shaved. With high cheekbones and languid, hooded amber eyes, beneath a medium brow. A tattoo marks his face, a small slope just above his brow and a hook-like etching just around his cheekbone.  His expressions have little variation from "Quit the bullshit, get to the point," to "Yes, you can braid flowers in my hair." You might never know what you're going to get.

Voice Claim: Mads Mikkelsen

PERSONA
"Though now it hurts like hell, it is better to feel just something else than live in that uncertainty."

Tchenko Sindri is a man of few words. He's aloof by nature, although not intentionally in a manner that is hurtful. He keeps to himself, largely, with a strong sense of duty - usually throwing himself into his work, rising early and not finishing until the day is done. Then rinse and repeat. It's a useful distraction, and he'd never been one to enjoy staying idle for long, lest he get antsy.

He visits Hyoite often, staying in touch with his sister and her family, bringing his nieces small whittled gifts. Tchenko prefers to stay close to those he cares for, and gives what time he can spare to ensure their well-being, loyal to his core. He'd never been one to nix his feelings, preferring to be honest and upfront than beat around the bush. If he likes you, he'll show it. While there's no real ill will toward anyone, Tchenko would fiercely protect anyone he cares about. 


He's a nostalgic sort, ofttimes ruminating on the past, and it's not uncommon for him to spend sleepless nights working on scrimshaw, or when the sun is about to rise, passed out by his heart with an empty bottle. Yet he still rises each day, getting back into the rhythm. It's certainly better than sitting around feeling sorry for himself.

- Things! -

- Scrimshaw - likes to carve all kinds of things, and generally gives the decorated bones he's crafted as gifts, or sells them to traders that come through Hyoite. He has a carved fang he made into a handle for favorite curved fillet knife.
- Self-induced insomniac, it usually takes a few chugs of rum to make sleep happen. And when it does, it's rarely pleasant.
- Wears a small tiger's eye charm stone around his neck on a cord, given to him by a wise woman when he was a boy and intended for Hemming when he came of age.

MAGIC/ABILITIES
Fishing! And with some extensive knowledge of boats and some sailing. Father taught him how to hunt, but his true calling is the water. Can cast a net and throw a polespear as second nature.
Fairly decent navigator as well.


RELATIONSHIPS
Anka Sindri - Mother - Deceased
Bolo Sindri - Father - Deceased
Sula Sindri - Sister - Alive

Massari Na'Khota (formerly Sindri) - ex wife - Alive -
Hemming Sindri - Son -Deceased

HISTORY
Tchenko can't trace much of his lineage back beyond his grandparent's grandparents, and much of his life has revolved in Hyoite where he was born.  Life was far from idyllic, raised along with his sister to help their mother with daily chores, curing the meats and skins their father brought back from long fishing excursions. He brought with him things from his travels, taught them about the places and people he'd met along the way. Sula moved on to find her own way and Tchenko took on the family trade, soon moving to Carlig nearby and married, raising a family of his own.

He was proficient in his trade, eventually owning his own boat, but helping on others when an extra hand as needed. He'd stay out for months at a time, long excursions, hauling catches back.  Returning to a warm home, to Massari's loving embrace did him a world of good, and knowing his son would have a good life made it all worth it. Then Hemming got sick, and passed away. He was away on a voyage when it happened, and although the waves and winds had been favorable, Tchenko couldn't get to him in time. He was buried next to Tchenko's father and mother, and Massari eventually parted ways with him, moving back to Hyoite, where she remarried.

Tchenko stays in Carlig, as it still is his home and keeps himself as busy as he can.
Epilogue
THREADS

Sup and welcome! o7 Hope you have a great time here and welcome aboard. We're always happy to help with any questions or concerns you may have! So far your character looks great. 8D

Hysaeda listened to her carefully, his ears twitching, flicking at the faint disturbance of wind against their tips. The soft sound of her words fell on them, took them in and when she was finished he too curled his arm around her and snuggled her close.
So many years, all that time spent apart and what did he have to show for it?

And yet there she'd been. She'd had her adventures and had done more with her life than most men could hope to achieve. Saved them when her accomplishments might as well go unheard. Hysaeda had been right there by her side, had loved her and loved her still when she felt she couldn't be. Even now when she was breaking, all he wished was to keep her still in his arms, enough so that she could rest.

"We're safe now," he promised, not even sure if it could be true. If he could keep that promise. Something in his gut twisted at the thought of having to lose her again.  And he forced himself to believe it, because it was the only truth he wanted to have. There was nothing that his old life could have given him. Nothing that his tribe could have provided that he could find elsewhere other than with Adalia.

"We finally have each other. And we'll be together," he promised. Hysaeda felt tears rolling down his cheeks as she tucked herself in close. "Are you well enough to eat? I will take care of you until you are strong again," he murmured to her, kissing her temple.

Hysaeda only pulled away when he was certain she could remain alone and went about doing just that. There were some edible plants nearby. Berries. It'd have to do for now in the absence of meat or bread. He started a small fire and warmed them up before bringing them to her, a small meal if it could be called that. "I know you're not a rabbit, but since we can't eat dirt, these roasted carrots will have to do."

Roland grinned ear to ear. He couldn't help himself what with the sheer irritation she expressed and directed him to stand closer to her. He tried to force the smile off his face however when he put both feet in front of her, standing close enough to look into her eyes, seeing the way they glinted in the dark.

That sword, so close and thirsty for blood, for flesh. She wasn't here to play games, and to treat this as little more than excursion into play would do them both a disservice.  Roland Mercer swallowed hard instead and readied himself by bowing his head to her, honoring her as his opponent.

"Ok, I'm ready to learn," he said, his visage turning serious for that time and he met her gaze again, filled with nothing short of respect. "I don't care how many times you throw me to the ground, I want to learn from the best. Now, how do we start?"

Maybe if he was really lucky, she wouldn't notice. Maybe she'd just...

No. Nope.  Not gonna happen today. Oh fire.

"Yeah?" he muttered, his face going stark raving red at the fact that she had to point it out and everything.  He met her gaze and the heat went right to his eyes.  He had to look away the second she smirked and when he just couldn't hold it back anymore, it was quickly followed by a guffaw and a snort of his own. Because in what world was this just not funny?

He noticed her blush, of course, and shifted so that he could crack his back a little more, sitting up.  His lips curled in a soft grin, chuckling as he did so. "I mean I'd be a pretty rotten host if I had a pretty girl like you in my bed and i didn't get morning wood. So rude of me. How dare I, I think I'm gonna go cry in the corner now," he mocked sobbed and with some effort untangled their legs.

He rolled them over the side, pushing himself off to stand, pulling a robe over his shoulders, letting it hang loosely and readjusting the -ahem, stiffy in his pants. Slate, unable to remove the blush from his face, decided he was just better off living with it.

"I bet you're pretty hungry though, huh. Come on, let's go make some breakfast and cry into some eggs. You do know how to cook an egg right?" he murmured, raising an eyebrow quizzically at her. His tail swished out to her and curled around her ankle, brushing around it to pull her along with him toward the small clay oven he had next to a small basket of eggs.

The stranger couldn't have been better. Just in time too.

Because no doubt the guards were closing in on him and there was no way in hell he was gong to spend the night in jail when the whole thing was a misunderstanding. It wasn't like if he tried to stop them and explain it, they were going to listen. Their type tended to beat first, then ask questions later.

Natanyl took a moment to size up the man. They were of similar height and build. There wouldn't be too much to have to squeeze into and no doubt they'd never see each other again so there wasn't any point in sticking around any longer.

"Oh none of that matters right now," he said, and bowed his head over an elaborate flailing of his arms. Natanyl felt his fingers twitch and he pulled a small thing blade from his robes, they swished as he moved and he pricked his finger to unleash a small bauble of blood that he smeared across his hand and flicked into the dirt, the air around the man would suddenly run very still, and every muscle would lock up for a short time.

"Don't panic, it's just a simple paralysis spell. Everything will be fine. And the more you struggle, the more exhausted you'll become so it's best not to do so."  He grinned and reached up and patted the poor man across the cheek and went about doing what he intended and with very quick snaps of his fingers he pulled the clothes off him, with him still paralyzed right where he was standing.

Natanyl's careful study of each piece of clothing was mimicked until Natanyl was disguised in that same dirty cotton shirt and he picked up the basket from the stranger's hands.

Each snap removed one article of clothing until the man was in nothing more than his skivvies. Hmm, should he be left with at least one shred of dignity? Nah.

"You'll get over it," Natanyl shrugged and flicked a small drop of blood onto the side of the man's undergarments, which then immediately caught fire and incinerated the cloth, keeping the man carefully unscathed. "Obviously not today but someday.  See ya around. Thanks for the herbs too."

Natanyl winked at him just as the guards were rounding the corner and he ran off down the other end of the alley and the spell wore off leaving Aadi to sprawl into the dirt once more.

Slate couldn't very well stay in bed all day, no matter how much he wanted to. No matter how much even the slightest movement left his neck stiff and his back a little sore. He wasn't used to the weight of another body on top of him. Something felt natural in the way Azalea laid  on top of him though, comfortable, sleeping soundly and probably better than she would have otherwise.

She was just tired of course. Anyone that tired and that stressed probably would have knocked anyone on their butt by the time it came to conking out for bed. But the little warmth that billowed up in his belly and into his chest told him he was glad she stayed.

Glad that she decided to stay here with him instead of rebuffing him and going off on her own. At least then he could keep an eye on her stitches and make sure they didn't open up again. Slate's arm scooped around her lower back and hugged her tightly, making sure she didn't suddenly stir awake and fall off him.

He did nudge his hips against hers though, as if to vaguely confirm the ache he realized was pressed against her. Oops.  Not that he had much control over that anyway.

Slate leaned his head down and nudged her forehead with his chin, patting her back softly just as she stirred, groaning for more time to stay asleep.

"Hey there, Skeet," he chuckled and poked her sides gently, letting his fingers walk along her ribs. "It's morning now, y'know and you drooled a little when you were snoozing. I almost woke up in a lake."

He didn't need a silk shirt to get her to look at him that the way she did just now. And it made a blush touch his cheeks. Slate had to gasp softly and the warmth behind his eyes made a small bubble of tears bubble up underneath their rim. He held his breath, catching it and a small smile curled at the corner of his lips.

"Yeah. It's uh... it's my pleasure. Any time you want to just kind of.... hang out, you can," he murmured and exhaled softly as she squeezed his hand. His heart sped up with the way she gazed into his eyes and he leaned his head forward to kiss her gently on the forehead. "My door is always open to you."

The offer was geniune and when the words escaped his lips he released that deep breath and scooted in even closer so that he could nestle her into the crook of his neck. Slate shifted so that she could sleep on his shoulder.  With a lick of his foot, he pulled the blanket over both of them and kissed her forehead again.

"Good night Azalea," he whispered. Closing his eyes, he was soon fast asleep and breathing lightly. He had gotten the best sleep he'd had in days and the closure of his tent kept it well insulated. The chill from the evening desert had been abated, with the warmth of the body on top of him.

Slate's eyes blinked open sleepily, his free hand reaching up and rubbing the morning crusts from his eyes. He was stiff feeling something was really heavy on top of him and he groaned softly until his eyes widened at the sight of Azalea. Oh that's right, she stayed the night.

He didn't move - moreso because he couldn't than because he wanted to. He simply stared up at the tent ceiling and yawned and tried to ignore the awkward morning ache in his groin.

Slate tried to smile, to stay relatively calm and well-humored for the both of them. He didn't know what more he could say, really. And offering her what he owned, what he valued, he hoped she would take to heart that he meant her well. He kept his gaze soft, and the curve of his lips gently fell into a frown when she refused his offer.

Of course, she wasn't going to sleep on the floor.

"What in the rockhead are you talking about, Azalea. You're not sleeping on the damn floor. You could have done that in your own tent. That's not happening. You're taking my bed whether you like it or not. And if you're that insistent about not stealing it from me, then I can scoot my butt and tail outta the way and sleep on the other side of it, huh," he revised his offer and nudged her shoulder with his.

He stood up and pulled his shirt over his head and motioned her to scoot over. "Don't disturb those stitches okay, no git your butt over there, Mosquito," he grumbled and flopped down onto the bed next to her. "I've had a long day and I want to make sure I get some decent shut-eye. As should you."

He shifted over onto his side and settled his weight along the edge of it. His tail hung off to the side and swayed lazily. "But jokes aside," he mumbled and gently stroked a thumb on her cheek. "You gonna be ok?"

Hakeshna's Night of Delights, or so some of the locals called it.

The town was alive with festivity and drinking and the sounds of drums and flutes being played all throughout. A small town in the desert, away from the larger city of Essyrn, the people here reveled in the small festivities they created for the rest of the town. The town itself had everything they needed, a tavern, a brothel, a temple, and was just as good as any other big city.

And it was a nice enough distraction, being here in the desert, in a small town far off most beaten trails. Natanyl generally didn't wander this far south, but it was better to have an idea of the terrain and surrounding hoodoos and badlands for himself. Y'know just in case he had to venture out to one of them. Towns had their flare, but eventually the hum drum of people made him bored and he'd rather still himself in a chilly canyon inlet at night than trying to snuggle up in some thin linens in a filthy alleyway.

He was a dark elf, hardy still, a mage at that and didn't follow the traditions set by his kin. Natanyl followed his own path, no matter where that led him.  And for now, it was this paltry settlement.

As it was, the festivities had grown a little boring. Natanyl had found a pretty face and snogged on it, shagged in a haystack, and drank enough wine to damn well do a full 180. Thankfully, the wine was just about wearing off by now and the triples had turned to doubles, and so on and so forth. Natanyl was calming down, and this town seemed less iffy about a foreigner wandering around their territory. And although it might have seemed as if he was out of his element, the contrary couldn't have been truer.  But it was too bad the next piece of ass he saw was not the ass he thought it was.

Or even as it wasn't, Natanyl was too buzzed to give a shit, as he squeezed the ass of the temple priest's wife and the resulting yelp had their bodyguard chasing after him. Realizing his mistake almost a little too late, had Natanyl throwing up a fistful of sand from a sack on his belt and momentarily blinding him while he made his escape.

The ankuman lunged over a food stand and rolled and ducked into an alleyway. A few twists and turns here and there and he almost full on collided with another body in a dirty linen shirt. Natanyl rubbed his head, pushing himself up to his feet and casually dusted himself up. His eyes narrowed, inspecting the other man in front of him. "Well, hello there friend. Sorry to knock you off your feet like that," he apologized and grinned over the stranger. He reached a hand down to pluck them off the ground with ease.

He was fairly strong, athletically built and kept their hands gripped together as he smiled back to the stranger and shook their hands before releasing. "You shouldn't be missing out on the fun. There's a whole party going on out there. Why are you hiding back here?"

Prologue
+ NAME + Natanyl Volu Anaki
+ ALIAS + Nata, Nat, Anki
+ AGE + Roughly in his 250s (appears to be in late 30s)
+ GENDER + Male
+ ORIGIN + Thunderblacks
+ SPECIES + Umbraeon
+ RESIDENCE + The...Highway!
+ OCCUPATION + Former Ankuman / Highwayman
+ FACE + One lava red eye and one emerald eye / Dark Red Hair
+ STATURE + 6'1" / 218 lbs.
+ SEXUALITY + Pansexual



__________________IN-DEPTH

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION
Natanyl is a ruggedly handsome rogue, with a narrow chiseled face, and deep inset eyes. His grins are wry, full lips often curling into a sarcastic sneer - in particular when confronted with punitive insults. His brows seem to naturally fall into a furrow, with thick brows and eyes that seem to lazy to want to do more than bore into you from a distance because he couldn't give two shits what you thought about him. Of average height for his kind, Natanyl is athletically built, lean and mean, not quite hulking, with varying scars along his light gray skin, three slashes along his right shoulder, as well as the full body tattoos of his tribe.

He's wizened in appearance, the fine lines of age apparent here and there in the corners of his eyes, right one lava red and the left one emerald green (an unusual anomaly even for his people), and a small set of cuts along his lips and chin. Natanyl's red hair is long and braided, with a set of feathers and bones tied to it and usually braided in a knot behind his head, or hanging loose when completely doused. A small cut mars his left eye brow, crossing at the corner of his eye, and narrowly missing being plucked out.

PERSONA
"The bones have spoken. I guess today just isn't your lucky day."

Natanyl Anaki cuts an ambiguous, roguishly charming figure from the get go. While he might not say more than intended, he's got a sharp enough wit, with a keen eye for detail, and an even sharper tongue. He's friendly when he has to be, and guarded because he must, and doesn't trust anyone more than he has to.  He's sly, underhanded if it means toppling an opponent and never reveals his full hand, even down to his final card.

When in good company with a few drinks in him, Natanyl is prone to boisterous roaring laughter, and tipping his chair over because his guffaws were too great for even him. He's generally sarcastic, tending to favor heavily toward gallows humor, and rarely in the mood to take anyone else very seriously. His jokes are terrible and commentary dry, and if you're forced to suffer it, then he'll have a hell of a time tormenting you by telling you everything you don't want to hear.

If there's one thing he is most protective of, it's his daughter Casinia, whom he loves more than his own life. He 'works' to provide for their livelihood, if it can be called that, and has taken her away from the tribe life he knew. Natanyl has no real value for organized faiths, and although he doesn't openly mock them, and stil practices much of his own shaman tenets, he will never force his daughter to follow a faith that would lead only to ruin.

- Things! -

- Often grumbles to himself loudly when ruminating. None of his words are sensible or coherent, and he falls in and out of the Serenian, Adelan and Sevic
- Can sometimes go for days without sleep, either because he's working on an incantation, or some other bout of self induced insomnia. Either way, it's generally ill-advised to interact with him when his brains are scrambled eggs.
- Keeps the spices to himself. Pepper, powders, anything and everything that gives flavor, he has on his person and never goes anywhere without them. If you can get him to share, *tips hat to you*.
- Uses a small sack of rat bones for all your on-the-go scrying and divination needs. He's a healthy skeptic despite the practice. He doesn't call it predicting the future, but uses it instead to measure the probability of possible outcomes.

MAGIC/ABILITIES

ANKUMAN
The traditional shaman amongst Umbraeon tribes, Natanyl had been raised from birth to fill his mantle and oversee the rites of worship, medicinal care, and divining the fortune of the tribe's future. As a result Natanyl is more in tune with the 'spirits', and seeing the unseen. He can commune with these spirits and otherworldly forces, through both a natural affinity and decades of honing his skills.

BLOOD MAGIC
Natanyl knew the consequences of trading his soul for great power and immortality. Natanyl is unafraid of the force that gave him the ability to fuel his spells with blood, nor the price that it would ultimately cost him, but if it meant protecting his child, he would do it again in a heartbeat.

RELATIONSHIPS
Casinia - young adult - approximately 18 human years - his daughter and the most important person in his life. She's intelligent and a splitting image of her mother.

HISTORY
Typical story of boy is raised in brainwashing religious cult in the depths of the draconi forest. Boy grows up and unearths awful secrets about his home. He runs away and takes his daughter with him and takes peoples stuff to make a living. 8D  Sometimes reads palms.

Epilogue
THREADS
A Stroll Down Fascination Street

Prologue
+ NAME +Aqathuxaryyk Thsvadmedirion Tzet
+ ALIAS + Aqathas
+ AGE + Unknown, about 250 (early middle age or so)
+ GENDER + Male
+ ORIGIN + Not-Earth
+ SPECIES + Jauxi
+ RESIDENCE + A Cave in the Jungle 8D
+ OCCUPATION + Formerly a Hunter
+ FACE + Jade Green eyes / burgundy feathers
+ STATURE + 6'5" / 245 lbs.
+ SEXUALITY + Who knows 8D



__________________IN-DEPTH

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION
Tall and broad shouldered, Aqathus is built like a linebacker and he shows it. He's heavy and average sized for his species, and is capable of maneuvering very quickly and quietly, his size and weight notwithstanding. Very much an ambush predator, Aqathas instinctively relies on swift and powerful movement to overcome his foes, catching them off guard, and his ruddy brown scales blend easily into muddy river banks, in addition to his cloaking. He's scaley with thick callused portions of those scales collecting in ridges along his forearms, back, thighs and shins. From the ridges down his back, resides a set or ridges on his tail, similar to that of an alligators although more lithe in nature.

A rich crimson red starts from the center of his back, and flows closer to the more readily present ruddy color along his neck and shoulders, and gets lighter along his belly. The rough scales get progressively smooth from the roughened scales of his back and alongside his ridges to those on his chest, stomach, legs, and face.  His eyes are a striking jade green, and he has a soft collection of feathers that grow atop his head and down his back disappearing into his scales of a dark red color. Aqathas maintains the clawed hands and feet of his kind and unhinging jaw.

PERSONA
Probably a secret sweetpea. Super protective. Hisses a lot. I dunno, I'll figure it out as I play him.

- Things! -

- Suntanning, he loves it. Nothing pleases Aqathas more than finding a nice fall rock to sprawl on and sleep in the sun.
- And mudbathing, because why not.
- Enjoys having his belly rubbed and chin scratched but like hell is he going to let anyone else know that. Shh secret.
- Strong tendency and inclination to be attracted to and collect shiny objects.
- Has decent knowledge of traps and hand making make shift weapons.

MAGIC/ABILITIES
He hunts things! And sells stuff he makes from his kills.

JAUXI -
Intelligent hunters and predators, Jauxi are usually lean and tall, with ridges and scale collections for protection, clawed hands and feet and most of them have long alligator-like tails. They adapted to survive in both the swampy depths at the planet's surface to the canopies of the trees above. They have webbed hands and feet with ridged patterns along the underside of them in order to cling to surfaces, have the ability to cloak their scales and blend into their environments, saliva that allows them to heal wounds more easily, and unhinging jaws that allow them to sink into larger prey.

Their scale patterns come in a range of colors, anything from red to neon green. While they cannot breath underwater, they are capable of holding their breath for long periods of time, and have two pairs of eyelids, fleshy pairs that go over their secondary lense to allow them to see under water. They are sensitive to minute changes in things like wind direction, even under water and have a strong sense of smell.


RELATIONSHIPS
N/A
He don't know anyone on this world 8D

HISTORY
Aqathas can't really remember how he got here. He was asleep for a long time one minute and the next he woke up in the rubble of some broken rocks and scuttled into the first dark cave he's been in. The world around him was alien and awesome, and he only ventured out when he needed to eat or explore enough to master the local terrain. He adapted easily to the jungle environment, and took to the trees if the ground became uninhabitable. For now though, his cave is a suitable enough home.

Epilogue
THREADS

He shouldn't have been surprised when the small thing in front of him was soon wracking herself with sobs. His eyes widened, but she was already such a hysterical trembling mess that when she did so, he gasped softly and let out a soft cooing hum as he dropped his legs down enough to meet her at her level. "Hey now. Heeeeeyyyy," he soothed, his tone swooping into a decadent baritone that would reverberate through her.

"Azalea, calm down," he muttered and when her sobs evidently would not cease he slowly reached his arms around her, scooping her close and pressing his head over her shoulder. "It's ok. Things like this happen from time to time. There's no need to beat yourself up over it, girly girl. C'mon now. Take a deep breath."  Slate didn't belittle her as he might have been wont to on any other occasion, instead his arms keeping her close and one arm hooked over he shoulder when shifted away enough to lead her to his cot in the corner.

"Lay down," he instructed and turned her so that she could lay on her belly, freeing her tail and legs from the pads and furs he'd slept in. He knelt down next to her, reaching for a fresh shirt he had in a knapsack and laying it underneath her.  "Jade doesn't know what he's doing. He's a young buck. You can't expect a fumbling thing like him to even listen to you, let alone follow simple instructions. Boy had cactus spines poking out of his leg. So I pulled them out and told him not to scratch them for a few days. He comes back and complains they got all red and bumpy and weren't healing. Stupid rockhead, he is. Don't feel bad, lovely. I'll take care of you."

He shushed her softly as he moved around the tent, gathering a mortar and pestle and some of the salve he'd been fixing up before he wandered outside. Seeing her in so much distress made his ears flick and twitch, pulling up a stool just beside her and setting down the medicinal herbs in the mortar.  Slate flicked his eyes at hers, meeting her gaze as his hand reached up and pushed her hair back. The redness of her eyes, and the moisture left by tears he rubbed away with his thumb.  "Now you know not to pick him next time. He's dumb. You'll want a male that has a modicum of experience, to make sure you're taken care of."

Slate's heart jumped a little, and his stomach flipped at the thought that there would be a next time, and his heart went out to her that this first time - the one she'd remember most of all - had been ruined. He visibly frowned as he went to work cleaning her up, expertly cutting the stitches and applying the salve, rubbing it in gently.  He took a few strips of cloth and bound them around her leg this time, as opposed to stitches. She'd already been poked unpleasantly once tonight. No need for him to be stabbing her again.

"Do you want to stay here tonight?" he offered, wiping his hands clean and brushing her hair back some more.

She wasn't at all the Azalea he expected when she was finished, and finally sing seeing her in the state she was in, worn and aching, tired and utterly filled with sorrow made his stomach clench right up. Slate's throat knotted up again, and he shifted so that he could get a better look at her, staying close and ignoring her plea. Because it was a stupid plea.

"Azalea," he murmured, not even noticing then that he was addressing her by name. The words came out naturally and he reached a hand up to go underneath  her chin to prop it up so that she could get a better look at him. He frowned and released her, taking her by the wrist and tugging her along. "Okay, let's go. You're coming with me because you're bleeding and you're a mess and standing here is stupid."

It was, and the sooner he got her alone, the sooner he could ask her why against all instruction had she let herself get hurt all over again. She had one job and she couldn't even do that. Good job Mosquito, great job. Wonderful JOB!

Again another distracting thought from focusing on her distress alone and he didn't take no for an answer as he trudged her back to his tent and nudged her inside.  "Get in there," he ordered and pulled the flap closed behind them.  He knotted it at the end to keep it secure and he lit the small candle in the corner.

"A little fire to honor the Heavenly fire," he murmured in prayer before walking over to her. "Hey, now, you're crying and sobbing all over," he muttered, and gently took the cotton worn robe he'd been wearing before and draped it over her shoulders. Anything to replace the smell of Jade with his own.

She was right. And who could blame her. Definitely not him.

She was young wanted someone strong and virile. He was a healer, not a warrior, not even a blacksmith. He stitched butt wounds and plucked needles out of someone that fell onto a cactus, not warded off against rogue tribes, and other potential dangers. He didn't even hunt. Of course she chose Jade. It was too bad Jade couldn't appreciate who he'd been chosen by the way Slate could.

And from what he knew, this was his first.

It was all Slate could think about in order it ignore the ache in his chest, the wild panging throb in his heart when she walked off with him into the tent to breed for the good of the Clan. For the heavenly fire. Slate's throat balled up, into a dry aching mess and he didn't even hear Viridian as his brother walked off and said good night.

Slate was still standing there until he was the last one, watching her disappear and soon he did too, going back to his tent and closing it off. He clenched his teeth and threw off his robes, the worn cloth tattered from reuse. The one he'd worn over his shoulders in the best presentation of himself. But no, he'd been unworthy and unchosen. Maybe next time. Maybe he'd be better. Maybe he could get a new silk shirt that she'd notice.

Slate didn't get to sleep, and after a few hours the restlessness of working on salves did nothing to sate his restlessly wandering mind. He stepped outside, pushing aside the curtain and seeing everyone else was asleep, save for the night guard. The night desert air was cool and he whipped his tail to the side, playing with a pebble that went tumbling off ahead of him. Which he did so again and again with little thought, until the rock landed next to someone shiny and pink.

His eyes meandered over to where a sliver of blood eased down the side of her leg. "You know, when you're bleeding like that, you probably should come and see me," he commented softly, standing next to Azalea and brushing her shoulder with his. He gave her a smile, despite his nostrils flaring and the scent of Jade making his hackles rise.  He tried not to show it, but his jaw clenched and he gently reached his elbow up to nudge at her. "Hey, let me patch you up."

Walking out the way she did couldn't have been more of a slap to the face than if she actually slapped him in the face. Not that he could have blamed her. Slate watched her depart and said nothing as she made her exit, and the spot she vacated seeped into an emptiness he felt deep in his chest. The pang ached, and he rubbed at it despite himself. She'd know when she found him, she said. That was the way the Choosings went. He'd had his go with a few of the females when the time came to mate here and there. It was his duty to the tribe, his contribution to the Fire.

And just as this was hers. His heart still beat fast, and the way his stomach lurched at the way she felt when he hugged her, that residual memory left him with chills running down his spine. Slate grumbled as he put his utensils away. She'd be back when her stitches needed taking out, in the meantime he could only hope she'd make good on not getting herself into any more trouble. She was a pretty young thing, but even those needed looking after from time to time.

As much as he enjoyed teasing her, he hated seeing her scraped up even more.

The days went by as usual, and it was better to keep himself busy than pondering on the Choosings that were coming up in the coming day. Her stitches would need removal the day after most likely. And if she had any brains - doubtful - she'd know not to pick at them if they were getting itchy.

Just keep himself busy, patch up the wounded, the guards, the occasional stubbed toe. Anything to keep from thinking about how gorgeous Mosquito was going to look when they presented her on her coming of age. That day had been stressful most of all. And his hands hadn't found nearly as much to do as he wished.

Sure if was their duty to get all dressed up, but that didn't mean he didn't appreciate what he saw when the time came to be present with the other males of the tribe. He nudged elbows with Viridian who stood next to him, although his gaze was averted and reverent to the Fire and the word of the Elder as she spoke.

He didn't listen, couldn't when his eyes fell upon her shimmering pink scales. The bonfire at the center of the tribe ignited her tail and glistened alongside her cheeks, enhancing those striking beautiful eyes. And he felt his stomach knot up the moment their eyes met. Still, a playful smirk curled in a wry grin on the corner of his mouth. A gentle grin, all things considered, holding no malicious teasing, as his eyes clearly roved down her form to take her in.

Slate kept his gaze on her all the while. But so did every male present. Even as small a tribe as this was, those present couldn't be prouder to be chosen. New stock like Slate and Viridian lended to stronger bloodlines, made them attractive prospects to other females. Diversifying their brood, but Slate didn't care. Didn't care that he used to be an outsider.

He only had eyes for Mosquito, and the grin faded the closer she wandered when it finally came time to choose. His locked with hers, his heart rattling in his chest. Then again, she'd know when she saw him she said. And yet here she was looking right at him.

The Slate that had extended his arms open to her was definitely not a side that she would have otherwise seen often. In the present moment, she definitely looked like she could use one, so why not him? Why not now? No one would question it, they were alone after all. And in the middle of this tent, no one ever had to find out if that was what she was worried about. She could move along and pretend it never happened too if she wanted.

He hoped to the Fire though that she didn't. Because the second she wrapped her arms around him, the most unsuspecting jolt fired down from his belly, as his arms fell around her shoulders and wrapped around her shoulders.  His face instinctively buried into her hair, and the faint scent of the outdoors from where she'd scuffed her butt, to the natural oils that permeated it were inviting and calming. Slate gasped softly, at the feeling of warmth that bloomed up into his chest.

"I'm an idiot all right. An idiot that healed your scuffed buns, Mosquito," he chuckled softly, the note in his voice less teasing as he lifted his head and released her from his arms, although he was wont to hold her there for as long as he could. Odd, when she buried her face against his chest, she just fit.

"Stay out of trouble and don't come back with any scrapes or bruises before your choosing. I want you to take good care of yourself because if I see you again, I might have to leave a big ol hand print on the other side of your tail," he noted with a small smirk on his face. 

He moved behind her to finish what he started and went about examining the stitches. The salve did it's job, soothing the reddened lines over and although the wound would need to stay closed for the next few days to really seal up, meaning the stitches would have to stay in there, already it was healing very nicely. "You look really good," he breathed. "Over all, I'll say it should be right as rain within a day or so. Maybe two just to be safe.  So I'm sorry but the stitches are going to have to stay in. Less of a chance of a scar, or y'know a crippling infection."

His hands reached up to steady himself on her hips and gently he squeezed them.  Her skin was warm and his fingertips wanted to smooth up the slope of her back, and his hand twitched with the temptation. She wasn't his, and she hadn't chose him (not that he'd given her any good reason to). And so he pulled his hands back, instead grabbing a cloth to smooth the skin of her thigh and rear just beside her tail.  He blew on it and tossed the rag back. "Otherwise it looks really good.  You, uh, know who you're going to pick yet?"

Sure his head was swimming with want and need and lots and lots of wine. Mercuxio grumbled slightly, rubbing himself against Aveline's wet heat, feeling that slickness and how easy it would be to just slip inside her. She shifted her hips, hooking them around her thighs and he breathed in the scent just around her neck, panting softly and taking in the wifts of her essence from her hair.

She smelled sweet, wonderful, earthy. "I like being close to you too," he nodded to her, kissing along her neck and throat and rolling his hips under hers just when having her rubbing against him wasn't quite enough.

"Yeah. I'd like that a lot," he muttered. "I'd love to be close to you as often as possible."  Merric stole her lips with his once again, distracting her enough with a succulent kiss before he slipped inside, going slow and rolling his hips until he hitched his breath, feeling her envelope completely around him. He moaned softly, pressing his forehead to hers and looking into her eyes. 

"Are you ok? Does it hurt?" he asked, checking in and ready to pull out if it did.

Gods fucking dammit she was hot. And even with his fat lip and swollen eye, Quinlan did his best to curl his lips into a charming smile and grin ear to ear at her. He just couldn't help himself, and the second she got within the lamp light he was standing underneath she was close enough so that he could see the faint deep blue of those brilliant eyes and he stared at them for a time, completely deaf to anything and everything she was saying. Because, well, like he said. She was fucking too hot for her own good.

Ahhh, welp. Too bad that couldn't last. No one couldn't just let him ogle noooo, they had to ruin it by being fucking dickwads.  Quinlan grunted when suddenly she grabbed him by his coat and shoved him back against the alleywall again, and adrenaline shot through his veins like stabbing needles.  Instinctively his hand went to his side, where a blade was tucked neatly into the leather of his belt and made less noticeable by it's placement.

Skip the goatshit.  Right.  His indigo eyes narrowed down at hers and his heart was racing in his throat.  "What the fuck, Nessa. If you wanna fuck so bad, we can nab a room right now," he muttered, his eyes meeting hers and never once breaking gaze. His heart was still pounding in his ears, maybe for different reasons, but if she said yes he wasn't going to complain.

"Quinlan," he corrected. "That's my name. And I haven't done jackshit, so just take that cudgel and shove it up your ass and call it night ok. I've been right here in this alley and there ain't nothing you can do to prove otherwise."  Sure it was a respected guard's word against his, a lowlife vagrant of curious origins and he knew that didn't look good for anybody.  That being said, he still didn't make it easy. He wasn't going to, And he kept his hands within visible sight. Although part of him reminded himself how easy it'd be watch her boil alive right now, but almost too easy.

And killing someone that fucking hot was almost...criminal.

Mercuxio's breath hitched at her responses, the little breaths she made, where she panted and arched her back into his touch. He didn't know if it was just the alcohol talking or if the sped up heart beat in his chest was because he wanted her. He let out a low slow breath, shuddering and releasing a soft moan as he settled between her legs, her skin so soft and untouched. He was still on his hands and knees, holding himself above her with one and letting the free hand rove her body.  A thumb brushed over her nipple, feeling the bump of hardened tips, and flushed state of her pale skin.

"Did you?" Stupid. Don't parrot the questions back to her, he chided himself.  "Fucking hell.  Aveline." He panted hotly against her lips as she took his hand and pressed it down her body, down to that spot he'd favored before with a few fingers. Rubbing at her again, he focused his hand slowly letting her twitch and moan to the little motions of his fingers on her body.

"Yeah," he panted. His lips pursed to kiss at hers and he tugged on her bottom lip, pulling it with his and sliding his tongue inside her mouth again. "We can make love.  This...is supposed to feel good. If something is uncomfortable, then I can adjust so that it feels wonderful. God... Aveline...you're so hot."

He pulled his hand away with some reluctance. Fuck he watch her face and listen to her mewl forever, but the little whines would wait a bit as he settled more between her legs and brushed his tip against her entrance.

"I slip inside you. Into your heat...And our bodies become one," he explained gently, moaning against her mouth, and kissing down her neck, and pressing himself against her, so that that heat slicked him up and made entry all that much easier.