Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-30700719-20181029004213/@comment-30014014-20181030014940

The smoke that bled out of the fallen caravan had attracted a couple of eyes here and here. Fleeting ones, at best. However, two pairs seemed, more than willing to risk a look, uncertain of the precarious path set about.

One had natural armor, bathed in crimson. Two game changing color at the opposite of the specter, as the crinsom tide came with the chips of azurite irises, edges and miscellancous ends. An elegant tail folded into itself, pristine.

Should one dare a smell from it, they'd be graced with the scent of a gentle distant vanilla distributed amidst its immediate surrounding...assuming the woman making use of said tail was in the tolerating department. Considering her disposition, piercing reptilian glare and fiery duality in the weapons she brands, both raptured in flames, from the blood red to the river's breath, perhaps asking now was nay the time.

Surely that had to do with the second one walking nearby. Or, directly besides her. A man, shrouded in a cloak, weaved in metal and silk. Silver and gray adorns his attire, a marriage of armor and ornate motives. Symbols litter his clothing, to the point where one might ask whether he was part of the Order.

One hand is wrapped in some amp, silver in nature, stone in cocoon. The other happens to carry a censur, dormant, yet prone to a sudden awakening. The man's face is veiled in a silver mask, doubled with a hood. He wavers his censur around periodically while the Glav glares over their distant surrounding, her nostrils awaiting any sorry man or beast bearing down the acts of an ambush...