The tall, raw-boned old man-- well, grayed out man; his face is weathered but not lined, and his skin is as gray as his hair-- pauses at the sight out of the corner of his one good eye, and glowers, shoulders tensing in a way that isn't particularly human. The way his tongue flicks out to taste the scents on the air, not quite the right shape and color for a human tongue, isn't very human, either. There's even a strange rumbling coming from him, that doesn't sound like it should be able to come from someone his size and shape-- he's growling. Stone hasn't had great experiences with visions or people who might or might not be there.
"If there's someone there, they had best come out," he says after a moment.
D.
Though he isn't trying the wine-- it smells funny, and he doesn't quite trust this place yet-- Stone is sampling just about everything else. He's always loved groundling food, and he doesn't suspect everyone of trying to poison him. So he's wandering the various vendors, coming away from each one with a handful of their wares to try.
And eventually he'll even head out into the water, though once he's out deep enough, people will stop running into a mostly-clothed old man and into a creature about the size of your largest draft horse with black scales, spines along its neck, and bright blue eyes-- one of which is clouded as if it's blind. It's oddly hard to make out the details, and it might frighten a few people-- but as soon as someone screams, there's something like black mist for a moment where the creature just was, and there's the old man again.
"Sorry," he says.
F.
Stone takes a dragon on his trek out of the city, mostly at the insistence of his faction, but he doesn't ride it. What he wants here is to fly, and he'll do that with or without a companion. Still, flying with said companion is nice enough, and anyone else outside the city's walls will find the big, black winged beast circling alongside the local dragon, perhaps playing a bit of chase, stoop, and dive with it.
Stone | Books of the Raksura
The tall, raw-boned old man-- well, grayed out man; his face is weathered but not lined, and his skin is as gray as his hair-- pauses at the sight out of the corner of his one good eye, and glowers, shoulders tensing in a way that isn't particularly human. The way his tongue flicks out to taste the scents on the air, not quite the right shape and color for a human tongue, isn't very human, either. There's even a strange rumbling coming from him, that doesn't sound like it should be able to come from someone his size and shape-- he's growling. Stone hasn't had great experiences with visions or people who might or might not be there.
"If there's someone there, they had best come out," he says after a moment.
D.
Though he isn't trying the wine-- it smells funny, and he doesn't quite trust this place yet-- Stone is sampling just about everything else. He's always loved groundling food, and he doesn't suspect everyone of trying to poison him. So he's wandering the various vendors, coming away from each one with a handful of their wares to try.
And eventually he'll even head out into the water, though once he's out deep enough, people will stop running into a mostly-clothed old man and into a creature about the size of your largest draft horse with black scales, spines along its neck, and bright blue eyes-- one of which is clouded as if it's blind. It's oddly hard to make out the details, and it might frighten a few people-- but as soon as someone screams, there's something like black mist for a moment where the creature just was, and there's the old man again.
"Sorry," he says.
F.
Stone takes a dragon on his trek out of the city, mostly at the insistence of his faction, but he doesn't ride it. What he wants here is to fly, and he'll do that with or without a companion. Still, flying with said companion is nice enough, and anyone else outside the city's walls will find the big, black winged beast circling alongside the local dragon, perhaps playing a bit of chase, stoop, and dive with it.