07.08b: Skin Deep

[Wyvern]

Alys shrugs. "Whereas I'd use the term 'kobold' to refer to a particular sort of small-but-industrious lizard-folk, and refer to his... and apparently your - version as a 'cetiejir'. Minor details, to be sure, but it can throw off a whole conversation if people don't realize quite how much shadows can vary."

[Draylen]

"Roughly wolf-height, stand on two legs, long tail used as a counterbalance?" Aibne asks, nodding a little. "There's a troupe of those somewhere here, too. They have a bit of a prank war with the... cetiejir? Nothing terribly messy or dangerous, just illusions, normally. Some really good ones, though; I've been trying to teach Skjalten to start teaching. Maybe you'll have better luck," he says, shrugging a little, as he holds open the fort's main door for her, letting her step into the city's tunnels first, before leading through the meandering paths to a small chapel.

[Wyvern]

"Other kobolds will do, if that's what they call themselves."

Alys looks around the chapel curiously.

[Draylen]

It's a small, sparsely decorated setting. Most of the pews have been put away in favor of small desks and tables - a large, heavy-set troll wearing cotton robes is at the front, patiently writing on a chalkboard. He looks up, smiling a little at Aibne and nodding at Alys, but doesn't let the two of them interrupt his lesson. It's not a particularly large class - ten or eleven children of various races, generally between the ages of six and thirteen - although sitting beside the door curled up is a deep, dark green dragon with a large leaf growing out of the top of its head.

Aibne nods back, quietly pulling a chair up and sitting so as not to interrupt.

[Wyvern]

Alys spends a few more moments surveying the room, before crouching down to get a better look at the dragon by the doorway - trying to get a sense of its condition. Is it male or female or of one of those types that wouldn't have decided yet? Exhausted or simply bored with a lesson on runes it already knows? Hardy and well fed, or thin and injured from its journey to Amber?

[Draylen]

The dragon notices your attention and smiles - he is very clearly bored, but he's still a little on the skinny side. It looks like he's had a fairly rough life before coming to Amber, and there are numerous signs of battle damage on him. Damaged scales, missing patches, thin scars, and a few signs of more serious, but healed damage are visible to a more than cursory glance. He breaths out a small jet of inky black smoke, and there's a faint tickling at the back of Alys' skull.

[Wyvern]

Alys shakes her head, and - quietly - addresses the dragon in a language that's a mix of sharp and sibilant sounds.*

"<Probably not a good idea, kid. My mind is not a safe place to go poking around.>"

_____
* Draconic, of course, instead of the Amber-default language of Thari. Or, depending on your perspective, this might even qualify for "Old Draconic" or "High Draconic" or some such adjective. If that doesn't work, she'll try Thari next.

[Draylen]

He tilts his head a little and perks his head up, concentrating for a moment. He breathes deeply, before exhaling, emitting long streams of liquid shadow that form words, also written in Draconic. <My apologies, [fellow dragon]. The sunspot I come from has telepathic communications as the standard. It is... much safer, than verbal communications. Many predators are around, both at night and day.>

[Wyvern]

"<No apology needed.>"

Alys looks up to where the troll is writing - a lesson on runes and basic literacy, apparently - and back to the dragon. Then she shifts around to sit cross-legged on the ground and takes out a sheet of paper, having decided to eschew further speech so as to avoid disrupting the troll's lesson.

A few moments of concentration on her part, and she slowly runs a finger across the page, leaving letters burned into the paper:

<It seems this lesson might be a bit below your level. How familiar are you with Thari?>

[Draylen]

He tilts his head a little and breathes onto the paper. <Not at all. I don't think we had that variant at my sunspot.> The runes remain for a few brief moments, before disappearing, evaporating into harmless smoke. Aibne tilts his head slightly and watches, giving a small smile, before turning his attention back to the lesson, holding a small wax board himself.