Jakkokent

'i can tame her,' he said, the first time he is met, and the clan does not believe him.

he arrived on the southblowing wind, curling in towards the desert from the tidelord's sea. his mouth smiles relentlessly and he speaks with a beatific mirth that does not quite reach his eyes. he entertained them with tales and dances and he spoke of magic; of a deeper, greater magic that pulsed below the earth, that ran hotter than the most intense fire, that could soothe more than the lulling song of the ocean.

he speaks of these things and as impossible as they should be he seems untouched by the elements of the land; he seems unearthly, he seems erethreal, he seems as if he does and does not exist. staring at him for too long makes one's head spin wildly.

'i can tame her,' he insisted, and they relented her to him; the fae that did not fly. now she trails after him, like some sort of pet, and, though astonished, the clan carefully neglects to ask him how.

his patterns are shifting-- the hardest part of him to look at-- the blinding, clean shine of his belly, has been creeping out in odd, thinly undulating curls and wrapping itself around the rest of his body. now, the very presence of jakkokent brings unease and a general sense of displacement to those around him.

the affliction is dangerously close to touching the whites of his eyes.