Iscarra

Quiet Grace, Silent Love


Description





>Quirks
>Quirks
>Quirks





Friend

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Lore by anteater

Most steer clear of her and she’s made her peace with that.
She has what she needs; the niches she’s carved out for herself in this life. Her silence and the few things that get to fill it. Most days it’s only the sounds of her tools, working steadfast to do the one thing no one else could do better: mask making.
Her hands are skilled, the scars from errand tools scattered around her claws are all faded by now. And the collection hanged proudly in every corner of her glade is ever-growing, each new piece more stunning than the last one.
It’s the thing that most often lure other dragons into her home. The glade is shaded and remote, her tools and materials stored neatly all along. She’s unsure how long she’s even lived like this, away and on her own terms, but it’s been a while. It suits her. And yet there’s a thrill when somebody for once ventures close.
A thrill in making knights and warriors kneel in the soft moss to crown them in their gilded helmet, visors shiny and sharp in the spotted sunlight. A grace and a satisfaction in gilded artworks and diamond-inlaid finery placed carefully on the noblewoman’s brow. The most tender joy when youngsters bow in the grass – breath quick and eyes darting full of wonder over her creation.
‘I’d heard tales about your work’, comes the confession, full of curiosity. And she always dams up the next part, any wavering compliment or awe. There is no time for it, she’s already picked out just the mask that belongs to this visitor. She presses it into their hands and sends them off, the importance of her work heavy like a star in her chest.
Was meeting Mallory the same way? Or perhaps even more weighty, supernovas and morning stars and gilded full plate armor. Quietly, she still considers that the most important helmet she’s ever made, even if it is simple and crude compared to what she’s since made.
But it covers and protects the face of the only being Iscarra might most earnestly and tenderly call her friend. A quiet soul like herself, who doesn’t shy from her quiet and her solitude. Were it up to her, she’d spend most of her quiet, sun-dabbled afternoons out in her glade with her hands busy and Mal around, not even talking – just existing in her presence and understanding, really understanding, the weight of that.

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oh no, you look perfect as a beautiful ridgeback, but you would also looks so good as a Abby...