Skimm
(#40155257)
The Fortune Teller
Familiar
Book Swarm
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 44/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Plague.
Female Nocturne
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
5.41 m
Wingspan
5.23 m
Weight
769.11 kg
Genetics
Obsidian
Wasp
Wasp
Oilslick
Bee
Bee
Charcoal
Runes
Runes
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 5 Nocturne
EXP: 3304 / 5545
STR
7
AGI
6
DEF
7
QCK
6
INT
6
VIT
6
MND
7
Biography
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♕ S K I M M The Fortune Teller ╰ ╭  ╰ ╭ 
MORASS
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TENGU
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CRESS
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DAROVA
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Directed | Discourteous | Masculine (Manly) ╰ bio template by squidragon adapted by Katalist
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her visions give her bad headaches
it is considered good fortune to speak to her before a battle of any kind, regardless of what she says
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Whoever coined the phrase 'a man's got to play the hand that was dealt him' was most certainly one ****-poor bluffer.
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The clan's scrying expert and general seer, but also a pretty good poker player. She operates mainly in the tavern, but often disappears for days at a time. She predicts that you are about to lose a lot of treasure soon. Skimm collects a lot of scrolls from different writers, fastidiously collected from the marketplace with her poker winnings. Her information has proven useful for many dragons, though she tries not to step on any toes.
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Fat droplets splattered out on the balcony, muffling the smell of the swamp and driving the patrons inside the pub. The occasional drift of wind brought the sweet-smelling rain through the window near Skimm, but the respite was few and far between. One of the poker players at her table belched, and Skimm closed her eyes and begged for that cool breeze. “Skimm, you with us?” A pearlcatcher waved his deck in front of her face. There was nothing in the cards, from what she saw. If he was smart, he’d fold. An imperial sat guarding his cards aggressively while a fae tried to sneak a peek at her partner’s cards. A guardian was asleep on the table, and the fae was trying to swap his cards with hers. A faint thought, like a cobweb on an early morning danced out of her reach. She needed to go home, and soon. She looked down at her hand. Nothing. “Not tonight boys, I’m going to call it on this one.” She pushed away from the table, grabbing her small pile of winnings and kicking the guardian as she left. He snorted awake and mumbled something about ‘go fish’, resulting in another kick from the pearlcatcher. Cries of complaint followed her as she left, but she knew her spot would be taken quickly. Poker was one of the best ways to waste your money on a wet night. And that thought was back, but no matter how she chased it, it seemed to always lie out of her reach. Outside, the swamp was cold. A thin film of oily rain sat on top of the mire, and the rotten boards connecting the town together were slimy with moss. If anyone cared enough about the town, they’d build better paths, and use planks instead of old fence slats. But that would require the folks at the marketplace to care about their neighbours. A hint of irritability flicked within. It had been years since she’d moved her residence, and her Tribe friends had slowly melted away, claiming the smell of the swamp was too strong to stay close. Skimm wondered if there was a figurative touch to the literality of that statement. She saw him before she saw him. Like her poker matches, her hands always played a set way. Like a ball of string rolling from its owner, no matter how you followed the string, it would always end up at the core of the ball. She knew heading into a game if she would come out a winner, and she knew before she turned the corner that someone was trying to break into her house. It was like fate had thrown a ball of string, and she was chasing it to him. He was a wildclaw, dark brown and failing at being sneaky. Skimm had seen him around, selling stolen trinkets and poisoned breads. They had both competed for space in the marketplace, but once the Swamp members had moved, finding space in the marketplace was easier. Maybe the rumours were as off-putting as the smell. His sudden interest in her house irked her, for she seldom sold the same stuff as he did. In fact, after the last time he threatened her, she hadn’t sold anything remotely botanical. She decided to climb up onto the stone wall of her neighbour’s property and watch, chewing her nails as he wiggled the lock on her front door. After a while the amusement wore off, and her stomach rumbled. He was not making any progress. “After you finish ruining the doorknob on my front door, Tengu, you can always go around back. That door’s straight up missing.” The wildclaw jumped at the mention of his name and whipped around to look at her. She was lying on the wall at this stage, lazily digging under her forearm scales for muck. “S-s-s-skimmm! I-I-I-didn’t expect you ho-ho-home so sssoon!” He wrung his hands around each other, dropping the bar he was using on the door. Skimm leapt off the wall and landed on her own balcony, an action that would have been far cooler had she not tripped on the landing. Grabbing the bar off the dirty floor, she whacked him over the head with it, causing him to scurry back in a daze. “I’ve been here for nearly an hour watching you try to break into an unlocked house, you featherbrained idiot! Go home Tengu and watch I don’t call Knux on your idiot nest-mate!” At the affront to his mate Cress, Tengu fluffed himself up to attack. When the bar came hurtling at him though, he decided it was a much safer idea to scram. Skimm turned the knob on her door and let herself in, shaking her head at his insistence. She had no answers for his actions– obviously fate wanted her to come home tonight, and fate wanted her to see Tengu try to open her door. She warmed up a cup of soup on the coals of her fireplace, and sat on the floor, counting her riches. She’d have to get rid of some of the jewels tomorrow. Perhaps a nice donation to Mal would encourage the renovations of the boardwalks around the Swamp. In the pub, a nocturne sat with his back to the window, claiming Skimm’s seat was making him lucky. He sat back, gloating about his third victory when his face stiffened and his eyes bulged. He slowly dropped onto the table, his face hitting the board and disrupting the cards. The pearlcatcher shouted at his rudeness, before noticing the knife sticking out of his back. Skimm sipped her soup, puzzling over the infinite curiosities of fate.
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ETYMOLOGY - A form of white-collar crime, skimming is slang for taking cash ""off the top"" of the daily receipts of a business (or from any cash transaction involving a third interested party) and officially reporting a lower total. The formal legal term is defalcation. RELATIONS -
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Exalting Skimm to the service of the Gladekeeper will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.
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