Socha

"It all requires class, extravagance, and most of all: tact. None of which I have, but that's the fun part."

Socha lives under many names and identities she switches at the drop of a pin. One day she could be a shy merchant that goes by Galilee and an anonymous hitman the next. No one knows her true name. She'd rather like to keep it that way.

Unusual to the other patrons, this spirit keeps no certain name. Offerings or prayers to her grant loss of one's identity and favors toward a new slate. Those that seek her aid often wish to hide their past. Others desire that the winds of change bring about a turning point during conflict. The Spirit of the Mask's Cover will consider your concerns.

The fallen leaves crunched under the quickened pace of a dragon. Her beady eyes were widened, and faint quivers of her voice shook in her shallow breaths. She reached to clutch her chest. She could feel the air within drumming and swirling while a frantic beat pulsed alongside it. Her hand started to pull at her feathers; the stress was starting to eat at her core. The fear could not consume her, lest she would be found out in a matter of seconds.

The dragon sensed a riot, no a stampede, raging beyond the treeline. The cries of the mob welled with each of her steps. Knowing running from the problem was futile, she held her breath and turned around to suddenly sight the mob.

A group of about a hundred or so dragons stood before her. She could see the anger burning bright as their torches behind their eyes. She let out a breath and crooked a smile as she slicked back her mane of feathers. A surly Snapper pushed through the crowd. The others kept a wide berth for him while he walked towards the Skydancer. He had a rugged look to his face: several of his spines were cracked, scars ran the length of his snout, and his right eye shone a ghostly pale in the torches' light. He stopped inches away from her, and he looked up into her eyes.

"You know what you did kizhima-yitt."
(Kizhima translates closest to shifter or chameleon in Gik'mra.)

The Skydancer tilted her head to think for a moment.

"I think that all of..."

She circled her hand to gesture at the mob then pointed at the Snapper.

"...you, but especially you, are mistaken."

"Don't take me for an idiot! We both know this isn't going to end all short and sweet like you play off. Might as well admit it while you still can."

He leaned in closer. His eyes were brighter than she had ever seen. The tiny nicks and battle scars he wore had become more apparent in the light. The Snapper pulled back his frown. A pair of glistening sabers were slowly revealed against a row of smaller teeth- surely a modification from the war times she thought. A sound rumbled from within his chest:

"Try your luck. Just one. More. Time."

"I vouch it's a mistake. You don't seem aware I have a cousin, a very troubled girl. She likes to visit here."

"Bull****."

"Oh, but that's where you're wrong. She has a scar along her neck. Do I have to show a picture?"

The Snapper's brows furrowed down onto his eyes. A smile rised from the corners of his mouth as he laughed.

"Indulge us then. You have one last chance to prove yourself."

She slipped her fingers beneath the collar of her dress. She produced a slip of paper that she then flicked with her wrist once. The side which faced her contained a small portrait of a Fae, but after it was shook, it changed to a Skydancer similar in her likeness. She pulled her dress down to show the rest of her neck.

"Here, you see? Scar on her, not me. If I were a shifter, the scar would remain regardless of my form."

He eyed her up and down. His head gestured for more of his group to come look.

"Sir, I don't see any sign of tampering. Are you sure you aren't mistaken?"

"Me neither. I was sure the one earlier had a scar like that."

The Snapper dismissed them with a grunt and shook his head. He spat at her feet.

"Your untrained eyes fool you. Cairus, seize this abomination."

Her mane flared. She lifted a foot in reaction, but another dragon trapped her in their arms from behind before she could take another step in flee. She throttled herself a few times in their grip in attempt to break free, but she stopped once she saw the glints of metal. The talons of her captor were entangled in brilliant chainlinks that shined with the speckles of hundreds of pinprick jewels. She turned her head back to face a familiar sight and frowned.

"Enchantment to hold us captive. I thought that was heresy. I thought better of you, Cairus."

"I no longer buy the word of your sisterhood. You've been playing too much with the Gathering than you're allowed. Can you justify the deaths you've caused this last month? Can your explain for any of it?"

Cairus kept his hold on her. His eyes never wavered from her. She softened in his grip. The enchanted chains appeared to have some effect on her even though it was not easily seen at first. Her voice rasped.

"No. I have no answer."

"Then that'll be your death. As Katarin your witness this night, you admit your wrongdoings and forfeit your life. Your sisterhood no longer holds any claim to you. You have until the first light tomorrow to make any last arrangements."

"Then it seems you've seen Sreyzhin's eyes. You all brought it upon yourself. Maybe the patrons will have mercy on you tonight, but it will not last. Tread carefully as you want, but it will not prevent the inevitable. Cairus, you cannot take this back."

(To see Sreyzhin's eyes: named for a cautionary tale of the Ssairey-ehzrik. If you are said to see Sreyzhin's eyes, then you caused yourself to have bad karma coming for you. In other words, you're boned/a pox on your poor little soul.)