A humpen mass of royal cyan-kissed feathers, sunstained from years of travel through the dunes of salt, are hugged by straps adorned with agate, rubies and sapphires of various cuts and dimensions that drape over the powerful back. On that back are cylindrical containers sloshing liquids, of which are now more valuable than ever for their scarcity. A tube siphons into the beak of something withered and wrinkled, a neck folding in on itself decadent with a glistenbrass crown and grapencloth checkered with siennaviolet jewels from foreign markets. The breaths mutter something of Netwirth, Biznusz and Opshoons. Under the decorated wings and exquisite shawls covering the creature are fragile little arms with long talons for fingers, that, even at rest, seem to bend at many joints. The being beckons you. You cannot deny his wealth, and therefore, you cannot deny his offer.
little illustrations of the progression of my character in Caves of Qud from Level 15, Level 30, and severely infected with a terrible case of fickle gill
