35th of Glade, 4622
Early in the morning, Izzy dropped off the pair some fair distance from the camp of raiders. Arkash had his bag slung over his shoulder, his black sword left with the chariot. A bow of his head proceeded her parting words. "Bants and I'll be there with the Ozy tomorrow, be there or be square," she declared.
"Fine fine," he shrugged and waved his hand off. "Be careful getting home, use my sword if you need to."
Izzy smiled and pat the gun holstered at her hip. Just seconds later, the engine roared to life and ripped up the sand in a wave as she sped off. Smog funneling over the duo.
Arkash backed away in time to avoid inhaling the fumes, then looked to Luna before his eye fell on the rising sun in the distance. "We should get moving before some other Raider finds us," he spoke with a gesture to the surrounding dunes, then returned his eye to the woman. "Come on, it's not too far from here. You'll see the watchtower before the camp."
Indeed, it was due to the watchtower that they had to walk the rest of the distance between them and the encampment. They'd be seen much too early if they arrived on the chariot, and their presence would become suspicious.
So, with his goggles slung around his neck and the voluminous green rags of his badland outfit draping his tan skin, he began to make his way along the sand and turned up to spy the smog of the chariot as it rose. He followed the streak of black with his eyes to see Izzy in the distance, still speeding away. He smiled a little.
"We've got plenty of water, let me know if you're thirsty," he offered. With a pat of the canteen that was clipped to his waist. Then, with a rise of his brows, he began to change form.
His face elongated at the bones of his skull and his skin darkened to a basalt grey before it flipped in panels to reflect clusters of scale and bone-studded armored osteoderms. His eyes darkened to a point, and his fingers and feet forms claws. A tail dropped from his tabard with ease, and dragged along the floor behind him. "To preserve water," came his voice in a gravelly croak. "Don't need to drink as much if you don't sweat."
He rolled his shoulders in relief, then rolled his neck to crack it a few times in quick succession before he picked up the pace a little, claws aiding his grip in the sand.
Early in the morning, Izzy dropped off the pair some fair distance from the camp of raiders. Arkash had his bag slung over his shoulder, his black sword left with the chariot. A bow of his head proceeded her parting words. "Bants and I'll be there with the Ozy tomorrow, be there or be square," she declared.
"Fine fine," he shrugged and waved his hand off. "Be careful getting home, use my sword if you need to."
Izzy smiled and pat the gun holstered at her hip. Just seconds later, the engine roared to life and ripped up the sand in a wave as she sped off. Smog funneling over the duo.
Arkash backed away in time to avoid inhaling the fumes, then looked to Luna before his eye fell on the rising sun in the distance. "We should get moving before some other Raider finds us," he spoke with a gesture to the surrounding dunes, then returned his eye to the woman. "Come on, it's not too far from here. You'll see the watchtower before the camp."
Indeed, it was due to the watchtower that they had to walk the rest of the distance between them and the encampment. They'd be seen much too early if they arrived on the chariot, and their presence would become suspicious.
So, with his goggles slung around his neck and the voluminous green rags of his badland outfit draping his tan skin, he began to make his way along the sand and turned up to spy the smog of the chariot as it rose. He followed the streak of black with his eyes to see Izzy in the distance, still speeding away. He smiled a little.
"We've got plenty of water, let me know if you're thirsty," he offered. With a pat of the canteen that was clipped to his waist. Then, with a rise of his brows, he began to change form.
His face elongated at the bones of his skull and his skin darkened to a basalt grey before it flipped in panels to reflect clusters of scale and bone-studded armored osteoderms. His eyes darkened to a point, and his fingers and feet forms claws. A tail dropped from his tabard with ease, and dragged along the floor behind him. "To preserve water," came his voice in a gravelly croak. "Don't need to drink as much if you don't sweat."
He rolled his shoulders in relief, then rolled his neck to crack it a few times in quick succession before he picked up the pace a little, claws aiding his grip in the sand.
Image source.
