<blockquote class="uncited"><div>"I'm Jules, traveller and potion brewer, if your shoulder hurts I have healing remedies that I can share with you. You know, as a gesture of good will from one traveller to another." </div></blockquote><br/><br/>The blue-scaled lizard shakes his head. It clearly takes him a moment to puzzle your meaning . “No,” he says in common, and gestures behind him, “but for them.” The halting words are followed by a burst of rapid-fire draconic: “I will bear my marks of shame, that I did not return with all who travelled with me. But if you can aid my clansfolk here,” his head twitches slightly, indicating behind him, “I gratefully accept your aid.”<br/><br/><blockquote class="uncited"><div>"No trouble here- we don't want to have to fight you or the Blackscales if we don't have to. We can heal your people, as our friend said. Could you give us some direction as to where the blackscales roam most often around here?" </div></blockquote><br/><br/>The lizard nods, and answers in Draconic. “This is the path to the Temple of Kha'shazul, the great Blue, spawn of Ourelonastrix himself, who our revered ancestors served in battle long ago, in the Age of Draconic Victory. Now the center of all our woes, the eye from which our tears flow. There the Blackscales and their Poison Dusk lickspittles receive the tribute they demand from we Strongvines. From all the tribes of these valleys.<br/><br/><blockquote class="uncited"><div>"We are not settlers of that I assure you. Nor do we intend to drive you from your lands. If our manner of mixed races is not indication enough of that fact," He spreading his wings to display that he was not human " We simply seek safe passage through these lands, I promise you that we shall do you, and your spawn no harm, so long as we are not provoked" </div></blockquote><br/><br/>“Our lands,” the lizardman makes his barking laugh. “The lands we return to, before the thieving Blackscales take our huts, too. They have already seized the pride of our tribe. Thank you for leaving them to us,” he sighs, “for another season.”<br/><br/><blockquote class="uncited"><div>Xarces spreads his angelic wings as he speaks to the lizardfolk</div></blockquote><br/><br/>The moment Xarces spreads his wings, barks of surprise echo from behind you, and the blue-scaled lizardman falls immediately to his knees, his clansfolk barely a moment behind him. “Forgive me,” he says, “I knew you not. The bloodline of Hezcalipa flows in your veins. The sacrifice of Couatls was the seed from which victory grew, long ago.” His clawed hand reaches to brush yours in wonderment. “But your blood flows warm beneath the cold sun,” he murmurs, “how can this be?”<br/><br/><blockquote class="uncited"><div>"It is a pleasure to meet you Krustach, I am Xarces, a bard. I spread knowledge across the land through the power of music. It would appear that you have some animosity towards these settlers you speak of, and that you have been wronged by the Blackscale? Are my assumptions correct? If you wish, You could inform me of your tribe, your struggles, and of the Blackscale, so that I may sing songs of your people's plight upon returning to society, to spread awareness and sympathy to your cause........ and my friend here has also offered healing should you need it" He motions to Jules as he finishes speaking</div></blockquote><br/><br/>“We can ask no more of the blood that flows in your veins,” Krustach replies, his dialogue growing more archaic and formal by the moment, “but I will accept your gift, freely offered, for Tribe Strongvine.” He nods, firmly. “As is my role as Headspeaker. The warm-bloods come, greater numbers each year. Some cut and burn, lay waste to all this. The strength of the jungle washes away, till only barren rock remains,” he shakes his head. “This place should be touched only lightly. Our sacred sites, temples raised to our honored saviours, the graves of our honoured ancestors, the prisons of vile ancient foes... bolder warm-bloods raid them, steal our ancient treasures, disturb... I know not what, beneath these thick leaves.” He pauses. Breathes. “The Blackscales demand tribute – they<span style="font-style: italic">took</span>our honor, our Armaekrixner, but what is that besides the lives they also stole - claiming it to fight such defilers, whilst they squat and shit in the ruins, treating coldskin lizardfolk no better than chattel,” he sniffs, “if we are lucky – and their violence bestirs event the peaceable folk amongst the humans to war against us.”