Azzan shivered at the sudden sensation, but it took more than lust to distract one of Luna's chosen. He was under the woman who called herself a man before she hit the sand, ignoring the raging erection threatening to burst through his magiked pants. "Are you okay?" he asked, his Firetongue thickly accented.<br/><br/>Azzan wore Delzahn garb, like the rest of the procession, and was wrapped in the light robes of a man. Beneath the robes, these loyal mortals knew were tattoos of impossible silver, and some very few had the strength of will to see the calico pattern of his long hair, the ears on his scalp, the tail at his legs. He was otherwise a tall man, over six foot, strong hardbody from a life of ropes and decks, sails and rigging. He had on his right hip two blades in light tan scabbards, one sized as a heavy sword, the other a dagger, their handles glinting of silver where they were not wrapped with black leather.