>>5207521>>5207513You do not address Irinnile. It’s not necessarily that you want her to stew or sweat—though it would serve her right—so much as that you aren’t yet sure how to feel about the whole situation. She has been buttering you up with flattery and spectral touches ever since your spat, which is both appreciated and makes you feel queerly concerned for her… But inasmuch as she is beloved by you, she is also a liability to your greater destiny. It is difficult to reconcile, and you have more pressing matters… Such as how to approach those pure-blooded Reptilians who now take notice of you.
Much of your bravado melts away as dozens of pairs of reptiliform faces turn towards you, yellow and orange eyes reflecting the limited light with piercing scrutiny. All at once, you feel the shame of your inborn status settle upon you like a physical weight. Your head bows instinctively, your eyes lower to the floor, your posture adjusts to show proper deference to these purebloods. You were raised right, after all, whatever your mother’s… Proclivities. No, you do not wish to draw too much attention to yourself. You know that a Degenerate’s greatest virtue in this place is humility and obedience.
Unfortunately, you also brought a small cadre of extremely-colourful pets, associates, and surface treasures. Attention is probably unavoidable.
No one approached immediately, the people of this place hovering well back. You can see the subtle signs of fascination and fear flit across their varies, scaly features. Even the mightiest Steeltalon is fearful to enter the owlbear’s considerable reach; even the noblest Dragonblood is awed (albeit probably also horrified) by the great and terrible DragonBORN. But your people are not a race given to meaningless chatter and exclamation. There are q few quiet whispers, subtle shifts of posture to draw closer or back away.
“What is the meaning of this?” one Dragonblood speaks up, after a while. “What… Are all these things? Who are you?”
You open your mouth to speak, but can say nothing. You are a little girl, a hatchling, once more. It is not your place... And so, you turn to Roth, the highest-born of your party. He meets your eyes for a moment, and almost seems surprised. You suppose it’s been some time since you showed the old male this level of respect for his bloodline and his station—you’d taken to teasing and bantering with him almost like an equal and, age, birth, and inherent haughtiness aside, he had come to expect and even accept it from you. Coming home is an adjustment for you both.