[M] [DND] Det er ei Fantekjerring;

Eris Eternity · 02-05-2012, 07:59 AM

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Discordia's appearance. She is probably below Vesle somewheres.

Eris is by Nat!

The dark woman had been itching to don this disguise since the idea had first occurred to her. Eris could not rightly recall when she had come upon this idea, but she had been ready for some weeks now. Basilaris's birth had delayed any southern journeys, however, and the dark woman had been content to wait. Now, she was smeared with the reddish mud of the river, tucked beneath her oversized cloak. Where the mud clung to her fur it was stuff and uncomfortable, but it certainly did its job to change the color of her fur. Instead of coal black, it had taken on a deep brownish hue, and would be gone as soon as she chose to wash it off. Better yet, the resource of mud was astronomically large -- the dark hybrid had no worries of running out anytime soon. So long as the rivers flowed, she'd have her disguise.

The cloak, completed by Rowan some weeks prior, had been kept in its own small chest, folded around a clump of flowers. Eris had taken care to surround the cloak with more flowers, and now, in her pocket, a large slice of meat -- sour and starting to turn, certain to be half-rotted by the time she made her way back to the Pictou -- sat in her largest pocket, carefully tucked there by the dark woman herself. The smell did not bother her, but it was sure to disguise her own scent, which she'd washed away to the best of her ability with a long ocean bath as well as application of oils made from bayberry and mint. This smell was powerful and more displeasing than the smell of the meat, but Eris tolerated it, finding the scent disguise as necessary as the one she'd physically adopted.

Even her gait was different. The coyote, five this year, moved like a woman closer to her mother's age, dragging her left foot in an expertly feigned limp. Her daughters had helped her with this, critiquing her performance until the young woman was able to move convincingly as an old one. Her posture was hunched and slumped, again rather like that of an aged canine rather than a still-young, spry leader of less than half a decade. The sable coyote moved toward the festival, her eventual destination. She was drawn, however, to a certain pulse in the earth. Perhaps it was the whisper of an old ghost, or, perhaps more likely, it was simply the whim of the mushroom caps she'd ingested that morning. They, too, were a part of her garb -- the dark woman knew her presentation and personality were completely different while on the substance. While less physically in control of herself, the coal-furred Auxiliary was less likely to be recognized. She kept a supply of them tucked in a pocket close to her throat.

The morning's light shone, though it was obscured by the creeping fog. Eris was thinking of Haku, just then, though she did not know why. Perhaps it was that same whisper calling to her. Shivering, she turned her head this way and that, seeking the ghost himself, though she knew his presence to be an impossibility.

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