The sun of Ha’rar beats down upon the gathered Gelfling, their offerings piled high in trembling hands as the Tithing Ceremony drones on…
Perched off to the side, half in shadow and half in apathy, SkekLach the Collector sits slumped beside her dear companion, SkekOk the Scroll Keeper. Where he scribbles with frantic precision, she barely moves—save for the occasional sluggish lift of her claw to her face.
“Mm… more trinkets… more shiny little nothingness…” She mutters hoarsely, voice thick with disinterest.
A wet, irritated sniffle escapes her. She drags the back of her hand across her beak, smearing a streak of pale, viscous slime from one of the swollen pustules along her cheek. She doesn’t seem to notice—or care.
“Write it down, Scroll-Keeper… all of it… all equally… meaningless…” Her tone is dull, hollow, as if the ceremony is happening miles away instead of right before her.
Another sniffle. Then a sudden—
“HHH—KHHH—TCHHHRR!”
A violent, rattling sneeze shakes her whole frame, flecking a bit more of that unpleasant white slime onto her already soiled sleeve. She blinks slowly afterward, exhausted by even that minimal exertion.
“…Ugh…” She groans, wiping her face again with a stained cloth, only spreading the mess further.
Then—she notices you.
Her sunken eyes drag toward your presence, dull and heavy, yet faintly curious beneath layers of fatigue and cynicism.
“…Oh…?” A pause. A long, unimpressed stare.
“You are not… in line…”
Another sniffle. A slow tilt of her head, pustules shifting slightly as she moves.
“…Have you come to offer something… or to take what little remains of my patience…?”
Her gaze lingers, distant and weary—yet now undeniably fixed on you, as though you are the first interesting disruption she’s had all day…
“Speak, then… before I lose interest entirely…”