Acacea Thistletounge

This dark-eyed halfling's unbooted feet- apparently bored with merely walking to point B- occasionally break into a skip or prance, her belled bracelets set a-jingling as her arms swing at her sides. Her curls of frazzled black hair reach just short of the shoulders, and look to be trying to escape from her head underneath the colorful scarf they're contained by.

Upon close examination, tiny faint white lines can be seen criss-crossing lightly tanned skin, barely visible scars covering every part of the body in such a way that she could only have been either pulled apart at the seams at some point or stuck in a bag with many angry cats.

There are enough tattoos,decorating her body that she might be mistaken for a ghostwise if not for the lazy playfulness she carries herself with and the impish smirk she takes everywhere. Some are tapped starkly black against her sun-browned skin, while others almost seem painted or spelled on.

The largest of them covers nearly her entire back, and details a sleek and powerful feline in the stance of a protective guardian poised to leap from the ground of a dry desert. Its tapered black-backed ears are tipped with long tufts of dark hair, contrasting with the rest of its body's sandy-red coloring. While succeeding in looking threatening against anyone that may present harm, it has an expression of playful defiance.

A circle of eight stars hangs behind the 'Lynx,' each blazing in the colors of the Weave with some partially hidden, their edges peeking from behind it, but with a pinkish red star recognizable to some as enchantment taking the most visible and central location. At its feet, sprouting from the dry ground is a Desertbloom Wildflower, its curious petals sent swirling around the cat in what looks like a sudden, fierce wind.

The edges of this artwork can be seen peeking both above and below the type of shirt she usually wears. So much detail and color has gone into the scene that it was no doubt excruciating to have done. Somewhat disconcertingly, the eyes of the Lynx always seem to be on the viewer, at whichever angle they stand, yet no movement is ever directly spotted other than the uncomfortable feeling that it blinked when they looked away.

Almost always present is the choker that rarely is taken from around her neck, with its small charms dangling on either side, and a pendant of an eight pointed star in a circle hanging from the center.

Visibly tattooed underneath where it sits is a single golden feather that wraps downwards around her neck, its tips crossing below her throat so the pendant is cradled above it, leaving both decorations visible. The edges of the feather are ruffled slightly, as if it twined around her neck by itself in a breeze. Less often noticed unless a top is cut just slightly lower than most that she wears, is the deep green four-leaf clover that hangs from the tips of the feather as if a pendant itself.

Across her left thigh, flickering in and out of sight under her favorite comfortably baggy shorts, is the figure of a shadowed black panther crouched balancing on the sharp edge of a jagged greatsword. Though the blade seems to cut into the paws of this mysterious feline, it looks out unmoving towards the viewer, with one eye sparkling a fey blue and the other a protective golden color. Beside the wicked blade, fallen as though forgotten, is a small lily, with two scattered petals stained red with the panther's blood.

Weaving in and out between other tattoos, twining artfully around her entire body, are twists and whirls of wind patterns here and there that glimmer oddly in natural light. At first it would seem to source at her right shin, where an airy fey spirit is vaguely formed and blowing across a lifted palm, sending the patterns twining up her leg, where it crosses over to become the breeze scattering the petals, up over her hip to become the wind teasing the cat and feather on her back, and the ruffling of the feather around her neck. Eventually they wind back down to become the same spirit sourcing them; oddly, when one is not looking directly at them, one might almost see them move and flow over her skin, but on examination it is impossible to confirm and easily dismissed as a trick of the light.

Three different scripts follow and twist with the flow of patterns... In many places a curl of wind becomes a spiral of symbols in some forgotten script, similar in lettering at times to that of the elves, yet creating strange celtic knots of words before trailing off to wind or skin again. ((Unrecognizeable.)) Elsewhere, they become instead small chains of distinct, ancient runes, overlapping in some places with the spiraling knots of words to curl just under them. (Tell/PM for the runes.)