Jasmine Isle

He’d gathered a good amount of the flowers with his companions’ help before the tread of paws turned his head, snowy ears perked. She was a small woman, painted in snow and sand hues, delicately built and visibly cheerful. At her greeting and query, he smiled lightly himself, nodding a black wrapped muzzle.

“I am. My name is Paladin Ancora, Incandescent Courage of Valhalla. The jasmine’s really just for perfume making. It’s a good soothing scent for those who don’t find florals headache-inducing.” His words were laden with a thick, charming gaelic brogue and lilt common among the Nomads from the original chapter. Though many, many different cultures mixed with the primary of the Nomads, the Old Tongue and Old Land culture was prevalent among the elite healers, who spoke the language as effortlessly as the wind.

He paused to gently nip a few more blossoms off and drop them into his bag. “Here for some rarer plants? Should be a good place for them.” Her scent touched his nose and he filed it away, noting the touch of the Armadan scent among the usual scent that sang of a healer’s trade.