Dusk slowly falls into night, the singler large stone casts a great shadow over the small town. A thin boy in his younger years leads a large group of camels into a large pavilion tent as the sun sets. The boy actively counts every camel, his frantic eyes shifting between each beast as if each were a giant spider. As the final camel is led into the tent the boy stairs into town, squinting against the setting sun, and then closes the flaps of the great tent before the sun sets behind the one stone.
Daven is a son of camel breeders and tonight is his turn to look over the caravan of camels, not only to prevent theft but to keep the caravan warm and keep the small fire pit in the middle of the tent lit. It can get very cold during the night, especially when the day is starting to get cooler and cooler as well. Davin found the changes tariffing, but there's little Davin doesn't find terrifying. If anyone actually tried to steal a camel, Daven would point them to the best in stock and offer their best feed as well. Some might say that he was cowardly, but he is just realistic, he doesn't have the means to be a hero. He can't wield a mighty axe, have great psychic power or have the favor of the elements, heck even these new gods don't even want to give him the time of day despite how he prayed that one time.
If davin had the power to stop a theft he would, but he doesn't, in fact he was physically inadequate compared to the others in One Stone. Davin has no doubt one day someone or something would one day accidentally sneeze on him and he would explode into gore on the spot. That's why when he found a beaten down book inside a forgotten pack on a camel his family boght, he had to take the chance. He needs to find a way to push back or be pushed into an early grave, that's the way of the sands.
He took the hidden book out under the camel feed and opened it next to the fire pit. He pulled out a stick from his shirt, hard to find even with the rains, and pointed it at the pit. Spark started from the tip of the twig igniting the pit. After hiding the twig in his shirt again he took out supplies from his leather pack. Davin opens his small jar of ink, also really hard to find, and rolls down his sleeves revealing his tattoos. The tattoos are in shapes and designs, an obvious one being a symbol of lathander. Anyone who had a passing glance at Davens tattoos would think him a lathander worshiper not noticing the the patterns were made out of text, arcane text. Pooling a thorn out of his pack, plucked from a thorny branch and dipped it into the ink.
With quick and constant piercing picks, Damen begins to carve a new spell into his flesh, the last spell in the withered tome. Damen begins to shape the text into the head of a sneak, planning to fill the coils of the serpent with future spells. Serpents are associated with oracles and fortaling, those who see the marking may presume he was a fortune teller or may not care, snakes are common enough as symbols both for tattoos or any other symbolism. As long as it distracts from the truth Daven will be happy.
Daven prefers no one knows about his magic but when he eventually is forced to use his magic in front of others and cant get away with just killing them, Daven has thought over the cover story. Lathender is a new god and much of what he and his followers can do are misterures and unknown, which makes him a great deity to be a “cleric” to. Who can say my magic doesn't come from him, as long as I praise his name like there's no tomorrow, no one should catch on. I just need one of those creepy dolls and my disguise will be complete. The fact I'm a lathander follower will also be a great way to explain why I hid my magic from my friends. I love them but I can't be too careful, I can't afford to.
Finished with his tattoo, he picks up the old dusty book and looks upon it with fondness, then tossed it into the flames, he can't leave any evidence. Davens eye’s linger on the book as its pages curved into black ash incloseing to its center. It's time for the last step, Daven thought to himself. He reached into his bag and polled out handfuls of herbs and incense he's been gathering and drying. Plants have been sprouting everywhere since lathander the rain bringer gifted the land his rain. He laid it in a pile then began writing a magic circle in the dirt with his makeshift wand and using his fresh tattoo as a guide he chanted the spell. The incense on its own began to burn without a flicker of flame to be seen. As Daven chanted in a soft whisper the wisps of ash whipped about, solidifying and darkening into a serpentine shape, two bat-like wings spreading from the sides of its serpentine body. With that Davens familiar, a Wrab, was sommend. The serpentine deep sapphire eyes met Davens and Daven felt calm, which stressed Daven out, Daven is never calm, his familiar must be messing with his emotions he figured.
The Wrab, as if reacting to his stress, shrunk down and rubbed against Davens extended arm, almost like a puppy. Daven wondered if the Wrab was responding to his emotions? The Wrab slithered across Davens arm, its wings folded seamlessly against its jet black body, and coiled around Davens neck, it was oddly satisfying, like a scaly hug. Daven sighed and sayed “I guess you need a name don't you?”, the Wrab huffed in agreement.