Iskra
I'm chasing starlight to find it's died away
He's spent some of the last few days carving engravings into the large, tortoise scute he's claimed as a shield. The bony plate from the overly large creature that he'd claimed from Hak Etme had been cut to the right shape at the desert by his fire magic, and the ribs and vertebrae of the creature that are inherently connected to its shell work as a natural handle for his hand on the inside. So he's been marking up the front with the images of suns and flames that represent his father so well. Now he's moving onto the next phase of his quest, and as such has fashioned the shield across his back in order to leave his arms free to move while he hikes through this hell scape. Goose remains safely at home, not needing to treat any lava burns on the dog, or deal with his disagreement over all this heat and sharp stone. Iskra though, he's fitted out in his work attire, his boots having a good amount of traction to make sure he can travel without winding up on his ass through this less than hospitable zone. His plaid shirt flaps, partially open over the white undershirt, moving in the hot wind that stirs like a curse.
"Hotter 'n shit," he grunts to the rocks as he hoists himself up a small ledge.
