Iskandir.
A southernland sergal with a penchant for pondering far too much, for how often he merely played in the dirt.
Herbs, plants, and spices. A farmer, pushing the limits of his trade.
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Appearance
Short for a sergal - even among his southerlands kin - Iskandir possessed a gleam to his eye that often suggested he was hardly up to any good. Peering things, their steely grey was pockmarked by auriferous flecks and speckles, lending his stare a particular peculiarity.
Like most sergal, Iskandir was rather slim of frame and wiry in musculature, with a particular willowyness to his limbs that came naturally to a Southlander, where work was harsh, and the lands harsher. Unsurprisingly, he looked rather at home in the sands from whence he came: his fur was wispy, but thicker than it seemed, a rich gradient from a stripe of black along his spine and slightly atop his head, to a gradient, chocolatey brown over his back, fading slowly into a rich wheat-gold along his flanks, to a creamy, snowy white over his front; from his chin, throat, and down his belly and limbs - the predominant colour of his being. Resources were scarce, and so unlike most towering specimens of his species, Isk only managed a few inches over 6'.
Unlike most sergal, however, the interior of his maw held a particularly strange colour: rather than typical, rich vascular reds and pinks, his own was a sort of steely blue, darkest - almost inky - along his lengthy tongue, lightening more to that blue hue along his gums. His lips were a traditional, standard black, and altogether it caused the farmer's teeth to stand out quite clearly whenever he'd grin or smile. Besides a mutation, there seemed to be no leading reason for such a change, and it likewise didn't seem to affect him in any negative way - besides looking rather strange, of course.
Apparel
Being of modest wealth, Iskandir attempts to afford himself a variety of clothing to fit the weather and season of both his homeland, and wherever it was he was going. Nearly all of his apparel was some form of blanched, sunbeaten grey, tattered from use and exposure; though some were made from fine silks and fabrics, many were dried, beaten linen and others merely a breathable cotton: meant to trap heat at night, and disperse it during the day.
Warmer months usually require far less protection. While there was always a slight chill with spring, it was still usually warm enough for the sergal to show off finer vests, and heavier - though almost comically ill-fitting - pants; simple, baggy things fashioned from fine materials, with deep pockets for tools and trade. Summer left him barer still; especially working the farm, it wasn't uncommon to see him in naught but a loincloth, joined by something simple and cloak-like, hooded to keep the sun from him.
Winter required a bit more bundling; with little cloud cover, deserts became incredibly frigid at night. Iskandir was fond of bringing out one of his most prized of outfits - a heavy, layered, robe. In actuality, it was little more than layers of fabric fashioned vaguely into a robe-like shape. While it, too, shared the same weathered-ness of his other, warmer-clime outfit, it sported hints of gold trimming and dyed colours - albeit faded - that suggested the garment was tailored sloppily together from many, many finer things, leaving it slightly disorganised in shape and almost garish in appearance, in its own muted way. Its fabrics made it comfortable to wear in the desert sun - harsh even in the winter - while staying warm enough to remain on the move or even nap in the darkness of a desert's night.