Gaul catches the small jar of makeup, and looks down at his “tattoos”. None of these had existed before he was given seals, and he’d never really stopped to look at them. Jormungandr, the World Serpent, winds in and out of a sea of tribal markings that seem to shift and move as the eye runs across them. He removes the lid and smears the makeup over his left forearm. As Gaul goes to take more from the jar, however, a searing sensation and loud hissing emanate from the area he just covered. 

Within the blink of an eye, the makeup that had covered his arm is gone. Gaul stares down at it, knowing that either this tattoo is cursed, or his ancestors refuse to allow him to hide who he is.

Either way, he’s fucked.