Carl

Carl, sometime boatswain on the Skylark.
During a trade run to the far land of Tashalar, Carl was on shore leave, doing his normal drinking and carousing. Eventually he found himself on the outskirts of town in very odd company. Vast amounts of excellent wine, some sort of teal liquor, and a green pepper like vegetable were consumed. Details are hazy, but when Carl’s mind cleared, he found himself back on the ship with an odd possession on his hand. A single left glove, not very well made, rough leather, possibly made from the scales of some beast. It looked a little ‘girly’ in Carl’s mind. With shades of light blues, teals, pinks, and orange. The glove was weather and time worn with no apparent value. It was as if it was a costume piece used in a poorly funded bard’s theater attraction.
Oddly, the glove would not come off. No matter what method that was tried, the glove would not budge. It could not be cut, pried, burnt, or slipped off. Knowing the type of insults he would endure if he had to live with this hideous glove, Carl resorted to wrapping his hand in bandages feigning a burn. On the tenth morning, something even new occurred. The glove slipped off his hand. Perhaps not slipped, more like molted or shed off his hand. Leaving a husk of milky see through scales on the deck of the ship. Elated to be rid of the ‘glove’, he quickly gathered the offending scales and threw them overboard. That’s when he noticed the tattoo. A small tattoo on his left hand. In-between his thumb and index finger. The shape of a serpent. A rainbow colored serpent. That’s the day he started hearing the voice.