(no subject)

[hellrider]

Regular patrols in the wilderness of Elturgard outside the City are one of the duties Zevlor enjoys most. Within the city of Elturel, the Companion's light means no stars are visible at all, only the faintest hint of the moon as she crosses the sky, but now they're far enough away that a smattering of lights are visible against the deep blue overhead. In the distance to the North, the gleam of the Companion can be seen hanging in the sky, but its glow isn't overwhelming.

Their platoon consists of three seasoned Hellriders and a new recruit, who, in Zevlor's opinion, shows a great deal of promise. He has her build the fire for their nightly camp, and as it gets started, he steps away alone, into the thicket, to search for dry branches to add to the stack.

Thus, it's a lone man who stumbles across the stranger in the woods. Tall, horned, with a spade-tipped tail, he cuts an imposing figure, but he refrains from drawing his sword at the sound of someone approaching, simply standing alert at the sound of footsteps.

Comments

[makingitupashegoes]

That there is sound at all is proof enough of his disconcertion. Any Dalish past the age of ten knew how to walk the woods silently, enough so that if he'd been aware of the comparative racket he was making, Kion would have despaired at the state of himself.

He was however still reeling. The artifact had seemed like nothing, a simple inactive remnant of elvhan culture in the ruins his companions had insisted they investigate. It was little surprise that he hadn't spoken up in protest at this point, but his displeasure with the idea had been plain to see, for all it had been practically expected. As was his following the others into the ruins regardless, fear of being left alone outweighing fear of whatever there was in the abandoned edifice.

They'd been separated so quickly, unstable ground and treacherous hallways leaving him entirely turned around and alone when he'd come across the thing. Only daring to touch it out of hopes that it was some manner of locking mechanism.

It wasn't.

And this wasn't Arlathan Forest. The plants he could make out in the dim light weren't right, the stars in the sky were wrong. Still reeling from the strange magic, he had little sense of his surroundings, in almost a state of shock as he continued moving, hoping to find a landmark of some manner. A river to follow, a place to climb and get a better look at things. A stranger, with horns and tail was not the sort of thing he expected to find, and when he breached the vague cover of underbrush and trailing branches, he froze when he realized what he was seeing, not entirely unlike a halla faced with a predator, uncertain which way to flee.

[hellrider]

Probably for the best that Zevlor is disinclined to aggression. He and his subordinates are hunting fiends, not random wanderers, and especially not children. He reacts to the startled look on the strange elf by smiling gently and holding out his hands. "Easy. I'm not here to hurt you."

Unless he's a devil in disguise, anyway, which seems unlikely. "I wasn't expecting anything two-legged in these woods at all, actually, unless you count birds. Are you all right?"

Despite the generally fearsome look, his voice is calm, pleasantly low and creaky.

[makingitupashegoes]

If he was a devil in disguise, he was doing a very good job, as the elf looked like he was about two seconds from either collapsing in terror or bolting.

And it's not because the stranger's a tiefling. Not entirely anyways. It's enough that the man is unknown and not another elf. Being Dalish in general is dangerous. Being alone, unarmed, is just asking to be caught, enslaved.

So he's definitely not alright. Wide, uneasy eyes skittering over the sheathed sword as he edges ever so slightly back, offering a brief nod.

He's alright. Absolutely fine, anyone his age would be out in the middle of the night without any gear to speak of, scuffed and disheveled. Not even so much as a penknife seemed to be on his person, or shoes.

[hellrider]

Now he's concerned. This is not a kid acting like he's out with friends, or traveling with family. The tiefling sinks onto one knee and keeps his hands where they can be seen. "Please don't run. I promise, I mean you no harm. I'm a Hellrider, from the city of Elturel. Sworn to protect and serve the people of Elturgard."

"You look like you're a long way from home. Aren't you cold, barefoot with no cloak?"

[makingitupashegoes]

No, this is definitely not a kid who got separated from some friends on a fun little lark.

The behavior of the stranger at least arrests his subtle inching away. For now at least; it wasn't typical that those meaning harm were quite this assuring. They might pretend at it, but there was always some underlying edge of trouble to it that Kion wasn't sensing here. And they never got down like that.

He didn't look like Hellriders, or Elturel were familiar concepts, expression a bit lost. Farther from home than he'd thought, apparently. And being asked, he was suddenly a bit more aware of his own condition, of the chill in the night air that hadn't been there before. His clan had never really made their way south, to where cold was much of a concern, so he felt a bit worried as he reluctantly nodded in a slow, uncertain manner.

Wherever he was, getting warmed up was a point of concern. Finding out where he was, how to get back to his clan could follow. Maybe another clan in the area would be willing to let him travel with him a ways, at least then he'd not be doing it alone.

[hellrider]

Okay, he's calming a little, that's good. Zevlor folds his hands over his knee and sits back with an air of almost paternal patience. More than anything else, it's important that he not scare the child away before he can be helped. It's hard enough finding a lone person in the wild when they want to be found.

"My name is Zevlor. Maybe you've never seen a tiefling before?" He goes on in the same low, calm voice. "I know we come across as a little scary, but we're just people like any other. I have three other Hellriders with me, and we've set up camp for the night. I was just out collecting dead wood for the fire."

"Would you like to help me, and come back to stay at our camp for warmth? We have extra rations, nothing fancy but we have plenty to share."

[makingitupashegoes]

He sure wasn't wrong. To say nothing of trying to find a Dalish elf who wanted to disappear amongst the trees. But so far he seemed to be going about things the right way. His tone of voice was soothing, and while Kion was still silent, there was some manner of assessment going on in how he studied Zevlor as he spoke. Much less like he was going to bolt in terror. Still wary, but then he was alone in a strange place, so that was more sensible than anything.

And what he said made sense. Not out hunting him, or anyone else, just trying to get settled for the night. He pondered the offer, brows furrowing lightly before he finally seemed to be decided, nodding in mute agreement to the offer. It sounded fair enough, and he definitely needed help at this point. If Zevlor was being honest, he'd be foolish to turn him down.

[hellrider]

An immense relief. He'll have time to earn more of the boy's trust at camp. If he can get him to come back to the city, he'll be far safer there, even if all he does is get some supplies before heading back into the wilds. "Good lad," he says, smiling. "Is there something you'd like to be called?"

He's noticed the boy seems unwilling to speak. That could be shyness, fear, or something deeper.

After a moment he rises slowly and reaches for the bundle of wood he was collecting. Not much more is needed for the night, but making their way back slowly will give them time to get used to one another. "Unfortunately, I don't have any extra garments, but one of my blankets ought to work as a makeshift cloak, in a pinch."

[makingitupashegoes]

He'll definitely need to work on building trust, lest Kion simply sneak away in the middle of the night. But he's on the right trail so far, the young elf watching him, but not nearly as intently as when they'd first caught sight of each other.

He wasn't about to get within arm's reach just yet, but he did edge a bit closer, enough at least that they were walking together in some manner.

"...Kion." Said finally in a soft tone, with the air of someone who if they spoke at all it was rarely. And never any louder than that. Normally he'd remain quiet still, but the idea of Zevlor trying to come up with some nickname for him deterred the idea. Even the most well-meaning people sometimes could come up with some awful names.

[hellrider]

So quiet! That's not shyness, that's someone who is so used to hiding they don't dare raise their voice.

"Kion," he echoes, careful to pronounce it properly. "Well, Kion, I have the distinct impression you're in a bit of trouble. I'm not going to press, but when you feel like telling me more, I'll do my best to help you, if I can. In the meantime, we'll head back the way I came, and pick up a few more branches as we go."

He begins walking, tail waving lazily behind him as he goes. "My companions will welcome you. My lieutenant is half-elven, perhaps you'll feel a little more comfortable with him? But we're all sworn to protect the innocent. You need fear nothing from us."

[makingitupashegoes]

That... sounded fine to him. He didn't say as much, but he nodded all the same, falling into step with Zevlor, though he'd notice that it wasn't so much as walking alongside him as it was being ever so slightly behind him. Not the way a servant followed a noble so much as just the air of someone keen to let themselves vanish into the shadows of others. But he was watching their surrounds, seeming comfortable enough to be able to pick out and pluck up the sort of dry branches necessary for a fire.

The mention of a half-elven lieutenant caught his attention. Elf-blooded people were as much a mixed bag as the rest, he'd come to understand, but the fact that Zevlor knew that detail about the man, and had him in some position of command eased his fears a slight bit. At least it seemed Elturel wasn't as casual about oppressing elves as others could be. He hoped anyways, otherwise this would get dangerous fast.

[hellrider]

Zevlor gathers a little wood as they go, but keeps his attention divided between his task and the child. If the boy does try to run off suddenly, he might be able to catch him, though whether it would be a good idea to try or not is hard to say. Deep down, he's thinking of his own younger brothers, one of whom he hasn't heard from in months.

He can see the glance when he mentions his lieutenant, can tell it's a point in his favor. "Lieutenant Haldreth is a fine officer," he goes on. "He's due for a promotion soon, likely to captain. I think he prefers his work in the city, but he never complains about patrol duty, either."

"My corporal is a halfling, a cleric of Torm. And we have a new recruit with us, another tiefling like myself. There's a high number of tieflings in the Hellriders. Well...there are quite a lot of tieflings in Elturel to start with. We're not always welcome in other cities, but Elturel gives us a chance to prove ourselves, at least."

[makingitupashegoes]

As they continue on, and things stay calm, it seems Kion is coming down from whatever terror he'd started out at. Still nervous, but he seemed just skittish in general rather than specifically because of Zevlor now.

And it's not hard to track his responses. For as shy and retiring as he was, the little elf never really learned to hide his emotions. So Zevlor would be able to see it as he continued speaking, a blank sort of confusion at halflings, and Torm, and a sort of... understanding as he spoke of the tieflings in Elturel. Not that elves were generally considered a threat back home, but there were plenty of harmful stereotypes and other sorts of bigotry pointed their way that he understood entirely the idea of having to 'prove themselves' to those around them. There was a reason most clans stayed clear of proper settlements as they travelled after all.

[hellrider]

A few more steps, and the firelight is visible ahead of them. The other Hellriders are chatting a little: two female voices, one of which appears to be giving the other cooking instructions. Zevlor whistles a brief tune to let them know he's approaching, and a few moments later they come through the trees into a clearing.

The fire is small but holding up well enough. A tiefling woman with short black hair is chopping vegetables carefully for some kind of quick camp stew. Next to her, a much shorter woman with thick blonde braids is just placing a pot over the flames.

A man not quite Zevlor's match in height, brown-haired and relatively fair-skinned, is sitting opposite the women, half keeping watch and half cleaning and oiling his crossbow. All are in armor that matches Zevlor's, and all three look up when he appears, giving brief salutes before their attention is caught by the strange youth.

"At ease. We have a guest," Zevlor tells them. "This is Kion. He's not quite ready to tell us where he's come from yet, but he's willing to share our fire."

They all absorb the implications easily enough: a lost and skittish child. "I guess I better chop up a couple more turnips, sir?" The tiefling woman gives Kion a sympathetic look but remains where she is.

"Might be a good idea, thank you, Tilses. Lieutenant, could you go to my tent and grab the gray blanket from my bedroll?" This is addressed to the half-elven man, who is already putting his crossbow aside.

"Ay, sir." He says agreeably, unsmiling, but there's nothing unfriendly or wary about his body language as he slips into one of the tents, returning a moment later with a blanket in his hands. "It shouldn't be too cold tonight, but you'll want this. Maybe socks, too."

[makingitupashegoes]

The whistle is a familiar enough concept, and doesn't alarm Kion at all, though he does edge ever so slightly back into Zevlor's shadow at the others attention. It seems easy enough to pick out who was who from the descriptions he'd been given before, though he's not entirely sure if a halfling is another name for dwarves now, or some sort of dwarven-blooded people like half-elves. At least no one seems upset at his presence which eases his concerns for the moment, at least enough that he eased ever so subtly out from Zevlor's shadow.

And while his general skintone, and the dim light of evening had hidden the markings, in the firelight the vallaslin marking his face were clearly visible, bold and dark, and to anyone experienced with tattoos, just on the tail end of healing.

Not that he thought anything of them seeing that, accepting the blanket when the stoic lieutenant offered it, though the mention of socks had him glancing down at his feet, with a light wiggle of toes before he shook his head, unable to help the flicker of distaste at the idea. If it was cold enough he'd wrap them, but it was fine.

[hellrider]

Zevlor notes the markings now, and isn't quite sure what to make of them. Tattoos aren't uncommon; he has none, and neither does the other tiefling, but the lieutenant has a thin bladed design tattooed down the front of his throat, and the cleric has intricate markings on the backs of her hands. Theirs are in no way sacred, though, just personal decorations, aesthetic choices.

He lays his bundle of wood down by the fire, then collects Kion's from him and sets it in the same area, freeing up his arms for the blanket. "No socks?" He's a little amused, but polite about it. "As long as you don't get frostbite, you can suit yourself."

The lieutenant crouches to help him wrap the blanket around his shoulders, studying him thoughtfully. His eyes are grey, his ears not quite as long and pointed as the tieflings' but definitely elven. "I don't...have any extra cloak pins," He says with a vague frown. "I suppose you'll just have to hold onto it for now."

[makingitupashegoes]

It's likely a bit heartening, the faint crinkle that creases Kion's nose momentarily at Zevlor's teasing. Like if he was a bit less timid he might make a face at him, or just stick his tongue out. Some hint that whatever had happened in his young life, he wasn't traumatized beyond repair.

That the lieutenant has pointed ears at all is strange, a thing that Kion notices as he approaches. Was Zevlor just mistaken? Maybe his lieutenant had claimed to be elven-blooded to avoid some of the prejudices. Though his ears were rather short... maybe sometimes it happened. It wasn't like he was an expert. He nodded at the consideration, for the moment just taking the edges of the blanket between his fingers to keep it drawn around his shoulders. He might have a pin or bit of wire scrap in his pockets that he can use to keep it in place, but he'll worry about that later.

[hellrider]

It wasn't entirely an attempt to tease on Zevlor's part. He genuinely wants to be sure Kion is watching out for his own toes. He's not going to insist on anything, though, and that little grudging glance is indeed reassuring. Still timid, still quiet, but also still a child, somewhere under the caution.

The lieutenant studies him a moment, as if making sure he's going to be all right, then makes a soft, satisfied 'mm' noise, and straightens, going back to his work of tending to his weaponry.

"Commander, did you want me to look him over?" The cleric seems to have finished her task and stands up now, dusting her hands off on her pants.

"I think...we can trust him to tell us if he's injured," Zevlor says, and looks at Kion with eyebrows raised, as if checking to see whether his assumption is right. "If you're hurt, we can help, all right?"

[makingitupashegoes]

The longer that they interacted and nothing suspicious happened, the more Kion relaxed. At least to a point. There could still be some trick coming, but he doubted it. They clearly outclassed him in both numbers and simply being armed, so there was little point in such duplicity. And really, for one Dalish youth, it would be overkill regardless.

And he wasn't about to run around injured if he didn't have to. At the question from the halfling woman, and Zevlor's comment, he took mental stock of himself, any aches or pains. He hadn't gotten into too much trouble, but there had been a couple tumbles in being separated from the others, and he could feel the ache around his shoulder where he'd landed unpleasantly. So he just plunked down on the nearest log, glancing towards the cleric with a light tap of fingers against the shoulder in question. He doubted it would resolve to anything serious beyond bruising, but why risk it if someone could help?

[hellrider]

The halfling glances at Zevlor, who smiles a little, nodding. Taking this as assent, she approaches Kion and looks him over visually, before placing a hand just over the shoulder he's indicated. There's a shimmer of pale light that curls around her fingers and palm. "Lift that arm for me a little, please. Just as much as is comfortable. There might be some tearing in the tendons, or it might just be bruising..."

[makingitupashegoes]

Up close, she could probably see some other injuries, but they just seemed to be surface level things, mild scuffs and scrapes. His clothing is fairly sturdy, but there's dust and dirt marks in the leathers that hint that he definitely took a tumble or two before coming across Zevlor.

Whatever the case, he did as she asked, lifting the arm until he felt the tension of discomfort start, at which point he just kept it still, grimacing slightly at the idea of tendon damage.

[hellrider]

The cleric is less concerned with ordinary scrapes, but after a moment of inspection decides there's enough damage to his shoulder to do something about it. "All right, you can relax again; thank you, dear. This won't take but a few moments to heal, but I want you to try and rest the shoulder for a day or two, as well."

As she speaks, she works her spell with a few delicate gestures, just barely touching him with her fingertips.

Tilses stands up from where she was working by the fire, in the meantime, stretching, and then approaches Zevlor. "Sir, will we need to head straight back to the city in the morning? Since we have a lost civilian, I mean?"

"...I haven't decided. The tracks we saw earlier today are a little concerning."

[makingitupashegoes]

Kion nods at the instruction, even as he's lowering his arm again. The magic was different than what he'd seen before, the healing felt different than what the First's did. But he held still all the same, knowing better than to disrupt spellwork, let alone spellwork being done on him.

That didn't stop the subtle way he froze at the conversation he heard, the mention of returning to the city just having his wary gaze zeroing in on the pair conversing, a faint tension starting to seep back into his posture.

[hellrider]

Neither Zevlor nor Tilses notice that they're being overheard, the conversation proceeding quietly.

"For one thing, he's not from Elturel. I'm sure of that," Zevlor says. "And if there are others lost out here like him, they're going to be in danger, as well. I honestly think he might be better served to stay with us while we investigate. But that's assuming he'll be willing to stay put."

"I guess there's no protocol for a chance encounter in the wild like this..."

"No, only for search and rescue operations. Anyway, if there is an orthon hunting in this area, it needs to be stopped or we'll be doing a lot more of those."

"Don't look so worried," the halfling says to Kion. "We patrol these lands on a regular basis. There's yet to be anything, fiend or wild animal, we can't handle."

[makingitupashegoes]

It wasn't the beasts or monsters in the woods that had that tension returning. Kion tried to offer a thin, faint smile to reassure the cleric, but it hardly looked convincing with the unease still there, the nervous way his gaze kept flicking back to Zevron and Tilses.

He could explain, clarify. That he was more afraid of the idea of going to the city than anything. It would hardly be a surprising idea. Even elves who grew up in the cities tended to have a miserable time, but him, clearly Dalish? He'd be a target, especially in an alienage. But the idea of speaking up at all just had the air catching in his throat, and he knew he wouldn't get a sound out beyond a faintly frustrated huff of a breath at the realization.