morphicpools | (no subject)

(no subject)

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.

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"You've said that word before, Dalish, but I'm not familiar with it." He watches Kion's response to him, trying to read as much as he can. "I know High elves, Wood elves, and drow. I was guessing that you must be a wood elf; they prefer the wilds, but as far as I know, they're not in any greater danger in a city than any other person."

"I know it's a lot to ask, to ask for an explanation. But I don't think I'm going to be able to understand without your help."

Kion looked just as blank at the listing of other elves, shaking his head at Zevlor's assumption. "There's just... elves. Dalish... live in the woods, but not by choice. Not entirely."

As much as they've adapted to the lifestyle, they mourn what was lost.

"Shem let elves live in cities, but only if they convert. No Dalish. Only in alienages." He shuddered faintly at the thought. "It's bad."

"This is all very foreign to us," Zevlor says, after a glance at his companions to see if they can make any sense of it. "No one is forced to convert in any way in Elturel. Full citizenship requires swearing to the Creed Resolute, but no one would make you do that. Especially not as visitor, at a relatively tender age."

"I don't understand where you've come from that this is something you've experienced."

"Maybe he's from further than he seems to be," the cleric says quietly. "There have been magical fluctuations out here. I investigated one with another team a couple years ago."

"You think he could have come from another plane entirely? But clearly not on purpose." Zevlor looks worried, but it's more for Kion's sake than anything else.

Kion frowned at that, brows drawing as he also tried and failed to make sense of what he was being told.

"I... I've never heard of that. It not being mandatory," He couldn't help the faint flush of worry at the cleric's idea, attention focusing. "There... was an artifact. It... did something but I don't know what. I was in the ruins and then I was here."

The cleric worries her lip for a moment, because it sounds like crossing planes is exactly what happened here. She comes over again and sits on the ground facing Kion. "Can you tell us a little about the ruins you were in? It sounds like there was some sort of magical accident."

Did he really want to talk more about it? Not really. But at the same time, if he was going to get back to his clan from wherever he was now? It seemed like magic would be needed if 'planes' were being crossed. So the cleric would likely be his best bet.

"Old... elvhan ruins. A shrine of some sort, from what was still standing," He frowned as he thought of what might be useful, wringing his hands lightly, letting his gaze skip down to them rather than anyone nearby. "I wound up deeper than I meant to be, some flooring gave way. There was... an old artifact? Normally I wouldn't touch them, but it looked kind of like the ones that would make bridges or open doors, so I risked it. It activated and it... I don't know, rightly. Next I know I'm here."

Zevlor and his cleric exchange glances.

"I think it must have brought you across worlds," she says gently. "And I don't know if there's a way to help you. We can try."

This poor child. Zevlor reaches for his pack and rifles through it gently. "If I give you my journal and a pen, can you try to draw what the artifact looked like?" That'll be a lot easier on him than trying to describe it out loud.

"Fenedhis lasa-" Kion glanced up, looking from one to the other, paling a bit at the confirmation. "Better than being lost in the Fade at least."

Zevlor's suggestion earned a nod from him as he was processing the idea still, brows furrowing in thought. "I... think I can, yes."

"I will protect you," Zevlor tells him quietly. "You have my word."

The cleric stands with a little smile, still worried, but content to let the Commander work this out for now. "Dinner should be ready soon. This won't get sorted out in a day, child, but rest assured, we'll figure it out in time."

Zevlor opens his journal to a blank page and hands Kion a thin charcoal pencil, wrapped in fabric to make it easier to grip. "Take your time."

They didn't need a verbal answer to that, which was a relief, as speaking so much was starting to get a bit overwhelming. Kion nodded to the pair, with a faint smile of his own before gratefully taking the journal and pencil. '

It gave him a few moments to get his thoughts straight, as he did his best to sketch the little pyramid, and the stone that powered it floating above, with a stick figure to show that it was maybe two feet or so all said and done. To the side he noted what he could- that it was gold and lyrium crystal, that the crystal was what powered it, and after a moment's thought that it was likely a shrine to Ghilan'nain, if all the halla imagery in the place was any hint. With a tiny quick little sketch of one as if this was another world... did they even have halla to begin with?

Unable to think of anything else to add yet, he just tilted the journal so that Zevlor could see. At the very least whatever common they had where he came from seemed similar enough to common here to be legible.

Zevlor leans over to read what Kion has written, murmuring a few of the words aloud as if to confirm them. "It's strange that you can be understood," he observes. "Not just the spoken word, but writing also. If you are from another plane, it must be a close parallel to this one."

"I'm not sure what everything you've written means, but I don't know everything. I just like to pretend I do." He smiles at him gently. "If you'll allow it, we'll consult some of the sages in Elturel. They may know more. But don't worry about that tonight."

He hands the journal over to his cleric, to allow her to look it over as they eat.

"Now, it's dinner time." He pats Kion's shoulder, then stands to fetch a bowl of stew for him.

That observation had Kion looking thoughtful, humming consideringly. It was... definitely strange. A whole different place like this sharing a common tongue had to mean something, but he was no mage or scholar to know what.

"That... sounds fine." Sages tended to be the ones to consult for weird things like this, right?

But he was a bit more interested in the idea of dinner, perking slightly despite himself as Zevlor went to fetch them their meal.

Zevlor dishes out a generous serving of stew for Kion and brings it over with a cup of hot tea and a couple hardtack biscuits. He may be cutting his own ration a little in order to make sure the kid has enough, but after all they'll be heading back to the city before too long. It's not as if anyone is in danger of starvation.

"Don't burn your tongue," he warns with a little smile. "It's just salt pork and potatoes and greens, but it'll be filling."

"Ma serannas." The soft murmured words sounded like some sort of gratitude as Kion accepted the meal. Simple fare to be sure, but he didn't seem put off by that as he busied himself with tucking in, gaze curiously skimming over the rest of the camp as he did.

He was definitely calming about Zevlor and his companions, but with the idea of this being some whole other world, that made him all the more curious about them.

"Would you like to see the horses?" Zevlor asks him gently, after a few bites of his own meal. "I could show them to you after we eat. Asta likes a treat before bed, anyway."

Tilses, the other tiefling, stifles a giggle at this. "Commander, with respect, you spoil that horse."

"He deserves it."

Kion couldn't help but grin faintly at the offer, especially when the second tiefling immediately teased Zevlor about spoiling his horse. The Second always said you could tell the nature of a shemlen by how they treated their horses, but that wasn't the only thing that had him nodding in response to the offer. He had a feeling this little group was generally alright as it was, and well, he did like horses anyways.

"Give mine some love while you're there," the cleric says with a smile. "You'll know which one she is; she's the smallest."

"Do you ride?" Zevlor asks Kion.

The cleric earned a small smile of her own in response as Kion gladly nodded his agreement. No matter how nervous he was, it rarely extended to animals that he'd found.

"Yes," Attention turning back to Zevlor. "Horses mostly, sometimes halla will let you if you're gentle with them. Occasionally some Dalish will have harts."

"Halla," Zevlor repeats thoughtfully. "What you drew looked like a deer. Can you tell me more about halla? Are they special to your people?"

"They're... like deer, in what they eat and how they tend to behave," Kion replied, considering how to explain them to someone who... didn't know anything about them or the Dalish. "But they're very special, yes. They're Ghilan'nain's most beloved creation, and as long as anyone can remember we've lived alongside them. Not as pets or livestock, but as brothers and sisters. We care for them and in return they lead us true."

Zevlor nods his understanding, pleased to learn a little more about the world the boy comes from. "Your people, Dalish...they keep themselves apart from other races for safety? Are there many of you?"

Kion nodded in agreement. "Some... places aren't bad. Smaller villages, or places where the main religion isn't Andrastian. But it's generally safer apart, yes. There's... not many of us,"

He considered the problem, frowning down at the bowl in his hands. "There used to be. There were whole cities and empires... No one knows quite what happened. Whole cities vanished, or were destroyed, artifacts... all we have are best guesses based on what we sometimes find."

He's quiet for a moment, thinking, then: "There isn't, as far as I know, any race that's quite like that here. Whatever threat you were under in your own world isn't here, either. But this is a strange place to you nevertheless. Do you want us to make up a cover story for you, for the sake of your safety and privacy?"

It was strange to think that there was a world where elves weren't under that sort of threat. But at the same time... it was comforting too. But the idea Zevlor proposed was sensible, and he nodded slowly, considering it.

"I... don't know enough to make up something believable here, but if you've suggestions... that'd be a good idea I think."

"You'll all protect this young man," he says, looking around at his comrades. "The truth will have to be told to other Hellriders if we're to get their help, but no one outside our order will be told. Understood?"

There's a chorus of assent. "And I'll personally work on the matter of finding your home plane," the cleric says.

"We'll say you were part of a caravan that was attacked by fiends," Zevlor says. "Wood elves and druids from the North."