morphicpools | (no subject)

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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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"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."

Kion couldn't help but be startled, both by Zevlor's insistence on his protection, and the easy way that everyone else agreed. But then, given what he'd told them so far, perhaps it wouldn't be so surprising that he was. Whatever the case, he offered a small smile of gratitude to the cleric at her assurance of finding his home.

"...That sounds fine. I can just excuse any fuzzy memories with illness from some injury or another from that." He'd not had wholesale amnesia from similar incidents in his life, but knew just how fevers and illnesses could make it so very hard to pick out specific memories, and doubted anyone would dig deeper, especially if he had others vouching for him. "You'll have to explain what druids are though?"

He is their commander, and as long as he doesn't give an unethical order, he can rely on their complete loyalty. He doesn't take it for granted.

Regardless, Kion has made an impression. Little more than a lost child, of course he's earned their compassion easily.

"Druids are people who revere Nature and hold it's laws sacred. Many of them can transform into animal forms, some are skilled healers. Some can be wary of cities and city dwellers," Zevlor explains. "They can even be dangerous if you interfere in their territory, but mostly they prefer to keep to themselves."

The explanation made sense, the small elf nodding his understanding, though he couldn't help but look startled at one point. "Transformation? Truly?"

Otherwise they certainly sounded like the sort of people that the Dalish would take up with if there was anyone in Thedas that they would. He'd just have to make sure to remember the story. But then... his clans stuck to the North anyways. He'd just have to recall fiends rather than demons, the inclusion of these druids. But he could do that.

"Yes," Haldreth speaks up from his place by the fire. "I knew one who loved to transform into a spider to jump out at strangers. I told her someone was going to stab her in a panic some day, but somehow she's still alive at Fort Morninglord..."

Zevlor laughs. "I would be tempted to do the same sort of thing, truthfully. But I would turn into a lion."

The idea of it was so fanciful. He'd never heard of mages being able to do things like that back home, transformations of that sort being the realm of gods in the stories. But he couldn't help the faint smile that the conversation earned.

"I'd turn into a fox, if I had the means." Still just as quiet as he'd been speaking, but a bit less nervous in tone.

"A fox? Foxes are charming," Zevlor smiles at him.

"I love foxes," Tilses speaks up. "Wolves, too. I don't know which I'd choose if I could transform. Wolf might be more practical, only because they're bigger."

"I'd be a rat," the cleric says. "Or a stoat. Being small is underrated. Imagine if you could squeeze into ANYwhere."

They all look at Haldreth, who blinks at them blankly. "...what?"

"You have to choose one, too." Zevlor grins. "What animal would you transform into?"

"I'm not going to transform into anything," he seems genuinely confused by this thought exercise.

"It's hypothetical, Hal," Zevlor chuckles softly. "What's your favorite animal?"

"...I like owls."

"I've always liked foxes. Kept trying to coax them to come back with me to the arenvals whenever I came across one when I was real little."

The banter was familiar. Not so much the people, but the comradery, and it helped to put Kion at ease a bit more with the motley crew. Haldreth's eventual choice earned a small nod.

"Owls are a good choice too."

"I had four different toy lions when I was little. I still have one of them," Zevlor says. "They were always my favorites."

He stretches lazily, standing, and carries his own bowl over to the fire. "You done eating, Kion? Shall we go see the horses?"

The idea of a small tiefling with his toy lions was cute, earning a grin from Kion. The question drew his attention though as he nodded, pushing to his feet with his bowl in one hand, other keeping the blanket in place around his shoulders as he followed Zevlor's lead on where to leave the dish.

Zevlor gently takes the dish from him and puts it in place, then place a hand gently on Kion's back to guide him between the tents. The horses are penned loosely a few yards beyond, grouped up for warmth and comfort. The cleric's pony is a fluffy black creature, with a white blaze. There's also a bay mare and a white gelding, and then the largest of the group is a blue roan percheron. His ears perk at their approach, and he meanders toward them.

"Asta's the big one," Zevlor says proudly, smiling.

It's telling that he doesn't start or tense at the touch. Whatever else he might think about the situation, it seems he's fairly assured that Zevlor doesn't harbor any ill intent.

Kion smiles as well spotting the horses, more than a little amused that Asta seems so willing to come investigate. Likely hoping for treats if he's as spoiled as the cleric teased. Whatever the case, the little elf is unafraid to approach, with soft little noises of greeting as he offers up a hand for the large horse to investigate.

Asta knows his master, and is as utterly loyal to him as a horse can be. Which is pretty loyal. The tiefling laughs softly and reaches to pet his neck, and after a few scratches, Asta deigns to dip his head down to nose at Kion's hand. Whatever scent he gets he seems to like, nuzzling into him.

"He likes you," Zevlor says. "He's good with children...which you're not, really, but you're young yet."

Kion can't help but be pleased at Asta's response, and once he's decided he likes the smell of him, the elf is happy to start bestowing scritches to his muzzle, and stroking his nose.

"I've got my vallaslin." Pointed out in that soft tone with what almost sounded like a bit of a pout, an entirely predictable sort of response from someone of his age, of all he didn't realize he'd said it in quite that tone.

"I don't know what that means," Zevlor tells him with a smile. "I'm not trying to insult you, little hellion. You are still young, even if you've crossed the threshold to adulthood. Enjoy what's left to you. Youth can be frustrating, but it has its own beauty."

Kion can't help but huff in response, but he can't help but be a little pleased by the nickname. It soothes the sulking at least a bit.

"They're the facial tattoos. All Dalish get them at adulthood, but only if you can remain silent the whole time they're being applied. If you can't, you're not ready," He explained as he ruffled Asta's forelock gently. "I'm a couple years early for mine I suppose, but our smith is getting older and if I'm to apprentice to him properly I have to be an adult."

'Hellion' is what Zevlor got called as a boy, and he's quick to use the nickname as a compliment directed at children. Usually those children are tieflings, but based on what he knows of Kion, his people have a few things in common with tieflings.

"I thought those might be cultural," he says with a nod. "So they're a coming-of-age ritual? They're beautiful."

"It's a heavy burden to start adulthood at your age," he adds. "I can say that, because I joined the Hellriders at twelve, and took the Oath after I turned thirteen. Most children get a few more years to grow before taking up the mantle of protector. I didn't miss that at the time, but sometimes I regret it now."

He looks at Kion. "But I don't regret the part I play in defending my home and my people. I'm sure you feel the same. I hope we can get you back to them."