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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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."

He nodded his agreement at Zevlor's understanding, though his focus for the moment stays on the horse he was spoiling with attention. "There's meaning to each design. Each one representing one of the gods."

The First could explain the details better, but even that little bit likely was enough here. Especially as Zevlor was sharing something in turn, the idea of it just having a soft thoughtful hum slipping from the elf.

"Sometimes Dalish have to take their vallaslin that young," He replied, turning over the idea in his head. "If the clan is too small and there's no other adults to take a role, someone has to. I lucked out... I'm not sure how I feel about it all, but all I can do is my best right?"

He's interested, and he'd ask further, but sometimes these practices are secret and not to be discussed with outsiders. Kion is warming up to him, clearly, and that's for the best, but there's no reason to push it.

"I joined partly to earn money for my family," he says. "And partly just...pride, I suppose. As I think I mentioned before, tieflings aren't always trusted, even in Elturel. I wanted to prove everyone who doubted me wrong."

It likely wasn't so secret if he was speaking of it at this point, but at the same time, it was hard to tell how he'd respond to more pointed questioning. The inclusion of animals was helping soothe him, and Zevlor's general demeanor helped.

"Dalish aren't... trusted either," He mused in quiet understanding as he continued lavishing attention on the tiefling's horse. "Others claim we're all summoning demons and doing blood rites at best. Or that we're savage beasts."

A face made as he thought of another more insulting sort of mindset that was depressingly common. "Or that we just don't know any better."

"...funny, that's about the same thing we get." Zevlor gives him a wry, sad little smile. "Ironic, when it's really them that don't know any better. People get these ideas so deeply entrenched in their own heads that there's no talking them out of it. No showing them. You can be the bigger person, but that won't change their minds."

"Sometimes you just have to stand strong for the sake of standing, and let ignorance take care of itself."

"Standing gets you killed. At least back home," Kion can't help but shiver at the idea, forehead tilting to rest briefly against Asta's muzzle as if to seek a bit of comfort from the steady energy of the horse. "And they get accolades for putting down a threat. Doesn't matter who was at fault. All we can do is... just try and avoid them. And that doesn't always work."

The remainder of their jaunt through the wilderness is, mercifully, uneventful. They pursue the Orthon tracks, off and on, for several miles, but there is no other sign of the devil or its prey. No sign of Kion's home or companions appears, either, and when the time comes to return to the city, Zevlor promises to personally attend to his care.

Elturel is a bright city. Much of the stone that makes up the place is white, and with the Companion shining overhead, the effect as they arrive is rather like snow in bright moonlight. Zevlor sees the stabling of his horse, but after that he hesitates. Usually he would file his reports before anything else, but with Kion there he feels as though he should find a place for him first.

After a moment's thought, he relents, and gives brief orders to a few of the Hellriders standing guard, promising to rise early. Then he leads the young elf up a set of stairs and into his personal quarters, a series of tidy rooms, furnished mostly with practical things, books, and one or two plants.

"I don't exactly have a guestroom," he admits. "But there's a chaise in the library, one of us can sleep there."

As a general rule, the Dalish stay away from cities. They might brave towns in areas that are more neutral towards their presence, and he's heard tales of Dalish in Rivaini territory being downright welcomed amongst others but he'd never seen such things. And his clan, small as it was, tended to be even more cautious. He'd never been close enough to so much as see a city in the distance, so this was admittedly all new, and overwhelming.

He'd somewhat opened up, at least as much as it seemed he ever did while in the woods, but here inside the walls, he'd gone mute once again. Sticking close to Zevlor, all but hiding in his shadow as he regarded their surroundings with wide, uncertain eyes. The sight of elves, bare-faced or no, mingling with the rest of the population without any trouble helped ease some of his nerves, but it didn't stop him from sticking to his companion like glue, or how he carefully avoided looking too long at guards, or anyone that looked like a person of importance.

It did mean he was a bit relieved once they were in the calmer, quieter quarters, enough so that he moved from the tiefling's shadow enough to peer around, glancing back at Zevlor with a small nod.

"A... chaise is fine." Given how small he was, it wasn't like he needed much space to stretch out as it was.

He was expecting that reaction, based on what they've spoken about. Even to people accustomed to cities, Elturel is a big place, and the sleek brightness of it is intimidating. Zevlor doesn't object to being clung to, resting his hand on the youth's shoulder as they go through the barracks. The other Hellriders stop to salute their commander, and that means Kion gets a few curious glances, but there's no indication of hostility.

When he speaks, back in Zevlor's quarters, the Hellrider is deeply relieved. If the boy can't adjust to the city, he'll have to figure something else out, but if it's even a remote possibility, he would rather keep him safe at Zevlor's own side.

"All right, good. Let me get out a few extra blankets for you..." He crouches to pluck a few items out of a trunk. "Kion, we're going to try to help you get home if we can, but in the meantime...what would you like to do? If you want to study, I can find you a tutor easily enough. Or if you'd like work, the stables would welcome your assistance. I don't want to treat you like a Hellrider recruit."

It remains to be seen how he'll adjust. Kion at least seems comforted by Zevlor's presence, so it's not entirely out of the question that he might acclimate to living in Elturel, at least temporarily. The question though has him blinking briefly as he considers the options, brows furrowing slightly as he thinks.

"I... well I have experience helping with horses. And some smithing..." Not entirely surprising given he'd mentioned before that he was lined up to be apprenticed to the clan's craftmaster. "I'm good at tracking too, though I'm... not much of a fighter. S'why I wasn't slated to be a scout."

Or any sort of fighter, really. Even not knowing much about the young elf, Zevlor could likely peg that nervous demeanor as not being especially good in a combat situation.

"Smithing," Zevlor muses. Yes, he'd mentioned that. The problem there is that most smiths will want a fully bonded apprentice, and Zevlor, for one, isn't comfortable with that for this boy. They still have to at least try to find his way home. Still, the Hellrider Commander ought to be able to pull a string or two.

"I don't want you to be a fighter. I want you to be safe." Just because Zevlor has always been a scrapper, himself, doesn't mean he thinks everyone (or anyone else, really) should have to be.

"And I am absolutely not trying to press you into any particular type of work, but you'll be bored to tears if you're just hanging around the barracks all day with nothing to do."

Kion couldn't help but feel relieved that they seemed to be on the same page considering his potential fighting skill. And maybe a bit shamed too at that relief, but he shoved that emotion to the side the same as he did anytime it reared it's head.

And he understood well enough what Zevlor meant. Even timid and quiet as he was, the young elf knew he couldn't abide sitting still overlong. "I could always just... help in the stables for now and we can see what happens from there?"

If even a small clan like his was full of endless busywork and errands to be done every day, he could only guess that it was much the same, if not amplified, in a place with so many people.

"Let's start with that," Zevlor tells him gently, and reaches out to ruffle his hair. "And maybe I can get Dammon to teach you a little, without having to finagle a formal apprenticeship. He's barely a journeyman, himself, but he's a good lad."

"Hungry? I'm going to make myself some tea, I think, but I'm sure I have biscuits somewhere." He heads for the kitchen slowly. "So it seems you're my houseguest for the foreseeable future, and honestly I can't say I object to the company. I'll need you to keep in mind, my ultimate loyalty is to this city and her people, but I don't expect you to share that priority."

Kion can't help but huff at the muss of his hair, but it's more amused than anything. Not many in his clan were especially affectionate with him, though that was mostly down to his own withdrawn demeanor than anything, so the young elf was definitely enjoying the attention.

"That'd be nice... even just some time to keep what I've already learned fresh would be appreciated. I don't think Craftsmaster Neron would be pleased with me falling out of practice."

At the offer he nods his agreement- hardly a surprise, he was a growing boy yet, and atop that, was definitely smaller than he should be at his age. Like most boys, he was a bottomless pit for food when able to be. "It's alright, I understand. You've a duty to them, with or without my being here."

"Well, as long as you are here, you're under the protection of the city of Elturel, and therefore my protection," he says, almost gently.

No one will think twice about an elven boy in the city. The distinction of Dalish, the look of the valaslin, they'll just be accepted as some sort of wood-elf or druid enclave tradition. Still, it's going to be nerve-wracking at first, Zevlor's sure.

He leads Kion into the small kitchen of his quarters and lights the oven for tea. The amenities are simple, a woodstove, a pump for water, but fairly luxurious among Hellriders, and possibly a whole new world of convenience for Kion. There's a tin of cookies in the cabinet, and Zevlor gets it out, plus some dried fruit and nuts, and a slice of yellow cheese.

"Here, have as much as you like, only save me two of the cookies," he tells him with a smile.

While he's not sure how far that protection is able to go, Kion nods all the same. It's still reassuring for all it goes without saying that the young elf will be incredibly nervous around others, especially to start with. It's possible that time passing without any incidents might reassure him, but it's hard to say.

And the kitchen is definitely not the sort of convenience he's used to. He's seen similar, on the rare occasion his clan went near smaller farms to trade with amenable families here and there, but as small as both his birth and adoptive clans have been, their own setups even when staying in one place for long tend to be painfully spartan. They've only so many people to manage so many arenval, which means less space for luxuries. So he watches Zevlor move about with no small amount of interest, nodding with a shy little smile of his own at the teasing sort of invitation.

"I'll do my best." It's really hard to tell if how skinny he is is down to just the lankiness some children get during the end of a growth spurt, or just not getting enough, but he's not about to turn down the offer of a snack regaardless. But then that's fairly typical for most children in general.

Zevlor sets the plate in front of him and attends to making tea, trying to make a mental list of what needs to be done here. He'll have a lot of work to handle in the morning, reports and the like, but it would be wise to get the boy change of clothing or two. Even if he refuses to wear the shoes.

"I should show you around the city when I can...probably not until late tomorrow."

The cookies are thin and crunchy, effectively gingersnaps dusted with powdered sugar.