#flying in queue

The child is looking around the Sanctum eyeing curiously at the various relics, his small hands behind his back.

And that would be weird enough, but the child’s clothes make it even weirder.

He is dressed in leathers. A doeskin tunic and long pants and soft boots that reminds you of nothing as much as native american clothes, even if the cut is different from the photos you have seen and he has no decoration. Just leathers, soft and brown and greens. 

He is carrying a bow. With actual arrows. And long knives. 

The little boy turns when hears {perceive?} you and looks at you with incredibly blue eyes. He grins then, walking toward the foot of the stair and bowing. Actually bowing, a hand on his belly, the other on his side.

~This is your country. I am here by your leave. I show you respect.~ There is... something formal in the child’s words, and he has a strange, clicking accent.

Then he grins and straightens, looking expectantly at Stephen.

She doesn’t say anything, simply nodding as she accepts the cup. Taking a sip, she gathers her thoughts. Seeing the mage light is rather weird, since she’d only ever seen it in the Circle libraries. It was forbidden to use it anywhere else.

“I’m among the Chasinds?” She asked, cringing at how cracked her voice sounded, most likely due to a still-dry throat. She drinks once more, before clearing her throat. Just how deep in the Wilds was she?

She tried to recall what she knew of the Chasinds, which was little. They populated the Korcari Wilds, were nomadic by nature, and were said to descend from the Alamarri tribes that first settle south-eastern Thedas. It was also said that their mages served as Shamans to each tribe, but she doubted that was always the case.

Embarrassment took hold when she realized the child was waiting for an answer. So, she replied, “I remember running from the Templars. I didn’t think they’d actually follow me into the Wilds. Looks like the rumor that they don’t follow apostates into the Korcari Wilds isn’t always true.”

“I am Bellatrix Faire. I hail from Starkhaven, in the Free Marches to the north, though I was trained in the Ostwick Circle.” She tilted her head, confusion fully taking hold. “Is it normal for your people to leave a child to watch over a stranger?”

The child laughs, a clear, bell-like sound that mingles with the laughs from outside.

~It depends. I be one of the few people of the Tribe who can speaks yer tongue, and the others who could, which would be my Grandmother and Grandfather, cannae come now, for they be needed for the ceremonies. As for where ye are, aye, Chasinds’ lands. True Chasinds too, not them Rotten Tribes up North your ilk calls Chasinds.~

The little boy wrinkles his nose at the though and snorts.

~Well Met, Bellatrix. I be Birdie. So ye have come. And now what? Do ye stay, or do ye want to go?~

The child cocks his head on his shoulder, looking keenly at Bellatrix. 

~And afore ye ask, aye. Ye can leave. It be a holy time, this one, and we won’t kill you. But I can’t promise other Tribes won’t, and I can promise the Wild is worse than what ye think it is, so I wouldn’t think ye would survive...~

There is a scream.

It is a horrid sound, a prolonged, almost inhuman wailing. A sound of agony, of incredible pain, mixed with horror and terror. 

And more terrifying still are the cheers that comes around it, the singing, the laughing, the joy in the pain...

 A blaze of light illuminates the right side of the circular tent, and the child turns, cocking his head.

He waits patiently for the scream to subside, though the cheer takes longer to die away.

Which means I’ll have no pc to write replies. Likely, I’ll pass a week of answering thread.

SORRY FELLOW RPER!

“I’ll give you food,  or gold, or dead birds. Whatever creepy little thing your heart desires alright?”  by @reluctant-herald

“As the trees grows from the ground, so the child grows from the mother”

                                                                                    Chasind’s saying.

The child smiles, calm and collected. He seems completely unafraid, and utterly at home in the forest: a leather armor, a bow and arrows. A backpack. Keen blue eyes look at the elf, pondering and quiet.

~I have not the knowing of what it be~ He replies, shrugging, his eyes looking behind the elf and to the mirror. ~But some mirrors be not what they look. They can be trap, or doors, or other, more arcane things. I have the knowing of this: that be no reflection of yours. See, it mouths doesn’t move as you speak.~

-Quoted from Pack West Wolfdog Rescue.