[@mmarage]

Ah-hah, the first sign of any life in the strangely empty hellhole, a faint [i]hello[/i] with a questioning intonation. Perfect. Sirin marches on with a newfound objective to help distract herself from the little sense she could make of her present trappings. She follows the roads and turns corners to find the source of the voice, which surprisingly, was easy enough to do. She peaks around a building to see an oddly-dressed someone. And that was saying a lot. Choirmen were perfectly content to wear burlap sacks and an amalgam of red cloth. Sirin steps into view, "You there!" she calls, the ornate headdress lending much to her ability to stand tall in spite of her small physique, "Explain who you are and the purpose of this place." As she speaks, the dull breeze slowly begins to pick up.