If Farya had noticed the the mix of disgusted and bewildered looks she was receiving, she hadn’t shown it. They saw not a civil lady, but a barbarian. And in truth, the wildling fit every practical sense of the world. She belonged to none of the large cities. And her attire was definitely as loud as primitive can be - and far into the domain of being scandalous for women with the amount of skin and scars she openly displayed. It’d be clear to most without a lecherous mind that she sought clothing for utility and practicality rather than modesty.

She wore the furrs of multiple enemies as the majority of her clothing. She furred cuffs on her forearms that reached up to her elbows. They were laced together roughly, and further secured with crude belt and loops to ensure a tight fit. The same treatment was given to her lower legs, and feet, only with the addition of a mountain lions claws reaching just past her toes. A pelt with a tail had  been fashioned into a crude kilt secured to her hips, with sections of it slashed into flowing ribbons. Cloth, likely stolen from corpses, was also found. The tattered rags had been tied together and wrapped around her chest like compression bandages. And just over that was a harness fashioned out of fur and leather offering more warmth, and of course modesty to the peering eyes. But once again, it was more for utility than for others in mind, as on the back of this harness, two hooks flush to her back could be found. One designed to secure her bow to her back, and the other to hold a bag, which is currently hitched onto her wolven companion, Wolyo. Draped over her head was a wolf pelt cowell complete with a ragged mane flowing backwards that hid her red hair. It served well to further accent the mask she wore.

The only thing that seemed civil about her, was the worn and faded linen cloak she was wearing. It contrasted horribly against everything else she wore. And made her stand out even more. Perhaps it was because it had a few holes in suspicious areas?

Regardless, the wildling paid no heed to those wondering eyes. Instead her gazed shifted to various different sights. The long ear like flaps of her cowel and mask made her head appear far more animated than what is needed. Indeed, her head bobbed too and fro, it swiveled to lock onto something else of interest, and rolled here and there. Then finally they were inside the largest building in the city, presumably the king’s castle.

It was here  she finally spoke. Her hand gently raised to stroke her companion behind the ears, and in return she received a curious growl.

[i][color=9e005d]“What is it, little one,”[/color][/i] she heard a rumbling voice in the back of her mind. Wolyo’s voice.  A voice like rumbling thunder in the distance, but baring no ill will. The wolf was dressed in a crude but protective harness of carved wooden plates. He was not completely encased, like a suit of armor, but it was enough to prevent a hurried swing of a blade from causing serious harm.

[color=0076a3][b]“It is as the bard’s story says,” [/b][/color]She whispered. Her voice ironically delicate and soft. Her gaze drifted among the throne room. Her eyes spotting the Guards who gave her a grim look, and tightened their holds on their weapons. And the group,  presumably the other adventurers, near the throne. [b][color=0076a3]“The city’s beauty is of its own, I do not know how to put my feelings into words.” [/color][/b]

[color=9e005d][i]“It is not the forest. The Sickness, little one,” [/i][/color]Wolyo rumbled. A growl in the world, comprehendable words in her head.

[b][color=0076a3]“... Has taken its toll. The statues, are an unnatural art - the beauty unfound - unwanted. The poor souls fleeting moments captured, flesh to become stone. Ragged breaths reduced to dust, and pain permanently peers outward into the world. Those left carry on, but I hear it in their hearts. They are scared and daunted...”[/color][/b]

[color=9e005d][i]“... a tale of woe,”[/i][/color] Wolyo rumbled through a half hearted snarl. The sincerity of the words were mixed with aloof concern and boredom. His feelings were punctuated further by the massive wolf’s teeth taking hold of Farya’s kilt and giving it a tug to get her moving.

With a sigh, the woman began walking once more. She cleared the doorway with the grace of a noble. She stood tall and proud, despite being a guest in someone else’s territory. No flagrant display of power will daunt a wolf.


She watches the last of the men recieve their mark. And without question, or documentation, she approached the robed man silently. She removed one of the furred cuffs, and extended her arm. She watched as the mark come and go like a fading candle.

She studied her arm for a moment longer. Her wrist rolling gently to get a look around her entire arm. She had no idea of the spells purpose, but it did not appear to be doing anything. She did not feel any different at least. The cuff was pulled back on while her gaze turned to her soon to be companions.

Her masked head tilted to each one, spending some time to silently study them. Her hand lazily scratching her friend’s ear while he sat by her side. For each one, her own thoughts echoed in her head.

[i]A grizzled elder, whos eyes speaks of war.
A man of steel, a bulwark in the tides.
A prowling shadow, a hunter like herself?
An excited child, likely forgotten and naive.
A shivering woman, smells of the sands.[/i]

Three of them, should they have met under a different circumstance, she would have enjoyed the challenge of hunting them. Perhaps one of them would be the one to finally best her? The child… failed to draw concern - but instead her deepest respects. He was here, he knows the stakes, and he is likely ready. The girl however… draws concern.

The wildling’s gaze drifted down to her own body, to study it, and then back up to the other. The mental image of what Farya perceived to be ‘normal’ had been projected over the other’s body. Oh yes… her concern was founded in her eyes. For the shivering woman of the sands looked terribly underfed. A problem that Farya will have to solve over the course of their journey.

Wolyo’s head tilted. His head bobbed to each woman, and his nose giving a few careful sniffs. His jaws soon parted to release one long whine of a growl.  [i][color=9e005d]“AAAWWWwww! This is our pack!? They are pitiful!”[/color][/i]


Farya, smiled softly behind her mask, and gave her companion a playful slap on the nose. [color=0076a3][b]“Hush, dear Wolyo,”[/b][/color] the woman’s delicate voice rang out openly. [color=0076a3][b]“They are perfect.”[/b][/color]

Despite her friend’s disdainful sniff of annoyance, she stepped forward and slung the cloak from her shoulders. She draped it over an arm and offered it out to the shivering child of Eerum. [color=0076a3][b]“It does a pack no good to succumb to illness, and bring your journey to an end too soon.”
[/b][/color]