Looking between the two as they spoke, Kaite was prompted to look back the way he had came at the mention of slimes, now at least having some idea of what Cider was. He certainly fit the description.
After a few seconds' pause, Kaite finally spoke, having decided that 'Northern Common' was the language of the region if even the local fauna spoke it.[color=a187be] "Ah! Eit iz...and I have. Zee...[i]slimes[/i]...vehr very polite. One named Cider even saved me from sinkink. I understand vhy locals vould...'fancy'...zehm"[/color] Kaite replied without breaking expression, though he spoke in a broken manner as if trying out words they were unfamiliar with. As if quietly understanding the concept of the words, he offered a nod in Kay's direction as the innocently pleasant tone reflecting the term for fancying slimes in a 'you said it, not me' manner.

[color=a187be]"Company iz a sensible notion ehn I accept your offer, sir Kay ouf Stony Cross,"[/color] Kaite chirped, pleased by the man's decision not to draw his sword so rudely on a stranger, [color=a187be]"I am known as Le chasseur Kaite, le tueur d'Isparia, le chevalier de Maison Sinclair. Alzough, 'Kaite' vill suffice."[/color]

Isparia, the Empire of Ispar. By now it was a jungle long since bombed out and regrown as untamed wilderness bid 'good-riddance' to by its neighbors and allies. In its time during the war, all manner of horror stories poured out of the region bordering ethical similarities to the 'Faydark Transhumanism Endeavor', a concept of using magic to warp the fabric of a creature's essence to turn them into...something else. The goal had been to change humans into elves, but the monsters born from such efforts, the warlords found, were better suited to be released as beasts of war. Shock troops driven insane from their affliction, attacking anything in sight with the ferocity and strength of half a dozen madmen...which many were crafted from...that or prisoners of war, prisoners of criminal acts, peasantry willing to sacrifice themselves for a modest sum paid to their family, or even the orphans of such matters once the demand grew.
This, being a summarized version of only one of a number of stories to leak out, earned the surviving aristocratic refugees little sympathy in their time before the history of the region faded into obscurity.

Kaite obliged in walking with the two, reaching a hand up to pet Kay's horse at a point and receiving a nervous whinny in response and shaking its head away from the construct's hand. The pleasant expression on his face dulled as he lowered his hand, giving up on such curiosity.


[@AtomicNut][@Eisenhorn]