Tales of a Child Eternal [NSFW]

[NPCs]

It's two voices. One with a deeper pitch than the other, both with similar accents. As Helene listens closer, they can make out snatches of conversation. "Yeah, the Fosters will be having a child. Due sometime-."

"-able to get a healer in- -old for having her first."

[Helene Dakesh]

Having a child. The implication behind the words sinks in: couples, families, have children. Children belong to families. Helene doesn't belong to a family. 

And in that moment, they became aware how much they wanted to. 

Helene carefully climbs down from the wall, making their way through the frozen garden toward the voices. 

[NPCs]

The deeper toned voice seems to be coming from a man wearing heavy wool clothing, with a hatchet over his shoulder and a thick, bushy black beard. He's talking to a woman in similarly heavy clothing and a bloodstained apron. Thankfully, there's a sign above the door she's leaning in that declares the building a butcher shop, so that's far less worrying than it might be otherwise. "-is taking it easy, so hopefu-"

The woman straightens up, cutting off the man. "Who's back there?" she calls, having heard the crunch of snow coming from her backyard.

[Helene Dakesh]

Helene moves forward, head held high. They have no reason to fear strangers. They've been alone for some time, but not treated badly, not yet. 

[NPCs]

"A child?" the man asks, startled. "Ho, who be you? Where are your parents, missie?" he asks, checking his grip on the hatchet. Lots of stories about evil things, pretending to be innocent children after all, and it's getting to be dusk.

[Helene Dakesh]

"Don't have." they say, looking up at him. "Lost." 

[NPCs]

The two townsfolk exchange wary glances with each other. "Lost them where?" the butcher asks carefully. "Are you hurt, girl?"

[Helene Dakesh]

Helene shakes their head again. "I lost." Clarity, it seems, is important; precision in language matters, and they don't have it yet. 

[NPCs]

"Yer lost," the man clarifies. "Alright, where are your parents then? What's yer name?"

[Helene Dakesh]

"Don't have," they say again. 

[NPCs]

"You some kind of fey thing?" the man demands, shifting his axe so it's ready to be used, though he looks more scared than aggressive.

[Helene Dakesh]

"...What?" they ask, blankly. Fae? 

[NPCs]

"Yer blue. And you can't talk right," the man says bluntly.

"She's so small, she might be to young," the woman says slowly. "You watch her, I'll get Grower Lothan," she says after a moment, nodding firmly.

[Helene Dakesh]

I'm blue? The child looks down, studying their hand at the first time, really seeing the difference between it and the people before them. They have no fear of this Lothan; they know deep down that a priest is likely to be safe, wise, trustworthy. More troubling is the implication that they are different, that different is bad. 

[NPCs]

It only takes a few minutes before a stately elven woman arrives with a trio of humans and one dwarf following her. She's wearing a woolen dress as well, but hers is a half cut above the others' outfits, with clearly died stripes of gold and green along with the brown everyone else has. She also has a wickedly sharp looking scythe on her belt that glow a faint amber color.

"...samsaran," the elf murmurs softly. "It's alright, she's a mortal. What's your name, lass?"