Setting
However, outsiders often believe that this clan's deviations from their ancestral ways brought about their blight. Dubbed 'Cursed' by their compatriots, few other gypsy clans will mingle with the gypsies of Mistwood.
The Mistwood Gypsy Clan serves as a haven for other individuals of like mind. Outcasts of the gypsy people who have carved out a name for themselves despite their unorthodox ways.
The offered hand was met with an instinctive withdrawing of her own hand to her chest. Physical contact was something she avoided on a reflexive level. “Who are you?” she asked at last.
"Y-you're after him, aren't you?"
The night was cold, but furthermore, if one of the gypsies happened out and saw her standing outside in the cold, there would be awkward questions to answer. However, closing herself inside a small confined area with a stranger very strongly went against her instincts.
Taking a deep breath though, she at last moved inside and closed the door carefully behind her.
Taking a moment to compose herself she turned back around to face him. The caravan was cramped as it hadn't been designed for multiple people to reside within it, but there was room enough to maneuver.
“Why don't you sit down,” Whisper offered.
Sometimes her lack of recollection was both a blessing and a curse. Not having the experiences to leave her jaded made her far more amiable towards strangers that show up out of the night than was normal, though that was not always a good thing. She was remarkably naive to the dangers people posed.
"For a ritual."
“The staff? I don't even know what it is...” Whispered offered in weak protest.
It sounded weak even to her own ears. As had already been proven, and painfully so, her lack of recollection did little to influence how others perceived her.
“They told me I swore to protect it, that is all I know about it,” she explained.
Though, she had come here in search of answers. Perhaps this man could provide her them?
“Please, can you tell me more? What it is? What all of this has to do with me?” She pressed onward in her need for answers.
She didn't turn around though, but rather, let her finger tips play over the surface of the metal once more. It was difficult to piece together the information she was receiving, but it went to reason that she had sought to keep the staff from this being that the Whisperer spoke of.
“And you? What is your place in all of this?” she asked.
She didn't turn around though, but rather, let her finger tips play over the surface of the metal once more. It was difficult to piece together the information she was receiving, but it went to reason that she had sought to keep the staff from this being that the Whisperer spoke of.
“And you? What is your place in all of this?” she asked.
He was growing zealous, sounding less afraid and more intense by the moment.
Her fingers closed around the staff as they conversed. She could feel him back there behind her, she didn't need her eyes for that, and she was beginning to grow uneasy at his presence.
“There are others? Like the staff?” Whisper asked. Her unease was peeking, but her desire for information outweighed it for the moment.
"B-but his service was t-terminated by another."
“Gayle?” Whisper inquired.
She couldn't stay here. If he had found her, and what he said was true, others would as well. If her time in Aelora had taught her nothing of herself, it had at least taught her survival and hiding. She would need to find someplace safer for herself and the staff.
Though the recollection was lost on her, her decision to leave the gypsies was a near perfect replica of her departure one year ago. The decision to leave, rather than bring trouble down upon them.
“I understand,” she said.
Moving to gather together what few belongings she had, she was already making to pack even before he had a chance to leave. She would head out at first light.
Despite his outfit, he'd still probably stand out quite inefficiently. Guess sacrifices must be made for beauty! Upon nearing the camp, he'd begun to eye out for anyone that might look like a leader of sorts, despite hearing quite firmly not to trespass. Apparently the fellas here didn't like new people. Nomads? Or just rednecks? Guess he was about to find out.
However, Scar's approach was met with outright suspicion and cold eyes from all around. Each and every man, woman and child, both young and old alike had turned to stare at him as he passed by. Not a one spoke, and an eerie silence fell over the place.
Walking up to a nearby tent with a woman keeping her 9 year old in a "stay away from the weirdo, don't want you catching the stupid-AIDS" grasp, Scar flicked out a toothpick and placed it in his mouth. Leaning down, he revealed a light smile and politely requested.
"'Scuse me, sorry if I'm interrupting anything, but would you be kind enough to direct me to your folks' leading man- or woman?" He remembered to catch him self at the end there. The last time he got the gender wrong, it certainly didn't earn him any drinks.
Several others had begun to murmur amongst themselves in hushed tones, resuming their work, but they continued to keep an eye on the man.
Approaching Scar she practically rolled her eyes at her kinsmen, who in turn eyed her with distaste at her decision to speak with the stranger.
“Forgive my kinsmen, they're understandably wary of strangers,” she offered in way of greeting.
"Oh no, no apology necessary. Living in times such as these, I'd be concerned if they weren't." Scar extended a hand. "Sebastian, the pleasure's all mine. I was hoping you good folk could help me with a task I've been working on?" He continued, assuming the one before him was indeed a leader-worthy character. The man always had a way to never bat an eye as he was slipping lies.
“I don't know if I can be of any help, but why don't we walk that way in meanwhile, before we cause a scandal?” Ciera inquired.