The creature produces a large book from his cloak, and a jar of ink, before he fumbles a fountain pen in his massive hands, refilling it and flipping the pages open. “Where do you hail from? Are there many of your species left?”
“I’m from the Lhotlan tribe. Probably one of only a handful of us left, including my lover. It’s in Ionia.”
“Unfortunate…” He jots this down, the sounds of much more than words accompanying the pen as he continues, still looking at the page, “What sort of arts are staple to your culture? Sculpting of any sort, carving, illustration, prose? And how do you pass down your history, orally or through writing?”
Xayah’s eyes shut slowly as she listened to him speak, attempting to decide how to phrase herself. It was a lot of information to say at once, but she assumed, for the most part, he just wanted a few general answers until he learned more about how the vastaya functioned.
“The Lhotlan are a diverse and creative people. We have all sorts of ways we express ourselves artistically; but we’re mostly known for our prowess in music and motion. We have dances for almost every event and share our history through song. I’d share some with you, but I’m not ah…not exactly a good vocalist,” She admitted, her expression cold but her words not entirely unfeeling. Still, she kept her arms folded and talons firmly planted into the earth, keeping on guard else this strange…whatever the hell you wanted to call him, decided to attack.
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