Astorek

The woman's gaze turned to Vaelin, her eyes tracking him from head to foot before she nodded at the young man. He greeted Vaelin with a cautious smile, conveying a sense of youthful discomfort at an important gathering. "My mother asks your name," he said in Realm Tongue, the vowels clipped and heavily accented but still easily understood.

"Your mother?" Vaelin's gaze switched between the two of them as he raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," the young man replied. "Many Wings, shamaness to the Wolf People of the Tree Isles. I am her son, named Long Knife by consent of the people."

"Really?" Vaelin stared at him and let the silence string out, noting how the young man held his arms loose at his sides. He wore no weapon but Vaelin was certain he had at least one knife under his furs and knew well how to use it. He also noted a sudden alertness in the surrounding wolves, their heads rising as if in answer to an unheard call.

"Your … mother is not the only shaman here," Vaelin said. "She commands the hawks and you the wolves."

The young man gritted his teeth and forced a smile. "Yes. And we ask your name."

"I'll hear yours first, Volarian. Your true name. I've been obliged to kill far too many of your countrymen to give trust so easily."

The wolves rose from their haunches as one, a snarl sounding from every throat as the young man bridled, stating in implacable tones, "I am not Volarian."

Many Wings spoke again, a terse few words but evidently enough to make the young man suppress his anger, the wolves relaxing once more as he took a calming breath. "My birth name is Astorek Anvir," he said. "And I ask your name."

SpoilerLevel 1
Strength 53
Speed 54
Agility 55
Wisdom 55
Smarts 51
Total 268