Runa had heard much about the mage named Solas. That he was knowledgeable and wise far beyond his apparent years. A powerful man and one of the three mages in the Inquisitor’s Inner Circle. Already, the man was an intimidating portrait of power painted by those who’d seen him in action. Which made the idea of approaching him all the harder for Runa. She had no knowledge of her culture, her people, and a very basic grasp of her magic. Surely someone so wise and well-respected would at least be able to help her understand where she came from.
But now, as she pushed the door to his study open, a sense of dread washed over her. What would she even say to him? Would he expect her to speak Elvhen? She stepped through the door way and was immediately awed by the room. The walls were painted in dark, beckoning colors, depicting fantastically frightening creatures. Runa craned her neck to try and take it all in, bumping roughly into the table in the center of the room.
“M-Maker!” she swore, reaching out to catch the odd, glowing piece of stone that had been perched on the corner of the table. The moment her hands touched it, though, hundreds of whispers erupted into her head. She swore again and put the stone back on the table, pulling her hands away.