It’s strange how ancient blood always manages to find itself in Beqanna. He doesn’t realize their link, that whispered connection that draws him from Leliana’s side and the depths of the Loessian dungeon. Her mother’s blood still shows in the feathering at his ankles and his strong, broad shoulders – strong enough to cradle the weight of the world like countless creatures before him.

His olive-green eyes search her when he approaches but he says nothing at first. Instead, he examines the fire behind her eyes and the little burrs stubbornly nestled in the long black locks of her mane. Vulgaris offers a nod of his head but keeps his chin held high as he comes to a stop in front of her. She’s different, he can tell that much by the way she carries herself and how she holds her face, but he doesn’t try to pick her brain with any prying questions just yet.

“Welcome to Loess. I’m Vulgaris,” he says as he attempts a smile despite the fearsome shape of his face. He still lacks lips, making the expression all scar tissue and pointed teeth rather than warm and welcoming. No one can say he didn’t try to be friendly at least. “Are you looking for a home or to be healed?”

He tilts his head, watching her curiously while his ears remain pointed forward. Vulgaris is careful to keep his shoulders relaxed so at least his body language can communicate the peacefulness that his face cannot. They’ve been growing faster than he anticipated, really, but he’s always eager to add to their numbers and strengthen their forces.