With Tongue Unbidden
Thirty Fourth Day of Elnu-eza (Elnu Ascendant), 1349 A. L. (After Landfall)
There was something distinctly odd about going down a deserted gully, with naught but the sound of birds and the rustling of birds in his ears to look for allies in a time of war, Zaia thought. He had never been a man of forests, nor of mountains even. It was in the wide cities of Egypt and the Levant that he plied his trade, and when he traveled it was by the long straight roads where a man might see the horizon and mark the path of the sun across the sky at a glance. He still was not sure what was worse, rain under the collar or the feel of wool on his skin.
I wonder if there is any spell or substance that can soften clothing?
His eyes wondered to the birds, but other than keeping count of them he could not recognize their sorts by beak or feather, nor from their calls. A part of him regretted that he had not done a more thorough study of life in all its forms, but had instead so keenly bent his thoughts upon the human form. Looking behind him, Zaia met the eyes of the girl Inge, though not only her own. There was, in their dark depths, a cold gleam, a vision of something... someone else, through which she could see more than the world of form, a power Zaia himself would never share. He tried not to let jealousy bite too deep...
For a long while there was naught but the clop of hooves on the wet ground and the sound of water dripping among the laurel branches, then the opening, the clearing. It was a hollow in the side of the hill, too round in its shape to be natural, as though someone had scooped up a piece of the stone with some monstrous spoon... and out of that cave there came a figure stranger than any he had seen, like some image of a Djinn drawn amid a haze of hashish smoke.
Twice as tall as a man it was, skin black as coal along its back and shoulders and fading to white along its chest, which was revealed for it wore naught but a kilt as well as arm and beard rings in the manner of the Anwa. Yet strangest of all, its face was that of a lion with eyes of gold and its feet were as those of goats, and goat's horns adorned its proud brow.
The voice in which it spoke was soft and catlike in its mien, though little mind did Zaia pay it, for when the giant spoke it was not in the tongues of the Anwari, nor in the Engur of the western Blue Sea. Instead, he spoke haltingly, recognizably...
in Latin: "Iaur salutem.... plurimam.... dicit. Si vales bene est.... ego valeo."
Iaur sends many greetings. If you are well, I am well, Zaia translated, so shocked he could barely draw breath. Of all the times and all the places to hear a sign of the world they had left behind...
How do you reply?
[] Also in Latin, confirm whatever suspicions the giant might have about your origin
-[] Write in
[] In Anwari, do not give away that which you cannot take back
-[] Write in
[] Write in
OOC: Hopefully this will be an interesting overnight vote, the reason I wanted to know who you had with you is hopefully clear now even though that was not the most interesting of votes. Not yet edited. 
