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"My name? Well, I suppose that I am Se-"
You catch yourself before you give your number in place of your name. No one's ever asked you your name before. Up to this point in your life, the number you were give upon your emergence from the fallen fruit that bore your body and soul into the world. Seventh of Twelve on formal occasions, Seven among the peers who knew you well, and Sev among your closest friends. Clearing your throat, you give him a proper answer, matching his formality with your own.
"I am Lagneia of Alfheim, ordained sister of the Daughters of Irminsul," you layer on so many formal airs to your tone that you think you may have overdone it. Basch arches his eyebrow at your words, a twinkle of mirth glimmering in his old blue eyes. At this point, though, you may as well lean into it. "I will happily accept the hospitality of your Young Lady's camp, if you will be so gracious as to escort me. May I ask after the identity of my host? Or is this a matter that requires a touch of..."
You struggle to find the word Humes use for it in this region.
Fortunately, Basch catches your meaning.
"Discretion, yes," the old knight confirms your suspicions. Worry fills his old blue eyes as he looks back to the caravan of carriages. "I fear I am not at liberty to divulge the Young Lady's identity, and given the circumstances I am afraid the hospitality we can offer will be rather meager for a Lady of her stature. But the Young Lady wishes to thank you personally, and perhaps she may decide to give you her name."
While he gave his name and titles, referring to his Young Lady without a mention of her name and titles felt off to you. From what you've read on Hume culture, they put a great deal of stock in such things as representations of their honor and wealth. In truth, such richly appointed carriages without the pomp and banners you would expect from struck you as out of place from the moment you saw them.
With lives as fleeting as a mere three centuries (you think), living so vibrantly must be something they take joy in. The bright clothes draped over Old Basch's armor say that much... though now that you look at him, you see a conspicuous lack of the heraldry Humes are so fond of.
Learning that they are traveling incognito makes all those little oddities click together in of your head.
"I understand entirely," you say with a nod of your head. "Dark forces have come to conspire against your liege, and it is your duty to keep her secret and safe."
"Dark forces...?" Old Basch shakes his head, before waving you to follow him out of the woods. "You make it sound like some sort of fairy tale, Sister Lagneia."
"Well, what else would you call the Blighted?" you ask.
"I suppose that's fair," Basch admits. He gives you another worried look, before averting his eyes. "Are you sure you don't want me to lend you my cloak? You look so 'chilly' that I fear some of my more foolish men may make crass offers to help warm you up on a cold autumn night."
