Now going completely on the other end of the spectrum from actor speculation...
This is a vignette of a Cheysuli warrior I RP with a few of my friends. It's set in the beginning of Shaine's qu'mahlin, when the clans were attacked and scattered. The clan I RP is one of Cheysuli with scattered Old Blood - there are some warriors with two lir, some women who can speak with the lir and shapechange, and one woman who has a single lir of her own (Yes, she's mine - the others are just mentioned in passing).
The clan, as a whole, has taken to the sea and arrived on a land far from Homana, Solinde, Atvia, or Erinn, to the West of all - a place where no kingdom seems to exist, and where magic is very different from theirs. The Ihlini have come following, knowing the clan to be rich in the blood that can threaten them, meaning to drive them further from Homana so they can't strengthen the Cheysuli blood there. This vignette is taken just after the Ihlini attack on their first loose keep in the new land.
Already we had been attacked by fire - weilded by men bearing torches from the backs of war-trained horses. Men who acted through fear and prejudice, on only the word of their king. Pavilion after pavilion burst into flame, trampled under iron-shod hooves. My people died, killed by arrow and sword - warriors died as lir were killed, women and children slain indescriminately. It was horror I awoke to, having barely time to pull on leggings before I grasped the bow perverted by the Mujhar's law. And so, with a bone-deep fear I held behind a mask of determination, I fought. My bow spent its arrows into horses and men alike, my knife's blade wetting with blood. They retreated at last, leaving us a burning and broken keep, a burning and broken people.
Even in the new land we've come to, I find we aren't safe. Again fire - fire that burnt an unnatural purple, licking over ground and painted pavilion alike, burning wood and hide and flesh, its crackling accompanied by a cacophony of screams. I remembered it too well, awakening to my lir, hearing the alarm in her tone.
Ihlini! Lir, awake, Ihlini come! Surra cried and I came awake at once. The attack raining down upon us was very familiar. I had long been a warrior with my own pavilion, but when I heard the iron-shod hooves once more, the wails of horses tortured by the very beings they held on their backs, the crackling of fire and the screaming of people in pain... I very much wished for my jehan and jehana, even knowing that they had gone before we'd left Homana.
"Kailen!" shouted one of my twin-born rujholli as I wrested myself from my pavilion, seeing the fire lick over it.
I shouted for him to run, grasping knife and bow once more, readying to fight against a foe worse than any Homanan. I feared for their lives - they were young, not yet fully trained, and spoke to each other as they did their lir. To the Ihlini, they would be valuable. But he obeyed, one of two shadows I saw racing into the forest, grasping their own bows, followed by twin wolves. And giving them my confidence, I turned to fight the Ihlini with all I could. I had lost one home. I would not lose another.
I remember little of fighting, only the exertion of my body, the sight of blood drawn by my blade, fallen men and fallen horses. The Ihlini at last retreated, leaving us once more. The battle ended; I lived. Battered and bleeding, but I remained on my feet. My su'fali, my clan-leader, was on his knees. His lir lay wounded, pelt sodden with blood. I went to him, ready to help him draw upon the earth magic, but as I reached, the wolf was gone. Su'fali followed.
Tahlmorra, lir, Surra murmured to me as I knelt, clutching his gold.
Ever tahlmorra, Surra. Jehan and jehana. Homana. Now my su'fali. I am no infant, lir, but I grieve for them all.
None would expect you not to. Just because you are Cheysuli does not mean you have no emotion. She extended her wings to brush through the air, landing on the ground before me. An odd sight, that - a lir haloed by the remnants of foul Ihlini fire. It means you show strength in the face of emotion. It means you show judgement even in sadness. It means you are not alone in your sorrows.
I looked at her, feathers grey against the dark night, eyes more yellow than my own, and I reached for her with a hand clutching an armband inscribed with exquisite wolves. I will never be alone. I will have you.
Always, lir, she assured me, and her weight came upon my hand. I pressed my cheek to her feathers and treasured their softness for a passing moment. Then I sought my su'fala. She deserved the telling from family. My rujholli and I were all that remained of that.