"Maybe it balances out from people who ask a bunch of questions." The answer comes from a child, perhaps no more than fourteen, who is openly inspecting his odd devices and gizmos. On first glance they appear perfectly human, despite the oddness of being clad in a full set of bronze armor, but there are signs they may not be. A bright golden glow within their pupils, not quite like the glow of a tiefling's irises. Deep purple scarring around one of those eyes, and little metal ornaments embedded into forehead and cheeks. And for those with the senses for such things, a strange infusion of energy permeates their being, like a creature from the Void itself.

Their behavior, however, could not be more human. Or more child. They sink to the ground seiza-style, placing their hands on their knees to lean forward and look at one of Rolan's more esoteric instruments. "What is it?"

The child is not alone, either. It looks almost like someone in a suit of armor, if that armor was crafted to look like natural flesh and muscle, painted white. There are no eyes on its head, only glowing spots here and there in symmetrical places across its entire form. Its hand rests on the hilt of a sword at its side, ready to draw but not on edge, as a bodyguard might be. A long blue scarf winds around its neck, though whether this is a concession to the cold or some inscrutable fashion statement, who can say. The bodyguard remains silent, lurking behind the child at its full height, looking for all the world like a stoic guard watching over some noble's young heir as they play.