dark & deep

( but I have promises to keep ) Bren - the Ranger - they/them

[brenharrowood-blog]

sylvarvenren‌:

Sylvar fixes Bren with a slightly worried look, suddenly half uncertain about this entire course of action. In hind sight, tracking and fighting the Great Bear might have been a bit…rash. But no –– this was his quest, and he means to finish it. “As ready as I’ll ever be.” He agrees, with a nod. Steeling himself, he takes his first cautious steps into the cave. 

He cannot be sure exactly how long he spends inside the depths of the cave. It has an ancient feeling to it, and he thinks he feels the same reverence that he saw in the eyes of his companion before he left them. Reverence or not, there was nothing to do but carry on. 

He had no wish to kill a beast, which seemed to work in his favor. He couldn’t, even if that was his intent. He had his knife and the power of a god at his fingertips, this was a hurtle that he could easily navigate his way around. In the end, after long minutes of fighting, he may only be minutes from death before a powerful Suggestion slips from his lips. I don’t want to hurt you, don’t you think you’d rather stop this fighting and give up? 

Perhaps using a charm such as that to end a fight is cheating, but Sylvar would never suggest such a thing. He merely uses all of the skills he has on his side, and in the end leaves the cave with his wish in hand –– a small and delicate ruby stone, a brilliant red that when crushed in the palm of its bearer will bestow one wish. 

He’s no worse for the wear, really, when he walks back out of the cave again. Hair mussed, a scratch on his cheek. In truth, he’s shaken at just having seen the beast, let alone having been pinned by it. But it doesn’t do for a future king to show weakness, so the grin he gives Bren is for the most part steady, tinged slightly with a wry sort of cockiness. “I was under the impression that that was going to be more difficult.” 

They don’t necessarily doubt Syvlar, but they don’t exactly believe the prophecy either: greater warriors, they know, have attempted to defeat the Great Bear and failed. And he looks nervous as he enters the cave, and all Bren can do is hope that the training they’ve done together will serve him well, or at the very least keep him alive.

It’s over sooner than they think it will be: he looks less out of sorts than they would have expected, not seriously injured unless he happens to be hiding it well, hiding it the way he’s hiding that he’s a little shaken up by it all.

They let out a laugh, when he speaks, admittedly impressed. A part of them wants to ask: how did it happen? how had he won? what had it been like, to stand in front of one of the Great Beasts of the Fade and live to tell the tale? what kind of magic had he used -- for clearly, he had used some kind of magic, some gift from his goddess, to get out of that cave as physically in tact as he had. Bren knew what kind of a fighter Sylvar was, after all.

But instead, they don’t ask: they leave his story to tell if he wants to tell it. Instead, they say:

    “And your wish? You’ve got it?”

[brenharrowood-blog]

nxghtjxr‌:

Truth be told, Nightjar was not at all confident in his abilities to aid in this so-called heist. Since his resurrection, he had not been in a situation that required a more physical response. Before his death, he had been a proficient fighter, thanks to his magical knowledge, even if most of his “battles” had consisted of sneaking and poisoning more often than not. Now, though, with no magic, he had nothing to rely on but himself, and contrary to what some believed, a spy was not trained in the same way that, say, an assassin was.

He was eager, though, to prove to this new Gambit his worth, and so he was prepared to do all he could, imbuing his dagger and rapier with poison, even if that meant wading through shit, scarcely prepared to defend himself against anything greater than a gnome. 

More importantly, though, he was with Bren, and he trusted them with his life easily, even in the face of the unknown. He stopped as they did as well, noticing quickly the way the prints were partially ruined, but very large. It was lucky he rarely panicked. “Lovely, large and low, and, perhaps, seeking a meal,” he muttered, trying desperately to keep his voice lower than he could usually manage. “We have surprise on our side, at least. If we find it, I can play distraction? It’s been a long time since I’ve fought without magic.”

Everyone in the Gambit had their own strengths, and if Bren had come into these sewers knowing that there was some kind of large, scaly monster crawling around in here that had been more than just legends and rumors, they might have asked someone else to come along, someone good with a sword.

And yet... it hadn’t occurred to them to do so. Nightjar had been their first thought, someone who could easily sneak through unseen as long as he wasn’t talking, someone who wouldn’t risk blowing their cover with unnecessary violence, and someone who -- despite their best instincts -- they still trusted more than most. Even if they did have to defend themselves against whatever this beast was, Bren wasn’t the type to feel comfortable with killing a creature in its own home, and they knew that Nightjar knew that, know he’d respect their decision if that decision was just run. 

     “I’m hoping we won’t have to fight at all,” they replied, glancing back at him before pressing on, making their way further into the runnel. “But if we need to, between the two of us, I think we’ll be fine.” 

[brenharrowood-blog]

nxghtjxr‌:

It felt as if the moment they agreed, all of the tension he had been holding in his shoulders released suddenly, able to relax in a way he hadn’t since his resurrection, perhaps. No matter what he felt about this new life he had not asked for, at least now he would be at Bren’s side once more. And for whatever else came, whatever else happened to him, that was more than he ever could have hoped for after being ripped from peace.

He was well aware how dangerous of a decision this was. Perhaps if he had been a less selfish man, he would have made the choice for them both, would have turned away the moment he recognized Bren and would have left them in peaceful ignorance. But he was selfish. It felt almost as if he deserved a small moment of selfishness, one selfish choice when everything else had been taken from him without question; his home, his family, his life, his magic, his death. 

It felt a little like hope, knowing that he would be with them again, despite his own mission. Because, even if he was unable to find a cure and his life was ultimately claimed again by someone who had no right to it, at least he had traveled with Bren again, at least he had had one more chance.

The smile on his lips fell, though, when they went on in hushed tones, a little haltingly. “Of course,” he nodded curtly, looking away from them finally. It was hard, knowing what he was, knowing that, in life before this, he himself had been wary enough of what he had come to be. “Most don’t take too kindly to…hell, I still don’t know if I…” he trailed off, stopping himself from going on, realizing where the thought was heading. It had been difficult enough to accept his life himself upon realizing what had happened, still was not certain searching for a cure to the blight and seeking revenge in favor of death again was the right choice when his very being was unnatural.

“A lot of my usefulness has been taken from me, but I do still know how to win over a crowd.”

[brenharrowood-blog]

ophelia-tylieri‌:

Confirmation was all Ophelia needed. Pulling a small piece of copper from her pocket, she took a deep breath, focusing first on the metal and then Bren. She worked to open her third eye so to view what cannot normally be seen. As they were a willing target she effortlessly slipped into their mind, focusing on just the information that Bren was willing to give. There was no benefit to be found in violating this trust, nothing that Ophelia needed to know beyond what Bren wanted her to, and for that reason alone she pushed no farther than the surface. Having had her own mind read while she was learning, she knew of the sensation; it was far from pleasant, but it wasn’t painful either. 

It took a moment to latch onto the memories Bren was recalling, but when she did, those memories were as good as hers. It wasn’t difficult to figure out what they wanted Ophelia to see, “The disease, focus in on that. Where did you first see it? What does it do? how are plants affected?” Ophelia could feel any emotions they had surrounding the loss of their home, and it was distinctly odd to feel feelings that were not her own. “If you have any ideas or theories of it’s origin that could likewise help.” She had what she needed to scry, but it likely would be of precious little help without more specific information on what she was looking for. If there was nothing else though, she could go ahead with the scrying.

Feeling Ophelia press her way into their mind was a... strange sensation, and it took every ounce of control Bren had not to pull away, not to fight her as she did it. She was helping, they had to remind himself, to stop themself from shutting their mind down altogether, but even still, it felt wrong, felt unnatural in a way that the kind of magic Bren was used to coming in close contact to didn’t.

Still, they did as she said: they focused on the disease that had taken their home, focused on the moment they’d first seen it: deep in summer, when they were still just a child, so many decades ago, running off into the forest to find their father and coming home empty-handed. The vines had turned to monsters, trying to restrain them, which they’d come to learn was completely natural, but the rotted spots of the vines, the places where it looked as if something acidic had slowly been eroding their organic flesh, that was not. The rot had allowed them to break free of the vines, to rip them apart with less than considerable strength and get away before they could pull themselves back into shape, but the image of the sizzle and burn of the rot had never left their mind, especially as they saw it later, burned into trees and animals and in the underbrush along the riverbed. 

     “I have few theories,” they added, and shifted their memories to the unknown men who so often stormed through the forest, steel swords at their sides, tearing down and cutting into everything in their path. Humans were always doing damage to the forest, whether they meant to or not, but these men had been different, a sickly edge to their wake every time Bren came across the traces of them. They’d never been able to track these particular men out of the forest, never been able to find who they were or where they’d come from...

[brenharrowood-blog]

     location: the sewers underneath of Port Dalgren      time: late night           ( @nxghtjxr )

The sewers weren’t the most dignified way to break into a heavily-guarded warehouse but they were certainly the least dangerous. Or, at least, the dangers that lurked within them were the kind that Bren was equipped to deal with. They were hopeless against a powerful mage, but a monster with poor eyesight was just as weak to daggers and arrows as anything else.

With Nightjar at their back, they moved through the sewer silently, only the faint drip of water from above making a sound, and as soon as they had left the grate that marked the entryway they’d used behind, they crouched to the floor, taking a moment to use their darkvision to examine the shadows for any trace of the kinds of monsters they might come across as they made their way towards the exit to the warehouse.

     “Whatever’s in here,” they said, voice barely a whisper directed back at Nightjar, for fear that whatever lived down here had better hearing than either of them, “it’s large, and low to the ground.” The tracks, indistinct footprints, were obscured in part by what looked like part of its body dragging along behind it. And from the size of the tracks, it was going to be bigger than they were. 

[brenharrowood-blog]

ophelia-tylieri‌:

Ophelia analyzed every word they spoke, mind fluttering with possibility as her mind jumped to options and solutions to what they were asking. Seeing Bren start to move away, she stood up, her hand darted out to grab theirs, “There is a way. I don’t know exactly what she was looking for, thus it is more difficult, but far from impossible.” Scrying worked better with knowledge of what she was scrying for. “I need more information from you.” Visuals worked best, made it easier to find where exactly they were looking. 

“If you consent, I can read your thoughts to get a decent view of what exactly we are looking for here.” She emphasized the consent part because mind reading was one of those abilities that could quickly get out of hand if one was not careful.

“Where do you want me to look?” She pulled out a folded map of the continent, tucked between the pages of her spell book. On it the Gambit’s process from town to town was tracked, small notes scribbled at certain locations. Ophelia sat back down, quickly organizing and setting aside her notes from before, creating a space to perform spell work. Her own search was becoming increasingly fruitless, so paying of the debt she had to Bren seemed like a much more worthy endeavor than another night of uselessly looking for somebody who wouldn’t be found.

They thought about it for a moment: after all, they’d come in here willing to tell Ophelia whatever she might have needed to know about their mission, about the woods and how it was dying and everything they’d done to try to stop it. Was it really that different, to allow her to read a selective part of their mind? They trusted Ophelia as much as they trusted anyone -- which was, of course, not very much, but enough to travel with her -- and it seemed like this was a better option than just waiting through the several weeks it would take them to get the rest of the way to Lodorwind, especially knowing that even there, an answer might not be what they would find.

     “Alright,” they agreed, after a moment. “Let’s try it.”

They weren’t entirely sure what mind-reading entailed, but they sat back down next to her while she prepared whatever she needed for it, and as she did, they tried to calm their mind -- to take it off of their current worries and focus on what they wanted her to see: the forest, as it was when they were a child, rich and full and vibrant; and then the forest, as it was when they last left it, blighted and pale. They focused on the strange disease that had seemed to spread through it, the rot and ruin of it all. And they waited for her to tell them what she needed them to do.

[brenharrowood-blog]

sylvarvenren‌:

Sylvar keeps himself just behind Bren as they walk together, his footsteps falling quietly along the fields. They’re an amazing think to watch when they get like this, when they’re tracking. Sylvar doesn’t want to distract them, doesn’t want to make a noise that might momentarily disturb their hunt. 

When they stop, he follows their lead, crouching down beside them to train his eyes on the tracks. Excitement bubbles inside his stomach, the feeling of being on the edge of accomplishment. Years ago, he would have never even attempted to fight a beast like the Great Bear, but now he knew he had to. They had to do it, and they had to win. 

With a breathless sound, he nods. “Looks like a Great Bear to me.” His eyes flick in the direction that the tracks are heading, trying to shove down the excitement and nervousness. Let him feel when this is done, when they’re achieved their goal. “That way.” And after a moment. “I wonder why its here, where its going.” And another beat. “But I suppose it doesn’t matter, does it? Lead on, my friend.” 

The tracks went far, loping in great strides across the frost-covered landscape, and it wasn’t hard to follow them, even in the places where grass gave way to stone and left the footprints faint water-marks drying rapidly in the rising son. They could practically see the bear in their mind’s eye, see the traces of him that lingered, raving towards the mountains. It took an hour, maybe more, to find where the tracks had stopped-- they couldn’t tell, lost all sense of time in the focus, lost all sense of everything except the bear ahead of them and Sylvar behind them, following close.

And when the tracks stopped, they stopped at a cave. Wide-mouthed and dark, large enough for  something massive to fit inside. And as they stood at its mouth, they felt a kind of reverence take over: this had to be the place, had to be the home of a great and sacred beast of some kind, and they felt as certain as life itself that it was the bear. 

But they also knew this: if Sylvar was to defeat him, he needed to do it alone. It was an honor to track the bear this far, but they wouldn’t be able to see him, not if Sylvar wanted to get his wish. 

     “He’s inside,” they said, turning to Sylvar finally, after a reverent moment of quiet stillness. “Are you ready?”

[brenharrowood-blog]

nxghtjxr‌:

He wished that he could know what they were thinking, their face nearly always an unreadable mask. There was a hint of something, though. Perhaps conflict, so many questions still in the front of their mind, and with good reason. And he wanted to tell them all of it, even if it might mean he would risk his chance at being near them again. Even just this moment was more than he had ever dared hope for, and if that was all he got, he would make it enough.

Even as they went on, changing the subject slightly, he could tell that their mind was still on the looming questions that had not been spoken yet. He tried, though, to follow their lead, as he always had. “I did; he’s one of the good ones, I can tell. Does seem the type to accidentally stumble upon more trouble than he can handle, though,” Nightjar said with a slight laugh, although it was hesitant. There was too much at the front of his own mind, to give fully into that part of himself. Despite himself, he reached out and put a hand on their upper arm, thumb brushing over the material of their cape. The smile fell from his face, frowning down at them, thoughtful. 

“Bren, I promise I do not want to make things harder than they already are, I can’t come back and act as if everything’s the same, because it’s not, I’m not. You say the word and I’ll turn around and go, and you can continue on as if you never even knew I was back. But if you’ll have me…I would be honored to travel with you again, with the promise to any god that may be listening that if you ever change your mind for any reason, the moment you do, I’ll leave without a question.”

He’d always had a way of this, of making them feel better about a bad situation. His confidence had been a large part of why they hadn’t given up on their own mission a long, long time ago, or struck out on their own and left the Gambit to work alone. A promise that he’d leave the second there was any risk of danger, or the second they changed their mind... they trusted him, believed him, even if they shouldn’t. They couldn’t help it, coming from him. Which should, realistically, have worried them more. 

But... they couldn’t help the part of themself that wanted him there. A part they should have ignored, should have fought back against. A part that felt somehow more at east, with Nightjar travelling at their side. A part that had missed him, desperately, for years, no matter how much they tried to ignore it. And here was an opportunity, almost too good to be true.

     “Alright,” they said, with a nod. They would have to keep an eye on him, have to stop themself from getting complacent, just in case... just in case all of this was something more than it appeared. 

And they were fairly certain it was, certain it had to be. Whether that was Imsh’s fault or something else... Better to keep an eye on it, after all, and keep him close than to be ambushed again. Better not to make an enemy of Imsh, too. And in the meantime, they would have to hope that the rest of the Gambit wouldn’t mind.

     “I wouldn’t let the others know,” they added, quiet, a little grim. “About--” They swallowed, not wanting to say it, not knowing how to say it. “About what you are.”

[brenharrowood-blog]

nxghtjxr‌:

For just a moment, it felt as if there was nothing else to worry about in the world. He no longer cared if he found the ingredients to make the potion that would supposedly save him, he no longer cared for vengeance for what Imsh had done to him, he cared for nothing, but the feeling of Bren pressed against his chest, arms around him. But he was well aware that it would not stay like this. Too much had happened, and even now, seeing them again, he was unsure of what it would mean but another inevitable goodbye. He was not even certain that they would want anything at all to do with him, after all, once the full story was told.

It was strange just how easy it was to feel just as he had years ago, suddenly and all at once again, now that he was with Bren again. He only hoped he might have another chance at what he’d lost last time. When they finally pulled back to look up at him, he couldn’t help the way his eyes looked over their face, as if memorizing every detail again.

When that question had been posed by others, he had not given the whole truth. He was a spy, after all, the less true information anyone had about him, the better for his chances of succeeding uninterrupted. But there was not even an instant in which he considered telling them anything but the whole truth. If anyone deserved it, it was Bren, and he wanted to be clear about what was happening, in the hopes that that might do something to ease things. It was tempting to ask if there was somewhere more private they could go to speak on such personal matters, but he was also not certain Bren would agree to something like that just yet.

“Just to pick sale’tomah for a potion,” Nightjar explained. “There was a problem, when they brought me back; it gave me a strange illness. I’m in search of the ingredients for the cure, although they are none of them simple.”

His answer was more concerning than his voice made it sound: a problem with his resurrection, a strange illness requiring rare and complicated ingredients like sale’tomah -- it was the kind of thing that fetched a high price just because the kinds of potions and spells it was used for were so obscure, so esoteric, often risky and experimental and dangerous. What kind of illness could have required something like that, as a part of its cure? And all that, of course, ignoring the fact that they had seen him, dead: necromancy, no matter who it brought back, was a far shot from true life. Death was death, no matter what you did to try to reverse it. 

But what was the Gambit’s code? The code they had been living by for the better part of a decade? No invasive questions, no tragic backstories: your secrets are yours to do with what you will. Who Nightjar was working for-- what had happened to him-- what his goals were-- why Imsh had brought him back from the dead, and what Imsh wanted him to do... all of it was merely what had brought him here, to this place. His secrets, for him to keep or tell or whatever else he wanted. Not for them to ask. Not as long as it didn’t put the rest of the Gambit in jeopardy. 

But... wouldn’t it? 

     “You met Llyr, then,” they said, trying to shift the conversation away from their thoughts, though the slight shake to their voice threatened to betray them. “I shouldn’t be surprised that I asked him to go pick some flowers and he turned back up with you.”

[brenharrowood-blog]

sylvarvenren‌:

Sylvar lets himself smile, pleased with Bren’s newfound attentions. Hearing the mockery drain out of their voice is great, seeing the seriousness in their eyes is a bonus. The fact that they were playing along with this comforted him somewhat –– he didn’t seem the bear besting type, if he stopped to think about it. But they wouldn’t humor him if they thought he was going to get himself killed. 

With Bren, they might really manage it. 

Might. He wouldn’t count his wishes yet. But he couldn’t help feeling hopeful. He could wish for his Kingdom back, wish for anything he desired, and it would be his. In the wrong hands, that could be dangerous, but he vowed to himself that his hands would be the right ones. 

“We should come across tracks north of town, I imagine. Though it wasn’t that specific. It has to be close enough that we can manage it by the end of the solstice.” A thumb running over the line of his jaw, another thoughtful smile in their direction. “Perhaps fate will guide our feet to the beginning of the trail, and you can lead us from there.” 

 Fate was not a guide that Bren usually trusted, certainly not for something like this; they preferred the concrete, even if it was just rumors or stories. And yet, it seemed they had little choice, and so the two half-elves make their way through the quiet streets of Farthorpe, deserted now that the sun was up and the festival-goers were resting for the day, preparing for the festivities to come. To the north side of town, and out, into the fields, still covered with just a thin layer of rime: already lucky, as the frost would make footprints obvious, especially ones as large as the Great Bear’s were meant to be.

They scout the area for about a quarter of a mile to the north of town, quiet and focused, eyes sharp and feet silent, not expecting to find much, and yet-- tracks, just there, huge ones, and they wouldn’t have thought the Bear would come so close to a populated settlement, but these had to be them. Larger than the tracks of the owlbears rumored to be terrorizing travelers along the road, and distinctly bear-shaped. 

     “Here,” they say, quietly, crouching down to get a closer look, the way the blades of grass, already heavy with rime, have bent and snapped where the paw hit the ground. “This, here, see? What do you think, look like a Great Bear to you?”

[brenharrowood-blog]

nxghtjxr‌:

There were few moments that felt like this, as if time was slowed, nothing around that mattered but this, as if whatever happened, it was going to change something about the world itself. He didn’t want to hope to greatly, lest he be disappointed. It was possible they would look down at the pendant and see nothing, that the magic he had left in the world had faded, or changed, as he lost what was left in his own body. Worse, it was possible that they would still see what he had made all of those years ago, and that it would make them want to run. That night he had shown the necklace to them, it had felt like they wanted to run then, after all; in a way, they had, considering they hadn’t accepted it, hadn’t wanted to listen to what he had planned to tell them.

This was different, though. This time, they didn’t run. And even if it didn’t mean the same thing, even if time and death had taken away that chance, watching them look down at the emerald, watching the realization wash over them nearly made it all worth it. 

He was certain he’d never heard his name properly before this moment, hearing them say it again after believing he never would. Without a pause, they were in his arms, face buried against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around them, perhaps too tightly, almost afraid that he was the one hallucinating after everything. But they were there, warm against his chest, and he let himself close his eyes, savor the feeling he had missed so much, how perfectly they seemed to fit just there. 

“Imsh changed his mind, decided I was more useful alive, than dead,” he explained, voice quiet, more focused on them than caring for the explanation. 

Even at the same time as they relaxed into his arms, into the familiarity of an embrace they had spent years imagining in their dreams, a feeling in the back of their mind was telling them to pull away, telling them that they couldn’t trust this. Nightjar had been dead; he might be here, be real, be him, but he was-- undead, now. That was something they knew much of the Gambit wouldn’t take kindly to, something they didn’t even know how they felt about themselves. He may not have behaved like a zombie, may not have been decaying flesh and mindless motion, but it was still unnatural.

And if Imsh had plans for him, there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t disappear as suddenly as he’d appeared again, leaving them to mourn all over again. 

Their mind raced, a swirl of conflicting thoughts and emotions. They didn’t even know where to begin to unravel the tangle of words they wanted to say, of answers they needed to hear. They let themself stay still for just a moment longer, trying to catch their breath, before they pulled away to look at him again. Him, really him, really here.

And then they settled on a question, the first one they could manage to voice, the first step towards figuring out how they were meant to feel about all of this, how they were going to move forward through the minefield that was surely everything that was to come.

     “Why are you here?”

[dumbbuckley-deactivated20210227]

𝐹𝑙𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑠𝑜 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑

𝐴ℎ, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝐼'𝑚 𝑓𝑙𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑎 𝑏𝑖𝑟𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑛𝑜𝑤

𝐵𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑑𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑤𝑠 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑

𝐴ℎ, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝐼'𝑚 𝑓𝑙𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑎 𝑏𝑖𝑟𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑛𝑜𝑤

-🍂🕊🌾

[brenharrowood-blog]

nxghtjxr‌:

He had never been good at stopping himself from doing what he wanted, and this was no exception. It took all of his strength not to reach out, not to take hold of their hand, beg them to believe. But he was well aware that doing so would be too much of a risk here. What was it like, after all, to see someone who they had watched die reappear out of nowhere, as if nothing had changed? Being woken from eternal slumber had been painful, jarring, terrifying, everything a sort of bland confusion for the first few hours, but at least it had been explained square away, at least he understood the horrors that had been done. This was harder, not as easy to explain clearly, especially with how fast his heart was beating, being face to face with them again.

But they sounded willing to believe, which was more than he had been hoping for. Their demand wasn’t a surprise, but he could still feel his heart racing, his thoughts tripping over one another as they asked him to prove himself. There were so many things he could say, so many memories he could bring up, but a memory was not good enough, not here, not when a hallucination could easily give them that. It needed to be something more. There was only one thing he could think of that felt concrete enough to maybe prove that he was real, he was here.

“Here,” he started, almost frantically, pulling the chain that was hidden under his shirt from around his neck, the pendant, a single deep green emerald, shining brightly even in the dark, his former magic still in tact, if only on the stone. It had been a silly use of such a grand spell, programmed illusion for a selfish purpose one night around the fire all those years ago. All he had wanted was to give them something that showed what he felt. When Bren, and only Bren, looked at the emerald a small woods, the woods of Lolander grew from the surface, minuscule birds flying over the tall trees, the sound of animals within, wind blowing through leaves. They had not kept the necklace, no matter how much he had tried to insist, but the sight of their face peering down at the scene had been enough.

Nightjar held out the necklace, offering it to Bren again. “My mother’s necklace. Look at the stone.”

They remembered the necklace, remembered the night he had shown it to them, tried to give it to them, such a clear expression of his feelings that they had all but shut down completely, not ready to hear the things he wanted to say. It had been too soon, the walls they’d built up as a child still high around their heart. And yet, it had been too late, too, only weeks before he’d been killed. Even if they hadn’t pulled away, even if they had let him tell them how he felt, what he’d wanted to say, it wouldn’t have been enough time, wouldn’t have been long enough to do anything but make the pain of his loss that much worse.

They’d used that as an excuse, ever since. To keep their distance, from the Gambit, and from everyone they encountered along the way. 

But here he was, necklace in his hand, the woods -- their woods, their home -- suddenly before them, so real they could practically feel the wind of it blowing in their own hair. 

     “Nightjar,” they said, their voice barely a whisper through the tightness in their throat.

Before they knew it, they were in his arms, face pressed hard against the familiar expanse of his broad chest, his shirt wet-- oh, they realized, remotely: from them, from the tears they had been holding back since they’d first caught a glimpse of his face in the crowd. He smelled like earth, and sweat, and something else, almost cinnamon. 

     “How? How is this possible?”

[brenharrowood-blog]

juniperfarheart‌:

She can’t help raising her eyebrows at the idea of their quest. Delivering a letter to a university, in a grand city. She would be well out of her element. But then again, they had great knowledge in Lodorwind. Perhaps the men who had her father would venture there, to attempt to gather more knowledge of the holy places on this earth before they began their journey to the true north. 

She gives Bren a nod, and continues to listen to them recite their code. Trying for a small smile, and with a short breath, she nods again. “I have no great wish for riches or treasure. Anything I have is gladly shared.” It seems like the easiest thing to address specifically. “That is a code I can live by.” It was true. It sounded fair enough, and she thought it sounded nice, the idea that these people helped and supported each other in all things, that they put each others safety first. She softens a little bit at the thought, old memories brought to the surface, a longing for home and a family she will never know again. 

“I will strive to help in any way that I can. I owe you all that much at least.” It’s said with a smile, rueful. She would like to try and find a way to repay Phoenix and the Gambit for the rescue, for the kindness they were offering her. 

It had been the code that had brought Bren in, too, the appeal of a group of people who wouldn’t expect them to tell them every piece of their past, who wouldn’t ask why they traveled or what they sought. With so many of them running from or towards so many different things, it made everything easier not to know, not to say. 

     “We leave at dawn, after the festival,” they said, with a nod of agreement. They would willingly have Juniper along without argument, but that didn’t mean they would tolerate anything holding them up. “Prepare whatever you need before then. We have tents, too-- just look for the stone golem standing guard.” 

They gestured a hand out towards the field of tent -- Andesite would be hard to miss, as soon as you set foot out there, over eight feet tall and far from inconspicuous. If she couldn’t find that, perhaps it was a sign she deserved to stay lost. 

[brenharrowood-blog]

ophelia-tylieri‌:

Every since she and Phoenix came back from the catacombs, Ophelia had not been incredibly present within the group. She had withdrawn into her work, staying up as late into the night as she physically could to copy the pages they had found. Three books were laid out in front of her, eyes drifting between the three as she cross referenced her past research and the new information. Around her neck hung the scrying stone, a constant reminder of her future goals.

The stone was perpetually cold, almost taking on a damp quality like mist, despite hanging against her chest every day, a constant reminder of its magical properties. Absentmindedly she would touch it while looking down at her work, trying to reconcile the odd combination of divination and transmutation, something which formed to become something fundamentally unique. She rubbed her eyes tiredly, inhaling, before refocusing on her work. She had gone much longer without sleep for much less, this should be nothing. Roland perched on her shoulder, head repeatedly cocking different directions as he watched her hands write. Always her constant partner.

Movement out of the corner of her eyes had her looking up slowly, her eyes focusing in on the approaching person. She nodded at Bren in greeting, not expecting anything more than that. Then they spoke. Quietly, so not to disturb the others, she nodded and murmured, “I have. It works rather well” With a slightly more frustrated tone, she continued, “That is, if you know exactly what you are looking for.” Somethings were more difficult to scry than other, obscured by wards of other magical protections or there was too much unfamiliarity with the subject. She pulled out the stone, unweaving it from the chain she had strung it on so it rested in her hand. “Do you need it for something?”

They didn’t know exactly what they were looking for. That seemed to have been their problem for the start: how do you know where to begin looking, when something is slowly sapping power from your home, killing it bit by bit, as it rots away before your eyes? So maybe Ophelia’s new tool wouldn’t be useful at all, until they knew more, until they knew whatever Oria had known, whatever Oria had put in that letter. Maybe this was just as hopeless as every other lead they had pursued, in the decades since they’d left home, in the ten years since they’d left the forest to search the world for a solution. 

    “I was just wondering,” they said, the sight of it catching their eye as Ophelia pulled it into view. “If there might be some way for us to use it the way Oria had. Rather than waiting until Lodorwind for the information she promised. But I don’t have specifics, not really.”

They shrugged, for a moment, nearly standing up to leave -- leave Ophelia to her work, whatever she was doing, leave the tent for some fresh air, leave well enough alone. If there was no point to it, it wasn’t worth thinking about anymore, even if it had been practically all they’d been thinking about since they’d asked Oria to give the stone to Ophelia in the first place. 

[brenharrowood-blog]

sylvarvenren‌:

His features school themselves into a pout, more for show than anything else. Granted, he had never expected to take the fortune teller seriously. He’d had his fortune told before, and they had always just told him what he thought they wanted to hear. But this time –– well, he mainly puts stock in it for how unexpected it was. 

     “Don’t be flippant, I already know all of that is on the horizon, so telling me would have been rather a big waste of time.” He tucks his hair behind his cheek as the words come out. At least, he would like to daydream about endless riches and handsome strangers making their way into his life. For the time being, it looked like things were going to stay as dull as they currently were. Unless his fortune did come true. 

     “Bren, what do you know about…” a brief pause, because well, it does sound a little silly now, “…I think he called it the Great Bear? Something along those lines.” He reaches out, putting a hand on their shoulder. “He said that I would best it in battle. And if i’m going to do that, I need your help.” 

It was impossible to be a ranger anywhere on the continent of Haelion and not know the legend of the Great Bear. Hell, even before they’d left Lolander they had heard to the Great Bear, the stories that said whoever bested it would be grated any one wish, whatever their heart desired. Bren had thought about going after the Bear themself, once, but with nothing even approaching a lead as to where one might find the Bear, aside from the vaguest mention in stories that were more legend than fact, and you couldn’t track something with nothing. There were more concrete ways of getting what they wanted than chasing an impossible dream.

And yet-- It seemed terribly specific for a festival fortune. To promise someone that they would beat the Great Bear was more than just a vague guess that could be true for anyone given enough time. Sylvar wasn’t exactly the great and noble warrior Bren would have pictured given the phrase whoever can best the beast in battle, but he wasn’t nearly as weak as he made himself out to be, either, not with that goddess’ magic behind him and enough determination to get what he wanted. And if Sylvar was going after it... he was right, he needed them if he wanted to track down any kind of beast, legendary or not.

     “Did he give you anything other than that? Where you might find the Great Bear?” they ask, suddenly serious, a note of disbelief still in their voice but none of the mockery. There was plenty to be told, all the stories they had gathered, but Sylvar could hear all of that as they traveled, headed in whichever direction the Bear was said to be.

[brenharrowood-blog]

nxghtjxr‌:

He could see all that was going through their mind, even as unreadable as their face had always been outside of those rare moments of vulnerability. They didn’t believe it was him, and it felt almost laughable that he hadn’t thought of that, that he hadn’t considered they might not even be able to fathom it being anything more than a perverse illusion. His thoughts started racing, trying to think of a way to prove it was him before they could leave, before he lost them again.

And yet, it did not seem like they were going to run, stuck in their spot just as he had been when he’d seen them. Words came, and he couldn’t help but flinch at the harshness of their voice, even as something ached within him, as if only now realizing how much he had missed the sound of their voice.

“Bren, please, just…listen for one minute and then you can leave. Then if you choose, you never need see me again.”

He desperately wanted to reach out to them, to grip their hand, their shoulder, any part of them he could touch, but he also did not want to make it any more difficult when he could see how horrible this was for them. His thoughts were flying too fast to make sense of, but he knew he had to keep trying if he wanted a moment more with them.

“I ran into one of your Gambit members in the field, the tiefling…It’s me. Not an illusion, or a hallucination. I…they did something cruel, and I’m here. Not right, but most of me is here.”

So Llyr had gone out to pick flowers and brought back this.

They still couldn’t entirely believe it was him, couldn’t make themself accept that he might be telling the truth. Not at risk of losing him all over again, mourning him all over again when it turned out he wasn’t real. There was too much depending on them keeping it all together to let something like this get in the way. And yet--

He sounded like himself. And there had still been no attack, no one emerging from behind them. He didn’t seem like an illusion, no matter how hard they willed themself to see reality. What were the odds? Of all the people they could have imagined being there, of all the losses of their past to throw in their face... the odds of someone else knowing enough about them to use this to deceive them were low. They had never admitted what they felt for Nightjar aloud, not even to him, and certainly not to anyone else, after he had died. Was it really less likely that some horrible magic had brought him back and he had ended up here?

It would be foolish to let their guard down completely, until they knew for certain, but the longer they stood here, the less likely it became that all of this wasn’t real.

     “You’re really--” they started, and cut themself off again before finishing the sentence, before admitting that they believed him. No, there had to be some way to guarantee that this was real, that he wasn’t just a cruel trick, or a figment of their imagination. “Prove it. Prove you’re who you say you are. If it’s you, you’ll know how.”