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phoenixashbringer‌:

There were few instances in which Phoenix felt genuine surprise, but this was one of them. A partner back at home, a family, someone he wanted to build a family with. It was odd that he had not considered before that any of the others might have a family of their own, but most people who found the Gambit seemed to be alone in the world, having lost their families to death or worse, or never having truly known one to start with. Perhaps another part of it was because of his own family, the knowledge that giving that information to anyone else could lead them to danger, considering their own often dangerous journeys with the Gambit. But here he was, telling him that he had a family, anyway, showing that he trusted him with that sacred information.

That knowledge tempted him to give up some of his own, perhaps, but for now, he offered Khovakri a small smile, unlike anything that usually graced his lips. “I pray that you return to your waiting partner safely to start a family of your own one day soon,” he said, voice perhaps quieter than normal. Before he could continue, the other nodded towards the group of children here, seemingly ready to try their luck again at making one of the dancers fall from their silks.

“I’m better with children than you’d think,” he nodded, raising an eyebrow as he told him not to scare them too greatly. The mission was one he took seriously, but even so he knew better than to approach it the way he usually did, even if it was rare that he was around older children. “A game, perhaps, with the promise of a prize. Children do love riding on the backs of giants.”

Khovakri could feel the words threatening to slip from the tip of his tongue when he noticed the smile on Phoenix’s expression. The somber, stoic man finally showing some semblance of emotion and happiness at the mention of love and children? Wasn’t that a strange thing on its own. He wanted to ask about it, but the ghost memory of Mirokosh shushing him and elbowing him in the ribs whenever he was about to do something stupid stopped him. At least he knew to count this as a victory, however small.

“Thank you. I don’t relish the idea of leaving the Gambit soon. I’ve met interesting people, made some friends - or I think, at least - and learnt lots about the world but eventually, I must return. That’s what having a home is about, isn’t it? Having something to return to?” he grinned, once again preferring not to comment on Phoenix’s apparent ability with children. If what he said was true, he would see it with his own eyes. Otherwise, they’ll just end up scaring a bunch of children away. Either way, they’ll accomplish their mission.

“Very well. But not all of them are young enough to be persuaded by such offer,” Khovakri shrugged and started making his way towards the kids. Once they were spotted, the hushed whispers and chuckles of the children stopped suddenly. A group of ten, maybe. Perhaps a couple more if the ones looking from the trees counted as well. Two of the oldest stepped forward bravely, faces defiant and proud like only children can be when faced with a threat they don’t really measure but understand for what it is.

“Can we help you?” one of the kids said, arms crossed over his chest as Khovakri smiled, turning to Phoenix so he could explain their plan. If he said he was so good with children, he would give him the chance to shine.

#c: phoenix #para: guards

nxghtjxr‌:

“The base of the mountains, a small orc village that is no longer there, but it was called Fallvale. Destroyed long before you were born, I’d wager from your youthful face,” he teased, although he was certain he was right about the others’ age. Nightjar paused to take a deep drink of his own wine. It almost felt as if it warmed him from the inside out. “For a long while now, though, I suppose Urnundr has been my home, although I’m rarely there more than a few nights every month now.”

A small hidden town, over the mountains, even further north than he was from. That made him raise an eyebrow, wondering if perhaps this member of the Gambit was more than he appeared to be. His trade had been information, after all, and in his time as a spy for the High Lord of Urnundr, he had had to learn of towns far and wide who involved themselves with the great city for any reason. There were few so far north, but many that hidden from society held their own secrets, and he’d heard of a few such as that. It made him all the more curious about Khovakri, his instincts taking over. “How far north is your village? There are few places in the mountains that do not trade with Urnundr, perhaps I’ve heard of it.”

The question of why was simple and complicated at once. “I came for the sale’tomah blossoms. I need it for a potion, and it requires it picked on the nights of the solstice. And I suppose I’ll be rejoining you all, as Lodorwind might very well have other rare ingredients I need.”

With a burst of deep, loud, hearty laughter Khovakri leaned back into his chair, the wood creaking softly under his weight. “Fucking elves,” he chuckled but there was no malice in his words, just plain amusement. It wasn’t the first time an elf had thrown their age to his face, though there was no way to tell how old Nightjar really was. “I’m not exactly young, my friend. Nor I have a youthful face. At least, not many people seem to think so. But I’ll give you the point, mostly because I’m sure I’ll lose the bet if I ask how old you are. Still, we should probably ask a third person who would they say is the youngest. That is a bet I’m willing to take.

He could see the curiosity in Nightjar’s eyes when he spoke of his home and Khovakri smiled in defiance, the mystery of the man’s age met with the mystery of his own precedence. He pondered for a bit just how much information he was willing to give. Nightjar, despite being a spy, didn’t seem to know about his people or he would’ve guessed right away what he was. Not a lot of humans settled down so far north, so perhaps a bit of general directions wouldn’t hurt. It wasn’t like the man could find them from all across the ocean. “Quite a bit. It’s about a week and a half of travel from Urnundr to the lake at the base of the mountain - which I bet you know - and then a few more days up the mountain on foot. Tricky path, we don’t get many visitors, but it’s home,” he shrugged, smiling kindly.

“A potion?” Khovakri asked innocently. He looked over Nightjar and found no visible illnesses or rarities. Perhaps for someone else? Or to gain power? Not that Khovakri knew anything about potions and medicine, but he knew better than to ask. “Well, I wish you the best of luck in your search. And if you ever need any help finding anything, let me know.”

#c: nightjar

rivenofthesea‌:

@khxvakri

Furs pulled tightly around slender shoulders, Riven enjoyed Farthrope a good deal more than seemed the rest of her companions. Getting out of the desert, allowing herself to feel the bite in the air, the salt in the sky - it warmed her bones in a way a fire never could. Snow crunched beneath her feet as she walked down towards the river - eyes clouded with vision. It all reminded her so much of waking next to the sea, the same scents - the same feeling of home. She watched as a young boy played by the edge of the stream and she found herself smiling as he plucked a stick from a thatch of reeds - drawing concentric circles around himself, humming some local tune under his breath. He hadn’t seen her by that point and she crouched a little lower, drifting behind the tall, dead grass.

She listened to his little song - growing closer before finally stepping out behind him, unwilling to distract him from his current task. “Where are you from?” Ahh, not so sneaky as she believed herself to be, Riven chuckled as she walked in view - bright blue eyes following her every movement. “I…wish I could say, what’s a young man like yourself doing out here by the river alone?” She watched as he lowered his face, shrugging his shoulders with indifference. “My friends are all busy with their families for the solstice…” Smoothing her skirt, she sat down on a nearby log - watching the stream rush by. Gentle, babbling sounds filled the air as water cascaded over rocks. “And you’re not with your family?”

“My parents be dead, lady. I live with my aunt and uncle.” Riven said nothing for a short while - just observing as he continued to draw the same circles in the damp, squelching mud. “My…parent are dead as well…I think.” She gave him a small, sad smile when he looked up at her, confusion coloring his features. “You don’t know?”

“Not for certain, no.”

“That’d probably be worse…” She shook her head; “Not so bad as you might imagine. Do you have a name, my little friend.” Lifting his arm, he wiped a length of sleeve under his nose and nodded. “Jonas.”

“I’m Riven, it’s nice to meet you, Jonas.”

“And you as well, miss Riven. Are you really an elf?” She chuckled at that, nodding once. “Ears give it away?” He nodded vigorously, his eyes moving back and forth across her features. “I…am an old one. I don’t remember how longer exactly, kind of proves my point doesn’t it?” He giggled, picking up his stick and ramming it as hard as he could straight down into the middle of one of his circles. “I’m only eleven winters…” He wiped under his nose again.

“A good age, which means you’re going to see the reason in me saying that I think we should probably head back into the village, huh? It’s getting colder out here and I can’t leave you to play by the river all on your own.” She half expected resistance but instead she was surprised to watch him look down at the stick and then out to the river, nodding once. “Auntie said it was gonna snow tonight, I should head back, shouldn’t I?” He turned back to her and began to crawl up the embankment - planting one foot into the mud and tried to heave himself up. As he did so, his foot slipped and the mud he was gripping came loose. Shooting forward, Riven reached out - gripping onto the boy’s arm and nearly screamed as memory shook through her as she hauled him up - onto the damp, snow-coated grass.

There were flashes and the sounds of the crashing waves. Lightning, somewhere in the east - a storm moving in, threatening to crush them beneath it’s grip. She was on her belly, reaching underneath a bed - a small, dark child curled in a ball, back pressed against the wall. Riven could hear her own voice, screaming for him to take her hand. She stretched against the bedframe, nailed down as it was, it gave her no leverage. Pain shot through her as she finally clamped down onto his arm and pulled him out. Marcellus was screaming - pirates were boarding. Hauling him onto her back, she rushed out onto the deck - making way for the smaller lifeboat that would lead to his brother’s ship. One hundred feet away. She heard the crossbow bolt released after them. She never felt it pierce her own flesh.

Gasping, she rolled over onto her hands and knees - Jonas scurrying away in the mud, pulling himself to his feet, eyes glazed with tears. “Go! Get back to her aunt! Go!” She shouted at him. Thankfully, the child kept his wits and bolted as per her instruction. Memory coursing fresh, grief welling up beneath her breast, she pulled herself to feet and began to stagger back towards the inn. She needed him, she needed someone, she needed anyone. Pulling the furs tight and taunt around her body, she pushed her way into the inn - knocking into one man who roughly shoved her out of the way but she was undeterred. She spied Khovakri and staggering to the table and she dropped herself into a chair - shivering and quaking, silent and trying desperately to simultaneously hold onto the memory and let it go. Looking up at him, she whispered. “Please…talk to me…about anything. I don’t care what, just…please start talking.”

His brother had been here. It was all Khovakri could think of. The man he had been searching for so long had been here, had altered people’s memories of him - a feat he knew was possible but had never seen him do it - and left once again without a trace. What could he possibly say or do about this? What were really his options? Staying with the Gambit had brought him here, although he had found the information by mere chance, so leaving and seeking him on his own seemed counterproductive but still.... The fear that his brother might trek up to Lodorwind and return home to hurt those who were left while he was gone froze him in fear.

That’s how he found himself drinking mulled wine once more, sitting in the little inn that held some of the less adventure-loving visitors while his thoughts ran wild. What could’ve made his brother lose his mind like this? He was always against altering people’s memories, he was against murder, and yet.... but there must be some of his old self there. He was traveling the continent, healing people from what he could gather. That’s what he had always wanted to do, and still did by the looks of it. Was it just a fake trail? Something to throw him off guard? It made his head pound to try to understand him, and he figured he never would until he found him at last.

Luckily, he noticed Riven entering the inn. A smile grew slowly on his face, grateful for the distraction and the nice company but as soon as he read the expression on her face, his smile faltered again. She looked desperate, scared, perhaps? Nervous, most definitely. She approached him with a quick step - running into a man in the process and Khovakri willed him silently to continue walking and not pick up a fight - until she reached him, shivering and wide-eyed. “I... alright. Are you well, Riven? You look a bit shaken. Do you want my cloak? This weather can be rough to some folk but I’m used to it,” he moved closer, offering her his warm wine to battle the cold. “What do you want me to talk about? Something in particular?”

#c: riven

juniperfarheart‌:

Laughter flows out of her easily, like a song. This strange man, one of her strange new companions, should make her more uncomfortable than the rest. But he has the feeling of the wilds about him, like a place untouched by man in many years. Silly, to compare him to the forest, but something about him sets her more at ease. Though, she supposed she could do with him being a little smaller.

“I should like to see you both try, and if you failed It would not be the fault of the scarves.” She mused. These things were often stronger than they looked. She imagined that anyone with the right skill could pull it off. Not her, but someone. “Then we could all have a good long laugh at your expense before we set off once again on our journey.”

She laughs like her as well, his mind supplied and his heart ached in nostalgia and homesickness. He wondered how his family was doing, if they were safe, if they missed him as much as he missed them. Perhaps once they reached Lodorwind he could find someone who could send a message for him, but for now Juniper and her oh-so-familiar laugh would have to satisfy his wishes for his family’s well-being.

Mirroring her joy, Khovakri laughed loudly and brightly as well, looking up in wonder at the dancers. “Oh, not in the slightest. Though I guess it is my and Phoenix’s job to be heavy enough to endure whatever blows are thrown our way,” he mused as well, still chuckling at the idea. “But I got to admit, it would be very funny. I certainly wouldn’t object to trying but Phoenix... he’s more of the serious and somber kind.” As much as he had grown close to the man, even managing to consider him a friend, he did need to smile more often.

“I guess it’s only fair to welcome you to the Gambit, by the way. For a troop of mercenaries and traveling misfits, they are all an awfully kind bunch. May I ask why you decided to join?”

#c: juniper

ophelia-tylieri‌:

Ophelia had grown up in a town as insignificant as it was small, full of people who would never leave and see more than their small existence. She despised them; far too much of a reminder of a life she would gladly never visit again. She hadn’t seen any of her siblings in over fifteen years, and while a small part of her felt a pang of loss at that, a larger part felt proud of that fact. The majority of them had probably just settled down, lived within a mile or two of the house they grew up with, got married, and stopped progressing. Some said there was nothing wrong with a simple, happy life, but that was never an option for her.

Her hometown made Farthorpe look like a city, but they still had certain aspects in common. At least the festival filled the streets with this jittery energy, full of chaos and jubilation. After the long journey here, and her long nights spent copying and analyzing what she found in Balgud, it was probably healthy for her to be at a fair, as difficult as it was to take a break.

She had wandered around the town for about an hour, allowing herself to get a feel of the fair, before getting intrigued by the collection of curios they were selling. The amount and variety of items for sale was honestly impressive considering the smaller nature of the town, but here they were. They even had enchanted masks, something she had seldom seen even within Lodorwind. A part of her was considering buying one, but a larger part knew she should save her money for the future.

At the touch, she turned around, seeing what stranger dared only to find Khovakri. He had this look on his face, one she couldn’t quite place, and yet she knew it was something serious. At his statement, she gave a nod, “Please do.”

“Not here,” Khovakri whispered as he gently lead Ophelia away from the loud streets, full tents and joyful music. They walked for a few minutes and with every step the music became softer, the laughter dying in the distance and the sounds of the waking festival fading until they were a simple murmur, not too far away but far enough for the conversation to be comfortable.

Or, as comfortable as it could be. As soon as they reached a clearing, Khovakri turned to face Ophelia with a grimace. Secrecy was part of what kept his people safe. The fact that no one in the Gambit knew who he was or what he was meant no one would talk about it, or comment about it, no one would hear and no one would carry the rumor of a strange man with psionic powers looking for his brother. If he knew he was coming, in his state of decay and corruption, there was no telling what he could do.

But help always came with the price of information. No one ever did something without being given a good reason and as much as he trusted Ophelia and her good heart, she wouldn’t help him without paying the price. Perhaps a half-truth would be enough. “The reason I came to Haelion is because I’m looking for someone. A man. My brother. Back home, he did something that’s.... unforgivable,” Khovakri started. Perhaps that would be enough to ask the first part of the favor but slowly he realized that, if he wanted to ask Ophelia for her opinion on what people were saying, he’d have to tell her the whole story.

“I’ve been hearing rumors. People speaking of a man of his abilities and description. Which is why I need fo ask for a favor.... and your expertise. If you can do it, I’d need to send a message to my family, warn them in case he went up to Lodorwind for a ship back home. And perhaps... how much do you know about people with psionic abilities?”

#c: ophelia #para: rk

phoenixashbringer‌:

The mission, as trivial as it seemed, was easy enough to accept without a thought. It may have seemed laughable to some, but this was a holy festival, after all, and any disruption of a holy ritual was something he took seriously, even if it had to do with children playing their games. So he was more than willing to stand guard over the dancers with Khovakri, waiting to intercept any mischief makers on the final night of the festival.

He had not anticipated, though, the homesickness it would bring, watching the children of all ages, trying to discretely huddle together to plan their next move. It made him ache for Adrastos, it made him ache for his own child, and he wondered when he would be called home again to see them both. The feeling of something close to melancholy was not something he was used to, as if the goddess provided him buffer from the sadness his heart could feel to keep him on his mission. But now, there was just a hint of it, as he watched them with a frown, arms crossed over his chest.

Khovakri’s voice broke him out of his thoughts, but the words only seemed to spur the feeling. He pursed his lips, keeping quiet still, for a moment. Others, perhaps, would have offered a piece of personal information in turn; others would have told him that it reminded him of home, too, although when he had left last, his own son had not yet been rambunctious and loud, still that he’d rather cling to his parents than cause trouble. Instead, he kept the focus on the other. “Do you like children, then? You seem like you’d be good with them.”

Phoenix was - as always - serious and unmovable like a marble statue. A frowning marble statue, of course but that was his natural form, Khovakri presumed. It made him wonder what went through that mind of his. If his faith kept him focused on his path without time for distraction or if his heart ached and longed for things he couldn’t have like any other person. Perhaps it was merely part of Khovakri’s personality to ache for his family, for his home, for the steps that would take him back as fast as he could. Maybe others didn’t miss home like he did, but Phoenix was a good friend, and Khovakri couldn’t help but be curious about him.

But of course Phoenix was as secretive as ever, and even though Khovakri gave him a chance to speak, to talk about himself, he remained silent. It wouldn’t be impossible for Phoenix to simply have nothing to tell. Some faiths and gods demanded their followers not to take lovers, leave families behind, only devout themselves to their cause. It might be a painful memory, or there might be nothing at all. Or maybe he simply wasn’t sure eh could trust Khovakri. That, at least, he could remedy.

“I do, yes. I often take care of my brother’s children and back home...” he stopped and took a deep breath looking back at the children who seemed to be getting ready to enter the temple. He could tell him something, a bit of information. This for that. A trusting exercise. No names, nothing that would put them in danger, but friendship and companionship meant trust. Someone had to give in. “Back home, my fiancé and I always spoke of having children. Perhaps when I return, we might,” he smiled, finally turning to the paladin and nodding his head towards the children.

“Seems like they’re done plotting. Want to intercept them before they get in? Any plans? We could try to distract them with something else. Some game? Or food. Whatever it is, let’s not scare them too much. We’re damn tall as it is.”

#c: phoenix #para: guards

nxghtjxr‌:

Realizing it was one of the members of the current Gambit, he allowed himself to relax slightly. On principle, Nightjar trusted the members of the Gambit, new and old, and anyone who travelled with Bren deserved at least a chance. He remembered when he was apart of the Gambit years and years ago, how he had collected information like treasure from the new members every time someone joined. But the urge to do so this time with all he had met thus far was dulled, too preoccupied with thoughts of Bren, of wanting to fall back into old ways, but fearing it was no longer possible.

That was why he was here, though, after all, in this tent in particular. He couldn’t let himself confront all of that just now, and here was a fitting distraction, not only entertaining, but also useful, to know who was traveling with the Gambit now, and what that might mean.

“I can promise you I have no intention to do so tonight, at least,” Nightjar laughed, holding up his hands in defense. He paused to drink deeply from his own cup, trying to let himself relax. “I don’t mind the cold. I was raised at the base of the mountains of Lolander. If I can’t wear furs, what’s the point?” He had been all over the Fade, but the cold, being able to bundle in furs reminded him of his family, his childhood.

His drink was quickly brought in and Khovakri paid for it with a grin and a gentle touch to the bartender’s shoulder, who smiled in return. There was a strange tension in Nightjar’s shoulders, something that contrasted starkly against the joy of the festival but commenting on it seemed out of place. He must have his reasons for leaving and returning, for being here at this time and place, and Khovakri couldn’t ask any question if he didn’t want any asked in return.

Yet when the man mentioned Lolander and the cold mountains that he called his home, his eyes widened and senses perked up. “Where from, exactly?” he asked curiously, wondering if the man could possibly know who or what he was. Some people form Urnundr knew about the Kalashtar settlement, specially those who traded with them be it food or information, but it was still a long shot. “I hail from Lolander as well. From deep into the forest, past the lake and over the mountain. My town is too small for it to be of any note or to appear in the maps, but I’m happy to see I’m not the only northerner lost here so far from home,” he smiled, taking a sip of his wine which was, frankly, delicious as Nightjar has said.

“What brings you here, then? It’s quite a ways away from the mountains.”

#c: nightjar

llyrbxnes‌:

Owlbears. He had run into the things once or twice on his journeys. And he could remember once, when he was small, that a few of them had somehow found their way into the forest that was near Trerdm. He had managed to come out of everything alive so far. That was encouraging. Maybe there was something like confidence in him after the run-in with the ankheg. That had been nice – to be able to have a tale of defeating a beast. A victory, having done something correct.

Owlbears, though, were a little more difficult than ankheg. But, he wouldn’t be caught unawares like last time. He was on the lookout for the things and, if all went according to plan, he would earn some coin for his trouble. That’s not to say, though, that he was disappointed at the sight of Khovakri. Quite the opposite – between Llyr’s magic and Khovakri’s raw strength they would be able to handle any fray.

Llyr’s relief showed in his smile to his companion, and the way his tail uncoiled. “I am, yes,” he answered. “Thought I might try and be a bit more useful at this stop, contribute a little more.” He squared his jaw a little at that; inadequacy was a clear soft spot for Llyr. “No real plan, no. I can see well enough, even with no light so it should be easy enough to spot them coming.” At least, he hoped that would be true.

Khovakri likely wouldn’t mind the fight. Strong and able,his human companion was sturdy against injury. Llyr himself wasn’t so keen. “If we can avoid the fight, I wouldn’t complain,” he said with a slight laugh. “But I think that’s rather more up the owlbears.”

Llyr often made Khovakri nervous. Nothing with him having demonic blood, though the thought of it made him weary of the boy’s intentions, but rather with the raw, untrained nature of his magic. Magic was an unstable thing, one he had learned to love and trust after years of being raised by magic users and being engaged to one, but still that type of power in the hands of someone inexperienced could cause terrible trouble.

He knew. He had seen the damage it could do,

Yet whatever his fears were, Llyr had nothing to do with it. The kid needed a chance, if anything. Someone who gave him a chance to prove himself and maybe when he gained more confidence, he’d gain stability as well. That’s what the Gambit was for, after all. “Ah, I think you’re just fine, kid. You did well in Balgur and you’ll do alright here as well,” Khovakri said reassuringly, walking up to him to place a hand on his shoulder for a moment before releasing him and starting to quietly make his way towards where the creatures were spotted.

“Owlbears are aggressive, stubborn creatures. They’ll attack us on sight if they notice our presence. It’d be ideal to avoid a fight, specially if there’s really a pack of them,” he told Llyr calmly. He didn’t mind the fight all that much but dealing with more than one owlbear at the time could be tricky. They were fierce beasts, and they never backed away from a fight. “What can your magic do? Maybe we could create an illusion, something bigger and badder they’ll want to fight. If they hear us or see us, they’ll want to fight us, but they aren’t very smart.”

#c: llyr #para: outskirts

Location: Farthorpe Time: Late evening, third day. For: @phoenixashbringer

Khovakri always wanted kids. They were curious little mischievous creatures but he adored them. If things had gone different, if he had stayed in Jørđ, he could’ve have that and maybe in the future he still would. But for now, he couldn’t help feeling a little nostalgia at the sight of the children plotting their next move on the floating dancers right, talking in conspiratorial whispers and wild hand gestures.

Phoenix stood by his side and his face was a little harder to read. The paladin had never expressed a definite opinion on the matter but he had accepted the mission without too much thought, so Khovakri guessed he couldn’t dislike children all that much. They leaned heavily against a nearby tree, watching and waiting for the kids to approach once their plan was prepared and intercept them before they got too close. Yet Phoenix remained silent.

“This reminds me of home a bit,” Khovakri said to break the ice, to fill the space and time for now. If his time with Ophelia was anything to go by, trusting the Gambit with bits and pieces of his story could only bring him good things. “My brother has three children. Two boys and a girl. They are very wild and very loud but the worst moments are always when they’re quiet and not directly on sight. You just know they’re planning something,” he chuckled to himself, a fond smile fixed on his features while he watched. Maybe one day, when he got back home, it would be his story too.

#c: phoenix #para: guards

Location: Farthorpe Time: Early morning, third day. For: @ophelia-tylieri

People often said small towns were comparable to the depths of the nine hells. Rumors, forbidden romances, family feuds and every now and then, the strange wanderer that came by like an omen of something bigger and left without leaving a trace.

That’s what Khovakri found when the King’s Gambit made their way to Farthorpe. Rumors, and curious faces that looked at him with something like recognition but not quite close. After a day of that, he eventually grew curious and asked a young human woman why some people seemed to stare at him for longer than usual. Not that it was an absolutely out of the ordinary experience by any means, but still the attention made him anxious.

“You look like him,” she said with awe in her voice. “I can’t quite remember what he looked like... but he spoke to me in my mind. Told me not to worry. He healed my little sister, too but she can’t remember much either. It’s all very strange. Told me to keep it a secret. You got his eyes, though. I remember those.”

The words managed to keep him awake for most of the night. thoughts rushing and trying to puzzle something together but coming up empty handed. If Freyrvakri had been here, he could be further north. Maybe he was making his way to Lodorwind to catch a ship and go back home. Whatever it was, he needed to warn them. Mirokosh, his family, he needed someone he could trust. Someone who would understand magic like he never did.

Riven was an option, but the idea of bringing her to people who had recently lost their memories seemed too cruel. Instead, he went to Ophelia. She was kind and smart, with a good heart and a keen mind. Whatever happened, he knew he could trust her. Eventually, he managed to find her looking around the various stores and stalls and he approached her, gently touching her arm to catch her attention.

“I need to ask you something.”

#c: ophelia #para: rk

Location: Farthorpe Time: Midnight, first day. For: @llyrbxnes.

The Gambit had arrived to Farthorpe earlier that day, the cold wind signaling the change of scenery and the promise of snow and cold. It brightened Khovarki’s mood significantly, his warm, heavy cloak finally being right were in belonged - snug on his shoulders. Not everyone was in such a great mood though, and many travelers attending the festivals spoke of dangerous creatures just outside the field causing trouble.

It was a rumor for a while, the kind that all travelers and merchants brought with them to sell overpriced wares when the wine started to flow and the inhibitions lowered. But every now and then rumors were true, and when the town’s guards started offering those who looked able-bodied some coin in exchange for getting rid of the threat, Khovakri approached them with a confident stride.

He had taken care of his fair share of owlbears back home. Never on his own, of course, but they did favor the forrest so he wasn’t a stranger to the creature.

Finding Llyr in the middle of the night near where the owlbears were last seen was a surprise. A very welcomed one. As much as Khovakri feared the boy’s temper and inexperience, he was also a very powerful ally. “Well, look who’s here!” Khovakri approached him with a smile. “I take it you’re here for the owlbears, right? Any plans aside from a fight? We could try to avoid that, now that there’s two of us.”

#c: llyr #para: outskirts

nxghtjxr‌:

food and drink tent, the center of farthorpe, just after nightfall, day 3 ( open. )

To say that he was shaken by the sudden appearance of such a defining part of his life before was a vast understatement. Since he had been pulled from death, he had not allowed himself to think of what the Gambit, what Bren might be doing now. Years had passed, the living moved on, even if it felt like a mere blink of an eye to him. And now, on his mission to save himself for the man who had killed him, he was confronted with all that he could not forget, but did not want to remember. Because it had been good. The time he had spent with the Gambit had been the first time in decades he had felt truly alive, truly free. And Bren…

Nightjar had little desire to dwell on what those thoughts meant now, on how much he had changed, even as feelings remained, and so he found his way to the tent supplying food and drink, more than eager to indulge in the famous mulled wine, an appropriate distraction. Some old habits died hard, or perhaps were reborn, though, and Nightjar could practically feel the eyes on the back of his head as he took a seat, ordered a round and dinner. And if there was one thing he had learned during his decades as a spy, it was how to stop another spy.

“Don’t just linger around the edges, join me!” he all but called, glancing over his shoulder, to gesture with a gloved hand to the one watching him. “The mulled wine is delicious, but it’ll taste better with a drinking companion. We’re here for a good time, after all, not a long time.”

Neither the music, the dancers nor the bright laughter of children were enough to shake Khovakri from his stupor. He had been here, his brother. Not too long ago, if the people talking about the ‘mind who could alter minds’ was anything to go with. It could’ve been someone else, some other tall man with blue eyes and a nick for psionic magic, but the chances were very low. It was... conflicting, to say the least. Knowing he was here, he had been so close and yet his trail was lost again. Why would he do that? Why run? Why harm? It filled his chest with unwanted feelings, things dark and angry that he had to take a deep breath to control.

He couldn’t walk the same path. He had to keep searching.

His feet ended up carrying him over to probably the loudest of tents, guided by the smell of delicious food and warm wine to make him feel alive again. There, unexpectedly, he found Nightjar. The spy or assassin or something. An interesting fellow, or so he seemed from a distance though there had to be something more to him by the way he looked at Bren with a spark of something. Khovakri was good at reading people, but reading minds was more of his fiancé’s thing.

“Well, I do expect to live long enough to return home, but drinks and food won’t shorten my lifespan too much, hopefully. Unless I get poisoned,” Khovakri snorted as he approached him, taking a seat across from the spy. The bartender waved at him in recognition and Khovakri waved back, pointing at the mulled wine Nightjar was drinking to order one for himself.

“Most people in the Gambit aren’t too chipper about heading north. Not big fans of the cold, I presume. You seem to be doing well for yourself.”

#c: nightjar

juniperfarheart‌:

Location: Farthorpe Time: Late evening, on the second day. For: Open.

“They are absolutely the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in –– okay, in way too long.” She sighs it out, voice laced with wonder. Civilisation is strange to her in a way it possibly always will be. Juniper could count the days she had spent in a town or city easily, the number low enough to remember without a second thought. She feels claustrophobic and out of place, longing for a return to wilderness and wild. But it is nice to know that even here there is beauty surrounding her, feats of wonder and worship.

The floating dancers are magnificent. They make something like awe fill up her chest. They make her wish that she had someone with her to enjoy them, wonders what her father would say about them.

Dancing, flying priests. As ridiculous as the concept sounded to him, the sight of the cyclical dance, the movement, the sounds, it was truly magnificent. Priests back in Jörđ focused on meditation, the training of body and mind so seeing religion as a celebration instead of a way of living was, in a way, magical.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one in his thoughts. Juniper was her name. A druid, or so Bren had said. He could see a bit of his own sister in her - eyes filled with wonder, bright smile, kindness exuding from her every pore. They haven’t even talked just yet, and Khovakir already liked her. “They truly are, aren’t they?” he agreed, standing beside her with his imposing size. “Makes you wonder though, why all the priests are so skinny. No chance those scarves would hold up someone like me, or Phoenix for that matter.”

#c: juniper

brenharrowood‌:

Khovakri’s suggestion that this assassin take her evidence to the guards even if it meant serving time seemed unpersuasive, at best, but he was certainly right about something: it wasn’t up to them to find justice for this town. Bren had no interest in playing Robin Hood, no interest in saving every town they stopped in along the road. They weren’t like Phoenix, determined to save good people and see righteousness made manifest no matter the cost. They weren’t interested in sticking their nose where it didn’t belong.

But they were interested in getting the tal they’d been promised, and threatening Ingstrøm for it sounded a damn sight more fun than sitting on their asses watching him move form place to place all night had been.

“We’ll let you take down this black market on your own,” they said, with a nod to the woman. “If you have your evidence, that’s more than enough for me, and you might stand a better chance with some help, or he’ll just send more people like us after you, ones who might not be so quick to agree. But leave Ingstrøm to us, at least until we get our money. Then do whatever you want.”

“Thank you,” she said, with a nod, and Bren gestured for Khovakri to let her go, watched as she scampered back out of the alley, down towards the main street, and out of sight.

“I, on the other hand,” they said, turning their attention back to Khovakri, “am thinking about putting my own dagger to his throat until he coughs up what he owes. Does that sound agreeable to you?”

Khovakri let go of the assassin - who’s hands had already been freed - and stepped around her to stand next to Bren, arms crossed over his chest as he they watched her get away quickly, turning back every now and then to make sure they weren’t following her. “You made the right choice. It was the right thing to do. Killing her would’ve left many unprotected and since she didn’t harm him, she didn’t deserve death. It’s a very interesting choice, but one I really respect, Bren,” he spoke quietly, the words heavy between them. There was wisdom and depth in his words, although not exactly his own. It was comforting knowing he was following someone who made the right choices. His spirit seemed to agree.

Now, they had to deal with the matter of payment. Their services had been sought for protection and as such, they had complied with their contract. Ingstrøm would protest, of course, but a deal could definitely be struck. A few seconds passed in silence while Khovakri tried to remember the exact words of the contract, and turned to Bren. “Technically, our duty was to capture the assassin. That’s what he asked for, and that’s what we did. We have kept our words, and so should he,” he said matter-of-factly, a steady voice that many humans found rather unsettling.

“I say we talk to him first, explain the situation. We should give him the chance to pay outright. I highly doubt he will, considering we let the assassin go and he’ll know the guards will eventually come for him. In that case, threatening him - without harming him - would be acceptable,” he nodded and started making his way back to the locale where Ingstrøm was at.

#c: bren #para: sdw

sylvarvenren‌:

Sylvar didn’t know why he was always surprised by Khovakri. Perhaps it was his large stature, his perceived strength. People like that usually didn’t behave the way that Khovakri did, usually didn’t bother to make those smaller than them feel good. There was a sense in the air that his companion appreciated his company as much as Sylvar appreciated him, and it set Sylvar at ease, always. “I wish you the best in your hunting, dear friend. But you’ll forgive me for staying far away once we are done here.” Disturbing the dead to save the living was one thing, but Sylvar didn’t think he could stomach trespassing here once their job was done.

And yet again, he finds himself impressed by the skill the other possesses. His sharp eyes. Once Khovakri pointed out the trail, footprints and the barest mark of her on the wall, Sylvar attempted to keep it in his minds eye. He shoots Khovakri a smile over his shoulder, leading on with quiet thoughtfulness. His companion was clearly the better hunter of the two, but he felt saver with the other man at his back, his own sharp eyes kept searching for trouble. He trusted Khovakri to nudge him in the right direction if he noticed any significant change in the trail.

After many quiet minutes, he stops short, keen ears thinking they pick up a sound in the distance. The sound of a life other than theirs. He turns his head slightly to look back, as if seeking confirmation before he starts foolhardily in that direction.

Khovakri let out a booming laugh that was too loud and out of place for such a quiet, tense place like the catacombs. It wasn’t that he didn’t respect the dead, quite the contrary, but the fact that people were so put off by spirits always surprised him. No wonder he never spoke of what he was. If people reacted so poorly to the dead, those who walked amongst them and cared about their families and loved ones as they did before, how would they react to a spirit that - although benevolent in its nature - could be corrupted and turned to evil when not careful? It was easier to pass as human. “Thank you, Sylvar. Perhaps the spirits might recognize me after this run. Or they’ll want me gone. Either way, I promise to return and bring you something nice,” he chuckled softly as to not loose focus on their task.

They followed the path down the catacombs, through corridors that seemed like a labyrinth and stretched wide and far. It didn’t take long for Sylvar to stop in his tracks. It was faint, but it they could hear a lament in the distance. A soft, childish voice weep. It wasn’t unheard of that evil spirits chose trickery to lure their victims, but they had to trust their guts. With a life at stake, they would have to risk the chance of a fight.

This time, Khovakri took the lead, walking slowly with his hand twitching to hold his greataxe. Several minutes went by, the sounds of their breaths, their steps, and the weeping making the whole moment tense but eventually they reached the end of the hall and there, sitting on the dirty ground, was a crying child. “Hello,” he murmured softly to alert her of their arrival but the girl reeled back in fear, eyes wide and crying turning louder. “Hey, don’t be scared. We’re here to help you. My name’s Khovakri and that is my good friend, Sylvar. You’re Mina, right?”

Making such a tall man seem small and not threatening was difficult, specially to a dwarf, but still Khovakri kneeled down next to her and smiled, showing her his empty hands. Finally, she looked up and nodded with tearful eyes. “Your momma sent for you. She’s very worried. How about you sit on my shoulders and we go back home? Or you can ride on my friend’s shoulders, too. Elves have very cool ears. Whatever you want, little one.” That, at least, got the girl to chuckle.

#c: sylvar #para: wmm

brenharrowood‌:

They couldn’t help but feel a fondness, to watch Khovakri treat their companion with such respect, the pleased look on his face as he very seriously responded to the golem’s wordless greeting. To most people, Andesite was a thing, a pile of rocks imbued with magic but a pile of rocks nonetheless; but Khovakri seemed like the type to understand the way they felt, to understand what Andesite meant to them.

“Your sister sounds like my kind of woman,” they replied, their mouth turning nearly to a smile as they said it.She sounded a bit like them, when they were younger, always driving her mother mad by running off into the woods and not coming home until well after dark.

Andesite didn’t think in words, often – images came easier, to him, summoned by magic and lingering in the spirit that occupied him. And at the telepathic question, he let his stone limbs still, again, giving Khovakri this: an image of Bren, younger, smiling; sunlight through trees; a stream trickling through rocks in the woods; a warm and fond feeling, surrounding it all.

“Oh, she’d never stop pestering you. Brilliant, that one. But very annoying when you run out of answers. I’m sure she’ll eventually make her way across the ocean as well,” Khovakri told her fondly. He missed his family so much, yet talking about them made it a little easier.

Now though, he focused his eyes on Andesite. There was a moment of silence where he was sure the golem wouldn’t respond but then - as vivid as a memory - images. Flashes of lights and colors, faces, sounds, feelings. It was beautiful and breathtaking and it spoke wonders of the golem’s kind heart that he managed to express himself so poetically. “You really love them, don’t you?” he replied to him with a knowing smile and turned back to Bren, hoping they weren’t too put off by his silence.

He hoped his eyes hadn’t been glowing either, though he doubted they had.

“Andesite is very interesting. I hope we get to share more time together,” he spoke again, this time out loud. “Though I should probably take watch soon. Will you be staying up?”

#c: bren

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