The people were a whimpering, disheveled, disorganized mess, kept under hush by the man they had rescued; the one the hunter assumed to be the mentor to the priestess that had cast her hand in on this venture, against a dragon no less. The man himself did not appear to be anything remarkable, not that Brannor was looking for it, but even the brief few glances he partook in whilst looking over his shoulder to keep watch on the entourage was enough to make him wonder. Wonder in particular about the woman, how she was so bold as to face the dragon. Was it really need? Plenty of men
needed to kill that beast but a few hours ago, yet how many were content to flee in a panic or cast down their arms with little provocation? Granted it was an unbeatable foe, as it so casually proved in its departure, but not to die trying?
It was a distracting thought that lingered in the subconscious like a fog, one the drifted into the presence of mind whenever the following was told to hush by their shepherd. There were too many questions, too many reflections to think of as they retraced their steps, some of Brannor's boots falling where they did before, tracking almost perfectly in reverse. The gesture was near second nature in of itself, although the mere presence of the tall, open grass was not. It brought back memories, memories before this, when things were... somehow less clear. At least now he knew in part why the divine called to him, why it literally filled his blood.
Not everyone was like the half-blood, the halfling, the elder or the priestess. Rather, they were exceptions, which both reinforced Ashkar's turning emotions on the common folk. For all he could do for them now, no less in service to the light - one element of which hung above their heads, above the raven's flight, above the smoke, and far above the clouds as a silvery crescent - would that change them all that much? Would they still in time be the very same people they were days and months prior? Could this be the experience they needed, so startling as it was?
People were hard to change and Brannor knew this; that at times people needed a violent, forceful awakening.
By the time the two leading the front found themselves back to the concealed entrance of the tunnel, Brannor had again decided to stave off the philosophical debate he had with himself; in truth, at least until tested, he went with what he did know after all. He was an outsider, now and forever. His calling was still elsewhere, even on the ventures of this night.
And when he leapt down into the bed of the stream, balancing himself as he began traversing the stones with a practiced grace, the only remark he had for the company behind him was direct;
"It will be dark and do not wander. Follow the glow of the torches." To which after he said this, he gave the survivors a faint nod likely to be lost in the late night's hours.
The wording was perhaps too accurate, too aptly said. Perhaps the entire concept was but top of mind again, but when he realized it, the moment was already over and the sincere doubt of their own ponderings was assured. Many were reciting soft prayers and thanks, others were asking, begging to their patron for any number of worries one could imagine imposed on their hearts. Either way, Brannor placed a steady hand up upon the woman's shoulder and this time, led the way into the bowels of the stone fort, avoiding the few pitfalls that they had seen earlier and using them to distract from the damp, almost sickening stench.
When the door at last revealed itself before them, the man struck it twice with a knock, then with a balled fist that made the leather tighten and bind, a rumbling echo of a strike. The tunnel and its corridors gave a dull ringing, while whoever awaited them this time on the other side was certain to have heard it a ways off. Of all things though, the wait was the worst, but it seemed this quest had all but drawn to an end.
@Hekazu@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Gordian Nought@Norschtalen
