Lord Wyron — Roleplayer Guild

Present-Day Reflections

The stench of burning wolf-flesh seeped into the air, a foul concoction as the vine-like growths that held the beast's rabid form together emitted a rancid vapor. From the corner of his eye, Brennen could see Kean's face scrunching in disgust at the smell, but Brennen was used to it. It was never a pleasant odor, but it was familiar, and that was enough. Smoke and fire had clung to Brennen for as long as he could remember, burning into the very fibers of his clothes; the pores of his skin; the roots of his hair. Part of him now, his birthright. 

The Boy-Priest had seen Brennen reject his prayer to the night, reciting what must have been a scripture or sermon of sorts. The wise-men-and-women of the Bog used such excerpts. Years of study and practice had changed them, made the sermons a part of them. Enough that their way of speaking was peppered with verses, waxed philosophical. Brennen never underwent the training that the wise men did, but he saw enough of their rituals and rites to have a firm grasp on the Pyromancers' religion and beliefs. 

"I do not recognize your goddess." Brennen said curtly, still rather on-edge as the twisted cries of the Scorned cut through the night. He was prepared to engage in a sort-of verbal debate with the Boy-Priest in the heat of battle but was interrupted by the shifting and churning of earth beneath him - the Tall Fae's work, once again. 

Though displaced, in the distance Brennen could see the Templar, moonglow and firelight reflecting off his armor fallen upon his back, struggling himself against one of the wolves, lit aflame by his blade's enchantment. In an instant, it was finished, the blade plunged through the monster's mouth, ending its miserable half-life. Brennen winced suddenly as his pendant burned in his pocket, as if recognizing the magic present in the Templar's blade, longing to be put to use. There was power locked within it, Brennen could sense as much the moment he picked it up. But power like that never came without cost. There would be time to use it, to feel its power course through him. But not now. 

Beset by another wolf, the Templar's life was only saved by quick intervention of the Fae's spell, vines snaring the wolf to the ground to be torn apart, soon beheaded by the Templar's striking blow. As he fell to his knees, Brennen sprinted after him, the adrenaline rush that guided his actions giving him swift feet and graceful movement. 

Approaching the Templar, Brennen outstretched an open hand for him to grab onto. "On your feet. Road's not done yet." He said simply, nodding down slightly to his beckoning grip.
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