Naril — Roleplayer Guild

She had already known, of course, but her heart burned at Ashlra’s words. Brand hadn’t been captured, he hadn’t engaged and escaped, not even fought and lost. He had been executed, and Kiera could guess by whom. Loden had been right - the stories were varied, but common threads stood out. The King had sent his power into the Nightwood to murder a decent man because he wouldn’t bend his knee to a madman. A petty, vicious, senseless death, destruction without purpose. Kiera lowered her head and her hands tightened, her knuckles popping. She felt a hot flush prickle up her body, a sour concoction of fear, anger, helplessness, and shame.

Lost to her own thoughts, Kiera barely heard Loden step away. Still, something told her that the man left, a tickle against her senses. She raised her head, turned a little to watch Grimm’s departure, and raised one eyebrow. The whirl and dance of life and will in the tavern still blazed in her perceptions, but some part of all of that gathered near Loden in a way she had seen from very few others. A…connection, perhaps, power gathering and waiting to be given form and purpose. Kiera pulled in a breath to say something, but then the man was gone, disappearing behind a door to the tavern’s back rooms.

Kiera stepped closer to Ashira and Grey, her voice still quiet, “We owe him a funeral hm?,” She said, looking at the two, “Whatever else passed between us, we owe him that much. And the homestead, other children - that…mm…legacy, we cannot allow the King to burn or loot that.” She looked down at the table and tapped the end of the press handle on the floor with a dull thump.

“Mm. And…” She sighed, “There are no choices here. You saw those men outside, yes?” Kiera tilted her head in the direction of the guards, “Vile men. Killers, and worse. This cannot stand. He wouldn’t…mm.” She cleared her throat, “…We can’t allow it. These people have done nothing to the King, and he brings pain here because he can. They have no one to defend them except for us.”

The words almost felt like lies in her mouth. She remembered that last night at Brand’s homestead, remembered the tang of smoke on the air. She remembered slamming her hand on the table, feeling wood crackle under her hands, not understanding why and not caring, either. The raw, ragged edge of her voice, screaming at Brand in a fury she had never felt before then, her voice filled with rage and pain and hatred, even. She hadn’t been back since that night, and over the long years had believed she never again would set foot in the Nightwood. All the same, Brand’s memory deserved more than this, whatever else Kiera thought. 

She shook her head, tried to clear her thoughts, and looked at her two companions. She was about to say something else, but cocked her head. Outside, the sound of metal and leather, but not a horse’s harness. Boots, but not a merchant moving through the streets. A cold feeling settled over her skin, and she turned her gaze out the nearby window.

“Do you feel that?” Kiera said.
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Tinker, builder, hacker, thief

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