Post by Elvander on Oct 11, 2021 4:47:08 GMT
It had been weeks since Brogan had seen Xander. After he’s rescued the boy from Roman to patch him up, they hadn’t seen one another. It hurt to see the boy drifting further and further away from him, but Brogan didn’t know how to break through to him, or even if he wanted to. Besides, the boy had his first love, or so it seemed. What was her name again? Lenny? Leonard? Something strange, anyway. The girl's face drifted in his mind with blurred edges. She was inconsequential to him, really. But if Xander cared for her, Brogan would care for her too.
Brogan walked through a neutral stretch of woods, clad in a warm fur cloak over black britches and a warm gray tunic. At his hip he had his sword, a few knives, a water skin, and a small pouch of coin and food. Arcturis, his grizzly companion, lumbered nearby. It was getting cold, the time of year when bears took to burrows and dens to hibernate. He would be sorry to see his friend go for the winter months, but part of Brogan wished he could join him. Just curl up and close his eyes and forget. Xander would prefer it if he did. It was important in this sort of world for young men to cut their teeth early. Xander had his mother’s legacy to protect him, but would that be enough? Brogan was inclined to say no.
In the days following Xander's rejection, he'd spent his time on what mattered most. It was clear that Xander was too busy to do anything about his mother's killer (or killers). And so, Brogan had taken it upon himself to find out what had happened to Sahara. It was the least he could do, for both of them. For all of them.
The gentle burbling of a stream, nearly frozen over by this time of year, was a good place to stop. His hand, strong and scarred, were covered with dried blood.
It had taken some time, but finally, he’d found a lead. He’d interrogated every single living bandit who had been in Sahara’s entourage the day she’d died. On day four of no food, dirty dish water and some physical… incentive… the weak link had broken. Immediately, he had freed the rest and focused his sole attention on the man who’d sold them out. It was a simple treachery, really. And he should have seen it coming.
"Please," The man whispered, his head hanging so low his chin rested halfway down his own chest. His wrists were bound in iron cuffs linked to the stone wall behind him, and they had chaffed so badly that blood dripped from the raw skin. Straining against the cuffs had done nothing but make it worse. Brogan didn't care. He felt numb to everything, numb to anything but the rage.
"Tell me who did this," Brogan growled, pacing in front of the man like a cage animal. Ironic, since he could leave at any moment. But he was just as trapped in this small room as the traitor before him. His iron chains were merely emotional. He picked up a pair of rustic pliers, which were flecked with signs of previous use. He grabbed the man's left hand and bore down on the last remaining nail the man had on his thumb, yanking it off with force. The captive screamed, his voice battering against the already raw insides of his throat. He had screamed so much these last few days.
"Amara, it was that bitch! I'm so sorry sir, she said she'd give me anything I wanted!" He finally cried, giving it up. It brought an instant sense of relief. It would be over now. The pain would stop.
Brogan tried not to look like he'd been struck by lightning when her name was uttered. "Fuck you," her whispered, yanking the man's head back to slit his throat. The gurgles were over quickly and Brogan let the man's body slump against the chains. Finally, it was quiet in the room.
The revelation had left him reeling. The woman had been like a sister to Sahara. She’d taken her in, taught her everything. And for years while Xander was young, she’d served as Sahara’s right hand woman. Brogan simply could not fathom how that good faith had been rewarded with a knife in her back, literally. And for a man like Brogan, who prided himself on loyalty and who believed it was the most important bond, this was an unforgivable sin. Brogan dipped his hands in the freezing stream, beginning to wash away the last remaining proof of what he'd done.
The man's body stayed in that awful room for a handful more days, decomposing slowly thanks to the cold front blowing into town. Brogan hadn't been back there until now. It was time to finish this.
"Fucking foul," A gruff voice broke the silence. Two men entered the stone room, looking around with something like fear in their eyes. Days ago, they'd been held in a similar room, undergoing similar interrogations at the hands of the man clad in black. Brogan knew that stint had only strengthened their bond to him, and worried not that he had his back to them both as he detached the stiffened body from the chains that held him upright. Brogan turned to look at them and gave a single nod. The plan was set. The two men had survived Sahara's attack, and now they were going to pay for it. And so, they got to work. Saws made quick work of the dead man, who cut like butter. The pieces were then assembled into a sack.
Amara had taken up residence in a small tavern on the edge of the Jade Coast Port. The Green Jester remained a favored haunt of hers, but as Xander was coming into his own, she'd made the smart move to establish herself in another place. Likely until she could find a way to dispose of Xander as well. The thought made him seethe, even thinking about it now. Brogan scrubbed harder, watching the blood wash away down the stream like a red snake.
Brogan watched from his perch on a rooftop a few hundred feet away from the steps of the tavern. It was growing dark, obscuring him. The cold made his joint creak, but he remained still. The body parts were strewn across the steps, and Amara's shriek when she went to leave the building was music to his ears. The slamming of the door as she retreated back inside was the sign he needed to know it was time. That delicious terror in the undertones was like mana from the gods. He rose finally, and let out a series of soft, low whistles as he climbed numbly down from the roof. When his boots hit the ground, the soft steps of his two companions from earlier fell in stride with his.
They knew they would find the tavern empty, save for the barkeep, Amara, and a few of her 'guards'. They were really just lovesick junkies whom she had recruited to act as muscle while she did her deals. Sahara had never needed such a thing. She had been feared and respected in any tavern she chose to set foot in. Amara was a disgrace to her legacy. It was what he would tell himself anyway, to justify what would come next. Vengeance alone would have been enough for most people, but Brogan needed more. He didn't want this to just be for him, or about him. It wasn't. It was about her, about Xander. About what was fair and what was owed to a backstabber.
The door to the tavern flung open and he saw the barkeep scurry into the back. They had made an agreement, and the man would get to keep his life for his cooperation.
"Brogan," Amara rose to address him as he entered, trying to appear calm. It didn't fool him. He could hear the tremor in her tone as he strode towards her, his footfalls heavy and final on the floor, almost like a countdown. Ten, nine, eight, seven. The men who served Amara leapt up. Six, five, four. His own backup engaged with them, making quick work of the drug addled pair. Three, two, one. His bare fist closed around Amara's neck, lifting the slender woman off her feet. She struggled, writhing in his grasp. His almost black eyes stared deeply into her golden ones, trying to find remorse. Trying to find anything human. Instead, he saw only hate.
He squeezed, almost in a trance, and threw her to the floor. She gasped for air and crawled away from him, but his boot stomped down on the hem of her dress, pinning her in place. For a moment, he wished Xander was here to see this.
"You are nothing." Brogan snarled at her and before he knew it, his knife was in his hands, and the blade was singing for a taste of her blood. He slit her throat as she tried to speak, tried to charm him with her words. She could choke on them. He let her body fall to the ground, her life force pooling beneath her, seeping into the floor.
He withdrew his hands from the stream, drying them on his cloak before he slipped on his leather gloves and looked up at the gray sky, watching a few wisps of cloud drift by. One more thing to do before this was over. He'd been in hiding since Amara's death almost a week ago, laying low in the forest and bouncing between his bandit safe houses. Many of those had been raided in the days following the woman's murder, forcing him mostly into the woods. Brogan didn't mind. He was a survivalist, and he knew he could spend years out here without worry.
One more thing to do, he reminded himself as he straightened up from his place by the stream. He let out a deep breath and continued on his way towards the place he'd been avoiding- Sahara's grave. It was a quiet spot beneath a mighty oak, a few miles upstream from where he'd washed his hands clean. Brogan sank down, resting his hand against the earth, finding comfort there.
“It’s done,” he whispered to her, to his sweet Sahara. He could let her go.
Brogan walked through a neutral stretch of woods, clad in a warm fur cloak over black britches and a warm gray tunic. At his hip he had his sword, a few knives, a water skin, and a small pouch of coin and food. Arcturis, his grizzly companion, lumbered nearby. It was getting cold, the time of year when bears took to burrows and dens to hibernate. He would be sorry to see his friend go for the winter months, but part of Brogan wished he could join him. Just curl up and close his eyes and forget. Xander would prefer it if he did. It was important in this sort of world for young men to cut their teeth early. Xander had his mother’s legacy to protect him, but would that be enough? Brogan was inclined to say no.
In the days following Xander's rejection, he'd spent his time on what mattered most. It was clear that Xander was too busy to do anything about his mother's killer (or killers). And so, Brogan had taken it upon himself to find out what had happened to Sahara. It was the least he could do, for both of them. For all of them.
The gentle burbling of a stream, nearly frozen over by this time of year, was a good place to stop. His hand, strong and scarred, were covered with dried blood.
It had taken some time, but finally, he’d found a lead. He’d interrogated every single living bandit who had been in Sahara’s entourage the day she’d died. On day four of no food, dirty dish water and some physical… incentive… the weak link had broken. Immediately, he had freed the rest and focused his sole attention on the man who’d sold them out. It was a simple treachery, really. And he should have seen it coming.
"Please," The man whispered, his head hanging so low his chin rested halfway down his own chest. His wrists were bound in iron cuffs linked to the stone wall behind him, and they had chaffed so badly that blood dripped from the raw skin. Straining against the cuffs had done nothing but make it worse. Brogan didn't care. He felt numb to everything, numb to anything but the rage.
"Tell me who did this," Brogan growled, pacing in front of the man like a cage animal. Ironic, since he could leave at any moment. But he was just as trapped in this small room as the traitor before him. His iron chains were merely emotional. He picked up a pair of rustic pliers, which were flecked with signs of previous use. He grabbed the man's left hand and bore down on the last remaining nail the man had on his thumb, yanking it off with force. The captive screamed, his voice battering against the already raw insides of his throat. He had screamed so much these last few days.
"Amara, it was that bitch! I'm so sorry sir, she said she'd give me anything I wanted!" He finally cried, giving it up. It brought an instant sense of relief. It would be over now. The pain would stop.
Brogan tried not to look like he'd been struck by lightning when her name was uttered. "Fuck you," her whispered, yanking the man's head back to slit his throat. The gurgles were over quickly and Brogan let the man's body slump against the chains. Finally, it was quiet in the room.
The revelation had left him reeling. The woman had been like a sister to Sahara. She’d taken her in, taught her everything. And for years while Xander was young, she’d served as Sahara’s right hand woman. Brogan simply could not fathom how that good faith had been rewarded with a knife in her back, literally. And for a man like Brogan, who prided himself on loyalty and who believed it was the most important bond, this was an unforgivable sin. Brogan dipped his hands in the freezing stream, beginning to wash away the last remaining proof of what he'd done.
The man's body stayed in that awful room for a handful more days, decomposing slowly thanks to the cold front blowing into town. Brogan hadn't been back there until now. It was time to finish this.
"Fucking foul," A gruff voice broke the silence. Two men entered the stone room, looking around with something like fear in their eyes. Days ago, they'd been held in a similar room, undergoing similar interrogations at the hands of the man clad in black. Brogan knew that stint had only strengthened their bond to him, and worried not that he had his back to them both as he detached the stiffened body from the chains that held him upright. Brogan turned to look at them and gave a single nod. The plan was set. The two men had survived Sahara's attack, and now they were going to pay for it. And so, they got to work. Saws made quick work of the dead man, who cut like butter. The pieces were then assembled into a sack.
Amara had taken up residence in a small tavern on the edge of the Jade Coast Port. The Green Jester remained a favored haunt of hers, but as Xander was coming into his own, she'd made the smart move to establish herself in another place. Likely until she could find a way to dispose of Xander as well. The thought made him seethe, even thinking about it now. Brogan scrubbed harder, watching the blood wash away down the stream like a red snake.
Brogan watched from his perch on a rooftop a few hundred feet away from the steps of the tavern. It was growing dark, obscuring him. The cold made his joint creak, but he remained still. The body parts were strewn across the steps, and Amara's shriek when she went to leave the building was music to his ears. The slamming of the door as she retreated back inside was the sign he needed to know it was time. That delicious terror in the undertones was like mana from the gods. He rose finally, and let out a series of soft, low whistles as he climbed numbly down from the roof. When his boots hit the ground, the soft steps of his two companions from earlier fell in stride with his.
They knew they would find the tavern empty, save for the barkeep, Amara, and a few of her 'guards'. They were really just lovesick junkies whom she had recruited to act as muscle while she did her deals. Sahara had never needed such a thing. She had been feared and respected in any tavern she chose to set foot in. Amara was a disgrace to her legacy. It was what he would tell himself anyway, to justify what would come next. Vengeance alone would have been enough for most people, but Brogan needed more. He didn't want this to just be for him, or about him. It wasn't. It was about her, about Xander. About what was fair and what was owed to a backstabber.
The door to the tavern flung open and he saw the barkeep scurry into the back. They had made an agreement, and the man would get to keep his life for his cooperation.
"Brogan," Amara rose to address him as he entered, trying to appear calm. It didn't fool him. He could hear the tremor in her tone as he strode towards her, his footfalls heavy and final on the floor, almost like a countdown. Ten, nine, eight, seven. The men who served Amara leapt up. Six, five, four. His own backup engaged with them, making quick work of the drug addled pair. Three, two, one. His bare fist closed around Amara's neck, lifting the slender woman off her feet. She struggled, writhing in his grasp. His almost black eyes stared deeply into her golden ones, trying to find remorse. Trying to find anything human. Instead, he saw only hate.
He squeezed, almost in a trance, and threw her to the floor. She gasped for air and crawled away from him, but his boot stomped down on the hem of her dress, pinning her in place. For a moment, he wished Xander was here to see this.
"You are nothing." Brogan snarled at her and before he knew it, his knife was in his hands, and the blade was singing for a taste of her blood. He slit her throat as she tried to speak, tried to charm him with her words. She could choke on them. He let her body fall to the ground, her life force pooling beneath her, seeping into the floor.
He withdrew his hands from the stream, drying them on his cloak before he slipped on his leather gloves and looked up at the gray sky, watching a few wisps of cloud drift by. One more thing to do before this was over. He'd been in hiding since Amara's death almost a week ago, laying low in the forest and bouncing between his bandit safe houses. Many of those had been raided in the days following the woman's murder, forcing him mostly into the woods. Brogan didn't mind. He was a survivalist, and he knew he could spend years out here without worry.
One more thing to do, he reminded himself as he straightened up from his place by the stream. He let out a deep breath and continued on his way towards the place he'd been avoiding- Sahara's grave. It was a quiet spot beneath a mighty oak, a few miles upstream from where he'd washed his hands clean. Brogan sank down, resting his hand against the earth, finding comfort there.
“It’s done,” he whispered to her, to his sweet Sahara. He could let her go.
