Is it still me that makes you sweat? Am I who you think about in bed?

The last thing Bryn expected to see after the thing they had killed in the study was a drow. Much less a drow child. Which was funny, since she knew the mansion was owned by drow, and they had seen drow both before and during the actual fight. Maybe it was the fact that this drow was... different, for lack of a better word. She seemed to want to help, if only for purely selfish reasons. Zel'marle. That was her name. It was pretty. Bryn found herself at a loss for words, opting instead to let the others do the negotiations for a bit. Well... The others minus Leonidas and Quilie. Because one would be an ass and the other would eat everything anyway.

But no, they couldn't let her have this one bit of silence. She always managed to get drug into these things. So when Zel'marle beckoned her onto the bed, Bryn thought little of it. But when her fingers started moving, weaving through her hair, the halfling's blood turned to ice. Those touches felt too familiar, too close for comfort. Not that she did anything. No, because as much as it was frightening her, it was doing... other things. Bryn couldn't quite tell where the sheer terror stopped and the pleasure began, because they seemed to like mixing together to form one weird emotion.

There are few things in this world that Bryn would admit to. One was dozing off, which she apparently had done because the conversation was nearing it's end and all she could really do was nod and try to focus on something other than Zal'marle's fingers. Which happened to be the other thing she wouldn't admit to. Enjoying this, whatever this currently was. Because no matter what it was, it would end as soon as they left that room and she regained control of her senses. Or that's what she thought before the kiss. Her only thoughts then were promptly shoved to the back of her mind and locked away, leaving her mind blank but pleasantly hazy. And with just enough sense to make rude gestures at Leonidas when he decided to add his (much unneeded) two copper. Bryn made sure later to remind him of the drow's stance on men, and how easily she could be persuaded if he continued being an ass.

So why was it still bugging her that she was the one Zal'marle decided to toy around with, even now as they traversed the sewers?

So, here we are again. It's always such a pleasure.

"Let me go back! Let me kill him!" Bryn struggled against the magical restraints Emire used, and she found herself cursing magic casters once again. "I swear, if he so much as looks at Stalar the wrong way, so help me Kord I will smite him. There won't be a single ash left of what once was Burningwood, and the bitch he's got with him can go too." Never mind that the bitch was someone that they had struck a deal with before. Among other things, things that brought the blood rushing to Bryn's face for a multitude of reasons. The silver light emitting from her eyes didn't help matters much. While she'd normally find the effect calming or even funny, right now it was only serving to remind her of the cleric who still hadn't come through the portal. It was only when the man stepped through and the portal shut that she finally calmed down, her labored breaths showing just how hard she had been struggling. "Did he do anything? I swear to all the gods that if anything happened, I will impale him with rusty spoons and get Emire here to heat them up slowly." The tone of her voice left little room for others to think she was joking. It was the only form of torture she could think of that would be fitting for Burningwood. As Stalar tried to talk her out of it (and he did manage to convince her to at least hold off), her thoughts began to turn to what would happen next. When silence settled over them, she even voiced as much. "Well... now what?" Her voice cracked a little as she asked. Bryn hadn't ever had to deal with people leaving. That was normally her job.

They had all separated after that. Well, sorta. Bryn stayed in Stonehaven for a bit, keeping her profile as low as possible. She wasn't quite ready to venture out, and as much as she'd love to have stayed with one of her companions (any of them really), she didn't want to be a burden either. So instead she spent her nights in her favorite low-town tavern with all the scum and drunkards that reminded her of home before the adventure. Or at least reminded her of where she had been, but she couldn't really call that home. Not that it mattered. As she slipped into her normal stool at the bar, she slammed a coin down onto the rough wood. "Whatever this'll get me." The bartender raised an eyebrow, and the unspoken question was easy for her to see in his face. Rough night? A slight dip of her head answered him. The roughest. On the plus side, most of the really bad folk that liked to stalk around the dark areas of the city were all gone or dead. Mostly dead, but Bryn swore that wasn't her fault. Not all of them at least. Her silver eyes hadn't really helped matters. She had taken to covering her whole face, trying to find some sort of cloth she could see through, but even then they could tell. How did Stalar do it? Not make himself stand out like a beacon every time he felt any surge of emotion? Even though she couldn't quite control it yet (although she was getting better. A year of practice would do that), she had discovered some of the nuances of it. Like how when she was happy, the light was more silver, like the moon on a clear night. Or when she was mad, it was more storm grey, and sometimes she could swear she saw hints of orange or red, the same colors that painted the moon's surface during the Harvest Moon. That sorrow held tinges of the dark blue sky interwoven with milky white. It was really amazing how many different lights there really were, yet how they all came from one source. A source that was currently making it hard for her to continue on with her "leave no witnesses" policy since she didn't have the group to back her up.

When Stonehaven's guard burst into her room at the tavern, all they found was a note held down silver coin on the bed, the half-moon etched into it with loving detail. It was her tell, the one thing she always left behind. The note was unimportant, telling what they already knew. Bryn Swift-runner was no longer in Stonehaven.

They say breezes are warm there & people are kind. Maybe it's something like Heaven

There was a slight breeze, the smell of the earth after rain laced with something else. Bryn couldn't place it, nor did she really want to. Her wouldn't open, and she didn't particularly care. For the first time she could remember, she was at peace. Completely and utterly at peace. No one was hounding her to be better, or attacking her. There were no shouted orders or pitying looks. Just silence and peace. It was nice, and she enjoyed it while she could. Because if there was anything Bryn had learned in her time with the group, it was that peace never lasted. Sure enough, she could feel the presence of someone else closing in. As it approached, Bryn felt herself regain movement and she opened her eyes for the first time. It was awe-inspiring, and not in the terrifying way Lloth had been. To say it was beautiful would be lowering it to worldly standards. There were no words for it, at least not in common. And was just describing the place.

Never in a million years would Bryn have thought she'd see a goddess. If someone had come up to her and say she'd see two in one day, she'd have laughed in their faces and called them crazy. But she had, and where Lloth had filled her with terror, Sehanine was different. Instead of fear induced images of her vision, Bryn felt more at peace, if such a thing was possible. Her form was hidden behind shadows, and even then Bryn somehow knew that this was the ideal, the penultimate example of beauty. Soft words were spoken and though the halfling couldn't understand the language, the meaning rang true in her head. What would you do? Do you wish to stay?
She did, oh how she did. But she couldn't, and she knew that. Images of her family sprang to mind. Of Aran. As much as she wanted to stay, not seeing them one last time would haunt her. Besides, her companions, her makeshift family still needed her.

A single tear hit Bryn's face, and it was then that she knew the right choice had been made. The vision Ioun had sent her no longer frightened her, Blackness ebbed into her sight, but unlike the way she had arrived there, which had been full of pain and suffering, an unadulterated sense of joy filled her. Before long, it was gone, leaving her back in the world of the living, feeling slightly hollow but otherwise no worse for wear. She was unaware of the changes that had been made (although her friends would inform her later), only that she felt different. She brushed herself off as she stood, ready for attempt two. "Oh no you didn't. I'm like a plauge, I don't go away that easily."

A casual smirk graced her face even as she stared Lloth straight in the eye for a second time. "Miss me?"

Your boldness stands alone among the wreck

The pure heat eminating from the obsidian relic in front of her caused Bryn to hesitate. There wasn't much she could do though. Her legs wouldn't obey her, her feet glued to the floor. Stupid spell casters, she thought. Her companions voices brought her out of her head though. "Pick it up!" And with an anguished yell, she did exactly that.

It burned. Oh, how it burned. The symbol of Erathus on her right had was throbbing in pain, and between that and the dagger it was almost unbearable. Finally the sensation went away, leaving the young halfling gasping for breath. "Next time the cleric gets burned. Why is it always me?" She growled, although it bordered whining. Thankfully her companions used their time wisely, because the drow bitch was killed soon after. Finding whatever spell had been cast was undone, she moved to rejoin her friends. But peace wasn't coming, not yet. The pool (or what was left of it) started glowing beneath her, and she only just managed to escape as long spindly legs emerged. Spider's legs. The blood rushed out of her face, and her stomach did nauseating loops inside her. Her mind supplied images of her vision, and something inside her pulsed with a frightening energy. Bryn took an instinctive step back as she appeared. The temptress and deceiver herself. Lloth. In aspect form, to be sure, but still there. With little more than a second glance at any of them, the group found themselves trapped. Spiders everywhere, crawling into and out of ever opening, every pore. But not Bryn. No, the halfling say in silence for a bit, awestruck and more than a little terrified at the goddess demanding the very relic she now held. At first she refused. The sentiment she wanted to use was "over my dead body" but Bryn was certain that it would be arranged if she said the words. That's when an idea struck.
"You want the dagger? This ol' thing?" She smirked, a facade that the goddess of lies was sure to pierce through. Not that it mattered. "You won't hurt my friends." The slightest of nods was all it took. Bryn knew the look on Lloth's face. Sure, she hadn't eve dealt with a goddess before, but she knew the type from her days in the cities. The want, the need. The hunger for riches, or in this case, for power. That much was universal. So when the simplest of pricks drew blood from the goddess-turned-mortal, Bryn knew she had done right. Her friends wouldn't be harmed, because technically Lloth had received the dagger.

Too bad Bryn hadn't really thought of including herself in that statement.

Weep for yourself, you'll never be what is in your heart

Bryn sat in the bar, nursing her ale. It was supposed to be a happy time, what with Rockwell getting married. She was excited, happy that he had found someone. Hell, he had gotten a whole kingdom out of it. But ten years was a long time. A scowl appeared at the thought. She knew Burningwood was patient. He would be more than willing to wait a measly ten years for some grand scheme. Sure, they had set back the original plan centuries, but that didn't change much. Every good leader had a plan B. Even she had a plan B, and the halfling was anything but a good leader. Her thoughts turned to her companions. Stalar, the makeshift leader (or at least she thought so) and radiant cleric. Rockwell, their unyielding fighter. Leonidas, who had been a good companion and friend to her, even if he could be annoying at times. Emire, the lethal spellcaster of stone (no, he was literally made of stone! How cool was that?). And Quiliy, who seemed to always be in her thoughts. And it wasn't because of fond memories. No, it was because his "kids" (spawn? Younglings?) kept coming up to her and licking her face. She was certain he had something to do with that. The thought was almost enough to make her crack a smile. But only almost. The unease in the pit of her stomach kept her from truly enjoying the moment. Soft laughter broke through her thoughts, and she turned to her new company.
"You look like you've just eaten bitter-root. What's weighing on you?" The familiar hiss of draconic was a comfort to her, as was the speaker's identity.
"It's nothing, Aran. Really. I just find myself in a pensive mood for once." The remark drew a small smile from the older dragonborn.
"Yes, that is odd. You're tend to be a loud drunk, Bryn." They sat in comfortable silence for a while, each taking tentative sips of the drinks in front of them. Suddenly, Aran turned to Bryn, his copper scales turning appearing dark red in the low light of the tavern. "You never did tell me what you've been up to for all this time, little monkey. I've heard of your grand adventures from others, but what do you have to say?" Bryn debated telling him everything, starting from her departure from the apothecary.

She stared into the amber drink as she started retelling her story, catching him up on all that had been happening these last ten years.

Thank your lucky star you've gotten this far

They peered down a whole, and Bryn wondered why no one just did anything. They were sitting there, staring, like that would solve something. Sure, she knew that planning was important, that it could make a huge difference. She also knew that whatever was happening would happen fast and they needed to stop it. Her gaze fell onto something familiar, and she swore under her breath in draconic. She used that almost more than she used her common. One of these days she would look into that, but not now. A circle of runes, fire (the symbol of Erathis on her hand itched at the sight), drow guarding the room. This would be challenging. With an almost feral smile, Bryn readied her bow. Challenges were fine when they were expected. Those things in the sewers were one thing. Monsters happened. But stopping the resurrection of an ancient god? This would be fun.

Quily was the first of them to move. Bryn swore he moved faster than any creature she had seen. Gods, he moved faster than she did, which was a feat. Bryn liked to think she moved fast. to her side, a newer companion caught her eye and she nodded. The two of them made their way down. She wasn't sure how he did it, but Bryn smiled as she flipped and rolled down. A little voice in the back of her head muttered "show off" but she ignored it. At least she got down safely. Now for the hard part.

The drow guarding the room all moved at once, surrounding her and her companions. Well, the two others who had made it down. As much as they'd love to wait for the meat shields (as Bryn often thought of Leonidas), they just didn't have time. With a sigh, she sidestepped a blade and shot an arrow in response. One down, one to go. 'Scratch that, none to go' she thought as Quily ripped through the other. Not that it mattered. The runes weren't gonna let anyone in, as she soon found out. The hard way. A groan escaped her as she flew back. "Not getting out that way." Suddenly it dawned on her. The fire. There were no runes where the fire was. Obviously they weren't expected to go in that way.

Obviously they weren't going that way. She watched Quily attempt to fight his way through, watched her arrow burn up as though it were made of actual wood. On the other side of the circle, she saw her other companion locked in combat with something. The other two still weren't here, and Bryn knew that Stalar, Rockwell, and Amir had all needed rest and had opted to stay and make camp. Her spirits fell as she realized they had no way to break through the fire. They weren't going to make it. The dagger's weight in her cloak mocked her, and she almost threw it away from her in despair. Her cloak... Her cloak! She had almost forgotten about her cloak, something she had been wearing for most of the journey. Something she hadn't really thought much of. Something that had saved her ass before, and would do the same now.With a whoop and a laugh she charged through the pillar of fire. It was hot, but not unbearably so. No, the heat from the fire didn't get to her. It was the cold energy of death that made her almost fall shivering on the other side. It wasn't normal, this feeling. She had brushed with death many times, and each one was unpleasant, but this wasn't the same.

The water at her feet brought her back to reality. She almost prepped and arrow, almost readied herself to toss the die. It had been known to knock people down, and that should have been enough to stop the ritual. But suddenly Stalar's voice filled her mind. In his soft tones, he reminded her of the dagger she had almost thrown away, of what exactly was at stake. That was really the only reasons she remembered to throw it down with all her might at the thing emerging from the pool.

Success felt nice. She watched as chaos happened. A serene smile stretch across her face as the magic in the ritual caused quite the backlash. It morphed into a full blown grin that stayed in place even as the priestess (Almath, she remembered) started talking. She had done it. Bryn had finally done something right.

See who we can be if we press Fast Forward

Where did it all go wrong? With a muttered apology, Bryn let an arrow fly. It hit her companion, and she cringed as light tore through heir swamp druid friend. Sure, Quily and her weren't exactly best buddies, but it hurt her to hurt him. It was too familiar, hit too close to home for it to sit okay with her. Images of Perun flashed before her, images of Kalen Vorn's laughter taunting her mercilessly. Even in her dreams she heard it, the slow, mocking chuckles, and it enraged her. She would not let another incident like that happen, she had sworn that much. Except she had, and it was. An unholy rage filled her, burned through her veins and clouded her vision with a fine red mist. Before she could properly react, however, Bryn caught sight of a mighty war hammer finishing the job. Her job. Her whispered words fell onto deaf ears: "damn dwarf." The draconic fell easily from her lips, just as familiar with her now as it had been when she learned it from him.


It wasn't until Stalar made his way into the room (much later than the others) that her vision cleared and the world lost its red tint.