Beren spent his time with his siblings for a few days, catching up with them and sharing stories of his adventures these past few years. Varrick, Masef, Keira, and Ashira he spoke to about his past experiences mostly, if only to share with them since he had grown naturally closer to Loden and Grey growing up. As his conversation continued, he saw he needn't worry. They were his siblings just as much as the rest, and soon he felt like he was truly home again. He told them of the troll that nearly took his arm off, and the DeathKnight he'd barely managed to slay, being saved by a well timed holy spell from a companion. When he wasn't around them, he was helping repair some of the damage to the tavern and spending alone time meditating above the structure.

Pamil Kumar, Krayton Mott, Danton Raynor were names he had not heard in years, and greeted them just as warmly as the others. Pamil had even darker skin than he himself, which he wasn't used to. Her manner was both off putting but endearing in a way. Naturally, as idealist and religious as Beren was, necromancy was hard to accept. He felt a similar way toward Danton's activities as well. But Pamil's conjuration was a curiosity to him, as was some of Danton's tricks. He was never well versed in magical arts, and asked questions about their skills often. Krayton he got along with famously. In fact the two even sparred once with staff and sword. 

But the pleasantness turned into duty for family and honor. Beren switched gears completely the day they were to leave, his amiable and warmth hardening into something more reserved and even silently dangerous. It was only noticeable to those who cared to look, but he withdrew into himself, as if he was in a moving mediation, speaking to his siblings less and marching through the miles of forest with stoic endurance. He had brought his Bow and Axe, leaving his staff to be picked up at a safe location. Every sibling moved with practiced grace, despite all of their differing strengths and abilities. He supposed it should be comforting, for it showed they all had a common purpose and history, if not common hearts. 

The Caravan was armed with Knights and Men-at-Arms. They weren't lightly armed or armored, he noted. Beren had no idea what they were doing with Brand's body, but it mattered little. They wouldn't have it for long. Standing silent behind an oak tree at the edge of the tree line, Beren could see some of his siblings hiding further back into the forest. Some were in the trees themselves, and he would have joined them if he wasn't built for melee combat. With powerful legs and strong, skillful arms, he was going to charge in and wrest Brand's body from their corpses if need be. That didn't mean he wasn't going to take a versatile approach however. His recurve bow was in his hands, his back to the tree and the sounds of footsteps, hoof beats, and creaking wheels passing by filled his ears. He let out a breath, and gave a nod to those siblings behind him. Drawing his bow, Loden and Varrick let loose their arrows just as Beren turned the corner and fired. His bodkin hit a Knight a fraction after the other arrows hit home. The missile struck and pierced the man's plate armor at his side. Beren fired a second shot as the man cried out, silencing him with an arrow to the chest. He stepped closer and fired another shot more wildly, punching into a Man-At-Arms's shoulder, before dropping his bow and taking out his Axe as men surged toward him. He blocked a downward slash from an arming sword with his Axe head, the clang of metal echoing across the pathway. [@Gunther][@HeySeuss][@Noxious][@R31GN][@AirBender][@Naril][@NickTrano]