[center][h1]Two Days Ago[/h1][/center]


Razan stepped off the ramp from the wooden ship onto the rickety docks. Seagulls cawed and circled the ocean side hub and commerce that was Osten's port district. The young Half-Orc smiled and inhaled, breathing the first scent of Vendish air that he had in 8 years. He made his way towards the market, his long black cloak gently swaying with the ocean breeze. The sun was setting and he needed a drink. And a girl. He weaved through the crowds, ignoring the strange glances and odd stares. Orc weren't too common in Vendland but Osten got many Orc mercenaries. Still, not many ever went into the Port district, preferring more, lucrative docks with nobles and businessman. This was a district for fisherman and trinket merchants. The market was noisy, smelly, and potentially dangerous for one's wallet. So it was Razan's keen eye and alert senses that shot out to grip the arm of the pickpocket in an iron vice. He yanked the thief's arm around and sent him tumbling into the water, hearing a satisfying splash. He turned into an alleyway to reach the entrance of the [i]Sailor's Gullet[/i], an inn on the waterfront.

As Razan opened the rotting wooden door and entered, all conversation stopped suddenly. There was a pause as every eye in the inn sized him up, before music and cheer erupted again and the patrons turned their heads. He sauntered up to the bar and took a seat on the stool, his long cloak draping down, nearly touching the floor. The innkeeper, a thin, dark, and gaunt woman turned to him and said in a gruff voice "Breakfast, Board, Women, you want it, we got it." Razan took out a pouch of money and dumped a pile on the counter. "That's for dinner, breakfast, a room, and a girl. I also need to find out where to get a warhorse."

[center][h1]Present[/h1][/center]

Razan had been riding fairly hard for the past two days, his warhorse charging on without complaint. He was getting close to Bosfyrd, the scenery changing to something familiar. And while he should have been filled with joy at being home, he was not. There were rumors from travelers he encountered on the road, that old Brand of Nightwood was dead, killed by the King in the recent revolution. Razan grimaced as he saw the little hamlet of Bosfyrd and pulled back on the reins as he trotted into town. The villagers looked slightly disgruntled, even more so when Razan trotted by. It was only when a booming voice shouted "Orc!" that he smiled. Robb Iron, the local smith and his mentor in completing his training as a smith himself. "Robb." he said in a deep voice, his accent pleasing to the ears. Robb Iron was a broad and big man, bald with a bushy brown beard and bright green eyes. "Boy, you sure have grown. Hey, I would love to talk with ya, catch up but I imagine you're here to help your brothers and sisters, huh?" 

Razan's brown furrowed and he asked "What do you mean?". Robb's face fell and he said in a sympathetic voice "Oh, I thought you knew. Brand is dead and the king took his body from what I gather and your family is trying to get it back." He knew it. He expected it. But that still didn't stop him from feeling like he got hit with a ton of bricks. He sat on his horse silently for a moment, staring off at the nightwood before saying "Thank you, Robb. I will return later and we can...catch up." And before Robb could say a word, Razan dug his heels into his horse and rode off towards the forest he called home.

He heard the sounds of battle, echoing through the moss covered trees and spurred on his mount, his black cloak flowing in the wind. He was deep in the Nightwood, not too far from Brand's. As he approached he saw the last of what he assumed was the enemy fall and the victors began to mill and approach the caravan. He brought his horse to a halt and looked around, glancing over the bodies and looking at the faces of the people. A man, with a sword, armor and blazing red hair...That must be Varrick! He dismounted and quickly scanned over the faces of the others. Ashira, of course, he could recognize that elf anywhere. Masef and...Grey!? Wow, never could have imagined him with a beard. And Beren, Kiera, Loden! And... even Hara has returned. He smiled as his siblings approached him warily, realizing that he still had his hood up. 

He threw it back and allowed himself a toothy grin, looking at their faces. Varrick had approached him first, obviously still worked up from the fight. Razan went up and grabbed his face, pressing his own forehead to Varrick's, an Orc greeting for family he had taught him before Razan left. He greeted the others, hugging Kiera and Ashira in a bear hug (Both at once) and using the Orc greetings with Loden and Beren as well. He clasped forearms with Masef, remembering he wasn't the sentimental type. He even greeted Grey with a forearm clasp, silently surveying the man he had become and finally turned to Hara and grinned, grabbing his face and bumping their foreheads together. "It's been a long time." he said as he looked at Hara's face.

Turning around to address the others, his smile slowly faded as he thought of Brand. "So he's really passed?"

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