[h1][center][color=dimgray]Present-Day Reflections[/color][/center][/h1]
Brennen paid little heed to the others who more-quietly chose their Artifacts, but did turn his attention to Sue's slightly-more dramatic approach. The staff she summoned seemed familiar to her, carrying at least some-sort of awareness. There had been tales, rumors told of powerful enchanters and warlocks capable of imbuing items with basic cognizance, perhaps even true self-awareness; but such magics were old and unfamiliar to Brennen. The Pyromancers weren't like other sorcerers, seeking to unravel all the universe's secrets through mysticism, mastering the fundaments of reality itself. Their magic was primal, wielding the forces of nature. If their magic could not aid the tribe then it served no purpose. There were some especially gifted Pyromancers, Brennen recalled, that pursued the enigmatic art of controlling poison, foul vapors, and toxins. But these few, like all Pyromancers, took their power from the world around them, wielding it as a humble part of it. 

As the Emperor bid the adventurers farewell and departed, Brennen could almost-immediately sense a sort-of tension fall upon the throne room. Each of them may have been guided by the same conflict, but motive, purpose, and methodology were all different. They may-as-well have all been foreigners in unity. All that remained as echo of the Emperor's Will was the Templar, faceless and stoic. 

Then tension turned to conflict, as the Templar's first commands issued were met with questioning, surprisingly enough, from the Orc-Woman. Her initial reluctant deference in front of the Emperor had faded, replaced by the sharp burning of molten steel. Though he knew little of their history, Brennen understood that zeal, that fire. Orcs, like the tribes of the Bog, valued strength - strength of mind, body, and will. The tribes' way of life had hammered that message in. If one was to lead, whether leading tribe, family, or self, they must be strong, cunning, disciplined, with the respect from both self and others in order to truly lead. The Templar may indeed have strength solidified behind his layers of steel, gold, and chainmail. But to the Orc-woman at least, it would have to be demonstrated. Brennen could respect such practices. 

Her mistrust was shared by Kean, who seemed more amused by Adra's bluntness than anything else. He remembered the stories of the oldest tribes; growling, fraying against each other, fighting for leadership. They were more savage back then, willing to use blade, fire, and poison against themselves. This tribe was no different. 

But the fires of opposition would fade soon, once the kindling ran out. 

The Templar was quick to retort in kind, drawing his proverbial blade, striking to counter as a serpent would; looking for gaps, chinks within the armor, attacking personal area. It was effective, if cruel in Brennen's mind. The Chieftain, even one merely temporarily in command for battle, must rise above those disputes, and serve as a rock for all the tribe to follow, to look up to. 

In that moment, Brennen felt a pang of pain deep in his chest, a sharp bitterness as he recalled those words echoing from his father's dead lips - preparing him to lead someday. Yet here he was, not a chieftain but a vagrant, a mercenary chosen to die combating a cataclysm. He, himself failed to lead as he should have, and it left him here. Alone. 

Brennen stamped out the bitterness almost as quickly as it arrived, turning his attention to the present. The conflict seemed to die down, the group trickling towards the door behind the Templar, and Brennen followed, comforted by the warmth of the pendant deep within the folds of his robes. 

He chose not to speak to anyone, not yet at least, he had nothing to say that would contribute anything to the group at hand. But he kept watch, eyes alert on the road that would-be-ahead. If this tribe was to succeed, it would require everyone's talents and skills, including his own. Though he, alone, may carry the history of the Pyromancers, he would share that history, carry its memory for a little longer.