The Harbinger of Ferocity

D&D 5e - Hoard of the Dragon Queen

As expected of being once done and since he has little to offer and needs regain his spells and healing powers, Brannor will rest in hiding, @Hekazu.

D&D 5e - Hoard of the Dragon Queen

The mantle of healer was not something the ferine paladin took lightly. It was a gift, a grant of power from the very soul of him, from a well that overflowed with life. His hands had always been tools of restoration, even in youth when he did not know himself, but now? Now they were conduits of something far more powerful than the mere man. The silver blessing that had been laid upon him and flowed in every vein of his being was a channel for that, so offering this gift, this imparting of life to the weary, was not done thoughtlessly. Rather the man struggled greatly with the prospect.

Something in his heart and soul alike spoke to him that this was to be done. That the broken bodies and wavering flames of spirit needed to be stoked by his hand, the hand of an outsider, a beast. In the resentment he held for the way these people viewed his world he had to come to understand there were only so many ways to show them that it was not truly their enemy. Nature, supernature as well, could be just as benevolent as it was horrible and ferocious. But this came at the cost of conflicting with years of life that told him these people would just as quickly eschew all he ever did, that they would forget his gifts and aid in their time of desperation... or would they? These people likely had never endured anything on the scope or scale of a dragon laying siege to their quiet little town, they had no experience with fiends like the small scaled ones or the mind-bound cultists, and they certainly had no real knowing of just what he was.

This needed to be the way, it had to be the way, no matter if he desired to be a part of it or not and Brannor? Brannor desired none of it although he obeyed his instinct. He shrugged his gauntlets and wedged the plated, leather things between the bands of his leather belts and buckles and walked the dim halls in the night. Each step carried with him a ghostly, predatory presence, one that the dead or dying or now just lame perhaps at first feared, especially as the hooded figure drew near, lit only by the odd candle or torch. That same font which he drew himself up from, that other side of him, now guided the surreal and wispy white-green tendrils that reached from his hand on to their flesh. When the channel was broken, like a mist dispelled by daylight, it faded away into nothing and the wild-sworn soul offered nothing more than a distant smile.

He spoke little, allowing the lingering gold of his easing glare to say all that there was and when he finished his last round for the night, turning to depart, all he could hope was that their initial fear and surprise had faded away. Many had been thankful, some several times over, but the man seemed elsewhere; never once was it a deed done for any reason but that he was to. He was distant, a soul outside body, driving the physical to act in the moment of divine trance. A strange thing for a stranger.

Through the halls again, much later on only with his deeds done, did the ranger-knight drift until he again found himself in the familiar lair he had taken up when he first came to the town some nights ago in the belly of the keep. Tucked away as it was, Brannor slunk down to the corner and came to rest, pawing at the gem he carried with him. Touched by the moon's graces as he, it shimmered in the dark with an equally weak and distinctive silver light. From there, trinket in hand, arms soon laid to rest beside him did the tiger among men enter the dreamlit temple of sleep.

@Hekazu@Gordian Nought@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Norschtalen

D&D 5e - Hoard of the Dragon Queen

I should have something to build on coming tomorrow evening, perhaps earlier, but that I make no assurances on. Better to not promise something one cannot keep than admit there will be a likely delay of some fashion. Regardless, the gist will be that Brannor sees to these people and that they do not deserve an untimely death at the hands of the cult.

Post a random fact about yourself.

I generally prefer to write my characters, where possible, as anti-villains; individuals who have positive if not outright good ends and or ideals but achieve them in less than noble regards. They are considered antagonists for the reason that they still do terrible things, often to the frustrations of the protagonists, as to be expected, all while having a sense of morality, dignity, and honor. They retain that element that makes them noble. For myself, usually this manifests as characters who are generally neither good nor evil, just somewhere dangerously nebulous in between. Contrarily, I have very difficult time writing traditionally heroic or even just protagonist characters who are regarded as traditionally "good".

Printed guns, melded metal - An experimental GM-less Cyberpunk RP

Currently, at least the only plans I can speak for being my character, the idea is to learn more about where to track down the elements of Davison's associations. In the current example with @Terminal's Tracy, perhaps glean some clues as to just where one would be and begin working backward from there to try and find anyone who had last or more most recently seen him, his other associates, and typical places of congregating.

Printed guns, melded metal - An experimental GM-less Cyberpunk RP

It was not long after the initial conversation ended that heavy barrel lead slinging block of a gun found itself nestled back in its cradle under the now battered coat of another combatant in the Zone. A good faith gesture between them, the sort of "I won't murder you and you won't murder me, at least tonight." conversation. That and that this other drifter had finally somehow, someway, beat himself back to a sense of coherency. Fortunately the call put out at the terminal went smoothly as well, the voice on the other end taking it as calmly as any other. At least now there was a bright flare fired off into the murky sky that flat out said where he was. That helped curb the bad odds, especially as the party-to-be opted for the most sleazy, scummy, types of places to make this a business endeavor in. Realistically it wasn't, just that bit of thought in Theron's mind outright made it feel that way.

Shady folks had a habit of making all of their business even more sketchy, the type of deal where one was never sure who else they were making deals with to forge it. Never did the thought to complain or comment cross his mind though, this was getting interesting. Turn after turn made it abundantly clear as the quarry found itself hauled around until the room was left to just them. That and an inordinate amount of all too unsettling tools and bits of hardware.

Theron wasn't some decker or ripper, he had no idea what half of this stuff was to do, but all of it screamed damn loudly between its mess of wires, tubes, fluids and vials, and whatever on else someone decided to throw in here, that it was a far cry from good news. The sooner they got this over with, the better, and that was right when his newfound informant decided to pipe up, at least addressing him this time. As the story evolved and expanded some parts of Theron wanted to take note but the last thing he wanted was to skeeve the speaker out by making him think the game was up; the guy nearly sank his index through his palm already just by having a gun hefted at him in a tense conversation. It was better to just take it all in and let him work his side of the deal.

"You know," He began, checking the display on his jacket's wrist before dismissing the array of lights, "I like you a lot more when you decide to explain things rather than twitch uncontrollably. So I will give you that, kudos to you. That said, we keep working out business like this and I will keep playing ball nicely. That said, as long as the merchandise isn't ruined, have at him. One thing though, just to sweeten our deal."

The man's fingerless gloves wiped at the fringe of his nose with the knuckles, he could still smell the pulverized concrete, singed blood, and the city outside, "There's one piece you probably would like that some freakshow scav lifted off him, one of those 'spider' things, or whatever in the fuck their new harness wants to be called. Point being, gimpy here is missing a laser disk. No idea what it did, where it came from, why, how - any of it. That's what I have that's up your alley by the looks of it."

Part of the admission was to help settle any potential questions about just where it went, the other was to generate a tad more good faith, but the most prominent was, was that the hunter had no idea what made it valuable. At a glance it was worth more than just what it appeared to be; spiders were gizmo junkies. Whatever was on it was at least in part worth the effort and it certainly wasn't anything like a booster or chip to teach old Golemeth karate. Either way, Theron dusted his hands against the slack of his jacket, scanning for any responses that might be evoked from Tracy.

@Terminal

Printed guns, melded metal - An experimental GM-less Cyberpunk RP

Having had some time to myself between my duties, @Sadko, I see no reason why your character should be declined. As for @Terminal, that is a perfect moving along of the events and no complaint from myself. I am likely to contribute to that scene either tonight or tomorrow.

D&D 5e - Hoard of the Dragon Queen

As much as Brannor might be no friend to the city folk and an unwilling protector of them, following divine guidance above else, he will lend healing, @Hekazu. The only stipulation I could add is that if the party intends to move out right away, he will rest to regain his Lay on Hands and similar magical talent before daring off, unless some random event of course interrupts.