Thread: Fellowship Of Forodwaith (Karameida & darkangel76)

Some wine, please, Brynne spoke softly, almost shyly, to the barkeep. Her one hand tugged on her shawl while the other had its fingers furiously twisting themselves about tendrils of dark hair that flowed over her slender shoulders. She gave him a smile, her cheeks heating up slightly as she blushed a light shade of red. For nearly two months she'd been living in this Lossoth village, yet she still felt like an outsider in practically every way. She figured it would probably always be this way though many tried to make her feel at ease, assuring her that she was welcome and safe ever since they'd found her and brought her back to Pynti-Peldot. Brynne's thoughts drifted back to Dale and her last moments back in the comfort of her home before her life had been turned upside down. She could still feel those hands grabbing and pulling, dragging her out of the quiet calm that was her room and out into the hard cold of night. It was a mystery as to how such an invasion occurred on the grounds of her father's estate. Bastian son of Balthazar had always been so careful, especially where his daughter was concerned. A warmth spread over her skin as she recalled the countless guards he'd hired specifically to keep watch over her, to ensure her safety and well being. Just then, a glass of wine was set in front of Brynne causing her to jump. She giggled nervously and smiled, place a few gold coins on the table for the barkeep to collect at his leisure. Letting out a shaky sigh, she turned to reach for her glass. Bringing it to her lips, she took a small sip of her wine, one hand still clutching tightly to her shawl. Her cheeks grew hotter by the minute as she sat there sipping her wine in both silence and a seeming solitude. Anxiety rose within her and her dark eyes began to dart about the room, taking in the sight of the Inn's patrons as the came and went. So it was most evenings for her since her arrival at Pynti-Peldot and how she wished she'd get used to things, though even more how she longed to be somewhere familiar. As Brynne continued to sit, knowing she stood out amongst the patrons, her eyes caught sight of a newcomer to the Inn, his large frame and attire standing out as he confidently, yet silently made his way through the crowd. She sucked in a sharp breath as she carefully studied him from afar. She knew the garments well--that trim, the emblem... Even his face hadn't changed much over time, if she was honest. Though she knew he'd probably never recognize her let alone remember. She'd been but a child last he'd seen her, a waif who had little time for anything but sewing seams. Just what was Vaemyr doing this far north, she wondered. But then who was she to question a man such as hea man of war. Licking her lips, Brynne looked back at the cup in she held in her hands. Her thoughts were spinning and she wondered if she might need some air, something to clear her head. Biting down on her lower lip, she couldn't help herself. Once again, her eyes shifted and she looked to the man she remembered as a young girl, the one who requested she sew him the tunic he was wearing right then. Did he remember? Did he know? Her questions remained unanswered for the moment and Brynne's spine stiffened, the blood rising to her cheeks as she suddenly caught sight of Vaemyr approaching. She hadn't expected her father's ex-guard to get up from his seat let alone meander her way. Had he truly remembered her after all this time? Or was it something else? Not wanting to dwell on such things for fear of disappointment, her dark eyes went remained fixed on her cup, her fingers twisting themselves idly through her dark hair. But, her trace of thought was interrupted when the warrior's shadow engulfed her. There was no ignoring him now, not that she ever could. Brynne twisted her head, her eyes looking upward through thick lashes at a familiar face from the past, one she could never forget if she tried. They were so far from home, from Dale, from comfort as the hustle-bustle hum of the inn seemed to grow about them... what brought her away from Dale, indeed. Perhaps he did remember... or was it her coloring? Either way, it truly hadn't been her choice to be where she was. Vaemyr, Brynne whispered shyly, giving him a nod and setting down her cup. I... her voice trailed. Dark hair swishing, fingers twirling more furiously, she turned to see a small group of Lossoth walk past them. Forodwaith truly was different from home, from Dale and Brynne felt like she didn't belong. But then, she knew she didn't. Her blood wasn't meant for the frozen wastelands of the north. It was thin and full of life and laughter, longing for pinks and greens of summer. No, she wasn't meant for deserts of snow. She'd been taken from her home by force, by wildmen who'd had the urge to plunder the nobility of towns such as hers and exploit their weaknesses and instill fear. Well, they'd succeeded there and now she was far from her family and everything she'd ever known. Whether she'd ever be able to return seemed unlikely and that weighed heavy on her heart, plummeting her soul into the depths of despair. Brynne's eyes began to dampen slightly as the thoughts of that dreadful night swirled through her mind. But, she blinked them back and forced a smile upon her lips. She looked up into Vaemyr's eyes. I... her voice faltered slightly as she tried to hold back the tears she felt threatening to spill. She took a deep breath and regained her composure, not wanting to break down out in public or in front of her father's ex-guard. I didn't come to Forochel by choice. She paused a moment as she swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly feeling dry as desert. In vain, the tip of her tongue peeked out and licked at her full lips in an attempt to wet them. My home in Dale was invaded and I was brought northward by my captors. I was fortunate enough to be found and rescued by a band of Lossoth and then brought here. Her dark eyes shifted, averting downward. That was about a month and a half ago.