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Bryn's mouth is agape at Varga's amazing antics' so much so he forgets Charlene's question. Suddenly realising the time that has passed and that the distraction will only last so long the musician looks to the other and talks hurriedly.
The he adds with a touch of awe; "With the irrepressible Mittens taking Charlene and I with her to find the balloon." his words hold just a hint of trepidation that their mission may fail and the consequences of such an act.
"Romycas can..." he looks around and shrugs as he realises the young girl is also gone. With a quick nod to Finwa and a smile of good luck her turns to his pair. "Best find this balloon."
Bryn looks confused to Romycas as he leaves the group, but assumes the 'man' knows what he's doing.
"Yes, with your group; sneak through the camp to those in the bamboo cages then you warp the wood to let them out." the words are quiet and easy, though he hopes it'll not strain the beauteous young cat-woman; "Whilst this is going on Mittens leads the other group to her balloon and liberates it."
"Then you and the captives run to the safety of the balloon, we all escape." he raises a eyebrow and gives a self-assured nod.
He looks to Belzac; "Hopefully your instrument should be near the captives, or with their treasure." he tries to reassure the musician.
In response to Charlene's query Bryn leans on a straight bow of hawthorn with a point to replicate a rapier. He adds; "Could we not just sneak to the caves. Maybe have Finwa bend the bows of those caught in the trees and run away to find Mittens balloon. In fact is that about here...." he cranes his neck uncertain of the vehicles appearance.
"A few could find the ballon and liberate it, whilst another group frees the slaves stealthily. Then hoist them to the airship as we make our getaway?!" his plan is too optimistic, but the thought of what may go wrong weighs upon his mind.
"We at least had a rest and a good meal." although his advice may be being taken, Bryn nods respectfully to the manager - knowing that she has thought of all the outcomes and is working for the safety of the group. Whether she is or not is unknown, but the musicians trusting nature and loyalty, in those he believes deserves it, is enigmatic.
"I can carry you, if you are too tired from crafting this..." he waves his arms at the magnificient splendor. "You'll be safe in my arms." he adds with a sly but jovial wink.
"Know? Of course not. My knowledge of this land, like yours, is limited. However how in good conscience can we leave people to roam the woods unguarded?" Bryn's voice is filled with emotion.
He flicks his hair across his shoulder and looks to Charlene with big sorrowful eyes, a practised look that melted the heart of many a fan; "You are correct we need to stick together, I won't wish to lose any of you magnificent people."
"How about we at least sneak out, see if we can confirm who the slavers are?" he offers; "Or we can light a fire and have the escaped slaves come to us." he adds an alternative, whereby they are on the defensive.
"No Romycas, I will go with you. Though it seems slavery is not illegal' he says with some distaste; "it is certainly reprehensible."
"The released slaves, people" he corrects himself; "are trying to escape, running free. We can help them...."
He looks around, with wide eyes - though there is a slight hesitancy in them; "The slavers are the Gormotooth's that have Mittens balloon and Belzac's instrument?"
At the word 'lobotomy' Bryn forlornly shouts; "Nooo!" before looking around and then down guiltily, however an idea slips into his mind as the cascade of dark hair flicks across his features.
Bryn's Thoughts (You've been warned):
'Oh, when I used my power on Charlene, I could experience what she was feeling (and visa versa). Maybe if you could exchange thoughts and feelings, you could also download thoughts.' he wonders 'If worst comes to worst maybe she could hitch a ride in my mind? And to think I was just going to use this power to pleasure Finwa all night long.'
Bryn moves to the entrance and looks out into the night, his eyes widen to struggle against the deepening gloom. A sinking feeling reflected in his heart. "You did a noble thing freeing the slaves but we must strike quick, decisively, before the slavers have a chance to regroup or harm those they recapture. They'll be separated, vulnerable..."
'And what of those slaves lost in the woods? Will the same fate befall them as did Hugh's family...' then a thought strikes him; 'Perhaps Hughs family might be amongst the slaves.' he looks over at the child with big dark eyes, destroying his night-vision but filling his heart with hope.
At the words about those left behind, in the hands of the capitalist slavers Bryn's mood darkens. He had spent his life trying to stop the injustices of the unyielding machine against the common man. Slavery, being the lowest and cruelest aspect of the repugnant system.
Looking around worried and knowing he has no practical skill in healing, he jumps at the chance to help. At the call for bandages, the Norseman looks down at his shirt. However sense cuts in, and he remembers that in his pack there is a roll of freshly laundered sheets.
Tearing one into strips, for they may need more as they are to combat the slavers. He moves over to the diminutive man;"Here, these are clean." he glance with what he hopes is a reassuring smile; "You'll be fine, in Leo's excellent hands."
Bryn tries to stop himself gagging as Romycas literally pulls himself together. Inspite, or maybe because, he's seen a few horrorific things before the Norseman's stomach attempts to rebel as the skin is pulled taut and stitched up.
A releaved look crosses his face as Charlene approaches, though he words are troublesome. Bryn rocks upon the balls of his feet, alert to the possibility of danger.
"Belzac, sounds like they could be the ones with your intrument?" he nods to the stout man, voice still unsteady.
"Are you alright?" there's a look of concern upon his face; "I'm afraid we don't have all the resources, to help. They are upon Mittens balloon." 'And hers.'
"You appear injured. Well done, the girl is safe and we'll try to see if we can find her mother." he adds persumptuously. Bryn looks around to the others, "Mittens can you lend your amazing skill to this ailing gentleman." he says with awe to the Helmet-cat.
There's a slight dismay in the corners of his eyes when Leoian regards him with a touch of disdain. But the arrival of the new-comers drag that from him as he moves with concern towards the bloody pair. 'He didn't?? Chew...' immediately dismissing the thought. Momentary distraction means that the small man goes forward to help the youngster before him.
"Sir, are you alright? You appear rather..." Bryn tries to say as the construct slumps before him. The mans' words reverberate in his mind; "Slavers." He looks around to the others darkly.
The musician smiles gently at Charlene, the manager virtually reading his mind. However he had no blade on him, just the studded wristband upon on muscular fore-arm.
Cautiously he watches her fuzzy, awaiting the reaction - all the while not ignoring his own creature. "Interesting, I wonder if they are native to the forest? I've never seen anything like them before, although I'm seeing many new sights recently." momentarilly his azure eyes flicker to Finwa, a wicked smile pulls at the corners of his sensual lips.
"Shush little one, I won't hurt you." Bryn's soothing voice gently resonates, whilst he grabs a lock of his hair and flicks it in front of the creature.
"What is it? You want to eat it, or nest in it?" he addresses the creature as one might a small child, trying to ascertain if it understands him. Wrapping a protective arm about the little scamp he looks on at the commotion in the room.
Bryn looks to the men and the irascible Mittens; "Certainly you are upset with these little mischief makers." he says with a wry smile, trying to tickle it under the chin despite the paws pulling at his hair.
"I can see you point, Mittens." he says kindly to the great entertainer, despite a hint of disagreement to his voice. "Though you wouldn't want to get an upset tummy."
"Anyone know what these are? Could they be like the friend the Mayor has.... more fuzzy however." he muses.
Bryn plucks the little creature from the tangles of his cascading locks. Gently he rubs the furry belly with his thumb whilst holding the torso softly. The claws still hold trailing strands of hair, whilst the musician looks enrapt at the fuzzy beast. "Who are you, little one?" he asks in a warm voice, as one might to a child.
Bryn smiles at the cute little creature, though it slowly slips away as the creature drops the food. He moves forward gathering the food from the floor and climbs up towards the hole. His clothes taut against firm muscles, reveal light flashes of skin and alluring curves concealing a powerful frame.
Then he moves over to another cute little lady, stroking her soft shoulders. "Well have to be up early, so we can get to the village and the balloon." stalking towards the sleeping room he flicks a dark waterfall of hair across his shoulders invitingly.
Bryn for a second imagines Mittens batting a head-sized fish, then the movement catches his eye and breaks through the cute thoughts.
"Hello, little one. Do you want some of the food?" the Norseman says in a saccharine voice, usually reserved for talking in a non-threatening manner. "Smelt it did you?"
Braking off a small section of meat, not Mittens - of course, and some vegetables he places it in a bowl. Laying this cautiously towards the creature, then Bryn steps back.
Bryn serves up the various dishes and sides of the food stuffs in their wooden bowls. A veritable buffet, crafted with Charlene's manageral skills, to temper his own flair.
The fare is not abundant, but there's enough for Turbles' appetite. "I thought it best to ration it slightly." Bryn reasons.
Then before Mittens he places a dish of fish lightly seasoned and well cooked. "Isn't Leoians' catch brilliant?" he tries to push praise upon it's rightful owner, the person who managed to get the meal.
'Mittens will be alright?' he frets knowing that they need to get to the balloon.
The fire having burst to life under his ministrations, slowly being fed until it provides a nice even temperature. 'It should be hot enough in the 'tent' tonight.'
"We'll manage, I've cooked in worse conditions." Bryn says confidently; "You can do a few magical things with mushrooms. But as Ms. Oftenseen says, we keep things separated so we can pick and choose."
His hands skilfully wielding a blade, starts to prepare the dishes. Moving carefully but with speed.
"Are you alright? I know how much wyrding takes it out of you." Bryn puts his arm around the exhausted Finwa, letting her lean against him. "Now, why don't we sit you down here."
He gently picks her up and places her on the verdent ground. "I'll take of you, later." he promises gently.
With a turn to Charlene; "So, boss shall we get started upon the food. We have plenty of dried grain and some smoked meat from Hugh, even a few fresh fruits too." he considers the options. "A light stir-fry, with some rice?"
The Norseman starts to prepare the fire, his eyes glancing occasionally to the tired cat-lady.
"Laser Eyes! They should be able to heat rocks....unless they make them explode." Bryn concedes looking to Mittens with awe. "Although, I suppose a great woodsman, like yourself might be able to hide the sight of the flames?"
The Norseman lowers his head, he feels that Leoian is still confused and dislikes him; "Diurnal is when you hunt at dawn and dusk like certain owls and bit cats." He brushes his feet across the brush.
"So how about we camp for the night and set off in the pale hue of pre-dawn. Those that have good vision can lead us, with the wane illumination." He leans over to Finwa; "You could lead me anywhere."
"Thus we should pass the Gomorktooth's village at dawn, when they'll either be asleep or just waking. Depending upon their habits....of course if they're diurnal then we have trouble." he puts a hand to his chin feeling the light stubble; "What colour were their eyes?" he says almost absently, wondering if they are like owls.
"Then we can find Mittens balloon." he turns to Varga, "Hows that a safari in a balloon!"
Bryn had spend part of the afternoon, talking to Varga. Trying to make the enthusiastic man "mark out" more... In fact it was joyful to see the look on his face when Bryn started the first few bars of his big song "autumns fall".
"Nope Charlene, I cannot see in the dark either. And the forest gets very dark." Bryn continues; "Maybe could one of you heat up some rocks? For our fire, as we couldn't have open flames if the Gomoktooth can see in the dark."
Bryn has edged closer to Finwa and Leoian, ostensibly so that their greater vision on the dark could help protect him. Though if that meant he got more harmonious with them, he's not one to complain.
The dark haired Norseman nods to Belzac; "Lost my guitar a while back, I was going to just sing for my supper." The physics talks slightly go over his head, although he understands the outskirts of the concepts.
However when the newcomer recognises him, Bryn throws up the horns with a soft sneer of recognition. "Thanks man, great to meet a fan. This should be wild."
His eyes go wild as Leoian jumps in front of Finwa. "Maybe now's not the best time to cop a feel? Later?" his tone soft and joking although their is an underlying respect for the halflings' courage.
Realising what could have happened to Belzac; "I remember those nights, with my band... good times. Your guitar, acoustic?" he says with a teasing smile.
Although it might be that the Gomoktooth may not fly, still Bryn keep's protectively close to Finwa. They could always swing down from the trees, Tarzan like.
"Oh Leo that's such a kind gesture. I'm sure any sprite like Datarila would find Hugh a superb friend." Bryn says warmly whilst he walks with the group out of the town. Finwa's brushing against him is rewarded with a soft touch of her delicately furred shoulders.
The Norse mans mind goes back to the sun-dappled forest of his homeland, thus a small smile slips across his visage. "The sky? They can come from the sky?" his tone is concerned, hoping not to meet any of these beasts.
Subtly he moves forward so that Finwa stands in his shadow, just in case. Her short tail brushing against his legs rhythmically as they walk.
Under Charlene's scrutiny he flicks back an ebony cascade, pushing his hair behind an ear with a little smile. "Yeah, he has done so much for us. I wish I could repay him with more than a meal."
Looking to the woods beyond the town Bryn whispers; "So Leoian, I place myself in you hands. To lead us to the camp?" The tall Norseman looks around the group; "Finwa has the maps, Belzac has been through the area, Leoian has the woodland knowledge, Charlene the skill at arms, Turble has a sense of the land, and Mittens is Mittens." the last word holds deep respect and implies a dozen different roles rather than a lack of such.
As Hugh tells of his family, tears slowly form in the corners of Bryn's azure eyes. 'Poor fellow, to lose loved ones...' It brings back memories of his own companions, captured and deceased. Though used to melancholy the singer put on a firm countenace.
Later that evening the Noreman finds Finwa, whilst they clean the dishes. He dabs her nose with the foamy liquid playfully; "So, we'll be off soon. Pity, I would have loved to spend more private time with you." his voice playful; "Oh, well when we get back..." it holds a note of promise.
Then he leans in and whispers softly, his nose nuzzling her pointed ears;
"I've been thinking about my power..." he starts softly, slightly hesitantly. "If I can feel what others feel... form a connection." his words grow slightly bolder as he tries to communicate his feelings.
"Well, if we were to..." he pauses, voice becoming the merest whisper upon the breeze. "be joined. Then I cold feel what you experience, learn what you like, enjoy your pleasure."
"It'll mean I can focus on your pleasure all night long" the words roll from his tongue like honey.
He turrns away slightly embarrassed, before finishing up and going to sleep.
~~In the Morning~~
Bryn looks completely refreshed, any hint from the fight long since disappeared. The night in an actual town has done him the world of good, he looks to his companions. "Bet you are pleased to leave here Leoian?"
The shout surprises the Norse man, but then seeing the muscular barkeep Bryn realises how he keeps peace in his bar. 'Might is right?' he thinks ruefully.
"Yeah, Belzac (?) and the rest of us may deign to do this." he nods to the bearded fellow. Then he looks around and sees Finwa and Leo canoodling under the boughs of a tree. 'Good to see they are taking this in their stride.' Bryn thinks jumping to conclusions.
"Whoa, there Turble. That's quite a nip you have?" he exclaims to the ferocious being.
Bryn turns into the punch, there's a heavy sound. A slab of meat hitting a counter, the tall man is rocked. Blinking away the blow; he smiles. "I've seen children hit harder than that. Are you going to apologise to the lady and gentleman now?" his tone slightly exasperated.
He glances at the smaller pair, a red mark upon his chiselled cheekbones.
Bryn looks to the man the almost hit the cute but slight pair; "Watch where you are going mate." he advises carefully.
His head slightly distracted; 'Guitar, and they seem like relics. Is it as Moorcock predicted and time is cyclical....I hope this doesn't take a turn for the Jerry Cornelious - I haven't nearly done enough drugs for that.' He looks to the stout fellow, with a slight nod, completely ignoring the oaf he threatened.
Bryn puts a hand to the landlords shoulder, a heavy palm and a solight 'friendly' squeeze. "Now I am sure you are a reasonable man cannot you see that this fine fellow has lost his instrument." he says softly, a tightness to his voice betraying his annoyance at the injustice.
"Now, my friends and I are eaving in the morning.... but mayhaps we can come to some arrangement." he says persuasively.
He looks to the tavern owner with a shake of his head, 'This is the type of landlord I've encountered many a time. Trying to make a profit of struggling musicians. Undoubtedly, they try to make money from the fame of the ones that make it - despite the Land-lords best discouragement.'
Then he addresses the heavy-set publican; "There's nothing wrong with a Harp, or a harpsichord. A magnificent counter-point to a heavier sound. You need the occasional respite from the pounding thrum of music, getting people to drink from the bar."
"You came past a Gomoktooth encampment? Mr???" Bryn queries the stout musician kindly; "What instrument do you play?"
Bryn looks sheepish, remembering how he upon occasion treated his manager; 'Well they should have ensured the sound-check guy didn't have a pace-maker. That was hardly my fault.'
Looking on at the coomotion in front of him, Bryn thinks about interrupting. Considering it for nearly a whole second; "Excuse me, sir. What's the ruckus?"