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Holding Origen's rope, Bran curses the storm, the rain, the shipwreck, and his foolish companions. "This storm is a bugger! You guys quit dicking around and do what you got to do so we can get out of here!" Bran occasionally turns and scans the darkness behind him, particularly when the lighting flashes.
Seeing that the snake still lives, and nothing issues forth from the cave, Bran attacks.
While his companions are slaughtering the snake, Bran draws steel and faces the cave entrance, ready for whatever might come out of there. If something emerges, he yells and attacks.
Bran yelps and jerks out of the way. He points at the snake with his hand axe and says, "Heard some talk about these snakes on the ship - very deadly! And they fight to the death! Kill it quick!"
Bran blinks at the lightning flash and says, "Anybody 'bout ready for some goat?"
Bran nods to Isandril without taking his eyes off the goat. He slows pulls a hand axe from his belt, judges the distance, and hurls the axe at the goat.
"Forget the dead - it's the living that concerns me," Bran says, wrinkling his nose at the macabre bandana. "We better find food and quick! The storm is coming and we can't stop it! I want to be back in camp before it hits." Bran walks off, search for animal tracks or any type of food he can find.
"I saw nothing," Bran replies. "We can't wait around for long - we need to find something to eat and get back to camp before the storm blows in. What are you going to do for the bodies? Burial won't work - burning might, but I'm not wasting my oil on 'em."
"Maybe it's just me," Bran says, standing cross-armed and watching the wreckage and the surf, "but the tide and current seem...a little off, don't you think? I didn't grow up around an ocean, so maybe I'm just seeing things. Also, where's all the wreckage? A hole that big would leave a helluva lot of debris."
"I'm ready to kill something," Bran whispers, looking at the game trails and trying to pick the most used one.
"You're right, Isandril - we got one coming and it's gonna be nasty. How much firewood do we have? Are those tarps and canopies tied off tight?" he asks the others in camp.
Bran nods and replies, "I will search for them, Aerys.
"I believe the plants may grow in this region and I hear the berries are good to eat." He smiles and stands up as the others come over and present their requests.
Aerys helps Bran collect the wood, many times stopping and almost fainting. She has the shakes real bad, and sometimes she dry heaves. At first Bran does nothing but gather wood, but once she starts dry heaving, Bran squats beside her and says, "It's always bad in the beginning, but it gets better...after a week or two." He doesn't recoil from anything vile she may say in reply, but instead says, "I watched my Da go through this several times. He would stay sober for weeks, sometimes months before turning back to the liquor. When I left home...he had been on a three-day drunk and that's the last picture I have of him in my mind. Probably the last...I'll ever have."
That night...
Bran has a nightmare about First Mate Alton rowing a boat, though his is obviously dead from the wounds you saw on him earlier. He drop you on an island teeming with snakes, and you wake yourself just as they begin to bite. Bran wakes thrashing and rolling, trying to get away from the snakes. He leaps up and gazes around wildly at the sand and his pallet. He won't go back to sleep and instead washes his face, checks on Aerys, and then sits by the fire until morning.
She glances around the camp and counts idle hands. "Bran, Just cuz I hung my hammock on the tree doesn't mean the tree needs extra support, take Aeryis and pick up dead wood. We'll need it to dry/smoke the fish." Bran grunts and sighs, "Even out in the middle of nowhere, a woman is still bossing me around," he mutters, not so quietly. He then gets Aeryis attention and the two scrounge around for dead wood for a fire. He looks for Isandril too and when he finds him, says, "Any time you're ready to go...HUNTING (he says loudly)...then just come and find me...please."
Bran watches all of this with a somewhat detached sense of caring and irritation.
He keeps this to himself and instead just leans against a tree and waits for everyone to take their role so he and his companions can be about what's really important.
"Yeah, I guess we do need a base - it's always good to come home to something, eh? I'll round up Isandril and Jask and we'll head out; see what we can find. We should be back around midday...if not...then we've either run into trouble or decided to hole up out of the heat. Wish us luck." Bran walks over to Jask, getting Isandril's attention in the process and saying, "Ready to go hunting? Jask, you up for it?" And then to Yuuwa, Bran says, "I'll gladly take a protective charm, m'lady."
"Aye, I saw...something too. Couldn't tell what it was though." Bran mumbles scratching the stubble on his face. "I'll go hunting today. But I want to know how long are we planning to stay here?" he asks when just his companions are nearby. "When are we going to break camp and try to find the captain and see what's going on?"
Bran returns the grin and replies softly, "Another time, my friend. Wake me, when you come off guard duty, yes?"
Bran walks into the darkening woods to relieve himself, then to his bed/pallet where he removes his armor and lies down to get some sleep before his late morning shift.
"What you see about me is what you get," Bran says, waiting for everyone else to speak first. "My Da was a Pathfinder - a successful one in his prime, but...well..." he hesitates and looks at the ground for a few seconds and then says, "...let's just say he did not always honor the Society by the way he lived his life." "I decided to join the Society after a few of us did a mission in Absalom with crazy apes and crazier men. I normally don't have too much to say - I prefer to let my blade and axes do the talking for me. And Isandril, I'm feeling a little rusty myself." He grins at the Elven warrior as he pulls his longsword from its scabbard. "How's about a little practice?"
Bran visibly shudders at the conversation and a good listener can hear him mutter, "Damn, I hate snakes!" "Suddenly our predicament makes more sense. Do you think that Iseana cooperated with the captain, or is she just another victim of his insanity?" "Maybe...then maybe he's a victim of hers. What kind of woman makes a man mad with lust and obsession? Mad enough to poison his crew and run his own ship aground? Could she have hexed him?"
Bran helps himself to the cooked scorpion and gives Yuuwa a smile of thanks. He intently listens to her reading of the captain's log, frowning at the last few lines.
"Bran," he calls the swordsman over. "You need to lighten your spirits. Marching around here and kicking bottles is like as not to aggravate our situation. Don't get me wrong lad, I agree with ya. It's just we need to stay positive whilst we figure out a plan. Do me a favor and find out more about that Tian fella. I'll worry about Aerys." Bran grunts. "I already tried - I think he just wants to be left alone. Nice sword though. And you're wasting your time on the lush; she ain't gonna be no good to anybody until she dries up." Bran then walks over to help Origen with the campsite.
Bran frowns at Torden's drumming, mumbling to Isandril, "He's gonna tell anything and everything on this isle where we are. So be ready for critters sneaking through the brush...or trees," Bran finishes, looking up into the canopy. Bran then walks around inspecting the campsite and sees Ishirou watching everyone else. He walks over to the man and says, "Nice blade. Is that a fancy family heirloom or can you put it to use when needed?"
After talking briefly with Ishirou, assuming the man responds, Bran then walks directly over to Aerys and kicks the flask out of her hands. "Get drunk on your own damn time! We will need every one of us to be alert and help out if we are to survive this! We are no longer on a ship where you can hide in your cabin and drown your miseries."
When Bran is talking to Jonagher, he whispers, "Be careful with that prisoner. He ain't wearing them chains for decoration." And then after Jonagher leaves and Isandril begins trying to unlock the chains on the man, Bran stands over him and spits near his leg. When the man looks up at him, Bran pats the hand axes at his belt. "I normally don't judge men for what they did, but if I find you trying to steal anything or hurt anyone in this camp, I'll chop you up like firewood and feed you to the sharks. Savvy?" With that, Bran yells, "Frik! Stop laying around and help me with the supplies. We need to put this canvas up - a storm is liable to blow up any minute."
Returning to camp, Bran approaches Jonagher and Torden too and tells them of their findings on the wreck. And then he says, "Nice place for a camp - we found some more supplies that might help make it a little better. Want to help me with them?"
Bran nods and grins at the comments from Isandril and Torden, and at Origen's suggestion, puts his crowbar away and pulls a hand axe from his belt. He squares off and gives the door a few good chops with the axe, hoping to weaken it enough to at least kick it in.
"Bran, that was impressive. But you're not giving me much time to work on my aim." Bran grins and wipes the gore from his blade. "Don't worry, my friend. I'm sure there are plenty of critters in this hellhole for you to practice on."
Bran grunts with effort on both the drawer and the door, but can't seem to pry them open with the crowbar. Frustrated, he says, "I say we take the stuff we can carry and leave! Before whatever killed these men return and find us here. Grab what you can and we'll take it slow until we find the camp the others have set up for us. If we have to, we can come back for the heavier stuff." Bran grabs the as much stuff from the Supply room as he can carry in one trip.
With a grunt, Bran stands and (if he can) swings his longsword at the scorpion.
Bran runs on deck, slips, and falls on his arse, cursing loudly.
Bran has been fairly quite (obviously) since the battle. He gathered his gear and as many of the dead critters as he could carry saying, "They are food, good or no - better than eatin' dirt." Bran lets the others explain their reason for being on the ship, nodding to Jonagher and saying, "Be safe and don't take any chances. If you get in trouble, start running and yelling and I'll come to you." Watching the others board the ship, Bran stands with the confused and weary passengers, looking for a place of shelter should a storm arise.
Hearing some commotion on the ship, Bran listens carefully and begins to move forward slowly.
Sensing his new companion's motive, Bran turns to the creature and attacks with his longsword. "Take him while I distract him, Isandril!"
(Assuming #5 is still alive when Bran's turn comes around...) Bran pivots to his right and brings his sword around at waist-level, hoping to slice his next foe like his previous one.
Bran hisses in more anger than pain from the nick and the trickle of blood running down his arm. He brings his longsword up and down, swinging with all his might, hoping to end at least one threat.
"Come and get some!" Bran growls, stepping forward with his sword. He slashes at the critter, hoping to end its threat quickly.
First, everything is dark and silent, your own heartbeat throbbing in your mind. Then, sensation begins to creep back in...the feel of sand below and of something wet lapping at your feet, the sound of ocean waves washing against a beach, and the sounds of a fight near you.You hear a voice shouting about something. Then, suddenly, two sand colored claws snap right in-front of your eyes, as a scorpion-like stinger comes into view. You dodge the first claw attack, the second on hits you, but the claws find no exposed skin, and the stinger hits the sand near your body. You notice that you have your armor on, but no gear or weapons. There is a rather large pile of haphazardly stacked gear 15 feet from you. "GAH!" Bran exclaims as he is nearly skewered by the critter's stinger. He rolls to his feet and moves to the pile of gear, looking for a weapon (preferably a sword - let me know what he grabs). As soon as he gets one in hand, he wheels back toward the critter (No.5) and attacks!
"No, I'm not for sailing - too busy cutting wood and sawing lumber. Can swim well enough, but I'm a bit sturdier on land than on water. Still, I kinda like it, and these mates...well, they are some right nice fellows."
Bran was much like Torden for the first few days, but then he adjusted...or rather his stomach adjusted to the sway and rise and fall of the Jenivere, and he was able to pitch in and help the crew. Never to be one to lay about and do nothing, Bran offered to tote cargo, haul water, swab decks, and whatever else needed to be done. He Da always taught him that to truly know a man you must work, fight, and bleed with them; this motto was always in the back of his mind and urged him to interact with others. His dark brown hair was getting a bit unruly as was the beard on his face, and his hands and feet quickly became calloused to life aboard a ship. His free time was spent with Origen, learning the rudiments of his letters which caused him no little frustration. But...he was determined to learn and so he tried his best. When not working or studying, Bran could be found either in his bunk caring for his gear or on deck, gazing out over the vast ocean. Even after 103 days he could scarce get his mind around how big it was.
It wasn't the first time he had spoken to the elf and found him a nice enough fellow. He wondered how he might fare in a fight with his short, thin blades. He made note of all of the daggers the elf carried too...just in case.
"I reckon they'll figure it out...once you start teaching me, eh?" Bran clears his throat and offers a weak smile. "Thanks, Origen. I mean it."
After a group trip to buy supplies for the upcoming voyage, Origen pulls Bran aside to talk with him as their companions leave. Bran gives Origen a hard look at first and then softens and bit and looks down at his feet for a moment. "I...know a few letters and how to write my name but, other than that...there weren't no time for much schooling in the lumber yard. My Ma...she did what she could but..." He shrugs and sighs and looks back up at Origen. "You planning on telling the group?"
DM Berwick: Spoiler: Wow, that's a nice boon! Of course, now Bran is going to try and find a holy symbol of Iomedae to carry on his person. He will wear it under his shirt for now.
Spoiler:
Just FYI, I have alluded to it in a couple of posts but never really came out and said it, but, Bran can't read. He can recognize a few words - he definitely recognizes his father's name and gets the gist of the plaque, but he can't read and can barely write his name and probably his sister's name if he tries hard enough. Like my clerics, you may spread goodness and righteousness through your touch. You may do this three times. Just call on my name and it will be granted. Is this Bless? or Aid? Also, if possible, he will swallow hard and speak to Iomedae. "My lady...I...I am...will always be...your servant. Command me and I will obey."
"Do you hold similar views?" Jonagher asks Bran, sensing the man has some relatives in Andoran based on his earlier discussions with Hestram about sending money there. "Because, if you do," he adds with a grin, "I wouldn't mind drawing steel with you against a few slavers on the open sea, if the chance arises." "We Andorans don't go for a man owning another. If we run into slavers, you and I will stand side by side and send the bastards where they belong...straight to Hell!"
"Bran, I'm sorry that we won't take the north route through Andoran for your sake, but I've always wanted to see Thuvia." Origen mumbles, half to himself, "With luck, I'll be able to remember it this time." "No worries," Bran replies, waving off the letter, not wishing to read it. "So...anyone been sailing before?" Jonagher asks aloud, "I had to take a boat to reach Absalom from Andoran, but this will be my longest voyage, by far. I hope this Jenivere is seaworthy enough to hold up all the way to Sargava." I've been to Sothis, but never so far west. Ships do this fairly often, though. What are the odds... "First time I ever sailed was to get out here...and nearly get killed by a bunch of apes and freaks. Can't wait for the long journey!" Bran smirks, his eyes alive with excitement.
Bored and ready to do something, Bran leans on the door frame and waits for his companions.
Bran grunts (in pain mostly) as they walk and talk and the man tries to explain the reason behind why they are collecting these monkeys and man-eating plants and such.
"You could say that," Bran murmurs in answer to his question about monkey business. "What's gonna happen to them now that they are back in their cages?"
Having fought with the man, Bran graciously takes a sip from his flask and hands it back to him. He breathes slowly, trying not to take too deep a breath and stretch his already swollen ribcage.
Bran wheezes and grabs his ribs, "Naw, I'm alright." But you can see the sweat running down his face and can tell from his labored breathing and slightly pale pallor that he is not all right. Watching the greasiness evaporate, he grunts and says, "Thanks to Origen before finding a place to (painfully) sit down and try and catch his breath.
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