Post by Caliban (Pyrin) on Aug 7, 2023 2:17:43 GMT
"Kid? Your dad's awake."
Pyrin looked up from the wooden floor- and damn near was about to sprint into the adjacent room, until the Half-Elf stuck his arm out ahead of him. "Pyrin, your fatheris still recovering, be gentl-"
"Oh for flumps sake, let my son in, Tavish!" A voice called out. Pyrin looked at the Half-Elf, who could only sigh and retract his arm; as the Aarakocra shot into the room. 'He doesn't need those wings.' Tavish thought to himself, smiling slightly. But his smile gently fell as he followed the Aarakocra into the room, carefully closing the door behind him. There wasn't much to smile about in his mind.
Pyrin thought otherwise, however. Running into the room, he was briefly slowed by the sight of his father with bandages adorned across him. He'd never seen him so...unfortified. No son who loves their father is truly ever prepared for that. To see the man who they thought a titan, so vulnerable. As the smile weakened slightly at the corners of his beak, it restrengthened at his Fathers usual nonchalance.. "Oh, just because we're called 'Branch' doesn't mean we break as easily. You saw the size of that minotaur, didn't you?"
It reassured his son, for a moment. "Yeah, I didn't know if he was chugging Enlarge potions, he was huge!" The father and son shared a laugh, though as they embraced, his father tensed for a moment, an audible sharp intake of air snapping out as wounds briefly flared. Pyrin opened his mouth to speak, but was dismissed by a wave of his hand. "Son it's- it's nothing. I just need a soak, some potions, and a massage from Tavish. I'll be fine." The pair smiled at that last addition- even the dour Half-Elf couldn't help but smile a little at the joke, though if he really expected a massage, he truly was a birdbrain.
"Listen, son-"
"We're going out again, once you're feeling better, yeah?" Roark and Tavish exchanged swift glances. Pyrin reached to his waist and produced a small binder of parchments, maps and records, offering them to his father- who took them, though placed them on the duvets of his bed. "I got everything I could from the office while Tavish was stabilising you here, I think I saw a few people coming over but I was out by then and-"
"Hold on, hold on. You left the safehouse?" The Half-Elf stared at Pyrin, brow furrowing in a medley of surprise, horror and outrage. "What were my exact orders? I told you to stay next door and wait until-"
"So what, those thugs could either burn down all our records or find this place? I had to do something-"
"There wasn't any way they were going to find this safehouse without someone leading them here! And you were doing something, staying out of the way!"
"WELL I'D RATHER WE DIDN'T PUT ALL OUR LUCK ON A SIMPLE CHARM YOU COOKED UP FROM-"
"LIKE YOU'D KNOW THE FIRST THING OF MAGIC-"
"ENOUGH!"
The two turned back to look at the agitated Roark, leaning forwards and beginning to slowly try and get out of the bed to stand: but his wincing and groaning made it clear he wasn't recovered enough to even stand. The two rushed nonetheless to his side, helping him back to a comfortable position, where he took a brief moment, before he spoke.
"Tavish, you're right, Pyrin shouldn't have left the Safehouse." He looked at his son in something of a partially Scolding, partially worried look. "But he did have the right idea about getting these papers, lord knows our contacts would already be being beaten senseless if he didn't get those papers. Plus he's my son. And he takes after me in the sneaking around department, though not in the looks business." Roark smiled weakly. "But for the gods sakes son, you have to realise. We're not safe anymore!"
Pyrin's face fell from agitation at the Half-Elf, to a blank stare. And then it fell further. "W-What?" He asked, trying to prize some sense from the words his father had said. "Son," Roark began, face furrowing as he began to continue. "Look at me. That minotaur did do a number on me, yes. And he was one in a gang of 5. Five. I'm not saying we've bitten off more than we can chew, we haven't. We never have, and we never will. But the situation has changed."
Tavish quietly drew a pipe and snapped his fingers so that a small flame lit up the herbs within as he inhaled them. He'd spoken with Roark as he'd woken up, for about 13 minutes before he'd told Pyrin. They'd been discussing how Pyrin would take what was to come.
"Son, you can't stay in Faerún anymore."
Pyrin stared at his father.
"These bastards are more than we've dealt with. They're getting help, help that's beyond my scope, Tavish's and most certainly yours. You wanted to be my- Tavish doesn't count he's an arrow sponge, (Hey!) and even if your mother didn't want you getting into the business, I think she'd have to admit you've got a damn good knack for it. And I don't want to let my physical state, or our situation smother that."
Roark looked at Tavish, then back to Pyrin. "Do you remember that time with the Tabaxi pyromaniac? Where Tavish and I nearly got roasted?" Pyrin slowly nodded. He'd learned many a curse that day, many more than he'd already known. "After that day, I started to worry about you. If I were to be forcefully retired, you'd otherwise be left with Tavish, and I know he's always wanted to know what roasted Aarakocra tasted like. So he came to me with our contingency."
Pyrin turned to Tavish, "We're sending you to Kantas." The word rang a bell in Pyrin's head, but only vaguely. "Kantas?"
The sorcerer nodded. "It's a continent- a long way from here." Roark chimed in: "Adventurers and settlers have been migrating there for the last few years. Some settlements have been established, and frankly.." Roark leaned over the other side of his bed, hauling a large sack onto his bed. "I think they could use you."
He reached into the sack, drawing a long sheathed Rapier out, and holding onto the blade with both hands.
"Son, you've been my apprentice for the last 4 years. I've taught you what to look for in the scene of a crime, I've taught you how to read a person, I've taught you how to make yourself disappear, and I've taught, well, sort of taught you how to fight. In hindsight I should have started that far earlier, but hindsight is an accursed thing."
"But I can't teach you everything." Roark looked in son in the eyes and held out the Rapier. "It's time for you to fly the nest."
"I..." Pyrin's lower beak trembled a little. "I don't want to leave you, not when you...you're like this! It's far too dangerous! I can't, it doesn't even bear thinking about-I'd be abandoning you!"
"There is a difference in abandoning me, and splitting up. You've got to spread your wings Son. I promise you, we'll fly together again someday. We will. But we've got to migrate different paths. Just for now." Roark offered out the Rapier again. "Go to Kantas. Learn, be different- be more than me."
Pyrin clenched his fists. He watched his father, he scanned the bandages across his body, and he observed the...engravings upon the sheath of the Rapier. His father knew he'd seen something, there was something very obvious in the way his head twitched. Assuming correctly it was the engraving, he smiled and spoke. "This was the Rapier I started with. The blade is completely new, but the handguard is original, and still holds, in spite of age." (He flicked a finger against it, as though demonstrating.) Pyrin's fists slowly unclenched, and he gently held the sheath, as Roark let go of the blade, passing it over to his Son. "I'd also gotten you some other things, not Roark Branch antiques like that I'm afraid, but they do the job."
Pyrin held the sheath, feeling the aged yet still resilient wood which contained the new blade within.
Pyrin nodded. "I'll go." He looked up to his father. "I'll go to Kantas."
Tavish helped Pyrin pack what his father had given him, and told him that they'd be leaving with all due haste. As they prepared to don disguises and head into the night, Pyrin turned back to his father, hugging him.
They said nothing for a few seconds. Then they leaned away.
"Goodbye, dad."
"Goodbye Son."
When Tavish and Pyrin stepped out from the safehouse, into the raining night, Pyrin couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement.
There was much to be done.
Pyrin looked up from the wooden floor- and damn near was about to sprint into the adjacent room, until the Half-Elf stuck his arm out ahead of him. "Pyrin, your fatheris still recovering, be gentl-"
"Oh for flumps sake, let my son in, Tavish!" A voice called out. Pyrin looked at the Half-Elf, who could only sigh and retract his arm; as the Aarakocra shot into the room. 'He doesn't need those wings.' Tavish thought to himself, smiling slightly. But his smile gently fell as he followed the Aarakocra into the room, carefully closing the door behind him. There wasn't much to smile about in his mind.
Pyrin thought otherwise, however. Running into the room, he was briefly slowed by the sight of his father with bandages adorned across him. He'd never seen him so...unfortified. No son who loves their father is truly ever prepared for that. To see the man who they thought a titan, so vulnerable. As the smile weakened slightly at the corners of his beak, it restrengthened at his Fathers usual nonchalance.. "Oh, just because we're called 'Branch' doesn't mean we break as easily. You saw the size of that minotaur, didn't you?"
It reassured his son, for a moment. "Yeah, I didn't know if he was chugging Enlarge potions, he was huge!" The father and son shared a laugh, though as they embraced, his father tensed for a moment, an audible sharp intake of air snapping out as wounds briefly flared. Pyrin opened his mouth to speak, but was dismissed by a wave of his hand. "Son it's- it's nothing. I just need a soak, some potions, and a massage from Tavish. I'll be fine." The pair smiled at that last addition- even the dour Half-Elf couldn't help but smile a little at the joke, though if he really expected a massage, he truly was a birdbrain.
"Listen, son-"
"We're going out again, once you're feeling better, yeah?" Roark and Tavish exchanged swift glances. Pyrin reached to his waist and produced a small binder of parchments, maps and records, offering them to his father- who took them, though placed them on the duvets of his bed. "I got everything I could from the office while Tavish was stabilising you here, I think I saw a few people coming over but I was out by then and-"
"Hold on, hold on. You left the safehouse?" The Half-Elf stared at Pyrin, brow furrowing in a medley of surprise, horror and outrage. "What were my exact orders? I told you to stay next door and wait until-"
"So what, those thugs could either burn down all our records or find this place? I had to do something-"
"There wasn't any way they were going to find this safehouse without someone leading them here! And you were doing something, staying out of the way!"
"WELL I'D RATHER WE DIDN'T PUT ALL OUR LUCK ON A SIMPLE CHARM YOU COOKED UP FROM-"
"LIKE YOU'D KNOW THE FIRST THING OF MAGIC-"
"ENOUGH!"
The two turned back to look at the agitated Roark, leaning forwards and beginning to slowly try and get out of the bed to stand: but his wincing and groaning made it clear he wasn't recovered enough to even stand. The two rushed nonetheless to his side, helping him back to a comfortable position, where he took a brief moment, before he spoke.
"Tavish, you're right, Pyrin shouldn't have left the Safehouse." He looked at his son in something of a partially Scolding, partially worried look. "But he did have the right idea about getting these papers, lord knows our contacts would already be being beaten senseless if he didn't get those papers. Plus he's my son. And he takes after me in the sneaking around department, though not in the looks business." Roark smiled weakly. "But for the gods sakes son, you have to realise. We're not safe anymore!"
Pyrin's face fell from agitation at the Half-Elf, to a blank stare. And then it fell further. "W-What?" He asked, trying to prize some sense from the words his father had said. "Son," Roark began, face furrowing as he began to continue. "Look at me. That minotaur did do a number on me, yes. And he was one in a gang of 5. Five. I'm not saying we've bitten off more than we can chew, we haven't. We never have, and we never will. But the situation has changed."
Tavish quietly drew a pipe and snapped his fingers so that a small flame lit up the herbs within as he inhaled them. He'd spoken with Roark as he'd woken up, for about 13 minutes before he'd told Pyrin. They'd been discussing how Pyrin would take what was to come.
"Son, you can't stay in Faerún anymore."
Pyrin stared at his father.
"These bastards are more than we've dealt with. They're getting help, help that's beyond my scope, Tavish's and most certainly yours. You wanted to be my- Tavish doesn't count he's an arrow sponge, (Hey!) and even if your mother didn't want you getting into the business, I think she'd have to admit you've got a damn good knack for it. And I don't want to let my physical state, or our situation smother that."
Roark looked at Tavish, then back to Pyrin. "Do you remember that time with the Tabaxi pyromaniac? Where Tavish and I nearly got roasted?" Pyrin slowly nodded. He'd learned many a curse that day, many more than he'd already known. "After that day, I started to worry about you. If I were to be forcefully retired, you'd otherwise be left with Tavish, and I know he's always wanted to know what roasted Aarakocra tasted like. So he came to me with our contingency."
Pyrin turned to Tavish, "We're sending you to Kantas." The word rang a bell in Pyrin's head, but only vaguely. "Kantas?"
The sorcerer nodded. "It's a continent- a long way from here." Roark chimed in: "Adventurers and settlers have been migrating there for the last few years. Some settlements have been established, and frankly.." Roark leaned over the other side of his bed, hauling a large sack onto his bed. "I think they could use you."
He reached into the sack, drawing a long sheathed Rapier out, and holding onto the blade with both hands.
"Son, you've been my apprentice for the last 4 years. I've taught you what to look for in the scene of a crime, I've taught you how to read a person, I've taught you how to make yourself disappear, and I've taught, well, sort of taught you how to fight. In hindsight I should have started that far earlier, but hindsight is an accursed thing."
"But I can't teach you everything." Roark looked in son in the eyes and held out the Rapier. "It's time for you to fly the nest."
"I..." Pyrin's lower beak trembled a little. "I don't want to leave you, not when you...you're like this! It's far too dangerous! I can't, it doesn't even bear thinking about-I'd be abandoning you!"
"There is a difference in abandoning me, and splitting up. You've got to spread your wings Son. I promise you, we'll fly together again someday. We will. But we've got to migrate different paths. Just for now." Roark offered out the Rapier again. "Go to Kantas. Learn, be different- be more than me."
Pyrin clenched his fists. He watched his father, he scanned the bandages across his body, and he observed the...engravings upon the sheath of the Rapier. His father knew he'd seen something, there was something very obvious in the way his head twitched. Assuming correctly it was the engraving, he smiled and spoke. "This was the Rapier I started with. The blade is completely new, but the handguard is original, and still holds, in spite of age." (He flicked a finger against it, as though demonstrating.) Pyrin's fists slowly unclenched, and he gently held the sheath, as Roark let go of the blade, passing it over to his Son. "I'd also gotten you some other things, not Roark Branch antiques like that I'm afraid, but they do the job."
Pyrin held the sheath, feeling the aged yet still resilient wood which contained the new blade within.
Pyrin nodded. "I'll go." He looked up to his father. "I'll go to Kantas."
Tavish helped Pyrin pack what his father had given him, and told him that they'd be leaving with all due haste. As they prepared to don disguises and head into the night, Pyrin turned back to his father, hugging him.
They said nothing for a few seconds. Then they leaned away.
"Goodbye, dad."
"Goodbye Son."
When Tavish and Pyrin stepped out from the safehouse, into the raining night, Pyrin couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement.
There was much to be done.
