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Reforged pt 13

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The trip further north went smoothly, but only so far as the group remained in the Brightwood but, as soon as they ventured beyond the focus of power of the Druidic circle the weather reminded the group immediately that it was still drawing closer to deep winter. By the time they pulled free of the canopy Arthur could see the late-afternoon sun glistening across a thin layer of freshly fallen snow and the scattered clouds overhead were rapidly thickening, suggesting that they would receive more before the day was out.

As promised, the druids traveled with the party for a time. During the parallel journey both Branson and Algus held their own council, walking close to one another and speaking in a language that Arthur had never heard before. Although they kept to themselves, they still occasionally turned toward the blacksmith to provide input on the route or suggest a slight change in their trajectory to avoid some kind of danger or threat that only they were apparently able to see.

The wolf following Branson remained at the bearded man's side without fail, tail consistently brushing against the druid's robe with every other step. The boar, who Arthur recalled Harold calling 'Moki' seemed oblivious to the cold and simply spent the miles randomly charging around, tusks-first through little white mounds created by snow covered grass and groundcover. The only animal separate from the druids was the fox, who remained close to Harold and Liani; the two of them followed along behind the rest of the group, walking close together, speaking quietly.

Arthur used the time walking to think about those in his company: the Druids, his sons, but also Orvig, who kept pace right next to him. The Orc had been through a lot-- as much as the blacksmith and his sons, and yet he maintained his determination, taking everything in stride and moving ever forward. Life would be changed for all of them and, despite the fact that the Smiths and the Asler's had both lost everything, Arthur didn't even have to consider adding up the losses to know that Orvig had lost far more.

In truth, all that the human really considered irreplaceably lost was Sabrina, and he was conflicted over it. Fortunately he didn't dwell on that thought for long as the Druids finally called a stop to the travel just as darkness was starting to set in. Rounding everyone up close together, it was Benson who explained the plan. "We will help you set up your camp, but we will be parting ways with you here."

Before anyone could acknowledge, object, or ask any clarifying questions, Algus continued the declaration. "If you travel north of here you'll eventually come to a mountain range."

Benson picked up right where his companion left off. "North was sent to the Grove of Eristhe to learn more about being a Druid. He is young still, and has only recently heeded nature's will-- though powerful, he lacked focus, and Sovereign believed that Elisthe would be able to help him learn balance."

Before Algus could continue, Harold quickly interjected. "Okay-- so do we call him North? I mean, you each have your direction, but you also have names."

It was a direct question; Arthur expected nothing less from his middle son. The blacksmith followed it up with a little more tact. "We need to know what to call him, and how we can let him know to trust us."

Liani was the one to provide the answer, taking one of Harold's paws in her hand as she spoke. "His name is Faelyn. He is a Tabaxi... about the same age as your sons, Arthur. Harold-- be nice to him. He found the Circle after losing his family."

The woman's statement struck Arthur immediately; he saw by the expressions on the snouts and muzzles of his sons that they were likewise affected by the statement. That still didn't answer an important question. "What is a 'Tabaxi'?"

Benson regarded the blacksmith. "A Tabaxi is a cat man-- not unlike how your son here is a bull man. Although, I would note that among his people they call themselves Tabashi... the southern tribes say 'Tabaxi', and Faelyn's people are from the east."

Peter maintained focused on the important part of the discussion. "And what do we do when we find him?"

Algus answered the question by pulling out a small stone token. He held it out to the blacksmith. "First, give him this. Then, take him from the Grove. Elisthe should be with him so she can help keep him calm, but don't bring him to us until we know that it's safe."

Lucas, who was curled up in Peter's arms, pressed against his chest to protect himself from the cold as much as possible still raised his head to quip "So we're babysitting then?"

Peter gave his youngest brother a slight shake. "Manners!"

Harold interjected quietly "And, besides, it'd be 'kitten sitting'."

The Minotaur shot the Gnoll a glance. "Don't YOU start too."

Benson answered the Kobold anyway as if it were a reasonable question. "You offered to provide us help and, for now, North is the only druid directly untouched by the defiler. It is imperative that we keep him away from the threat, and we cannot do that if there is any chance the wizard will be coming after us again."

Algus began unpacking a collection of stones from a pouch at his hip which looked far too small to actually contain everything that was coming out of it. "So... there's just one more thing we need to do before we leave..."

Lucas was interested immediately. "Oh! Is that a magic pouch?"

The big man chuckled. "Yes, it is. I've had it for a number of years, but it's not important. What we--"

The Kobold wasn't done. Squirming free of Peter's grasp, he scampered over to look at what Algus was doing. "Not important? That's AMAZING!"

Liana disengaged from Lucas and approached as well. She seemed surprised, but not overtly concerned. "You're giving them The Legacies?"

Benson nodded. "I spoke with Sovereign, and he believes that they are more than deserving of them. Algus and I gathered the elemental cores before leaving."

Harold followed after the half-elf woman. "The Legacies? What are those?"

The bearded Druid turned to regard the Gnoll. "The Legacies are items of power that can be created from elemental cores-- the essence of elementals banished back to their home plane from our own through physical intervention."

Algus slapped Arthur on the shoulder, laughing as he said. "Which you and your sons were so good to help with by providing in spades."

Lucas chimed in "And spells! Spells too!"

A series of chuckles were shared around but Branson brought the conversation back to the original focus. "Dispelling or banishing elementals will send them wholly back to their plane, but forcing them back through violence results in a portion of their essence remaining behind, imbuing its substance into a like-element here in our own."

Even as he spoke, the bearded man moved his hand over the collection of stones, which began to pulse with light. Little cracks along their surface were further defined by the gleaming hint of illumination flowing out-- soft whites, shifting blues, burning orange and gleaming greens. Branson raised his hand and the orange stones ejected thin jets of flame, surrounding the pile in a ring of fire. He added his second hand and all of the rocks shot up the air as the glowing white geodes blasted out a constant zephyr.

The flames and the wind ultimately merged and the swirling air was suddenly awash with light as it turned into a swirling vortex of fire. All of the stones began to glow with the red hot heat and, even as he focused on the rocks before him, Branson called out. "Arthur... you are a smith. Your profession is not so far from nature as to be separate entirely. Surely you must understand how the four elements come together to create the tools you create."

The smith cleared his throat, trying to create a cohesive dialogue even as he watched the magical dancing of the stones being super-headed as they remained suspended in the air. "The... uh... the metal comes from the earth.... fire and air are combined in the forge to heat it. The blacksmith shapes the metal to his needs, and then quenches it in water."

Algus stepped up beside Branson an raised his arms as well. As if jointly conducting a symphony, both druids moved their hands. The rocks, suddenly more liquid than solid, flowed through the air in response to their unspoken commands. Rivulets of magma dripped together or broke apart, moving continuously until five distinct globs eventually formed at the druids' command. From there, each took on a very distinct shape.

Arthur didn't know how long he stared at the spectacle, having lost all sense of his surroundings in favor of committing the dance of the elements to memory. Finally, at long last, the glowing light of heat from each distinct form began to fade, replaced instead by an almost opaque wall of steam, which called out with an all-encompassing hiss. Whatever remained within the ephemeral cloud lowered back down to the earth then, suddenly, all was still. It took several seconds for the steam to dissipate but, when it did, a small collection of items remained.

Branson stepped forward, motioning with a hand; the last remnants of the mist fled before his command, and he walked up to the first item: a hefty-looking war hammer. The weapon was beautiful-- as masterfully made as anything Arthur himself could have crafted but, unlike those formed by his own trade, the war hammer the druid raised up was comprised of pure stone. Branson approached Arthur, holding the weapon in one hand, and offered it up to him. "Arthur Smith, Father of Harold, the Brightwood Circle wishes you to have this Legacy. It shall be known as Rockfist, and will serve you in your quest to right the wrongs done to you, your family, and your lord."

The moment Arthur's fingers closed around the handle he felt a strange sense of strength-- not just in himself, but from the weapon. It was perfectly balanced, and neither lighter nor heavier than an equivalent weapon made of steel. Peter, Lucas, and Orvig, who had been standing near to him took a step back, and a moment later, the blacksmith realized why: small pebbles and stones had risen from the ground in response to the weapon's presence. A second after he took his eyes off of the war hammer, however, they fell back to the earth.

Algus stated with ceremony in his voice "It looks like it will serve you well."

Arthur was still so focused on the gift that he didn't realize at first that Branson had picked up another item until the Druid approached again. Looking up, the blacksmith backpedaled to give the bearded man some room as a large shield was offered to Orvig. The heater was, like Rockfist, a creation of pure stone. It still shone like metal, however and, when Orvig accepted it, Arthur watched in awe as the face of it shifted ever-so-slightly, a perfect relief of the Asler family crest forming like a heraldic.

Branson stepped back. "Orvig Asler, while we do not acknowledge the politics and titles of man, you have sworn to hunt down the defiler. Therefore, the Brightwood Circle wishes you to have this Legacy. It shall be known as The Bulwark, and will serve you in your quest to right the wrongs done to you, your family, and your holdings."

There was a distinct theme to the Druid's declarations, and, as he went back to the remaining items on the ground, Arthur gestured Peter forward, waiting to see how the ritualistic-sounding presentation of items would continue. Glancing once to the family, Branson reached down to pick up an enormous axe. The weapon, like the other items before it, was pure stone from the tip of its blade to the base of its handle and, like Peter, it was enormous.

The Druid them returned to where the Minotaur waited. He offered it out formally, and Peter accepted it with reverence as Branson stated "Peter Smith, Brother to Harold, the Brightwood Circle wishes you to have this Legacy. It shall be known as Stoneguard, and will serve you in your quest to right the wrongs done to you, your family, and your divine patron."

Peter looked down at the axe, clenching his fingers tightly around it and Arthur gasped, astounded as a thin sheath of stone extended from the weapon to cover his arm. The Minotaur was obviously caught off guard as well, jumping in surprise at the sudden change. The moment that his grip loosened on the weapon, however, the rock armor withdrew into the axe. Jaw still agape by what he held, Peter still somehow managed to pull it together enough to turn to the Druid and show off his manners. "Thank you... thank you for this great gift!"

Branson nodded in response and returned to the remaining items. Algus, who was already there, knelt down to retrieve what looked like a set of thick stone rings or tiny shackles and handed them to the bearded man. Returning back to Arthur, Branson regarded Lucas, holding them out. "Lucas Smith, Brother to Harold, the Brightwood Circle wishes you to have this Legacy. These bracers, made just for you, are the Clasos of Safe Keeping. They will serve you in your quest to right the wrongs done to you, and your family, and protect you from further influences by the defiler."

Lucas accepted them and, after getting a nod from Arthur, began trying to figure out how to put them on. With no apparent opening mechanism and being generally too small for him to squeeze his talons into it didn't appear that there would be an effective way of donning the wrist guards. He was obviously getting frustrated in trying to figure it out, snout scrunching up in displeasure until he opened his maw to object-- only to have the two earthen bands spontaneously soften, then dribble over his wrists like went clay before hardening immediately once in place. The Kobold moved his arms in different directions as if getting a feel for the added weight. "Wow... I like em!"

Branson went back to get the final item; what looked like a long length of rock solidified into a thin ring that looked like it might have belonged as a barrel hoop. Rather than face the Smiths, the Druid turned instead to Liani, who approached him. She doffed her rucksack and, after a moment of digging around, pulled out what appeared to be a finely crafted leather breastplate. Arthur was no leatherworker, but he could certainly admire the skill with which it had been crafted.

Watching still, he was further surprised when Branson placed the ring of stone against the armor and the two spontaneously fused; the band sliding seamlessly into the breastplate and reinforcing it like metal studding. Only once the two items were together did the Druid let go, and released it to Liani's possession. The half-elf walked up to Arthur and his sons before turning to Harold. The Gnoll swallowed, then opened his muzzle. "Liani, I--"

She spoke over him. "Harold Smith, Son of Man, the Brightwood Circle wishes-- I wish you to have this Legacy. It shall be known as The Harness of the Forest Warden, and it will protect you during quest to right the wrongs done to you, your brothers, and your father."

Liana placed it into Harold's grasp then leaned forward, kissing him on the cheek. The Gnoll blushed, one of his bottom teeth peeking out from between his lips as he smiled sheepishly, but the expression disappeared immediately as he tightened his grip on the armor. "And what he did to the Circle... I owe him for that too!"

Whether signaled by the Gnoll's extra statement or some unseen qualifier, the ritualistic feel to the moment was suddenly at an end. The air of gravitas faded just like the steam that had surrounded the items and, like that, it was over. The two Druids gathered up their meager belongings and with nothing more than a brief embrace, Liani parted ways from Harold, walking after the two men toward whatever future their lives held. Arthur stood passively through the somber moment, letting the scene play out as an observer rather than a participant.

Orvig was the first to break the silence. "It is dark, and it will be getting colder. We have a fire now, but we should get our shelters in place."

Peter was one step behind the Orc, moving to assist with erecting the tents. "Lucas... you need to stay warm, so you should sleep in a tent with me tonight."

The little Kobold pouted. "Aww! I wanna share a tend with Dad!"

Arthur was quick to agree with his eldest. "Peter tonight sounds like a good idea, Lucas... besides, I need to have a talk with Harold."

The Gnoll, who, up until that point had been right where Liani had left him, glanced over his shoulder to the blacksmith. "Me?"

The human nodded. "Yes, you. We have some things to talk about."

Harold nodded obediently; it was obvious he was well aware about the many things his Father felt needed to be discussed.

* * * * *

The group spent a few more minutes readying camp before Arthur retired to his tent and Harold joined him a short while later. The two took a handful of minutes organizing their sleeping spaces, all the while the blacksmith remained quiet, organizing his thoughts. Eventually Harold spoke up instead. "It's about Liani, isn't it?"

The human looked up from his knapsack, which he had unpacked and was repacking; it was a surprisingly time-consuming feat considering that its capacity was far greater than that of a mundane version. "Hmm?"

Harold plopped down onto the ground, gazing right at Arthur with an expression the blacksmith last recalled having seen on his son when the Gnoll had been caught short-changing a client that'd called him a 'mangy curr'. "You think I should have fought harder to try and go with Liani?"

It was as much a statement as a question, and it made the human freeze in place. "No... of course not!"

His son's eyes lowered. "You hesitated before saying 'no'."

Arthur knelt down in front of Harold, placing one hand on each of the Gnoll's shoulders. "Only because your statement surprised me, son. Why would you ever think that?"

Harold's gaze slowly rose back up to look the blacksmith in the eye, expression unreadable behind a mask of what almost looked like pain. "Because, if she meant enough to me I was supposed to drop everything for her... right?"

The human stared into his son's eyes. "Everything? Of course not, Harold. Of coruse, priorities change when people enter our lives. It's about finding a balance. I'm sure she can't expect you to forsake everything just for her benefit."

The Gnoll's stare hardened even as a tear escaped him. A spark starting with trepidation blossomed into a flaming wisp of emotional pain, followed by a burning fire of challenge. "You mean like Sabrina?"

It was Arthur's turn to look away; in retrospect, the blacksmith was embarrassed at how he'd handled the situation. He was so focused on peace-keeping and placating the loudest objection that he continued to give ground and surrender his life to his woman and continuously put his sons second. No, that WASN'T love-- for any of them. In the end, he was only human and, despite how much of a good role model he strove to be for his sons, he had his own shortcomings. "We all make mistakes."

The confrontation that had been in Harold's eyes has migrated to the tone of his voice. "You mean choosing her over us?"

It wasn't a new objection; Harold and Lucas had complained often enough that Arthur consistently sided with Sabrina; Peter, despite never saying it aloud, was probably similar in thought. The blacksmith was always quick to mitigate their complaints with reminding them that she was his partner and that they'd been together forever. It wasn't so much that he sided with her as that he had to make concessions for their mutual happiness. He had no more excuses. "You're right. I did. I'm sorry."

The Gnoll was obviously ready for it to turn into an argument because he already started talking again before talking stock of what his father had said. "You always let her make the decisions and whenever we-- huh?"

Arthur knew that admitting fault was a sign of strength, not of weakness, and he would not disgrace himself before Kord by denying his fault. "What I did was unfair to you boys. I DID choose her over you... again and again."

All of the wind had been sucked from Harold's bellows at that point and he deflated immediately. He was quiet for several seconds, the burning in his eyes fading away as he just sighed. "It's okay... we got used to it."

The blacksmith moved forward, going from a crouching position to his knees as he addressed that issues. "It's NOT okay, Harold. That was not something you should have gotten used to. What I had with Sabrina... that wasn't love-- that was obsession, and it wasn't healthy. I don't want you to think that something like that is--"

Harold surged forward in that moment, a new fire sparking in his eyes and the Gnoll's muzzle led the way. It was almost as if he was going to bite Arthur but, instead of baring his teeth, the blacksmith's son brandished his lips. In that split second, the Human realized what was happening; he used to kiss his sons regularly, but that had all but stopped except for the most platonic pecks. Harold's kiss was hardly innocent.

Arthur would have gasped had there been any room in his mouth, but, considering it was filled with Harold's tongue he ended up huffing a breath out his nose instead. The Gnoll's muzzle was pressed against his face desperately and with such need that the blacksmith could feel his son's sharp fangs pin his lips against his own teeth.

Calloused paw pads explored Arthur's body, sliding up beneath his shirt as Harold's eagerness forced their bodies together, his middle son overbearing him as pushing him onto his back. Finally, once the kiss broke, the Gnoll pulled back, bodily looming over the human, who found himself with his back against the floor of the tent, mouth tasting faintly of herb. A number of thoughts ran through his head, but the one that eventually found its way to his mouth was "Have you been eating fennel again?"

The question ruined the moment and Harold pulled back, blushing. "I like it. Fennel settles my thoughts AND my stomach."

Arthur's 'dad instinct' kicked in immediately. "I know a lot must have been on your mind... has your stomach been sour too?"

The Gnoll shrugged, still blushing. "Yeah... ever since Hearthbridge got attacked. The trail rations we got from the barracks are shit and the--."

Although Peter wasn't around to correct Harold's language, Arthur's gaze was more than enough. When his middle-son fell silent beneath the stare, the blacksmith nodded. "Continue."

Harold changed the subject. "I'm fine, Dad... really. I just want YOU to be fine too."

The blacksmith reached forward and gave the Gnoll a tight hug. "I AM fine, Harold. I'm better than fine. I have my sons. We're all alive, and, for now, we're all safe."

His son rested his head on Arthur's shoulder, but he started chuckling-- the kind of hyena giggle that usually embarrassed him so much that he tried to avoid it at all costs, and yet Harold just let it go before finally managing to say "Running all over the wilderness trying to pick up after a power hungry wizard who kidnapped one of us? That's a pretty low bar for safety, Dad."

Arthur hugged him a little tighter. "I'd face anything for you boys... and, yes... as long as we're together, that's the important thing."

Harold disengaged, ears reddening again. "Which is why I didn't put up so much of a fight about Liani needing to go, Dad. I'm thinking the same thing: as long as the Smiths are together then we're as safe as can be. I feel... right."

The blacksmith smiled, and reached up to brush the tear from his son's cheek. "Exactly. Besides, when this is all over, we can go find her again as a family."

The Gnoll stuck his tongue out at his dad. "Thanks, Dad, but I think I'll be fine on my own in that regard."

They embraced again; Arthur closed his eyes, reveling in the feel of his son's coarse fur; usually it was uncomfortable and itchy but something about the situation gave it a comforting, intimate feel. He let out a deep breath. "When you're ready I won't stop you, Son... but for now, I'm glad you're here."

Harold snuffled the side of his neck. "Me too, Dad... but... one thing..."

When the Gnoll slowly disengaged Arthur released him. They each sat on their knees, legs almost touching as his son's ears reddened more, and he licked his own nose before saying "Do... you think we can try kissing again?"

Arthur chuckled, and felt his entire face flush easily as much as Harold. He was just about to speak when one of his son's large, round ears swiveled to the side. The Gnoll's face soured and he barked at the leather wall "GO BACK TO YOUR TENT, LUCAS!"

Rolling his eyes, the blacksmith disengaged, chuckling to himself. Even before the chaos that followed the attack on Hearthbridge life was anything but dull but hitting the road on an increasingly complicated 'quest' made things even more 'interesting'. Eventually Harold calmed and laid down beside him. The Gnoll inched nearer, giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek. "I love you dad."

Arthur reached over and pulled Harold up against his chest, snuggling deeply against him like they'd done when he'd been little. "Love you too, pup."