Information


Brentor has a minion!

Shadowglaze the Ominous Crystallite




Brentor
Legacy Name: Kesho


The Dusk Blob
Owner: Pureflower

Age: 7 years, 1 month, 2 weeks

Born: February 14th, 2017

Adopted: 7 years, 1 month, 2 weeks ago

Adopted: February 14th, 2017

Statistics


  • Level: 24
     
  • Strength: 25
     
  • Defense: 10
     
  • Speed: 10
     
  • Health: 10
     
  • HP: 10/10
     
  • Intelligence: 70
     
  • Books Read: 51
  • Food Eaten: 0
  • Job: Head of Competitions


He hadn't felt a blade of grass in fifteen years. The gentle tickle of slender stalks on his cheek reduced him to tears.

He'd been hidden from the world in a cell that saw no light except the occasional passing torch. His only companions were the empty-headed guards and those fellow prisoners not fortunate enough to be valuable to Voorik.

Their cries for mercy were the closest he ever heard to music.

The prisoners had been liberated at last upon word of Voorik's death. Many had been wary to step outside the confines of their cells. Was this some trick? A test of loyalty? How could a spawn of the Devil himself be killed?

When Brentor saw the gates of Shadowglaze thrown wide, he didn't care if the cost was his life.

He wanted to feel the warmth of the sun and the gentle kiss of grass on his bare skin.

The moon was full. Even that gentle light made his eyes water. He knew it would be days, maybe even weeks, before his eyes could bear the fierce light of the sun.

He wanted...needed to get to Julian. He'd been captured through the arrogant stupidity of youth, used for years as a pawn to keep his popular brother a political prisoner.

He had to set the record straight. Julian must know how many times he'd failed to escape and how much he'd suffered for his dear brother's sake.

Without Julian's forgiveness, even freedom was meaningless.

*****

He'd been a stupid, reckless boy. He'd thought he knew the world because of the shiny new Guard badge on his chest.

One week into training, he'd let himself be lured by a pretty face with bruises. He'd found out later the lass was one of Skreev's informants, known for her skills with makeup...and acting.

He'd strode confidently into a rundown hall, expecting to confront a drunkard well into his cups.

Seven burly men stood ready. He was good in a brawl but without the limbs and reflexes of an octopus, he couldn't hope to win. He lay bruised and humiliated, listening to the creak of wooden floorboards that announced the arrival of a newcomer.

"What you want with this one, Skreev? He's barely old enough to grow a beard."

"A prize for Voorik. Julian will kiss the ground at our new Alphan's feet to protect his precious baby brother."

*****

He'd forced himself to take on a punishing lifestyle.

He would never again be taken by surprise or proven weak. What he lacked in equipment, he made up for using the weight of his own body.

It was never enough. The warriors charged with bringing him food could send him flying across the room with minimal effort. Then they would laugh in his face.

Enola took pity. She was a young mother raising Voorik's cat-eyed son, not through the goodness of her heart but because the boy was also her blood. Barely old enough to talk, Voon watched warily from the corner as Enola wiped the blood and sweat from Brentor's face.

"Not all conflicts can be solved with the sword or fist. Voorik must be defeated not only in body, but in mind. We need the people of this land to see the snake coiled at the feet of the golden statue.

"I'm not one for giving speeches." He winced as she dabbed at a deep cut.

"Your brother is." She made a face. "Or Voorik, I suppose. The last thing I need in my life is another politician. I can teach you skills, useful skills. Julian is the natural successor to the monster we have now. You will be invaluable to him when you are free. All I ask in return is that you teach my son the ways of the Guard. Not fighting skills...he'll get enough of that from his father's ruffians. I want you to teach him about honor."

Voon proved an eager student. Enola was true to her word, teaching him the ways of the spy who hides in plain sight.

When Voorik's forces gathered to march upon word of Tauren's capture, they'd left behind only a skeleton crew. They'd been easily subdued by Enola's Ghosts. She'd left the next day, swearing she would bear witness to the death of Tauren...and all hopes their land had for a future.

Jethro laid a hand on Brentor's shoulder, bringing him out of his memories.

"You will seek your brother?"

"I must. The thought of seeing Julian again has kept me alive these last fifteen years."

Jethro hesitated. "You are a man and it's not my place to give you advice but I would ask you to remember that Enola was not born hateful. She let her desire for revenge against Voorik consume her. To put the focus of your life on one person...you run the risk that no one else will matter. Julian won't be the man you once knew, nor is he likely to recognize you."

Brentor took a deep breath. "He's still my brother. He deserves to know the truth."

"Then I will wish you luck on your journey. I hope you are able to find peace as my lady never will."

He didn't truly get nervous until he could see the silhouette of the capital on the horizon. Within the hour, he would walk the narrow streets that still featured heavily in his dreams.

He paused at the side of the road, fighting not to lose his meager lunch. A wishing pond cast back his reflection.

Mussed brown hair, a little too long for a fashionable gentleman and a beard in need of a trim. The emerald eyes of a Silera, eyes Julian shared, though Brentor had more wrinkles at the corners than he remembered. His tan tunic and leggings were purchased from a sympathetic merchant whose sons had outgrown the pieces. They hung far too loose on his skeletal frame. He tried to scrub the road dirt from his face but only succeeded in smearing it.

The Guards at the Palace were not impressed by his declaration.

"But it's true. I am Brentor Silera!"

"If you be the brother to our newly minted Alphan, then I be that wart Skreev's great-aunt Minerva and I shall purchase the dress and parasol to fit the role."

"Please...I was taken captive fifteen years ago by Skreev, on the night Thor died."

The other guard shrugged. "I say we take him to Captain Daron. No one alive knew Julian better than him."

He was locked in somebody's posh study. The curtains were dark blue velvet, the bookshelves well stocked with leather-bound tomes. He seated himself before the fire, sighing as warmth seeped into his frozen fingers.

"You know, you're the third Brentor today and I am a very busy man. I'm going to ask you some questions, the sort of things only Julian and Brentor would know. If you don't fail as spectacularly as the last man, I'll think about letting you talk to Julian directly."

"Ask me anything."

"What flavor of cake did your mother bake for your seventh birthday?"

"It was lemon...though Father did the actual baking. Mother made it pretty with little birds and flowers made of frosting. I would have eaten myself sick if Julian hadn't distracted me with a new whistle."

"Hmm...it's common enough knowledge that Brentor always went for lemon cakes. Who was the first girl you kissed?"

Brentor blushed. "Er...Delia Alvios. She was...sort of sweet on Julian at the time. He paid me back by dumping a box of lizards in my bed as I slept. Delia abandoned both of us for the blacksmith's son, saying we were too immature."

"Good...but not enough. What did Celesta say to you on her death bed?"

Brentor swallowed. Memories of his mother's death still haunted him. "She wanted each of us to lay a flower on her grave every year. Red tulips for Father. Sunflowers for Julian. White roses for me."

Daron's eyebrows rose. "Well...you're no fool. One last question. What was your nickname for Mira?"

Brentor smiled. He'd only seen his niece twice before his capture. Her sunny smile could light the room. He'd thought of her often in the darkness, wondering what sort of woman she'd grown up to be. "I called her Glowbug. Her smile could light even a dark winter's night."

Daron nodded. "I'll arrange the meeting. In the meantime, I'll have Cook prepare a tray."

Every food he'd ever loved was arranged on that tray...except the bowl of anchovies, which he set as far apart as the table allowed. He sampled everything but took care not to overeat.

He had enough apologies to make already.

A maid collected the tray, regarding him curiously.

"Please tell the cook that her skills are a wonder."

She smiled and bobbed a curtsey.

She'd barely stepped through the door when Julian entered.

"You certainly eat like my brother but you look more like a miner after a tunnel collapse."

"Julian! I...I'm so sorry.

In all his planning and rehearsals, he'd never anticipated the impact of seeing his brother's beloved face.

Julian crossed the room in three long strides, his own composure breaking.

"Never be sorry. You are returned to me, whole and safe. That is all that matters."

The strength of his brother's arms warmed him more than even the light of the sun.

Profile template by Lea.
Story by Pureflower
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