“Ain’t it always?”
He tried not to feel envious of the halfling as they walked. If the man spoke true and had been a hobgoblin, what had he done to earn to be transformed from a monster? Where had Brash failed?
Questions like that, they’d drive him mad.
He tried not to feel envious of the halfling as they walked. If the man spoke true and had been a hobgoblin, what had he done to earn to be transformed from a monster? Where had Brash failed?
Questions like that, they’d drive him mad.
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He'd been on this road with her around a decade - not the one before Brash and Tarkith now, but the one that had brought them to the Children of Dwoemerheart and her current 'condition. It never made more sense.
"What about you? Got anyone in some corner of Faerûn?"
He’s never have them again… something he had accepted a long time ago. Markus was dead. Brash was just the monster that had his memories.
He's about to suggest camp when the sun nears the horizon, but he pauses, holding up a hand.
It wasn’t truly at Tarkith, just at his own inability to deal with the whirling emotions inside.
Hadn’t he grown past this? He felt like a fool, still struggling +
Brash nodded, pulling his hood back up. “You go see who it is, I’ll cover you.” He offered.
Once Tarkith had moved forward, Brash turned and climbed into the canopy of the trees.