[url=https://www.bungie.net/en/Forum/Post/246624086/0/0]Table of Contents[/url] “Brenon Springcliff!” A loud voice boomed, filling the room. Brenon scraped the heels of his boots on the threshold before entering. It was humble for the den of a Warlord -shoddy and made of little more than timber- but he knew it was the finest building in the town of Blackbush. A man sat in a wooden throne at the back of the room, clad in flashy armor. Faint wrinkles and speckles of gray in his bushy beard hinted at his age, but he was still nearly young enough to match his vigorous display. “Lord Rotan,” Brenon greeted, giving a small bow to hide his scowl. “I was beginning to worry Avery had forgotten me,” the Warlord smirked, “It’s so rare she sends me a visitor.” Brenon put on a neutral face. He hated this man. He wanted nothing to do with him. He wished he could just get it over with and leave, but he had to let the Warlord ramble. “What’s the matter, Brenon?” Rotan asked, his sarcasm practically pouring out through his pompous grin, “You look annoyed. As the right hand of the great Lady Avery, shouldn’t you take pride in carrying out her every command?” Brenon would have loved to shoot the man, but he also knew that Rotan hated him as much as he hated Rotan. To the Warlord, Brenon was a very painful reminder of Lady Avery’s skill as a puppeteer. “I apologize if I sound curt, my Lord,” Brenon said through gritted teeth, “I’m sorry to say that I’m not here to chat, but merely to discuss my Lady’s business with you.” Rotan laughed, his facade beginning to crumble, “Why bother with her? My offer still stands, if you wish to join me.” “I respectfully decline,” Brenon rebuffed, trying to remain courteous, “M’Lord.” Rotan laughed again, though this time it was clearly forced, “You’re beginning to speak like her, you know. It really has been too long since I last saw her. And after all the time we spent together.” Rotan went through the same spiel every time Brenon was forced to visit Blackbush, and the scout had grown tired of it. Rotan saw the expression on his face and sighed, dropping the act entirely and propping an elbow on the arm of his throne, “You really are becoming too much like Avery. It’s…not pleasant…” The Warlord waved a hand, giving Brenon permission to deliver his message. The scout silently thanked the Traveler before he began, “Lady Avery apologizes for the short notice and requests to meet with you here in Blackbush tomorrow.” “Avery is coming here?” Rotan questioned, unable to mask his surprise. He quickly recovered, “That isn’t like her. And what‘s the occasion?” “Negotiations,” Brenon informed, “In hopes of creating an armistice with you and Lord Daedalus.” Rotan once again couldn’t hide his shock, “Daedalus?” “He will be coming as well.” Rotan regained his composure and reasoned, “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time those two made a deal. And if I refuse to meet them?” “Lady Avery apologizes. It’s too late to stop. They will be coming here from Empyrea. But she insists that you accept her request to negotiate.” “More like demands,” Rotan muttered, “Seems there’s no way around it. I can’t find a reason to turn her down, anyway.” “Do you accept?” “What‘s the point of this armistice?” Rotan pressed, “Avery always has a reason.” “A united front against a common enemy.” “A front?” Rotan blinked, “That…is not like Avery. A common enemy, she said? Who?” Avery had explicitly told Brenon not to answer that question, but he was spared the peril of evading Rotan as the aging Warlord jumped to his own conclusion, “Natalia? Yes, Natalia…It’s about time we got rid o’ that devil. I’ve been fightin’ her off for years now. About time those two got some spines. They’re lucky I’m between them and her. Kept them safe. She’s always sendin’ raidin’ parties, you know. I have to drive ‘em out. Occasionally send my own to keep her at bay.” Brenon spoke up, “With your permission, my Lord, I will take my leave.” “Really?” Rotan inquired, “Won’t you stay to wait for Avery?” “I will, m’Lord. I’ll be camping outside of Blackbush and meet her when she arrives.” “Please, stay in town,” Rotan offered. “Sorry, m’Lord. I have my orders,” Brenon remitted. He was glad for the excuse. Every second in Blackbush was torture. “Very well,” Rotan nodded, “Until then.” Brenon pivoted and went back out the door. Half a dozen of Rotan’s armed goons stood outside. Two of them followed the scout and walked him down the dirt road. Civilians watched them pass, staying close to their dilapidated homes. Some beggars called for food or coin, but none dared come close to the gunmen. The whole town was a slum, just like every place under Rotan’s rule. Only his loyal lackeys shared his wealth, doing what they wished and making everyone else suffer. Brenon had seen it all. The powerful abusing the weak, the select few growing fat while others starved, slaughter in the streets, families ruined. The list went on forever. His escorts stopped, and he didn’t have to turn to know they’d reached the edge of town. He just kept walking, taking long strides to put space between himself and the ruined homes. Bushes grew in clumps all over the field, discernible by their dark leaves and black branches. A rocky hill sat nearby, and he made his way towards it. Stones clattered and rolled as he noisily scaled the slope. When he was close to the apex he called out, “It’s me!” At the top, he looked down the opposite side. Powel was standing at the base, aiming a rifle directly at his face. A small fire crackled behind him, and something was cooking in a pot dangling above it. Two Sparrows rested to the side. Powel eased down his weapon and grunted, “I assume it went well.” Brenon didn’t say anything, joining his companion and sitting on a decent rock. Powel tended to their meal, sprinkling spices and stirring with a ladel. “He thinks we’re after Lady Natalia?” The large man asked. Brenon nodded slightly, earning a testy look, “I’ll assume that was a yes. Just like Lady Avery said he would. Light, that Exo is crafty. I’d hate to be on her bad side.” Brenon tilted his head, staring through the hill in the direction of Blackbush. “Thanks for comin’,” he said. “You can stop sayin’ that,” Powel grouched, “Someone woulda been ordered to if I hadn’t volunteered. Besides, the Lady an’ I both know how you get ‘round this Traveler-forsaken...” He trailed off, letting his description of the town go unfinished. Brenon didn’t shift his gaze, running his hand over his revolver before curling his fingers into a fist. After a long silence, Powel spoke, “Wonder how Hilton’s doin’. The Lady’s pullin’ a lot of us outta town for this. In most places, that wouldn’t end well. Think this plan o’ hers will work?” “Avery’s plans always work,” Brenon replied, barely paying attention to Powel. The guard frowned, pulling the ladel out of the pot and prodding Brenon with it. Brenon jumped with a loud yelp. “The Light was that for!” He cursed, swiping the hot liquid off of his forearm. Powel went back to stirring and rumbled, “You’re s’posed to be the talkative one, kid. Cheer up. Rotan’ll get what’s comin’ to him real soon.”