Chapter 0 - Brandon

It's a gorgeous midafternoon when you make your way into Truce, not too warm and not too cool. It hasn't changed one bit in the years you've been gone, and the memories flood to you in waves. A familiar floral scent, and soft music drifts towards you. Judging by the hustle and bustle, and the time of year, people seem to be busy setting up for Verdefest, the celebration marking the beginning of spring. Getting here the day before it started was by no means planned, but seems to be a lucky stroke for you. If fate has something for you here, now would be the easiest time to find it.

Brandon looks over the throbbing masses with ill trepidation. The years cannot wash away the pain for him, but perhaps confronting its source will help him sleep. With a sigh, Brandon leads off into the town in search of his old house, keeping watch for those who might know him and then keeping his distance.

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(OOC: Use perception to look through the crowd, keeping an eye out for any previous acquaintances.)

The crowd is thick and loud, though few people are paying much attention to anything other than their work. After all, the festival MUST begin tomorrow. Nobody seems to recognize you, and after being gone for so long... who knows what your old friend would look like? You do, however, manage to stumble across your family's old bakery, now under new signage of course. The last memory, all but erased.

Brandon enters the bakery, his hand automatically wandering to his dagger in his belt. Sniffing, he looks up at the baker manning the counter.

"Good morn, would you be so kind as to answer a few questions I have? Only one of them is about bread."

He looks you up and down, obviously a little nervous, though not shaken.
"Of course good sir. I'm sure you know, however, that one tends to receive better answers without knives."
His hands lie flat on the table, indicating that he doesn't have anything threatening in his hand under the counter.
"What is it you would like to know?"

"I came through this town many years ago, at that time; this bakery was owned by a kind couple by the name of Haldan, what happened to them?" Brandon asks, stepping up to the counter. "And do you still sell that intoxicating basil artichoke bread?" Adding with a smile, allowing his hand to fall off his dagger and down to his side.

"As I understand, there was some sort of an issue with an oven. One minute you're firing pie crusts, the next, you're dead. It's a risky business. I hear their boy died too... a shame. I never knew them, but they were always spoken highly of. My wife and I bought out the deed and rebuilt it with our own hands... most of their old customers came here, and from them, we began replicating their recipes as best we could."

He smiles softly and grabs a half-loaf of bread with green and purple flecks embedded in it. "Chokes just came in last week, as a matter of fact," he says, tearing off a hunk and handing it to you, a sincere sparkle in his eye.

Brandon smiles. "How much for a loaf?" He asks. Handing him the cost for the loaf plus an extra silver piece, he turns to the door and walks out; eager to take in the festival and the bread.

Because the population of the town has increased somewhat, the pre-festival seems just as grand as you remember the festival itself being. Many merchants and entertainers have already set up their stands and stages, and are keeping up the spirits of those who are still working, while catering to those who are simply early guests.

The bread, while obviously not as good as that of your father, is still outstanding. Indeed, it shows that he spent quite a while interviewing regular customers and experimenting to find just the right amount of basil, just how finely to chop the artichokes, and how dense to make it. A slight hint of pride crosses your mind as you note that your father's was fluffier, without losing it's heartiness - something even he never fully explained before. Clearly nobody's been able to replicate that either. Even so, it's a good replacement for something that will never be.

Brandon tucks the rest of the loaf carefully on top of his backpack and goes off in search of the man who caused him so much trouble, knowing he'll find him setting up a stall in the market square for the coming celebration.

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OOC: I took out 2 SP for the breat and tip.

Hunting through the stalls, many interesting things are found, until you hear your name called. A sweet young feminine voice. Then you see her. It's like a ghost. At first you think you're dreaming, but then you see a few differences... the hair color's not quite right, her nose isn't full enough... and if it really was her, she would not have aged since that fateful day. Nevertheless, the girl, whoever she is, runs up to you and stares you in the eyes, hers welling with tears.

"Brandon. That's your name, isn't it? Isn't it!" she cries out softly, apparently on the verge of upset. Fortunately nobody in the crows has really noticed yet.

Brandon cocks his eyebrow, keeping his emotions under control is an art he mastered long ago.

"I'm sorry, but I think you have me confused with someone else. What makes you think I'm this Brandon?"

She looks down. "You... you look just like him... but you're right... he died... I'm so sorry, sir. I let my hopes get the better of me. It won't happen again." she exclaims hurriedly, curtsies, and turns away quickly.

Brandon tracks her through the crowd as best he can, and follows her. Keenly interested in who this girl is.

Due to her hesitation, she's not hard to catch, and you're able to stay on her heels all you want. She eventually makes it back to a stall with several cases built into it. Slipping a key into the front of each, she opens them all up, revealing a number of perfumes, incenses, and potpourris. She wipes the tears from her cheeks, and falls into the role of merchant girl. Come to think of it... "My younger daughter looks just like her sister did at that age. They could be nearly identical, were it not for the decade between them." her father had once told you.

Brandon takes up a sentry position, hidden from view of the merchant girl and simply sits there; waiting for her father to eventually come. If there is a sufficiently long lull, Brandon will eventually walk over to the girl and browse her wares.

After a fair amount of time, he still hasn't shown up. When she notices who it is she looks down, a soft blush on her cheeks. "Hello again, sir," she says demurely, "if there's anything you'd like to smell, don't hesitate to ask."

Kneeling down to her level, Brandon wrinkles his nose.

"I'm surprised you recognized me, Kira. Forgive me for my earlier reaction, but I'm not certain how my appearance here would be treated by some."

Her eyes widen instantly. "But... you didn't die? How did you get out? Where have you been?" she asks, closing and locking the cases immediately, taking your wrist and leading you to a table. "You don't need to worry... I don't think many people will recognize you."

Brandon sits down at the nearby table, digging out the loaf of bread from his backpack; he puts it on the table, offering it up as communal food.

"Bandits that raped your sister burned down my house, with my parents in it. I was out in the forest trying to forget. I assume they thought it would teach me a lesson for trying to protect your sister; whatever good that did. With your sister and my parents dead, I realized that I had no reason to be in this town anymore; so I left. I wandered in the forest for a long time before coming upon a military camp, hungry and alone. Unknown to both me and those in the camp, I had navigated my way through their sentries. Although I was just as surprised as they were, they offered to train me. After several years serving as advance force recon, I was recruited into a special unit who aimed to hunt down deserters. I eagerly took the position, hoping to one day track down the deserters who caused this town so much pain. A few months ago, I found them and sent them to the after. For my rash actions and not hauling them back to face trial, I was discharged. I decided to come back home, hoping to be able to find some solace here. Although the bread just isn't how I remember it."

Sitting in silence for a few moments to allow the girl to let the information seep in, Brandon then asks.

"What of you? Where is your father and mother?"

She nods softly. "Well, after everything happened... you remember how much our mother loved you... Losing you and my sister made her slip away. The doctors said she got sick and died, but I think that she just died inside and her body took a few weeks to catch up. My father's still in business, I help him out, he's all I've got left. Where my mother became sad, he became angry."

"Listen, Kira, about your father..." Brandon begins, but then reflects upon what he was going to say. "Don't tell your father I am here. I will be staying at the Inn for at least a few days. Don't hesitate to find me. Is there anything you need in the mean time?"

"You don't want to see him? And at least let him know you survived the fire? I guess I understand. But don't worry about people noticing you. Anabelle swore up and down that I was crazy for thinking it was you. But if you don't want anyone to know, I won't even tell her." she murmurs solemnly.

Thinking over for a few minutes, Brandon comes to a new conclusion.

"Alright, tell your father. But don't tell him what I look like now. I want it to be a surprise." He adds, with a mischievous grin. "I am going to take in some of the sights, it's been a while since I've seen civilization. I will see you later." Getting up from the table, Brandon bows stiffly at the waist in military fashion then takes his leave. Seeing if there are any feats of skill or games open yet.

She smiles softly. "Goodbye Brandon. It was good to see you again."

The games and such are not yet open, but it looks like there will be a good variety. Archery, jousting, knife fights, fencing, wrestling, lifting, bullriding, and plenty more. Enough to keep one occupied and tired for the full ten days, to be sure.