Chasing Whispers

The locket was an uncharacteristically mundane thing. It had passed hands many times in its life; when it was first smithed at the Blackpool, carved from dredged mineral beneath the lagoon and bathed in the ichor of briga past, the jeweler of House Brenner had pocketed it during the christening until it had been fit to hand to Alan Brenner himself, head of his House and the fifth of his line. From there, it moved from Brenner to his advisors. When their inspections of the stained Name had been committed to memory, the amulet was turned over to the court sage. Enchantments to prevent tampering and theft were placed upon the jewelry, then, and when these incantations were found to be suitable enough in their deterrence— often held up to the briga in question to judge their reaction and placed upon their skin to induce fits— the amulet would make its way, finally, to the House trove within the center of the estate. It was here that the amulet lay for many years, undisturbed and very rarely retrieved for use by Alan Brenner or some other high-ranking official of the House.

There were many lockets like the one Duvlas held, each with a different Name stained upon its face. Like sheltered kin, they had each occupied the same cabinet in the same trove of the same House, each amulet a chain. The center of the household, tightly guarded as it was, soon functioned less and less like a vault as a result; instead, it became the heart of House Brenner, the proverbial hand which gripped the leashes of their briga with steeled grip and unwavering ruthlessness. In all his time as captain of the guard for his House, he had never set foot within the vault of the Brenner Estate.

Until the night he had taken her Name.

The amulet had seen many hands in its years within House Brenner, but it had ultimately fallen to Duvlas as its current, and final, owner. He often thought about the trials this seemingly unimportant fetish had endured— how lovingly it flirted with disappearance, burial, or theft. Such a simple object to be lost, and yet he guarded it with his life. Like all jewelry, its true importance was not in its construction or material, but the meaning placed upon it. Meaning that Duvlas wished to tear from its face and smear upon the earth as a final act of defiance against those who had come before him.

He returned the trinket to his neck, allowing it to fall neatly beneath the breastplate of his armor and disappear without so much as a sound.

”You mistake our intentions with these fellows you speak of.” The Knight of the Loch stated, observing the bard’s hitherto uncharacteristic ire. ”Or, at the very least, mine. We are aware of the danger that this discussion brings. We have dealt with all manner of grifters and charlatans on our journey to this point. There is a reason that word has not traveled far when these situations arose.”

Duvlas left the subject at that.