The hollow tightens around Wolfie. Leaves on the rim stiffen and point inward, and the violet dome over the roots thins to a wavering skin.
The Watcher drops low in the branches, antlers cutting the dark. Its hand lifts for the final strike.
A voice cuts through the trees. Bram steps from the darkness, bruised and limping, rusted iron blade in both hands.
Bram
Back off. This one is mine, and you are not taking him tonight.
The blade gives off a harsh hum, answering the star-silk cushion. The Watcher freezes, head tilting toward Bram like it has heard a bell in a tomb.
The Watcher
That iron... you should not be here.
Bram
Neither should you. Move, or I cut the path open.
For one strained breath, hunter and hunter-holder stare each other down in the broken light.
+ Scene Quest Added
Escape the Watcher’s hollow
“*His eyes narrow at the man, he looks like a man out of time, greaser haircut, clothes that look like he belongs in an Indiana Jones movie, and two rusted swords that look older than either of you* (Assume he's a time traveler, a threshold walker like you, one that for some reason has deigned to protect you, fascinating)”
SUCCESS (Superb Perception, rolled -1)
Wolfie studies Bram in the crackling violet light. The bruises, the odd cut of his clothes, the battered ease with the blade all click into place at once. He looks less like a woodsman and more like a traveler stranded between years.
Wolfie
Not from here. Threshold walker, maybe.
Bram shifts his grip, and Wolfie catches the detail he needed, two rusted swords, one at his hip and one slung awkwardly behind his back, both older than the man carrying them.
The Watcher’s head turns a fraction, wary now of Bram more than Wolfie, as if the iron in those blades has named him.
Bram
Keep still, Wolfie. I know what this thing is now, and I know why it wants you.
The Watcher
You understand too little. Step away from the roots.
The dome shivers thin as glass, and the hollow seems to wait on Wolfie’s next move.
“Who are these fuckin' people, why does everyone keep watching me, jeeze *Leave*”
SUCCESS (Legendary Willpower, rolled +0)
Wolfie straightens just enough to make his point. The hollow goes quiet around him, even the leaves seeming to listen.
Wolfie
Who are you people. And why does everyone keep watching me. I’m leaving.
Bram
Bram. I found the blade, and the blade found trouble. That is usually enough to put a name to a man.
The Watcher
I am called The Watcher. I keep the roots closed, until iron and fools start knocking.
Bram’s mouth twitches, not quite a smile. The Watcher lowers their hands, the guarded edge easing by a single breath.
Bram
You can go. But if you walk out blind, the woods will answer for me instead of you.
The Watcher
And if you stay, Wolfie, I tell you what the iron wakes in this place.
The violet light thins, but it does not fail. For a moment, both of them wait on Wolfie, as if his answer matters more than the hollow itself.
“*But who are you though and could you stop fighting with each other for like, five seconds?”
SUCCESS (Mediocre Persuasion, rolled +0)
Wolfie
You two can stop circling each other for five seconds. And one of you can tell me who you actually are.
The hollow holds its breath. Bram lowers the iron blade a handspan, and The Watcher stops bracing against the bark.
Bram
I am Bram, and I am trying to leave this woods alive with my head still attached.
The Watcher
And I am The Watcher, guardian of the root hollow. I do not hunt for sport, but iron has made this place uneasy.
Bram gives a short, grudging nod toward Wolfie, then angles the blade away from both of them. The violet light steadies by a shade.
Bram
If you want the honest path out, stay close to the old roots. The woods turn strangers around.
The Watcher
And if you truly mean to go, say so plainly. I would rather open the way than test that iron again.
“There, isn't that nice? You know, most conflicts can be avoided with just a LITTLE understanding. *He wanders past them, calm, a lil sleepy, pillow in hand*”
SUCCESS (Great Agility, rolled +2)