"Surprise surprise. A Wander came to the call of those in need."
Those words rung through the thick, freezing air of the Misty Mountains, the encampment of Dwarves from the Bronze Fist regiment thickly covered with that blanket of white that would only be seen in these higher, colder climates. There was a busy rustle and talk throughought the camp, men shifting one thing to the next, those trying to keep flames alit to warm their bones and food, even just those that were able to crack out what little ale was still unfrozen in a slushy mixture into their worn and tatty tankards.
Basaran had barely made it before being called out like some sting in the air that wasn't being caused by the brittle winds that found their way through the spiderweb-like tracks of the tents around him. He knew that voice, but for reason to unbelieve, wouldn't say a word until that tall woman wandered between the mix of short statured Dwarves.
"Avion." Was all he could find to bite through the cold air before it found itself gushing down his throat and catching his breath off guard. A lift of his arm over his forhead to cease the sparkle of snowflakes clattering against his eyes. Cloaked to the neck, that woman would stand before Basaran, not much shorter than him, a bow strung around her body, the string clutching to her chest. There wasn't much to her face, very plain, very hard to read anything from her expression, long and straight near-white blonde hair whisping through the winds.
"They told me you had helped them earlier in the year. I never expected to see the only Wander to leave with my own eyes again." Her light voice would nearly be impossible to hear, were it not for the wind coursing her voice towards Basaran more than away. "Ditching us for a mercenary group. What did you even expect to come of that?" she would softly ask.
"Unless it's hard to understand, I'm sure Dirge and Pelagia told you, I don't remember enough of our 'adventures' before the accident. That enough, I wanted a new life, maybe it was an old one? I returned to Bree for everything other than leading a mercenary group. That just came with the settlement." He spoke slowly, his eyes squinting even moreso with the wind pursing through the valley they were settled in. There was an obvious attempts to cross arms behind the string of her bow, Avion staring at him with a brow quirked not unlike Basarans.
"Whatever way you want to put it, you still held the name. You're supposed to give that to someone, or someone takes it from you once your life has perished." She would retort, almost scolding, her hip butting against the side of her cloak in a little pout of complaint towards what was obviously a long, distant friend. "You know Gaius never forgave you."
As if it was a whistle for a dog, a rummaging poof of a noise appears from behind a few barrels. A young man appeared through the new shower of snow that flickered from hair that seemed to disobey logic more than Basaran's, wavy and tattered about. Large eyes oipened from their squint, staring over at the two before the man gave a long, wide grin.
"Basaran! It's been so long! What have you been doing?!" He would squeak out in a young toned excitement. He didn't even think to avoid the barrels, crumbling over them and stammering his way over to Basaran, hand outstretching from his own cloak to search Basaran's, finding his hand and shaking it about in an excited manner. Forgiveness or not, he looked happy to have seen him again.
For a small time, the three conversed. It was clear that these three had not seen each other in a long time, and those memories started to relive through Basaran in a nostalgic clutter. Between their conversation, Dwarves would begin to simmer and shift, another storm seemed to be coursing through the valley, harrowing, whails and whispers of a whistling wind beginning to pick up. Their talk would end abruptly, the need to find shelter needed before they could continue anymore of their tales. It was Gaius that ran off first, not before a clumsy salute towards Basaran.
Avion stared, a long stare before the snow began to take over her vision. There was a shake of her head, she was done for the time being, turning on her heels and leaving for her own tent.
"We will speak later. Maybe you'll earn your name back, at least in my mind, Devin." was her final, quiet echo through the storm, she was gone before Basaran could even comment. He wanted to fight that, he had held onto his name for years, not for someone to take that moment away with him with a single word. The storm had picked up, and it was less interest to find another fight than to seek shelter, find his own tent, and formulate a response to her words, something riddling him with frustration.
Maybe sleep would help him.
