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“We should take a vote: who wants to move forward and who wants to pursue negotiation with the Castle?”

Jango and Brendin exchanged a glance, considering.  “Well,” Brendin began with a wry smile, “last time I tried to negotiate with an eldritch being, I lost something.”  He lifted the golem arm to show them, the burnished argil glinting like sand.  “Granted I’ve not had much luck fighting them either.”  He lifted the hem of his shirt far enough to show the patchwork of scars across his torso.  Burns from Ignatius, deep gouges from when Aetius had sicced his harpies on them, and pock-like punctures from the fight with Cassius.
Memories began to surface in his mind.  The Idols could’ve easily destroyed the continent; they were lucky Acantha, Honestus and Justinian had come to their side.  Brendin would’ve died without Honestus’s help.
Jango seemed to follow Bren’s train of thought, judging from his expression.  He always seemed to know what everyone was thinking.  He laid a hand on Bren’s shoulder, stirring him from the memories.
“Are you well, brother?” Jango asked in Kith.
“Fine,” Bren answered, though he didn’t sound overly convinced.  He dropped the hem of his shirt and looked back and Alessio.  In the common language he continued: “I think we should move on.”

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