Re: Arcanist & AP Arrival
Brennan was a summer baby. In the most technical sense of the word, Brennan’s birthday did not fall within the actual season of summer itself, but few could deny that the entire month of June was considered part of summer by proxy, if not by calendar date dictation. Because of that fact, it may have stood to reason that Brennan should have been comfortable in the heat of the season of his birth. That assumption was entirely, utterly incorrect. Brennan detested the heat. Summer was his least favorite season, and he would regularly seek refuge from any situation that was higher than 90 degrees.
Knowing that, any person with half a brain may have inquired why Brennan Lark decided to assist in the task that brought a party of arcanists and their protectors to Nevada. To a desert. To a desert that was named Death Valley.
Complete and utter insanity may have seemed like the most logical choice. Apparently, Brennan had lost is mind. Or, perhaps the fact that the Joshua Tree was amongst his father’s most favorite albums of all time had something to do with it. Those were two options, and there were numerous other answers… but the real reason was because he felt like he needed to do something that could help everyone. Brennan had spent far too long attempting to use his abilities to help lead them to their parents, and his results were non-existent. That was not an overestimation. It was the truth, plain and simple. And, despite the fact that he had people in his life who were trying to support him, tell him that it was okay, he desperately wanted to feel like he had some value. If that meant that he had to step into what was apparently the doorway to Satan’s foul realm… well, that’s what it meant.
He was sweating. Not surprising, given the blazing heat, and his face was a noticeably different color than it normally was. None of that was unusual. Brennan wasn’t the only one suffering from the effects of the sun and the trip. Nevada had never been high on the list of places that Brennan wanted to go, and, for obvious reasons, the stock of the state was going down with each step.
Tired, dehydrated, overheated, nervous… scared… just some of the emotions that were going through him in that moment. Some of them were easy to see. Others, easy to understand. One of those easy to understand ones? Discomfort. Mine shafts weren’t exactly comfortable for people who clocked in at slightly under six and a half feet tall. His powers, clearly, had failed him again in not forewarning him of that particular tidbit.
Brennan had been quiet, for the most part, during their trek. Talking only made him more thirsty, caused his mouth to be more parched, and none of that was particularly enjoyable. His hand touched the wall that he was walking close by. It was warm, but not nearly as heated as the stagnant air around him. In some ways, the touch of the stone was almost pleasant when compared to the proverbial inferno he and his companions were wafting through.
Without warning, Brennan stopped walking. Other than the lack of movement, there was no other clue that anything about him had changed. He saw a vision. An event in the past. Figures, denoting what path to use. But the images were clouded. Brennan could see through the haze, but not entirely. “Someone… more than one person… they put something somewhere. A hint. Above the door. I don’t know which door… but I can see something…” visions had never really been Brennan’s strong suite amongst the cacophony of Lark abilities. He hoped that his vision, cloudy though it was, would be enough to convince the others that he was speaking the truth.