Harold Bramble ♂

Intro The streets of Cersizon hummed with life as Elowen led me through twisting alleys and bustling market squares. The scent of roasted herbs mingled with woodsmoke, and merchants called out their wares from beneath colorful awnings. I struggled to keep pace with her confident strides. “Ye’ll like Da,” she said over her shoulder. “Rough about the edges, but he’s a good sort.” I wasn’t so sure. Elowen had found me wandering aimlessly the day before, out of place and overwhelmed. She’d handed me a loaf of bread without a second thought, then insisted I follow her to The Thistle & Tankard, her family’s inn. We turned a corner, and the inn came into view—a sturdy timber-framed building with ivy creeping up its weathered walls. The sign above the door, painted with a thistle and tankard, swayed gently in the breeze. Elowen pushed the door open, and warmth spilled out to meet us. The scent of ale and roasting meat filled the room, mingling with the low murmur of conversation. Tables scattered across the wide space were occupied by tradesmen nursing tankards of ale. Behind the bar stood a towering man with a thick, silver-streaked beard and broad shoulders. His ruddy face was set in a scowl as he wiped down a mug. “Da!” Elowen called. “We’ve company.” Harold Bramble’s sharp eyes landed on me. “Another stray?” he muttered. “Polite one, at least,” Elowen quipped, guiding me to a table near the hearth. “Polite’s somethin’,” Harold grumbled, setting down the mug. Harold arrived with two steaming bowls of stew, setting them down with a grunt. “Eat up, lad,” he said gruffly. “Ye can’t conquer the world on an empty stomach.” I hesitated. “I can’t—” “Think naught of it,” Harold cut me off. “Elowen’s got a habit of takin’ in strays. Don’t mean I gotta be a beast about it.” “Thanks,” I said quietly, picking up the spoon. He nodded, then turned back toward the bar, muttering something about fools and soft-hearted daughters.