Spelbar limps along grumpily alongside his companions for a short while before excusing himself to a secluded alley to relieve himself.
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Spelbar hangs towards the back of the group as they enter the Court. He shoots the children stern looks. 'Let's just gather up the biggun and be on our way.'
'Sounds best. We may need the kid's muscle to get the woman through the streets safely.'
'I could take a pass at a get up for her. I had a bit of a hand with make up and costumes when I guarded an acting troupe. Their costuner couldn't hold his drink and I was usually in the wagon with him when it got the better of him. Director blamed me for it every time.' Spelbar speaks wistfully about his time with the troupe.
Spelbar grunts as he returns from his thoughs. 'Never was one for the theater.'
Spelbar falls in with his companions. 'Let me think on her a while' He wheezes and then falls silent for a bit as he ponders the name.
Spelbar grumbles angrily as he maneuvers around guardsmen and citizenry through the crowd. He huffs crankily up to Machaera. 'What was that all about? Guard out rounding up the youth? About time if you ask me.' He practically shouts.
After a short while, a familiar limping soldier of fortune makes his way out of the alleyway. He stops to squint up at the sky and rub his lower back before turning and walking towards Zellara's former residence.
Spelbar takes his leave, hobbling into the darkened city. A safe distance away, the old man turns into an alleyway. He stops behind a stack of crates to catch his breath and he begins rummaging in his pack.
'Glad to be of service' Spelbar flashes a smile of blackened teeth to the marshal before collecting their payment.
Spelbar Chunt, ill-tempered veteran of many campaigns. He adds to Yanis' explanation for their presence so late at night 'Master Orsini sent us on an urgent errand'
The old man hobbles his way into the city before slipping down an alleyway. A similar veteran can be seen shortly leaping nimbly from rooftop to rooftop, making excellent time toward a certain Midland gunsmith's.
The Merlin fails to stifle a yawn as the night's activities catch up with him. 'I suggest we get some rest before pressing on. Shall we meet in the usual place tomorrow to plan?'
A young, strong voice emits from Spelbar's bent form. 'What time of day could we expect the fewest people in the building. The fewer addicts we need to contend with, the better.' I suppose I don't need the charade in front of this one.
Spelbar keeps his eyes sharply locked on the man as he speaks. Studying not only the man, but his words.
Spelbar turns a sharp eye to the man at the mention of his alter ego. Clever or lucky, if a man this far removed from Midland can see through my disguises I'll need to abandon them. Spelbar tries to gauge the older man's intentions.
The old mercenary continues to huff and puff, his mood not improved by the time the group has reached the Citadel. He gives the guards a weary nod as he tries to catch his breath. He lags behind the main group, favoring his limping leg. 'Think I'm going to have to ride the cart back. Must be rain coming.' He says to the doctor when they've assembeled before the adjutant.
'Might make the panic tearing the city apart worse Spelbar shurgs and continues limping along.
Spelbar Chunt exits the alleyway next to a Midlands gunsmith's. Unknown to most to be the secret lair of The Black Merlin, defender of the city. The old man walks with a spryness not typical for one of his age and wear. He makes his way Northwest at a steady clip. The old man spots a procession of adventurers transporting a cart and steers towards them. As he draws near, his gait changes drastically, taking on a pained limp and he gulps air deeply as he moves. 'Scum, taking up my ride.' Spelbar raps the side of the cart with the flat of his sword.
'Tonight works for me as well as any other. I'll need to go see a man about a bird first, but I could meet at Jeggare Museum around dusk'
'Though, if we decide to wait, waiting until tomorrow night might be the best idea. Get half of 'em while they're sleeping. Mopped up a tribe of bugbears like that back in '99' Spelbar suggests.
'Deserters are scum' The elderly soldier nearly spits on the clean-swept floor but stops himself short of the saliva leaving his mouth. 'Anything you can tell us about Venkmanerian and who's holed up with him?'
Spelbar cocks an eye at Cressida 'What kind of work do you need done?'
The usually rambly old man falls near silent as he falls in behind the guards. I should have stopped to grab my pistols. Let's just hope this isn't some strange trap. He limps along with his ears perked and his eyes taking in everything.
'Well, usually, someone with their last name did something very special. Now, we pamper their bloodline in the hopes that their children, and their children and so on, will do something special. They often don't, sometimes they do. I suppose it's a lot like the rest of us...' The old man rattles on and on about meandering topics until he runs out of breath.
I'll volunteer to be one of the other 291ers. Most of my coming purchases are such that 1 gold isn't going to matter much.
Spelbar totters over to the circle forming away from the guards. 'We'd draw far less attention to ourselves if we made our way to the citadel without an escort. So far we've made our way around the city without too much difficulty and I'd imagine it's safer outside the walls than in right now. While I don't suspect foul play here, I'd hate to hitch our cart to the wrong horse in a way that would be difficult to back out of.' As Spelbar becomes sure he's not being overheard, his voice changes timber and takes on a distinctly Merlin-esque quality.
Spelbar huffs and puffs his way through the castle, leaning against various pieces of architecture when time allows. 'You walk this...' Spellbar wheezes 'every day? Maybe in my younger days.' He says to Sabina as much as himself. The elderly warrior breathes heavily through the long list of titles and tries all he might to get his lungs back under him. He manages some small amount of dignity before the call to pay the Queen her due deference is issued. Spelbar's bow starts well enough but he begins to lose his balance and is forced to catch himself on his knees. He offers the Queen a tired smile as an apology. 'Ma'am'
Spelbar hands over his sword somewhat reluctantly. 'Don't lose her now, boy. Take me awhile to earn up the coin to buy a new one of the same quality. Not all of us were able to secure cushy government employ.'
'I thought my old ears were bad, SPEL-BAR CHUUUUUUUNT!' Spelbar leans in and shouts his name to the guard.
As Machaera digs through her pouch looking for the brooch, Spelbar catches the eye of the oldest appearing guard. 'You looks familiar, did you serve with the Mercenary League irregulars during the Goblinblood wars? Spelbar Chunt, I served under General Issimo with the 4th. We sure drove those savage bastards back into the woods.' Spelbar approaches the guard on uneasy legs as he speaks.
Spelbar stoops to rub at his aching knees, breathing deeply. His years of wearing heavier armors showing plainly on his deteriorated body. He squints up at the castle and then around the group. 'No use in gawking. It ain't the first time you've been by the castle, is it?' With a sigh he begins the final approach to Castle Korvosa.
After greeting the other early arrivals, Spelbar gathers a few of the Court members around and tells the children a few stories of foreign campaigns for diabolical Thrune paymasters and jobs with osiriani death worshipers. He also includes second-hand tales of two bird masked defenders of the people, striking from the shadows. This story is the most exciting, with the clearest heroes and villains.
'Ah, no, no, I had my annual... what was it? 3 Months ago. I should be fine for another 9.' Spelbar grins broadly, showing an array of blacked out teeth.
An elderly mercenary arrives at the gates early and awaits the rest of the group. He approaches the strangers warmly, as one would greet old friends. 'I showed up early! I was worried my old knees wouldn't get me here on time. Dealing with those dock scum must have been good for my arthritis!' Here's hoping they have the sense to realize who I might be. |