wyndomkind:
morning, a marketplace in the merdociara, catelia ( @belxofdeljor. )
He’s doing something of a supplies run, restocking what they carry to prepare for the inevitable departure. The city itself is nice enough, and there’s plenty of work for both of them to be able to get by, although perhaps not the sort of work he thinks he’s best used for. But it’s much too warm, the air oppressively heavy even with the breeze from the canals and oceans surrounding them, and he’s been trying not to complain about it, but, well, even he doesn’t have that sort of willpower at all times.
(There’s a joke in there somewhere, at the top of his mind, about extending the stay despite the discomfort, rejoining the political world, joining the assassins but stealth on dry land, on uniced land has never been a strong suit of his, and he’s heard the way Ezek’s joints crack, never mind his own.)
There isn’t much he needs, anyway, something he had only realized once the luxuries he had lived with were gone, luxuries he hadn’t realized were anything of that sort, even his former ship feeling homely compared to the fortresses of Bleaklow. But what he does need is organization. Structure. And those are two things that their lives have been lacking in any real sense, despite his attempts at keeping to the same sort of schedule he had lived for the past thirty odd years of his life in the navy. They’re always in search of something useful nowadays, as much as enough coin to stay comfortable, so Wyndom can’t help but eavesdrop when he hears someone talking about a group of adventurers. He waits until the woman is alone again, before cutting in, slipping easily into the sort of authoritative charm that won diplomatic battles.
“My apologies for intruding, but I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation,” he offers, although he isn’t particularly sorry, just interested. Hat removed for good measure, for respect. “This group the other mentioned, it isn’t Catelian, is it?”
.
Meeting Vashka in Catelia was a surprise. A nice one, yet not one Bel expected when she made her way to this terrible city. Yet whatever deity or luck or destiny had guided her this way - the spirits, perhaps? They always knew better than she did anyways -, had changed the course of her journey for the best. The King’s Gambit was a rambunctious name for a ragtag group of assassins and outcasts, yet it was her ticket to safe travels, a warm meal, some easy tal and some company while she sought what she was after. Hells, she might even enlist them to help her fight for her home.
It was.... an interesting offer, but one she wasn’t sure she could accept. What if they drove her away from her goal? What if they sailed to far off lands, too far for her people to move to? What if they were allied to the Lord who wanted to take her home away from her? What if she got killed, trying to help them? What would her family do then? She thought, and she listened to Vashka and she smiled with the warmth that filled her heart at the sight of an old friend... but she waited until he walked away to let out a long, tired sigh, slumping back in her chair.
Her thoughts and insecurities, however, were quickly interrupted by a man in decent clothes, with an air of authority and power around him. A... genasi? Not like any she had seen before, that was for sure. Curious, she turned towards him yet she kept her face blank, not quite trusting of him just yet. She knew better to trust those who had power in their hands. Diplomats and nobles were all the same.
“There’s a lot of noise in the market, sir. You must’ve been curious about what my friend and I were talking about,” she sassed at him, grinning cheekily as she crossed her arms over her chest. “The King’s Gambit, you mean? No, it is not. I do not know much of its origins, honestly. I was just asked to join in. Why? Do you have business with them? A blood feud? A duel to the death?”
