>>6316405>Somewhere, in a bar in Morfis.Cuthbert stared down at the drink the bartender had just placed before him. He’d told the man to surprise him, so he couldn’t be too upset at the outcome. Supposedly, this was a mixture of rum, juices from some sort of desert fruit, and a healthy serving of ice, topped off with a fanciful little flower. He’d been seeking a dark, moody bar to brood in while the Competition got underway, but even the seediest establishments of Morfis were a notch above the finest taverns one could find in the wealthy districts of Enbarr. It wasn’t the drink itself that was annoying Cuthbert. He actually found it to be quite refreshing. It was the color. Red. A reminder of the predicament he was now in.
Cuthbert took another sip from the drink, the ice playing at his lips. To think that Elric’s fate was now resting in the hands of an immature and quick-tempered man like Tristain d’Rusalka was too much. How did things get to this point, he wondered. There were many opportunities to have stopped Elric. The boy played at being strong-willed, but Cuthbert knew he could have put an end to it at any moment. Perhaps when the first missive from Morfis had arrived to Boramus. Or when Elric had been seeking passage aboard a sea-faring vessel. Or even when things had gone south in Solis, and the intervention of Tristain was necessary to see things concluded in a half-decent manner. Cuthbert had wanted Elric to learn from his mistakes rather than be coddled out of them. To understand not just his limits, but his strengths. Unfortunately, he’d acquired a whole new set of strengths. Ones that Cuthbert didn’t like quite as much as the scholarly ones.
“So, who do you think’s gonna be king?” Cuthbert overhears from a nearby table. A pair of what passes for bar vagrants in this city were having a spirited conversation regarding the competition, which was now concluding its first day. Apparently, losers had already started trickling back to the city. Given that neither Tristain nor Elric were amongst them, Cuthbert figured they’d yet to meet.
“I hope it’s that one woman. Leonora Gloucester I think her name was?” The man’s friend answers. “Quite the looker that one. Wouldn’t mine a beauty like that in charge, eh?”
“Bah, we already have a woman as a leader and look where that’s gotten us.” The other man answers. “For me, it’s Trystain De’Roosalka.”
“Who?”
“A giant beast of a man! I saw this guy a few weeks ago during a visit to Shangri-La.”
“Cheating on your wife again?”
“Not important. The point is, I’d never seen anyone like him. Remember that big fucking Terror we saw there years ago? This guy and his companions thrashed it! And then they took out that big shot foreigner that took over the place! If there’s someone stronger than him, I’d be shocked.”
Something about the conversation causes the old scar across Cuthbert’s eye to begin aching.
