From where Zell first posted up, leaning against the wall in the war room, he'd quickly adjusted himself. Just one step backwards meant that the lamp light that illuminated him, stopped at his chin. Now shadow covered his face. It wasn't in his nature to be so unsociable in a large group, like some Emo hanging onto the edge of a party. No - Zell was always one to steal spotlight, dead center of the action, all eyes on him. But this was no party. This was business. And in business, Zell could be a cunning bastard when he needed to be.
Green eyes constantly darted around the room, trying to catch every expression as his ears caught every word. He didn't know any of these people, but he sure did learn a lot from this first meeting.
The so-called Mayor of the City was a little pussy. That much was clear. The Academy and The Church ran Valhiem. Maybe things were different when the stakes were lower, but Zell doubted it. Zell struck him off the list as a man of importance.
The Ambassador. If Zell recalled from random passive memories, an Ambassador usually wasn't from the place he was doing his job. He was like a representive of some sort.
Might be worth checking into, Zell had thought.
At least he's not a little pussy.Of the ones who did all the talking, Areleth was like some kinda fucking Pope
(not a chance of meshing well with that one,) Clarissa was one of them weirdo-geniuses you'd see at Uni who...
who's brains were just wired a different way, Zell put it to himself. He'd used people like that before, but not ones who had all the power. And power (in the form of popularity and influence) was all that Zell could bring to the table, of value, when negotiating anything with one of them types, (because he certainly wouldn't be valued for his intellect.) Lucy would've been perfect if he'd not fucked up his relationship with her, after fighting in her establishment
(Ell-Oh-Ell, what a night.) Commander Thorn was the obvious winner. Getting close to him would be worthwhile, but Zell somehow doubted an army man was in at the highest levels of the political 'in-groups' of Mytheria. Thorn was a must, though, if nothing else but to slake this new thirst Zell's 'Fighter Class' knowledge had put in him - a desire to understand the full picture when it came to tactical and strategic military warfare as it related to this current battle and the continental war in general. And the other winner was a gut feeling;
The Ambassador. Whatever foreign power he was representing, the man had an air of strength and respect, and his position would mean his perspective was from altitude.
Commander Thorn and The Ambassador. They were the men of interest for Zell Brooks.
Watching the meeting with such a discerning eye didn't just tell him things about the strangers though. It would seem that some of his own friends would pass (and fail) some tests of their own. The most notable of these was James, though. Turns out that James' command of conversation, negotiation and leadership was even better than Zell had given him credit for (and Zell had given James a lot of credit already.) James knew how to impose his will on a situation, and he did so skillfully.
Force, without effort, Zell acknowledged.
Aggressive, without caveman chest-beating or even raising his voice. The Mexicano's talent knew no bounds.
As for anything else of note, from a coldly calculating analysis of the meeting, nothing suprised the Englishman much.
...
Zell was straight out of the door at the end of the meeting, right behind Lucy and even passing her to go out into the square and wait for everyone to sew up their dealings at the meeting, without him. He had nothing to hand over the Academics and he certainly wasn't about to linger long enough for anyone to get a good look at The Black Sword. And anyway, he wanted to use the spare time for his own ends.
"Soldier," he greeted as he approached a man in gilded armour in the street. The gruff man who was stood around for some purpose, eyed Zell suspiciously. "Captain Brooks," Zell decided introducing himself in a way that mimmicked Commander Thorn's cadence and mannerisms would give the right impression and make the soldier more comfortable. It seemed to work. He also flashed his Source Crystal for extra effect.
"Sergeant Major Gorgrim," the half-orc saluted sharply. Zell had no idea what ranks were what, but judging by the reaction, Captain was above Sergeant Major.
Bingo.Zell saluted back. "At ease, my good man. Just wanted to bend your ear a bit," Zell responded. "All this waiting around has got my sword arm itchy. How goes the night?" He got a simple and formal response, but Zell needed the man to relax if he was going to get any information. "Weather seems a bit weird. It's raining fiery explosions. Wouldn't be my first choice but I'll take it." Gorgrim gave a grunt, which Zell presumed was one of the better reactions he could get from a half-orc army man. "I just got out of the War Room with Commander Thorn and those paper-pushing politicians. Honestly, it's like pulling teeth getting a straight word outta non-military folk. Especially the Admin. Talk about; a stick up the arse."
They talked abit and Zell probed for as much information as he could until everyone in Second Chance was outside and ready to go. He wasn't looking for anything specific, but pushed his luck when it came to blowing his cover, trying to get a good idea of the basic layout of Chain-of-Command, what orders had been coming down it since Valhiem was besieged, the overall feeling amongst the rank-and-file, and anything else that might help Second Chance in the way of intel.
@xenon...
Walking into The Adventurer's Guild was tense. At his side, was tension from Lucy. In front, tension from the barman
and the party Zell and James had fist-fought with. Just behind him was what felt like palpable tension in the form of MacKensie Trydant. Mentally, Zell was laughing his ass off, but his face remained relaxed and unbothered - to send a message to all in the Guildhouse.
The Aurok Slaying Bronze Tiers do not give a flying fuck what any of you think. Do something about it. And that's how his face remained, that is, until they hit the stairs and he shared a glance with MacKensie. He gave the woman a cheeky wink and his trademark grin, then went up the stairs ahead of her.
His entire mood quickly changed though, when the prospect of the Source Comm drew near. The rank, the money... all of it faded into complete unimportantant white-noise, as he waited for the promise of Source Comm access to be fulfilled. It felt like the formalities were taking forever. He was bursting for that message. So long he'd held it together - like needing the lavatory and then as soon you're close enough to smell the toilet, you can barely contain yourself. But, in the end, Lucy delivered. What came next was a potent mix of concerning, interesting and incredibly frustrating... to name a few things.
Where to start?
Why not at the most important person in the room, right now.
Zell's eyes immediately went from the Source Comm mail to Fenna, glimpsed her reaction and managed to drag his attention away to a random bookshelf. It felt rude to stare.
Fenna, as far as Zell knew, was the only one here who hadn't died on Earth. And she was the only one who was a parent. What might this woman be thinking, right now?
What would I be thinking right now, if I was her? An outright promise to be sent home. An accusation that they had been stolen from Earth - mind, body and soul. The Dutchwoman must've been going through the damn wringer, emotionally, reading all that.
No one else even mattered, in this moment, to Zell. Not his best friend. Not the girl of his dreams. Not his other comrades who he'd gone through so much with, grown so close to. Every one of them had to know that The fucking Quinity could not have been responsible for their deaths, even if Source Magic was part of the selection process for this Summoning. Zell's best guess was that if he was sent home, he'd be fast-tracked to whatever
Afterlife existed in Earth's Universe (if there even was one.) But Fenna... she could possibly be
reunited with her children.
Zell stepped through the group to stand next the Ranger and gave her pat and rub on the shoulder. He respected her too much to do nothing. As the eldest and wisest of them all, he'd been sharp enough to keep his daft antics at a modest distance from her, and stayed relatively well behaved in her presence. Purely out of respect. What words could a loudmouth, hedonistic young man have for a woman who, quite probably, had been kidnapped and stolen across universes from her family? No words; was the correct answer. And so, a show of silent support was all he could offer in the initial shock of it all.
He let someone else talk first. He'd only say something stupid, which normally wouldn't be a problem in the slightest, but concern for Fenna had overshadowed everything. Even his own thoughts on The Witch Queen - the fact he didn't necessarily disblieve the claim that she'd been conned out of the throne. Shit like that must happen and have happened on Earth plenty of times.
(But, I mean; fuck - right or wrong - she's using some fucking dirty tricks to get her way, to put it lightly.)He paced slowly around the mezzanine for a few moments. If anyone spoke, he listened, but it wasn't long before he did think of something to say to Fenna, so he went to the Dutchwoman. "Fancy that beer, mate?"
And so, Zell found himself at the bar, ordering a pint from the tap, gladly buying a drink for whoever appeared next to him.
If it was Fenna: "We'll get you home, mate. To hell and back first, if we must, but you
are going home."
To anyone else: "Fuck me, what a day this has been."
Wraiths, cults, ninjas, Devils, dino-fucking-cavalry... Mytheria just didn't let up.