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Chapter 39: Everyone's a Critic
🕑 Added 2025-03-07 01:05:17 +0000 UTCChapter 39: Everyone's a Critic
The musty smells of stale booze and old smoke hung in the air, the fumes long since suffused into the very fibers of the tavern's floorboards and walls. Clusters of patrons filled the wobbly benches and scarred tables as they chattered among themselves and nursed tankards of whatever drink was most recently on tap. The worst of the stains and scratches were difficult to distinguish beneath the flickering light of a few dim lamps hanging overhead.
Even with the heights he'd climbed to, Marcus had a soft spot for the common tavern. Back when he was a court bard playing for the king, every couple of months, he would sneak out and have a night in the town where he dusted off the songs and shanties deemed too improper for high court. They were fond memories all—nights where he made almost no money, but became rich with drink.
Bars, taverns, inns, and pubs—despite the subtle differences, they all could be lumped more or less together as part of the same group. They were some of his favorite and most frequented places in the world, yet simultaneously some of the worst. There was nowhere better for any bard seeking attention, craving the high of patrons hanging on their every word or roaring along to a song as they pounded back ales. If it was a good crowd, of course. Some simply couldn't appreciate a good performance if it were blasted directly into their ears with a full-force [Charm] backing it up.
Of course, Marcus didn't entirely mind places like that either. It was usually just a different kind of crowd, a simpler one. They often just wanted someone who could carry a tune and sing lewd songs. But considering his appetite for showmanship, he found it best to limit his presence in such establishments to small doses, so as not to overwhelm the patrons.
But this particular bar that he found himself in was actually one of the worst types. It wasn't just that they couldn't appreciate a good performance. They didn't even want a performance. If [Critical Reception] hadn't already clued him in to that fact, the annoyed looks occasionally thrown his way made it abundantly clear. Not a single person wanted to sing along to his songs or listen to even the most popular of tales. In the face of that, Marcus had been relegated to just strumming some pleasant melodies on his lute as background music while the tavern room bustled around him.
Part of him rankled at the sheer lack of appreciation. He was a level 21 bard—22 now, as composing the Legion's epic tale and collecting their stories had already earned him enough experience to earn him yet another level—with skills that punched well above his weight class. The chance to witness a performance from someone of his caliber was an opportunity that people in the capital would leap at, not to mention residents of a backwater town like Habersville. Here, he was practically a nobleman among peasants—in more ways than one.
But regardless, he stayed. He wasn't here simply to perform, after all. He had a different goal in mind.
Marcus passively scanned the room as he transitioned to his next tune, making note of the demeanors and dispositions of the patrons inside. In truth, there were other reasons for the frosty reception here. Most of the men who frequented this establishment were guards. Well, former guards. They'd all been stripped of that title and responsibility upon the Legion's arrival, deemed worthless and barred from even trying to join the invading forces because of their general incompetence. Not that he suspected many would have been interested in such a thing, but it just rubbed more salt in the wound.
That was insulting enough on its own. But being fired meant that none of these men had been paid in several weeks, leaving many in need of work or simply rueing their lots at the bar day and night. Not that they could even drown their sorrows particularly well. The town had yet to fully recover from six thousand men's appetite for drink. It meant that most of the tankards Marcus saw being nursed contained little more than incredibly watered down remnants of grain alcohol or what little the locals had managed to brew in the last few weeks. It was the final capstone on the enormous mound of dung these guards had found themselves faced with.
Given all that, it was no surprise that they didn't take too kindly to his presence. It was no secret that he'd thrown his lot in with the Legion and been working as a kind of liaison between them and the town. But the exact extent to which he supported them didn't seem to be entirely common knowledge. It meant that Marcus could perform here without being thrown out entirely, watching and listening to the muttered conversations that filled the air around him.
Those conversations were the real reason he was here. Myra had made it quite clear that these men were planning something devious, and he needed information on what. Several hours of talking to his usual contacts—the washerwoman, bartenders, and a few of the more gossipy shopkeepers—had led him here, to this bar. A most popular haunt among guardsmen, where they had often come after shifts to drink together.
Marcus transitioned into his next song—a rather popular number about a proud noble falling in love with a lady of the night. As it started up, he saw a few of the guardsmen shift with recognition. One even went so far as to perk up, tapping his foot at the jaunty tune as he turned to his buddy with a grin. The other guard simply scowled and gave him a sharp elbow. The first guard's face fell and he ducked sheepishly at the rebuke.
Marcus watched the man turn back to their table, tossing back whatever weak brews they'd been nursing.
Between Myra's story and the tidbits he'd picked up here, it sounded like the mayor had convinced all the guards to rise up in the Legion's absence. With the promise of support from the baron, they could close the gates, kick the conquering force out of their town, and hold it against a siege until reinforcements arrived. Surely the populace would support them in rebelling against their captors, and the town would be freed from the yoke of these cruel tyrants.
It was an entirely braindead plan. Never mind that the guards already tried and failed miserably to defend Habersville against the Legion once. Or that the Legion had only become stronger since they'd first come to this world. Or the fact that these "reinforcements" seemed to only exist as some nebulous promise by Mayor Blaufort on behalf of the baron. Even if all of those factors weren't enough, Marcus still would have called the plan borderline suicidal. He'd seen enough of the Legion in action to know exactly how much of a chance the local guards stood against a hundred of them, not to mention a few thousand.
Even if every single citizen of the town joined the rebellion, they would almost certainly still lose without the trained soldiers breaking a sweat. And that was forgetting that maybe a good quarter of the town's populace—almost other every single fighting-age man—had already been recruited or conscripted.
The whole thing struck Marcus as odd—too odd. Like he was missing something. Surely there had to be more. Perhaps there was some trump card that was being kept under wraps, something that actually stood a chance of turning the tide. The newly built wall couldn't be it. He had no doubts that even the improved defenses—ones that the Legion had built themselves, a fact that the guards seemed to conveniently ignore—would easily fall to an assault by the Legionnaires. Nor did he think that the guards had as much support among the citizenry as they seemed to think, based on rumors.
Perhaps they, too, were underestimating the level ones? Considering that the average guard here was only level seen, that seemed particularly foolhardy.
Hence why Marcus continued to sit here, strumming away as he listened to the guards talk. To find information. Perhaps more details that would tumble from loose lips, either about the plan itself or a clandestine meeting that would discuss it.
"...Think they can just come in here and…?"
"...You hear those claims they killed a boss? What bullshit…"
"...Any day now, the baron's men…"
He was quite confident that none of the men knew of his suspicions, as many had been rather stupidly discussing such matters in the open and well within earshot. Though his hearing was quite a bit better than the average person's. [Critical Reception] and his class let him pay very close attention to his audience. It was, after all, essential for a bard to know how to work a crowd. And how could one do that without understanding the feedback they provided?
Granted, the skill was meant to get a general gist of the room, but Marcus had learned how to flex it in certain ways that let him listen in on one particular conversation—or even multiple conversations at once. So he knew all about when and where they planned to spring themselves on the gate guards, close the gates, and then try to find and eliminate all the Legionnaires inside the city. He'd heard plenty about how they would have townspeople yelling their manifesto on street corners to drum up support and other nonsense. All this and more he'd take back to Gaius, who had been left in charge of the camp in Tiberius's absence.
It wasn't just that he wanted to help the Legion. They very likely didn't need it. It was also that Marcus didn't particularly want to see the complete slaughter that would result if the Habersville guards did follow through on their braindead plan. As moronic as the men were, they didn't deserve death—probably. Hopefully, he could stop this runaway carriage of bad ideas before it went careening straight off a cliff.
At minimum, he would make sure that his allegiances weren't questioned. If he failed to act on this knowledge, then all of his work to ingratiate himself toward the new local rulers would go up in smoke. He might be suspected as a traitor and have to move on once more. That was just unacceptable. There was too much to see here, too many interesting stories to tell still.
Marcus was just about satisfied with his investigation when the door to the bar opened and admitted a new patron. Only, it was someone that he recognized. The [Healer] from that adventuring party stepped inside, her dark eyes roving about the space. The rather prominent point of her nose and short, quick movements of her head made her rather resemble a curious bird—albeit a stressed one.
Out of curiosity, he scanned her with a quick [Appraisal]. Evidently, she'd managed to raise her level to eight already—a downright unbelievable pace, even at this stage. It was no doubt a benefit of the Legion's help. Unfortunately, the skill didn't allow him to judge skill levels the same way. Though he suspected that she may have been neglecting those like so many did.
Marcus couldn't help but grimace. It was one of his pet peeves. He liked leveling as much as anyone else—how else would he have made such great strides this far? But far too many people he'd met acted as though levels were the only thing, like the stats they gained were more valuable than improving one's skills. Sure, those stats did make skills more effective, but did they teach a person how to use them? Of course not.
He used to give that advice to people—specifically younger adventurers or those who hadn't leveled quite as much as he had. But he'd long since learned that it was not only unwelcome, but usually hated. Especially coming from a "mere entertainer" such as himself. Never mind the fact that his approach had earned him an epic skill and rare skill evolutions on par with people ten or twenty levels higher than him. Of course that didn't matter. What did he know?
Marcus was maybe a little bit bitter.
When the [Healer]'s eyes passed over him, she did a double-take. Then, they locked gazes, the woman clearly making more intentional eye contact. She took a half step toward him, then hesitated.
Marcus subtly inclined his head toward a booth in the corner. It didn't take a skill to see that she wanted to talk to him. Maybe she'd even been seeking him out? Why exactly, he wasn't sure. Either way, it would probably be worth a listen.
She followed his gaze and nodded slightly. To his relief and surprise, she showed a decent amount of discretion. She first approached the bartender to order a drink, taking her time before making her way toward the seat he'd indicated. For his part, Marcus allowed himself to bring his final song to a natural conclusion before doing anything else. After packing up his lute to a resounding lack of applause, he slung the instrument onto his shoulder and slipped off the stage.
Within moments of him leaving, the entire atmosphere of the bar relaxed slightly. The shift was clear enough that they might as well have cheered. It was enough for Marcus to grind his teeth in frustration. He could have put his entire arsenal to use and had even a crowd like this wrapped around his finger in moments. Quite easily, in fact. But that would have defeated the purpose of his being here. A completely enraptured audience tended to not talk quite so much.
Still, despite knowing that, the reception still frustrated him somewhat. He internally lambasted the buffoonish audience as he did his best to quietly make his way to the corner table. Marcus slid into the booth across from the [Healer], who looked up over a pint of untouched and watery ale. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to speak.
***
Eleonora seethed as she stomped through the streets of Habersville. Those idiots. Those fucking idiots were going to get everyone killed. It was obvious to anyone with eyes. And she was going to have no part of it.
She'd said as much to Jack, even if he hadn't listened. And Rudolph was too much of a spineless little wimp to back her up or even come with her. He hadn't even met her gaze when she'd tried to get him to leave. Traitor. She didn't need him. She didn't need either of them.
A small smirk played across her lips. The look on Jack's face as she'd left was one small consolation, given the current mess she was in. He really had been confident that a healer wouldn't risk going it alone. It was only the latest in a long line of her party leader's—no, former party leader's—lapses in judgement. Even if they hadn't officially dissolved their party via guild rules, she was done. The rest was just a formality now.
She shook her head in disbelief. What had she ever seen in those two?
Putting the matter aside for the moment, Eleonora returned her attention to her surroundings. She needed to find a Legion officer before something happened. Before this plan went into action, or before Jack or anyone else decided to silence her somehow. She had leverage. Maybe if she told them what she knew, they would spare her and give her safe passage home. Maybe even an escort. She would save them a lot of trouble, after all.
Unfortunately, she didn't know any of the Legion members particularly well. Even the ones that had been assisting them with leveling had kept a professional distance—not that she'd exactly tried to make friends with them, either. Even the ones whose names she knew were probably in the camp—where she likely wouldn't even be allowed without proper escort or reason—or out on whatever campaign the Legion had left for that morning.
No. As she thought more, she realized there was another option. There was one person she felt she could actually talk to. The bard. He had actually been rather reasonable and helpful when they were first questioned. He was a native of this place and clearly held some sway with the Legion.
It had only taken a bit of asking around to find out where he was: at the very bar she had been dragged to not an hour and a half ago. She poked her head inside and scanned the crowd, spotting him on stage. He locked eyes with her, subtly indicating a booth in the corner of the room.
Internally, she swore. The fact that he was already here, of all places, couldn't be a coincidence. It might mean he already knew something, especially if he also wanted to talk to her. But maybe he didn't. Maybe her plan could still work.
Stepping inside, she sighed in relief as she realized that Jack and Rudolph weren't there anymore, nor were any of the guards likely to recognize her. Not that anyone had particularly paid much attention to her—she had avoided making a scene in the meeting room. When she'd grabbed a drink and the bard finally joined her, she did her best to meet his eyes steadily, waiting for him to make the first move. But he just quirked an eyebrow.
She grimaced. He was going to make her start, wasn't he? That also wasn't good. Everyone knew that talking first in a negotiation wasn't ideal. But did she really have a choice?
"I have… information," she said, trying to remain intentionally vague.
"Everyone has information," the bard said lightly. His tone made it clear he wasn't taking her seriously. "Why, just today I've spoken to many, many people, each with some tidbit of information they want to share."
"I have information that's worth something," she whispered, perhaps a little more harshly than she intended.
"Oh, don't we all…" He chuckled, shaking his head. "How much would you say it's worth? And to who? Plenty of these men would pay good money to know where they could find a bottle of good wine right now, I'll tell you that much. But somehow I don't believe that's what you had in mind?"
Eleonora could feel her hands start to tremble. He really wasn't taking her seriously. No, that wasn't quite it. She could see something else there, beneath the gleam of amusement in his eye. He was being intentionally obtuse. He was going to force her to be more specific. But how could she do that without losing her leverage entirely?
She clenched her hands into fists to still them. When she spoke, her words came slowly and carefully. "Something… is going to happen. Tomorrow. Something the Legion should be aware of. Something I don't want any part in it."
"Ah," the bard said, inspecting his fingernails. "Yes. You're referring to the rebellion."
Eleonora felt her blood run cold. Her eyes darted from side to side, checking whether anyone had overheard the man. He hadn't been whispering particularly softly.
He seemed to notice her unease and waved dismissively. "Ah, don't concern yourself with being overheard. I have a [Glamour] in place to mask our conversation. Quite the useful party trick, that one."
The bard gave her a sly wink as she slowly let out the breath she'd been holding. That was one less concern, at least. But still, he knew. He already knew. Her bargaining position had just taken quite the hit.
"I have details," she insisted, still whispering despite the bard's assurances. "Insider information. But I need something in return. Get me an escort home, and I'll tell you everything."
"You know how strict the Legion has been about travel. I doubt they'd be willing to let you leave so readily—especially with the risk that you'd turn on them or simply return with backup. I'm sure you understand, miss…?"
"Eleonora," she told him. "I swear, that won't happen. You'll never see me again—you or the rest of the Legion. I'll never say a word or go against them or anything like that. I just want out of this place."
"Marcus. It's a pleasure." Marcus shrugged a shoulder. "Ah, but an oath is only worth so much. Besides, an escort is quite the ask. They're already quite busy with the campaign and local matters. I doubt they'd be willing to spare that many men for a single girl with questionable information."
Eleonora bit her lip. She'd known that the escort was a longshot. But the longer they talked, the more she felt the walls closing in. Marcus didn't seem particularly concerned about this rebellion—maybe he felt like they could handle it, even without her information? Or he already knew it? But then, why would he still be talking to her?
Maybe he was just playing hardball. The lack of a counteroffer made her suspect that was the case. But still, it wasn't like she had much choice but to play along.
Eleonora grit her teeth. "Fine. Then… just let me go. I can travel on my own. I just want to leave."
Marcus seemed to consider that. "A [Healer], traveling alone? That's a bit risky, don't you think? Not to presume, but with the state of the kingdom these days…"
His words trailed off, leaving only lingering suggestions in their wake. It was common knowledge just how dangerous travel had become. With most of the higher-leveled adventurers and fighters off at war, bandits and less savory types had less to worry about than ever when it came to roadside holdups and robberies. It was something she'd thankfully managed to avoid on the way here by traveling with her party. But now…
"I need something. Some kind of assurance, protection, just… something. I'll be sticking my neck out, here. You need to meet me halfway."
Marcus tapped his chin thoughtfully. "How about this. I can put in a good word for you. Whatever information you have—if it ends up being accurate and useful," he gave her a pointed look, "Will go a long way towards proving your innocence on its own. But even if it's something I already know, I believe I can ensure that your involvement won't be used as cause for punishment."
Eleonora felt herself pale. "You have to give me more than that," she all but begged. "That's too little. I was there for a meeting. I know details."
"I can't promise anything," Marcus said, his expression smooth and unreadable. "I will do my best to make sure no harm comes to you. I give you my word… if you tell me everything."
Eleonora grimaced. It didn't escape her notice that he was offering exactly what she had—an oath, a promise that was only worth as much weight as she gave it. It felt far too flimsy for her liking. But what other choice did she have? To refuse, side with the guards that were almost certainly going to fail?
"...Fine." she ground out. "But I'm not telling you all this here. I want to talk to the Legionnaires, in the camp. I need protection."
Marcus looked her up and down consideringly, and Eleonora held her breath. What felt like minutes dragged by before he finally nodded in agreement. Without another word, he subtly directed her toward the back door with a nod of his head.
She sighed in relief, barely able to keep herself from hurrying out of the tavern. A few minutes later, the bard met her in the alleyway.
"All right, then." He adjusted his garish cloak with a flourish. "Follow me, miss Eleonora. It seems that we have much to discuss, and not much time in which to discuss it."
Turning on his heel, he began to lead the way out of town.
Comments
mackenzie Fahlgren
—almost other every -> almost every other
Moses Lambert
Considering that the average guard here was only level seen {seven}, that seemed particularly foolhardy.
Vaughn Fredericks
Yeah, the Legion doesn't have dedicated healers so she could make bank (and XP) working for them.
Beeees!
Her best bet rn is just to be hired on as a healer auxiliary. Plenty of experience and a foothold on the ground floor of the new empire taking these lands. Big bet to start with tho
