The War of the Moons

[jm_jazzman]

Wrapped in a forgettable traveller's cloak and hood, Adonius surveys the crowd. The buzz of excitement in the air is warm and comforting, like the smell of a favourite childhood meal. He hadn't realized until now how much he had been missing crowds (especially their cheers of adoration). It's nice to have an excuse to be back amongst the masses now, even without Mervin at his side taking care of all the little details.

Although Fair Reach is very much still the city he remembered, little changes mark the passing years since he was last here. Some of the buildings are new, his favourite armorer is now a pub (drat!), but at least the castle still looks the same. He tries to remember some of the friends and lovers he used to know here, and wonders for a moment whether or not he might see any of them (or their children), and if he would even recognize their faces now if he did.

So far nobody has recognized him, his face half-hidden and his iconic accoutrements either concealed under his cloak or wrapped in plain cloth. The power of branding! He chuckles to himself, the more identifiable it makes you, the more invisible you can become when you take it away!

For a moment, he almost worries that perhaps he won't be recognized even with his handsome looks and famous artifacts on full display, but of course that would be ridiculous! He had been invited to the tournament, after all. And then even those too young and too sheltered to know his name yet certainly will. He may be older now, but he is still Adonius!

Careful to not draw the eyes of pickpockets, his hand reaches inside is cloak and checks that his coin purse is still there. Not nearly enough for a proper breastplate, he frowns. In fact, it wasn't enough for much of anything. Telling tales of his exploits hasn’t been as lucrative recently as it once was. Mervin used to organize very profitable speaking engagements. No matter, I've worked my way out of worse situations before. If I have to do any sneaking about in this tournament, I'll cross that bridge when I get to it.

Allowing himself to forget his worries and enjoy the little joke of his anonymity, Adonius melts into the crowd and, careful not to let his scale mail clink too loudly lest it give him away, wanders over to the ring of spectators by the Oldtown road to find out what has captivated their attention. Safe in his disguise, he allows himself to stoop and shuffle like an old man instead of maintaining his posture and stride.