12

…but you stop short when recognition dawns.

"Gilbert? Joan?"

The musicians from Duke Ruffino's Court have aged—as have you, of course—but they're still eminently recognizable. Gilbert seems to have shrunk another half-inch, or perhaps it's just a slightly higher degree of paunch that makes him seem that way. For her part, Joan's hair is a bit more white than sand now, but her features and stoic gaze are fair unchanged.

"As I live and breathe," Joan says, her eyebrows shooting up as she recognizes you.

"Bandochel, heavens! It's been some time," says Gilbert with a quick smile, his voice a bit more hoarse now. "Don't tell me you were swept up in this travesty come from the Throne, were you?"

You frown as he gestures towards your company as they unpack. Travesty? you think. "Actually, I'm the company-master of the troupe. This 'travesty' is my brain-child. Not sure what that says about my brain," you quip, trying to lighten the mood, to little avail.

Gilbert and Joan grow uncomfortable as their five compatriots draw closer towards you, suspicion on their countenances. "Ooh, Lord, what a pity," Gilbert says, shaking his head.

"We're in with the Bardbrood, since we exited Duke Ruffino's service. A falling out with Malodoro, you can imagine."

"Say no more."

"…at any rate," Joan continues, "I thought you'd be more tapped into the Bardbrood too! I thought you'd know how much the whole passel of us are, well…unhappy with this tour of yours."

You blink. It's news to you that the Bardbrood weren't keen on your most recent project…. [-Bardbrood]

Onward