An Old Man's Quest: Part 1

[Marcus Biscay]

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Sorry for all the repeat, I just wanted to get everything straight.

To be surprised at another person's display of surprise is a difficult thing to explain. It is for this reason that Marcus was somewhat... Surprised, at his response to Ehno's... Surprise. It wasn't why Ehno was surprised that felt odd to Marcus. That was easy enough to decipher. It was that Ehno was surprised that bothered Marcus. Had he become so world weary that the danger and mystery of a new place had become completely benign to his emotions? Perhaps. But was this necessarily a bad thing? Marcus felt that the thought was trivial, and so it was dismissed, never to be heard, seen, or felt again.

Marcus continued, "it's good to be back on solid ground. Even better to be speaking to a..." His head turned to the side. What word was he searching for? "Familiar, entity." Marcus chuckled a pathetic chuckle, as if he was surprised at his own stupidity. He reached down to his left side, and explained himself further. "Yes. Indeed I did. I met with a lovely woman by the name Anu." Still talking, he took out his watch, and opened it up. "She told me of this land, and pointed me towards your---" The old man shook his watch. "Sister..." He knocked the fob watch's face, and frowned. "Bloody thing," he said with extreme disdain. "I can never remember which one of these things works." He then tucked the watch back into his left waistcoat pocket, and reorganized the beads which held the pocket shut. Suddenly, a rush of blood shot into the back of his head. “A… watch, yes? Don’t really see to many of those in working order around here,” commented Ehno. Marcus looked up to him with a sort of dazed look. "No, no I don't imagine you do," said Marcus, lost in thought. It had been a while since Marcus remembered The Assassin.

"Ehno, correct me if I'm wrong, but in order to have crossed from Italy to Spain, you would have had to have crossed through Southern France." A small smile cracked the corner of The Musketeer's mouth. "By any chance-- have you ever had the remarkable luck to share a bourbon with Margot Lamarque?" A devilish look shot into Marcus' eyes. He shifted his cane to the right side of his body, and transferred the whole of his body weight onto it's support. It was time to remember a name.

Lamarque... In Paris, a well respected family name, host to three generations of pure, near-royal blood. In Montpellier, the last name you'd ever hear, and the most ironic name for the most prolific killer to grace the stage of Europe. Marcus had remembered the story of Margot 'The Assassin' Lamarque. The story of his broken pocket watch.

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