In Walks a Weirdo

Cuthbert cleared his throat and coughed, reaching up to straighten his old wide-brimmed hat as he ambled towards the headquarters of the Rune Knights.  He looked ill-at-ease and completely out of his element, because in fact that's exactly what he was.  The grizzled old man sighed and reached up to smooth his long, bushy beard.  What was he doing here?  Even if joining a guild like the Rune Knights would help him in his pursuit of his magic and even better, help him to avoid his overbearing sisters, he looked more like an escapee from an old folks' home rather than an aspiring recruit.  Cuthbert sighed as he reached the headquarters of the Rune Knights and stared up at its high, imposing walls.

Of course, feeling out of place here was better than being berated at home under his eldest sister Esmerelda's gimlet gaze.  Ever since her husband had died* she had turned her attention to 'civilizing her younger brother' and 'getting his head out of the clouds and off of this magic business'.  With her around, Cuthbert had not had any peace and quiet to practice his summoning at all.  He needed a way out from under her, and this seemed as good a way as any.

Shaking his head, the mage made up his mind and entered the building and headed for the nearest person he saw.  Looking around nervously, Cuthbert cleared his throat and said, "Hullo?  Is this where one comes to join the Rune Knights?"  He stood up a little straighter, trying to look as if he belonged there and would be just the sort of person the guild was looking to recruit.  "I-I'd like to j-join your guild."

*Cuthbert was of the opinion that her husband had not really died, but was instead hiding somewhere to avoid her constant hen-pecking.  He had enough sense not to express this opinion to Esmerelda herself.

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Scanning the room, Cuthbert's watery blue eyes settled on the two women behind the desk and his heart immediately sank. Oh dear...why does it always have to be women? He thought morosely, reaching up to tug at his beard. You'd think in a military establishment, there'd be less chance of running into women left and right. It's not that the old mage didn't like women...it was just that they flustered him so. It was probably the result of being bullied by his overbearing sisters for fifty odd years, but Cuthbert didn't much like to analyze it.

He reached out a tentative hand and shook hers, clearing his throat and trying to smile to show willing, but he probably failed. In contrast to her smart black uniform, the older gentlemen looked quite shabby indeed. Cuthbert had never given much thought to his appearance. He had always been so much more interested in his magic. His coat had once been blue, but very little of it showed through the dust and mud that was speckled over it from his travels. If Serilda was particularly observant she would be able to see that the cuffs of the coat were frayed. His boots were old, worn and scuffed. His hat had a few holes here and there that had been inexpertly patched. But even if he were in the finest tailored suit, Cuthbert still would have felt shabby and awkward in the presence of Serilda.

The geriatric summoner had no idea who Serilda was. She had been right in her estimation that all of the titles would have been lost on him. He listened wordlessly to the exchange between her and her....secretary perhaps? Valorie seemed like a secretary to Cuthbert. Or she seemed like what he always imagined a secretary would be like at the very least, considering that he had never met one. He jumped slightly when Serilda beckoned him to follow her, snapping out of his reverie. "A-ah...yes!" He hurried to follow her towards the conference room, looking around at his surroundings with a curious air about him.

"M-myself?" Cuthbert repeated, inwardly cringing at the familiar stutter in his voice. After so long, he would have thought he could get control of it by now. "W-w-w-well..." He sighed, quietly berating himself and willing his voice to steady itself. "I'm a s-summoner. Have been f-for y-y-years now. I sp-spend a great deal of my t-t-time traveling, trying to find more celestials." The old wizard screwed his eyes up towards the ceiling and tugged on his beard absentmindedly. What else could he tell her? He had already told her all the important bits in three sentences. "I came to join the Rune Knights..."

Cuthbert trailed off for a moment, wondering what he should tell her. What would have the best chance of impressing her and convincing her that he was the type of recruit she was looking for her? If he told her that he 'had always felt a yearning to serve his fellow man'? Or 'he was a powerful mage with a desire for adventure'? The old man squirmed slightly as he considered but eventually sighed and opted for the truth, which in his mind (or probably anyone else's for that matter) was not overly impressive: "I wanted to j-j-join your order so I had a...r-respectable r-r-reason for spending more time out of th-the h-house." And out from under the meddlesome eye of his eldest sister Esme, he added silently. "Th-the Rune Kn-knights seemed a good fit. E-especially i-i-if I can find more celestial beings wh-wh-while I w-work for th-the organiz-z-zation."

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Oh dear... the old man thought, his heart sinking yet again. I was afraid that she was going to ask that question sooner or later. It was inevitable, really. People didn't just go about interacting with others and never asking their names. Even though it would make his life so much more pleasant if they did. Without thinking, the wizard reached up and lifted his hat and scratched his head, revealing a patch of unkempt white hair that was thinning at the back. He sighed deeply, still scratching at his head as he looked down towards his worn boots in an attempt to avoid Serilda's gaze for the moment at least while he steeled himself. It was then that he noticed the wolf at her feet gazing intently at him, and a small smile appeared briefly on his weathered features.

He liked animals. They were usually so much more agreeable than people. More often than not, they didn't talk, which meant that they couldn't question him or demand anything of him. That was something he was beginning to appreciate more and more since his sister Esmerelda had decided that running his life and household was the answer to losing her husband. Blast Alotrocious' hide for dying and leaving Esme alone with no one to henpeck but her 'poor, besotted brother Cuth--' The mage jumped out of his reverie once again, his gaze snapping back up to Serilda with a sheepish expression. "A-ah...sorry. My name? Y-yes, my n-name is..." He trailed off, cringing inwardly. "M-my n-name is C-Cuthb-bert." He grimaced and replaced his hat on his grizzled head. "C-Cuthbert R-Rumbold. I-I n-normally go by M-Master R-Rumbold." Or, at least, he wished that's what he could go by.

Cuthbert hated his name. It was so...awful.So blah. So mundane. So...fitting. He sighed and looked up at Serilda, his expression one of someone who was resigned to suffering chuckles or outright laughter upon hearing his monicker. "A-as for my magic..." he continued hurriedly, wanting to leave the subject of his name behind sooner rather than later, " I h-have made f-f-four contracts with spirits." He grimaced again, but there was a twinkle of amusement in his eye. "Or r-rather, anthropomorphic per-per-personifications, which I have been informed a-again and again is what th-they prefer to be c-c-called."

The stutter remained, but the old wizard did seem more enthused talking about the subject of his magic than he had been talking about himself. "Th-they're very capricious, th-th-these anthropomorphic p-personifications. S-s-some more th-than others, mind." He glanced from Serilda to her wolf with another sheepish smile. "M-my first c-contract was w-w-with D-Decida. A t-t-tree elemental. Sh-she is very m-motherly. V-very kind and p-p-patient." She was a lot more motherly than Cuthbert's own mother, but he didn't say that aloud. "She s-specializes in p-protection m-magic. H-healing and sh-shielding and so on. Th-then there's V-Vitrolus," Cuthbert reached up to tug at his beard again, his expression one of slight discomfort. "H-he is n-n-not very p-patient. Or k-kind for that matter. H-he's a f-f-fire spirit. He's v-very fond of throwing f-f-fireballs, and slinging l-lava, a-and l-l-lighting things afire." The geriatric magic user shrugged. "Wh-which as it happens i-is very h-helpful on some o-o-occasions."

Vitrolus had once offered to light his sister Esme on fire, and Cuthbert was ashamed to admit that he had thought long and hard about it before offering the fennec a half-hearted 'no'. It had been quite tempting, for even though she was his sister, Cuthbert only liked Esmerelda slightly more than Vitrolus did...and the fire spirit hated her.

"Buster is another o-of m-my contracts," he continued. "H-he's th-th-the personification of rivers and s-streams. H-he uses water m-magic. He's also able to heal, i-if the need a-arises." Buster was also a coward, but Cuthbert didn't think it was a good idea to mention that. He didn't want to embarrass his friend unnecessarily, and since he was a bit chickenhearted himself he could empathize with the water spirit's plight.

"L-lastly th-there's S-S-Silu. Sh-She's the em-embodiment of storms." The old man blushed ever so slightly under his scraggly beard and he squirmed slightly. Silu was quite beautiful and an incurable flirt. She laid it on especially thick with Cuthbert when she realized how much it flustered him. "S-Silu is m-my most p-p-powerful spell. Sh-she h-h-harnesses the power of w-wind and l-lightning t-to attack her targets. Sh-she's quite effective, too. I-I-I wouldn't want to e-ever be on h-her bad side."

At this, Cuthbert fell silent once again, raising his bushy eyebrows at Serilda in an expression that seemed to say: So, what do you think? Everything she had said about the knights sounded agreeable to him. The question was, did Cuthbert fit the bill? The old man doubted it, but he had found in his fifty years of existence that life could always surprise you.

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Cuthbert blinked momentarily at Serilda, a disbelieving smile tugging at the corners of his mustache when he heard her address him as Master Rumbold. Serilda probably didn't know it, but she had immediately endeared herself to him with that small sentence. She had been the only one to address him as such in all his years. The expression was the very definition of fleeting and was quickly replaced by his usual expression of polite incomprehension as his companion explained life amongst the Rune Knights for his benefit.

He sensed that she was speaking slowly, taking her time for his benefit. This was something that the geriatric mage was used to. There was just something about him that made people speak slowly and carefully to make sure they didn't lose him in the conversation. It hadn't really dawned on him that this was because of his age and people were wondering if he was a bit daft because of his advanced years, but this was only because folks had tended to speak to him in this manner since he could remember. Even before the weight of his years had begun to settle on his shoulders,, the mage's manner and tendency to get lost in thought always made those around him conclude that he was off with the fairies instead of experiencing the here and now.

His brows furrowed when boot camp was mentioned, and Cuthbert appeared to be chewing on his lip as he considered that. Hmmm...it's been some years since I indulged in that much physical exertion, he thought, somewhat worried. Oh, he exercised. He was quite spry and surprisingly strong for a man of his age. But being active and being battle-ready were two very different things. I have good strong lungs...I can run at a good pace...no dodgy ticker.... He puffed his chest out a bit, thumping himself where the organ in question was. I daresay it's possible...or rather, not entirely IMpossible that I could survive that.

He blinked when the Combat branch of the Knights was described. That hardly seems like a good fit, he thought with a sniff to emphasize the thought. I'm hardly the imposing, authoritative type. Cuthbert grimaced, remembering the time that his younger sister Bertie had charged him with watching her six children for the day. Her eldest was an eight year old sno...boy by the name of Harvish. By the time Bertie got home at the end of the day, Harvish had trained his hapless uncle to call him 'sir' and there was no question in anyone's mind who was calling the shots, including his annoyed sister. The one bright spot was that he had never been asked to babysit her children again, but it was still an embarrassing memory that she never failed to bring up whenever the family was all together. Cuthbert shook his head. If I can't command respect in an eight year old, I hardly have a prayer with the local citizens on the street...the very thought gives me hives... At this thought the old man scratched at an arm.

Special Operations now...that could be a niche. While it was true that "intelligence" wasn't exactly the word that sprang to mind when one beheld the doddering old man, it certainly was a possibility. And it was for that very reason: he looked like a harmless, doddering old man. He was exactly the type of person that, if he was noticed at all in the first place, was quickly dismissed and forgotten. Who else was better than that to sneak about and gather up bits of information?

Engineering was certainly more suited to him than the Combat branch, but Cuthbert didn't exactly warm to that option either. He had been told on several occasions that he was all thumbs, and even he had to admit to himself that he did not have any kind of mechanical aptitude. Yes...even though I'm not expected to name a branch now...yes, I think I'd be inclined to the Special Operations, he mused as his watery blue eyes followed Serilda's gesture towards her uniform. I doubt I'll look as sharp in it as she does, but I have no objection to it. He always managed to make everything he wore look shabby or unkempt. Looking sharp just wasn't in his repertoire.

When his young companion mentioned living at the barracks, Cuthbert's first impulse was to reject it out of hand. He loved his home. It was comfy, cozy and all his stuff was there. The larder was stocked with good food, good beer, and good tobacco. It smelled familiar and put him at ease...or at least it had before Esme had descended on the place like an ill omen. He didn't like it, but he had to admit that the old house didn't really feel like home with his sister skulking through it, wagging her finger at him and clucking her tongue at every little thing. The free room and board could be a nice change. That is, if it was....

Cuthbert was quiet for a while after Serilda finished her explanation, his expression blank as he digested the information for a little while. "I be-believe it sounds r-reasonable, yes. I d-do believe I-I'd like t-to join y-your organization, i-i-if you'll h-have m-me." When she mentioned that questions would be alright, the old man seemed to perk up and became animated once again, "A-ah! Yes! I d-d-do have a-a question," the mage raised a gnarled finger in the air as if he were pointing to a lightbulb that had suddenly appeared over his head. "Y-y-you mentioned th-the food in the c-cafeteria. F-for the re-recruits. I-Is it an-any g-good? The f-food, I m-mean." The expression on the old man's face seemed to indicate that this was really the only burning question on Cuthbert's mind after listening to all that was said.

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