The World of Layonara

In-Character Forums => Rumour Has It => Topic started by: RollinsCat on December 09, 2009, 02:31:13 PM

Title: A Bardic Tour
Post by: RollinsCat on December 09, 2009, 02:31:13 PM

*Playing a selection of his songs for beer money at various locations around Mistone, the Ilsarian singer Andrew Reid has been adding a few politically motivated songs for any of the populace who listen:

Pay the price to enter here
A city once deserving
No more laughter in these streets
The Brooding One we're serving

Sign right here, that's good, that's right
You're safe within our gaze
Watching, always watching you
An ear to every phrase

A law on who to worship
A law on how to speak
A law on how the law will work
A law to keep you weak

Under boot-heel of our lord
Your freedom sold for peace
Choice and action hung to dry
Like slaughtered golden geese

Bow your head at morn and night
Don't ask too many questions
Don't bring your gods both fair and just
Worship at our discretion

A law to keep out magic
A law to tax you dry
A law to strip your defenses
A law to keep you tied

Forgotten, now, who he once was?
General to a Bloodstone
Who tried to take the world by force
And carve his bloody throne?

A leopard doesn't change his spots
Nor dictator to a statesman
Keep this close to mind my friends
What came round can come again...

and


Whisper down the wind
The shining jewel of Dregar
Living as an open scar
But no one says a word

Whisper down the wind
Law at such a handsome price
Ruled by a heart of ice
But no one says a word

Whisper down the wind
Ghosts of living everywhere
Shuffling cross the tidy square
But no one says a word

Whisper down the wind
Another public banishing
Another quiet vanishing
But no one says a word

All the trappings of a life but choice and self-decision
All the peace a man could want so long as you obey
The memory of the disappeared is met with indecision
Don't speak too loud don't draw their eye least you to go away

Whisper down the wind
Obedience and haunting fear
Fate decided for you here
But no one says a word...

*His tour includes drinking establishments and free open-air concerts in Leringard, Port Hempstead, Brenuth (where he attempts a dwarven battle song in its native language as well), and Fort Vehl.  If asked why he's singing about the lord of Prantz, he will only say he's concerned people have forgotten who Rael was and what he's been doing over on Dregar.*

Title: Re: A Bardic Tour
Post by: Spike on December 10, 2009, 11:54:42 AM

*Where ever Andrew Reid plays and is seen in public, a shadowy figure lurks close behind. His clothing is nondescript, though a large hood covers his face. He seems more interested in the crowds attending Reid's performances than in the man himself however. He quickly scans the various faces, making particular note of their facial expressions, nodding quietly to himself at those who approve of what the bard sings, and those that don't. After appearing satisfied with what he has seen, he unobtrusively disappears into the crowd.*

Title: Re: A Bardic Tour
Post by: The Voice on December 10, 2009, 12:54:22 PM

A figure hooded and heavily cloaked can be seen standing at the edge of the crowd during the occasional performance.  They speak to no one and leave quietly alone at the end.

Title: Re: A Bardic Tour
Post by: RollinsCat on December 11, 2009, 11:33:26 PM

*A new song is snuck into the rotation, one that Andrew pulls out a big, new oak guitar to accompany.  Also played are "Three Ladies", "Tempest in a Teacup", "Maids of Night", the first two songs about Lord Rael, and a number of popular tunes.  The tour is extended to visit Mariner's Hold.*

Folks round Rael say crime’s too high
What’s the reason, you ask 'em why
Magic and religion, they reply
And we need a new way of livin’

Got a problem with Tor-an-ites
Got a problem with Xeen-e-ites
Got a problem with Lu-cin-dites
And we want a new way of livin’

So it’s alright, yeah it’s alright
Alright to give up being free
Who needs decisions anyway?
Go on, tell me what to say!
I’ll let that dwarf own me!

But who you going to blame for all those ills?
Them wizards with their magic skills?
The cleric with his prayer of wills?
Do you need a new way of livin’?

Got a problem with speaking out
Don’t know what magic is about
It’s easier, then, to live without
And lay down for this new way of livin’

So it’s alright, yeah it’s alright
Say it’s alright to keep my mouth shut
Who needs choice anyway?
I don’t got time to think today!
I’ll let the dwarf do it for me!

Title: Re: A Bardic Tour
Post by: Kaail on December 12, 2009, 02:48:45 PM

A short hooded figure watches from nearby

Title: Re: A Bardic Tour
Post by: RollinsCat on December 13, 2009, 10:23:33 AM

*another new song added to the playlist, sometimes with guitar, sometimes with violin, and sung in with a peppy rolling beat*

Here's a little song about a bard named Willie
Worked round south Dregar, pretending he was me
(I hear he can't sing as well, you know?)
Got a job in town and went to see what he could see
Got stopped by Prantz guards and frisked from head to knee

How secure's a government when little songs get banned there
How safe's a land where a man can't speak his mind
How can you trust bureaucracy that censors every word there
Deciding what to tell you, and when to keep you blind

Well, the guards went through his every tiny little thing
Looking for my name in that brutish waypoint sting
He asked if he could get to his paid bardic fling
And found out that in Prantz a man must register to sing!

How secure's a government when little songs get banned there
How safe's a land where a man can't speak his mind
How can you trust bureaucracy that censors every word there
Deciding what to tell you, and when to keep you blind

That bard performed this story in a bar that we both frequent
I had to laugh, it was the best story I'd ever heard him tell
But thinking bout it later it isn't really funny
They'll arrest you for making music, and stick you in a cell

How secure's a government when little songs get banned there
How safe's a land where a man can't speak his mind
How can you trust bureaucracy that censors every word there
Deciding what to tell you, and when to keep you bliiiiiind...

Title: Re: A Bardic Tour
Post by: Chazzler on December 16, 2009, 03:38:20 PM

*A burly, epitome of a dwarven berserker applauds for Andrew*

"Good goin' lad!"

Title: Re: A Bardic Tour
Post by: RollinsCat on December 17, 2009, 10:59:18 AM

*points up*

Title: Re: A Bardic Tour
Post by: RollinsCat on December 17, 2009, 11:00:09 AM

*Finishing up a rousing rendition of "Maids of Night", Andrew Reid pauses, taking a healthy swig of his ale, and sets the bottle down on the floor with a clink.  He straightens back up, letting his fingers idle across the smooth oak grain of his guitar.  The moderately sized but enthusiastic Port Hempstead crowd waits as well, background noise rising in a steady hum as he strokes his instrument.  Not until their attention is poised to leave him completely does he speak.  Raising his voice enough to carry across the mumurings, his mellow tenor moves through the smoky air.*

"Good crowd tonight, good crowd.  Give yourselves a hand!  *waits until the beer-fueled cheering dies down*  Going to take it to the country, now.  A little something I wrote for those folks in parts of the world where they can't go to their favorite bar and see their favorite musician play...*grins and ducks a poorly aimed bottle*  You wound me, sir! -- or you might have, before you had that last drink!  *scattered laughter and jeers*  Anyway, for the folks in Southern Dregar, stuck with the Sulterio-loving dwarf...maybe a few of you *nods to a group of sailors blowing off steam before their ship sets sail*  might sing this next Dregar bar you set foot in, and maybe the folks there will eventually hear."

*His hand slides down the grain to the strings and he starts up a warm folksie tune, matching it with folksie styled vocals*

How long has it been since the city fell quiet?
How long has it been since you had a voice?
How long has it been that your fears walked beside you,
Whispering you have no choice?

Far too long
That's a fact
Far too long to be cowed
Far too long now you've waited and wondered
Your hopes and dreams wrecked and plundered
But we have not forgotten you

Outside your walls his influence stains,
But you have the power to keep it contained,
There are people around you who want to break free now,
There are people whose hope has remained

Take a look
A look around
You're still in charge
It's a simple matter of per-spec-tive
You have the power of coll-ec-tive
And we have not forgotten you

*the guitar sings here for a bit, a complex melody played with simpler picking underneath*

Planning and passion are heading to you,
But you have keep up your end too!
Don't give up, don't break inside, don't lose your pride
Together we'll see this through

So bide your time
Take a breath
And know this is true...
We have not forgotten you
We have -not- forgotten you...

Title: Re: A Bardic Tour
Post by: RollinsCat on December 18, 2009, 07:46:42 PM

*Andrew, playing to a rowdy crowd in a Leringard dock pub, takes another long pull from his ale and places Alexander back into the violin's case.  He pulls out his guitar, stumbling a little as he moves back to the chair, and crosses his legs before placing the guitar in a comfortable position and picking at it.*

"ALLLLLRIGHT!!  You ready for a little bit of wicked, then?  *the crowed shouts, hoots and hollers*  Here's a little ditty I wrote about some very special women...yell if you know a few...!"

*He starts up a bawdy beat with hard strumming*

Oh, give me please an honest tease,
A wanton maid of pleasure!
Highborn ladies simp and fawn,
But their love's bought with treasure!

Give me dancers, gypsies, maids of night who don't need True to love them!
I'll not be swayed by moneyed ways and cold hearts born to condemn!

Give me swaying hips and lush red lips and eyes that sparkle knowing,
At midnights bliss it's not a goodbye kiss that I want them to be...*a big grin, and he blows a kiss* ...throwing...!

A choice between a maiden green,
Or a woman full and busty?
No choice at all, I'll take my call,
From those whose eyes are lusty!

Give meeeeee...dancers, gypsies, maids of night whose bodies are their own,
A dowry chest and wedding nest leaves me no room to roam!

Whatever sot said a lady's not if she enjoys freely sharing,
Has put a hex on the fairer sex who is EVERY BIT as daring!

Virgin maids for marrying,
Want feathered beds of roses,
But a dancing girl can get her fill,
On grassy knolls of posies!

OOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHH.....*he holds this note, the crowd chiming in, and the resultant cacophony of drunken, untrained voices driving the pub's dog into the kitchen and under a table*

Give me dancers, gypsies, maids of night, at love they're simply better!
On nature's bed we'll play at wed with no rings to form a fetter!

Ladies fair can take their share of those who wish a wedding,
But I'll keep time with ladies fine who prefer pas-sion-ate bed-ding!

*finishes with a flourish, taking another pull on the ale, and letting the cheers and noise die down a little*

"Okay, ladies...err, lady..." *nods to the one lone woman in the audience, who stands and screams "WHO YOU CALLIN' A LADY, MUSIC-MAN?" and flings a bottle at his head.  Andrew laughs, drains his ale, and runs his fingers up and down the guitar's neck.*

"Got a little tune here, for the folks in Lor..." *He starts picking, this tune bouncy and reminiscent of children's songs*

A fox came to Lor one day, looking for a job there,
He went straight to the chicken pen and handed them his card,
"I'm strong and quick and have big teeth, the better to defend you!"
And the chickens, they were lazy, and they made him their guard.

Sixteen chickens in the coup, my friend
Sixteen chickens in the coup
They took him at his word and made him constable of the herd
Sixteen chickens in the coup

A bullfrog hopped by and saw the situation,
He looked at the chickens and said "Are you guys nuts?"
"Foxes eat chickens, in case you have forgotten",
But the chickens didn't want to care and sat upon their butts.

Ten chickens in the coup, my friend
Ten chickens in the coup
Where did the others go – do we really want to know?
Ten chickens in the coup

The fox he was efficient and serious at his work,
And the chickens were quite safe in their cozy little coup,
But the coup kept getting bigger and the chickens started counting,
And realized that they were down to just a couple few...

*he stills the strings, grinning at the audience and leaning in with a low voice across the sudden silence*

So, what do -you- think happened?

No more chickens in the coup, my friend!
No more chickens in the coup!
It's no great mystery, they forgot their history -
No more chickens in the coup!

The message here is a simple one and easy to divine,
Don't let foxes guard your hens unless you want them to dine!
You're better off fully in charge of all your kith and kine,
And keep your city true to your own unique design!

*Finishes, gets another ale, and heads back to the stage to start up "Three Ladies".*

Title: Re: A Bardic Tour
Post by: RollinsCat on December 23, 2009, 11:14:02 AM

*in various bars and taverns around Mistone, the following flyers are posted*

Mirthful Muse Productions Presents:

AUDITIONS for an upcoming play!

Have you what it takes?  Is this your moment of fame?  Come find out!

Auditions to be held Threas, Novlar 19, 1459 for a place in the upcoming play:

"The Tale of Lord Pale, or It's Hard to Be Evil; A Comedy of Tragic Proportions"

Please be prompt.

Audition For A Play (http://forums.layonara.com/calendar.php?do=getinfo&e=15252&day=2010-1-2&c=2)

//updated date due to holidays

Title: Re: A Bardic Tour
Post by: RollinsCat on January 01, 2010, 12:07:38 PM

*the tour fires up again, Andrew and his big oak guitar playing pubs around Mistone, Alindor, and Tilmar.*

Hello, Port Hempstead!  City is looking good, people!  Lot of hard work, lot of hard, hard work...

Let's start this out slow - a story I picked up in my travels.  Did you know that in the Deep, Lord Rael has used people to power seeds of light for his crops?  I'm not lying!  Heard it from a reliable source.  Slap a death sentence on some offender, and instead of a quick whack they get to sit in a cocoon and have the life sucked out of them so food can grow.  Can you even imagine, lying there waiting to die, getting weaker and weaker...I don't know about you, but that gives me the willies.  And sn't that like...cannibalism?  I mean...*shivers*.  Anyway, here's a little tune about it.

*Bella is strummed slow, the melody simple and direct*

What is the price of light
What can society bear
Where is the line drawn
In civilized sand...

What if I told you
The food that you’re eating now
Came from the light
Of a condemned dying man?

What if I told you
The Lord of King Weyland’s lands
Uses Prantz criminals
To light his Deep lands?

Would you be horrified?
Would you turn face aside?
Would you find joy in the ironic twist?

What about the disappeared
Voices that we’ll never hear
Silent bloody echoes from those who resist?

*the guitar picks up here, the melody faster*

Evil wears benevolence
A glittering disguise
His mask cloaks the violence
The desperate moments of defense
Souls of people iron tense
With unspoken goodbyes

The Law cannot protect you there
They may judge you good and fair
But in the end its Rael’s lair
And his whim is what’s right

What is the price of light
Life used to power it
What is the price of light
Heartbeat and breath transmit
What is the price of light
Ignorance a permit
To harvest a life...

*the guitar trails off, he takes a swig of grape juice, and starts into "Fox in the Henhouse".  He plays long into the night, Three Ladies and Maids of Night and Heaven's Primero coming as easy as Whisper Down the Wind and the rest of his political repertoire.  When the crowd thins and only the hardest drinkers are left, he pauses.*

Okay, going to play one for the men here.  This one's for each and every one of you who woke up with a pounding head and twist in your gut, knowing that man, you just shouldn't have done that.  We all know that feeling, yeah?  *blurry responses, mostly affirmative, a few deeply heartfelt*

Okay, this one's for you - and for her, wherever she is *he raises his grape juice, sets the glass down, and then starts to play - slow and reflective*

Bad judgment from a bottle and I’m alone again
Laughter raining from the stars above
The world don’t have enough regret to heal the trust that I upset
Sorry can’t build a road back to the house of love

We all know what sorry’s worth
We all know what it can’t do
We all know it’s never enough
But it’s all we ever have for you

A lesson learned about who owns me wasn’t worth the losing
But I’ll keep the queen of hearts in my hand
Put the queen of cups back on the shelf and maybe I’ll forgive myself
Or at least get my head clear to understand

We all know what sorry’s worth
We all know what it can’t do
We all know it’s never enough
But it’s all we ever have for you

Pages inked of things we wished we had and hadn’t done
Art shaped from the clay of morning after
Courage from a glassy kiss becomes all the moments that exist
With no thought to any more hereafters

I know what sorry’s really worth
I know what it won’t do
I know that it is not enough
But it’s all I have for you
It's all I have for you...

*he plays until the last customer leaves, he and Belle making up songs together.  Before he leaves each pub or venue, he puts up another flyer:


Mirthful Muse Productions Presents:

AUDITIONS for an upcoming play!

Have you what it takes?  Is this your moment of fame?  Come find out!

Auditions to be held Threas, Novlar 19, 1459 for a place in the upcoming play:

"The Tale of Lord Pale, or It's Hard to Be Evil; A Comedy of Tragic Proportions"

Race and gender not a consideration for parts.

Audition For A Play (http://forums.layonara.com/calendar.php?do=getinfo&e=15252&day=2010-1-2&c=2)

Title: Re: A Bardic Tour
Post by: RollinsCat on January 11, 2010, 07:00:27 PM

*added to the playlist*

It's high past time
For some stories to be told

It's high past time
For the silence to grow old

For those who died, and those who will, and those who sit and wait
It's high past time
That the truth unfold

Do we have the guts to stand and admit something's wrong
Peace is bought on the backs of those who can never hear this song
Evil is as evil does and it does what it wants to do
And it's high past time
We do something too

It's a hard, hard lie
Pretending to be kind

It's hard, hard lie
That justice wasn't blind

For the son and daughter of a King murdered by Rael's hand
It's a hard, hard lie
From a cold, cold mind

For slaves just wanting to be free from hunger's knife
For people who want to speak the truth about their life
For the ones who died to fuel the light down in the Deeps below
It's high past time
It's high past time
It's high past time
For the world to know

Title: Re: A Bardic Tour
Post by: RollinsCat on January 27, 2010, 10:26:02 AM

*Andrew does a brief series of nights in taverns across the kingdom of Brelin, playing some old tunes and his Rael repertoire as well.  He adds a new song to the list, played on either his mahogany guitar or an old oak violin.*

Once upon a time ago there was a cozy little village
Nestled tight by woods well hidden from life's pillage
And in that town of families lived a young lady and a lad
Who mixed like oil and water and drove each other mad
Mad
They drove each other mad

Johnny was a steadfast boy who farmed his father's land
Becky was a milkmaid and a real firebrand
They fought whenever they crossed paths and swore they'd never love
Swore on their graves and families and to the gods above
Above
Swore to the gods above

Well, Johnny came to want a wife and asked the village sage
What he had to do to find his true love to engage
The sage was in a trickster mood and a lover of a stunt
And so he told young Johnny to go set at trap to hunt, to hunt-
Go set a trap to hunt

Johnny pondered this advice and then he said "Why not?"
It can't do any worse than the luck I already got!
He went down to the river with wire, rope and knife
And set a lasso under leaves to catch himself a wife
Wife
To catch himself a wife

Becky came for water on that sunny summer day
Wandering to the river and daydreaming all the way
She paid scant attention to where she dainty step
And she walked straight into his trap
Trap
She walked into his trap

Johnny came a-running when he heard commotion there
A screaming and cursing loud enough to curdle summer air
It was not the wife he thought he sought who sat upon the grass
But Becky with a bucket and she was one angry lass
Lass
She was one angry lass

With a blush he pulled from her leg the clever wire noose
And was promptly rewarded with a foot to his caboose
He stumbled fast away, bottom bruised and face aghast
And she howled at him YOU ROTTEN BAST-oh, I cant say it!
She yelled a whole bunch!

Angry and embarassed he sought to make amends to the maid
And tried to explain his mission and the trap that he had laid
To his surprise she turned and stared, her invective sudden stopped
She giggled, then again, then laughed until she dropped
Dropped
She laughed until she dropped

His face went hot then looked did he and saw with open eyes
What he'd tried to do that day and then to his surprise
He started chuckling too as the daytime fade away
And they sat together laughing in the evening's coming shade
Shade
They laughed under the shade

The two who never could be nice were suddenly set to talking
And back to town they went with both together walking
The townsfolk were agog at the sight of them at peace
But the sage, he smiled and spoke to himself "The wonders never cease
Cease
The wonders never cease"

Now love's a many-splendored thing as history provides
Not a full year later Johnny took Becky as his bride
It seems you should be careful about swearing to the gods
For the gods are always listening and they control the odds
Odds
They always have the odds!

Title: Re: A Bardic Tour
Post by: RollinsCat on February 19, 2010, 07:41:11 PM

*In taverns around Mistone and Alindor, a suddenly traveling Andrew Reid plays old songs and new, his playlist stacked with covers as well as some of his own work. Mid-show, he plays a new tune.*


"Here's a new one, catchy - I heard this on Belinara from someone claiming to be "the" Willie the Bard.  Wasn't him, I can tell you that - way too bald.  But it does sound like Willie's work and so I share it with you, good folk -"

(he sings, using his guitar as accompaniment)

Necessity, necessity -- it's simple necessity
The watch in black that stood up during war
Necessity, necessity, protection as necessity
But what do we now need this black watch for?

(switches to a low key chanting with heavy guitar strokes)

Absolute power corrupts
Absolute power corrupts
Absolute power corrupts ...true

(sung)

Efficiency, efficiency -- it's just savage efficiency
They keep the peace with the backs of their hands
Efficiency, efficiency, that's what it's called -- efficiency!
As measured by their club-backed commands

(chanted)

They protect and they serve
They protect and they serve
They protect and they serve...who?

(sung)

Brutality, brutality -- it's become brutality
The common man can't speak his mind from fear
Brutality, brutality, arm-twisting brutality
It gets a little worse evvv-er-y year

(chanted)

A thug in a uniform is still a thug and he don't care a whit about yours
With no one to answer to, no to stop him he'll soon be kicking in doors

When folks disappear the black watch don't care and the gone are quickly forgotten
They cover the rears of their unsavory peers and it's clear that something is rotten

(sung)

Accountability, accountability, we need accountability
To keep their power in check day to day
Accountability, accountability, is there any accountability?
Who watches the watchmen anyway?

(chanted)

Who watches the watchmen...
Who watches the watchmen...
Who watches the watchmen...you?

*moves from this into his new interpretation of The Farmer's Daughter and the rest of his set*

Title: Re: A Bardic Tour
Post by: RollinsCat on February 24, 2010, 11:06:09 AM

*in Port Hempstead, playing the Scamp's Mug*

Here's a little something picked up recently, maybe some of you sailors might sing it in Lor when you dock there.  Catchy tune, ready?  *picks up his mahogany guitar, plucking the strings, his head tipping side to side in time to the bouncy tune*

It's election time in Lor
The hopefuls line the floor
Flints and Jaks and Orebashers
It's election time in Lor

Lor the free, Lor the proud,
The glorious city Lor!

It's election time in Lor
What will you vote for?
Independence, or do you want
Rael inside your door

Lor the free, Lor the proud,
The glorious city Lor!

Even before the days of Raklin
We've been standing strong
From Galerights to Svendowskis
It's to Lor that we belong!

Lor the free, Lor the proud,
The glorious city Lor!

So vote most carefully
Listen closely to each plea
Don't let footstomping decide for you
Your vote will keep you free!

Title: Re: A Bardic Tour
Post by: RollinsCat on March 03, 2010, 09:32:42 AM

*A few days after the last bard left Fort Llast, a man hobbles in, his left leg a peg below the knee and his left thigh oddly misshapen.  The man might have been tall in his younger years but now stoops with poor living and age.  His dark hair is streaked with gray and rather a lot of dust, while his shabby brown overcoat is poorly fit to his thin frame and also coated in a layer of road dirt.  He also seems to have a skin condition and keeps patting the dusty, pale face under his hood between the songs he belts out on his battered oak guitar.  For all his run-down presentation, his voice is a decent falsetto.  He plays to anyone who will listen, a grimy felt hat on the ground in front of him.

He sings a number of well-known bar songs, some sea shanties, and a few political songs he heard from some other bard (some of whom had been sung, but better, by the bard just preceeding him in town).  He adds in a few new ones.*

Here's one I wrote, done spent some time in Ler-rin-guard, they oughta call that place Ler-rin-watch.  Cause they're always watchin' for a way to take your money! *wheezy laugh, clears his throat, and strums into the song*

Heard a little story of a seaman bit ago
Sailing to the docks of Leringard
He washed ashore and promptly jumped right back into the drink
With a tale of fire-eyed monsters falling hard

(We've seen odder things, yah?)
(Oh yeah -- his name was Francis)

Francis spread his tale of woe to any open ears
Hoping someone else had seen the beasts
Ended up in the Leaky Keg to sleep off two week's drunk
Before his liver landed him with the priests

(Poor fella was beside himself)
(Prolly didn't smell too good by now, either)

It was to this inn my informants made their way
To see Francis regarding his ordeal
But poor Francis wasn't there to speak and they found instead
A businessman who offered them a meal

(Guy Poul -- ever heard of him?)
(Me neither)

Our friends became suspicious the longer dinner ran
Spoke their need to talk to Francis soon
Guy offered to guide them to the man who they still sought
Through twisting alleys by the light of moon

(The back alleys of Leringard?)
(Can you see where this is going?)

Francis gone the group were beset by Dracha Garra
Battling long into the misty night
Those dragon-stealing cultists took their best shot at our heroes
Until one upped and scampered from the fight

(Dracha Garra -- I get shivers just saying that name.)
(Fiery-eyed monsters -- draaaaaagons, maybe?)

Our friends searched the high and low looking for the cultist
But he'd found a darn good place to hide
So they went on to the Blackwatch to ask for their assistance
And found themselves being taken for a ride

(Them Blackwatch don't do nothing but for themselves, ya know)
(Buncha thugs iffn you ask me)

The Blackwatch didn't care about cultists in the city
But they sure did care about that Guy Poul
Our heroes were "encouraged" to forget what they had seen there
And left without a word by the watch that makes the calls

(Wonder who they're protecting, hmm?)

An' that's the story or my name ain't Willie the Bard!

*he packs up shortly after this and hobbles out of town.  His unique tracks, the footprint of the pegged leg much deeper than the other, continue on the road toward Hlint until somewhere near the bandit camp, where they detour toward the camp - and end.



//any gms want any rolls on any of this, happy to do it, let me know

Title: Re: A Bardic Tour
Post by: RollinsCat on March 29, 2010, 11:30:32 AM

*Willie the Bard hobbles off the boat onto the Leringard docks, watching with rheumy eyes as the remaining weapon merchants pack up their swords and axes.  The city is in a bustle with a small throng of folks trying for last-minute deals and food vendors slashing prices to sell off perishables before they travel to the next faire.

His battered oak guitar is slung on his side as he limps toward the buildings, noting as he goes the increased Blackwatch presence.  There was a spot last week, right by the old Mist house, where someone had set up shade for viewers until that blasted and double-blasted arena tournament.  The old man makes his way there, finding not to his surprise that the awnings and carpets are now gone.

He sits though, and strums, quietly humming to himself and listening with interest as the world that is Leringard ignores him with forceful purpose.  Women walk past averting their eyes; men lift thier heads and stride as if they have somewhere Very Important To Be even though moments ago they were lounging along, gawking at the flurry of carts and boxes.

I don't even have a hat out, the old man thinks.

The only ones that notice him are the children, hands grasped firmly by mothers and fathers and nannies, their wide eyes taking him in with curiosity untainted by experience.  He treasures this as he plays, often tailoring the guitar's notes to what he hears in the children that watch him - thier smiles go through his heart as pure song.  He reaches to his neck often for that which is not there, touching the bare weathered skin before dropping his hand back to the guitar.

By and by a young halfling man stops to listen.  The halfling watches Willie with more than polite indulgence and the aging bard responds, playing a song or two for the lad - Leonti, he introduces himself as - and they chat about nothing in particular while they wait for more of an audience.  Willie ends up telling a story about that upstart bard Andy, barely able to contain his grins as he does.

That's going in the show.  By the Muse, yes.

"Is there anything I can do to help you?" Leonti's voice breaks the bard's thoughts, young but confident and Willie likes that.  His own rusty voice seems ancient to his ears.

"Well, there's folks what might not like what I'm gonna sing tonight.  If ya could keep a clear line tween me and tha docks, say, that's be preciated."

"I'll do my best, sir."


There seems to be a number of people headed into the city proper while around him the bard sees only dockworkers and Leonti.  So he slings his instrument to his back and struggles, as he always does, to get onto two feet when one of them is made of wood.  His misshapen thigh above the peg bulges and he grunts hard as he wobbles to a standing position.

"Should check that stage area, I'm thinkin'."  

Leonti nods and they walk off, the bard making notes on what alleys are blocked and which remain open for escape.  Not that he's given a lot of thought to his escape.  Or, well, any.  

Muse, if they can see thorugh invisibility my goose is cooked.  Must thank Keppli and Gypsy Belle for the tips on moving quietly...

The stage area where Marcus the Bard has been performing all week has a little crowd and the bard's heart lifts, his fingers stroking the guitar's wood and flaking off another bit of varnish.  Marcus is gone, off to greener pastures, and this group is his - all his.  He climbs the few steps up, avoiding a small but stubborn bloodstain around a spider crack that is a reminder of someone he now considers a friend.  Or an ally.  Whatever.

The crowd turns, and he sees faces that are familiar - and not.  Through Willie's eyes, some look younger, some older, and their reactions to him change how he hears them as well.  The elven lady in the front whose slender fingers command magic learned over centuries gives him an encouraging look and claps with excitement.  He grins depsite himself.  She really has got a thing for bards, doesn't she, and his smile widens.  A black-haired dwarf stands waving a bottle of...something, and smelling like the underside of a digestively challenged ogre - well, some things don't change much -and his fingers find the strings.  A slender half-elf lady with short hair stands near an older human man, she selling from a crate and he clearly here to enjoy himself, and the bard smiles at them too.  And the quiet man in forest greens and browns whose eyes drift along the guards with watchful stillness.  And the muscled, dreadlocked man whose remaining eye glitters in a way that the bard is no longer fully comfortable with...

He starts to work the crowd, opening with a rollicking sailor song.  Given the late hour the streets are blissfully free of children and he gives the crowd a bawdy show, playing with abandon and relished every clap and holler.  The dapper elf whose voice still echoes in the bard's other mind ("jump and SPIN - no, push off with the left leg, lead with the right. Again...") stands sipping wine and swaying with the music.  A quiet dwarf stands back from the crowd, and the one time Willie's eyes meet his there is only a hint of a nod.  The bard smiles and keeps singing.

The opener gets them in a rolling good mood and he chances that joyful capital with his next tune, after a careful look around.

"Heard some local news, an' a I wrote a song bout it.  Goes a little like this."  His rusty baritone is still fresh and the song elicits what he anticipated, uncomfortable silence and furtive glances at the hard-faced watchmen.

I hear the Blackwatch saved orphans from harm
Bout time you all had a moment of pride
It's a start, it's a start -- one you can build off of
And it's getting' on time to decide

One right don't fix a thousand wrongs
But one step can lead to the next
I'll break the silence -- they're thugs, yours or not
And you can start writin' the rest

The good news I'm singin' is this ain't Prantz, not yet
You can still speak your mind -- mostly
But folks do disappear when they talk inconvenient truth
And that ain't no accident if you think closely

Who runs this town? Who is the Law?
Who stands behind the curtain of secrets and bribes?
It's your right to know
It's your town, it's your show
Those kids are one payment on far too many broken lives

The watch's there to keep order but whose order they keeping
They ain't taking orders from the mayor or Queen
Ask who they're helpin' and ask who they're not
And that's a good place to begin

One right don't fix a thousand wrongs
But one step can lead to the next
I'll say it out loud -- they're thugs, yours or not
And you can start writin' the rest

So think what's I'm sayin' and think round the box
And talk to each other fore the secrets turn to lies
A town guard should be something you can depend on
And not an object of fear or surprise

His eyes meet the quiet woodsman's, and there is a moment of understanding.  The woodsman moves off to position himself behind the stage, walking in the loose gait of one who is two cups past his bucket but the bard is not fooled.  Toward the end of this song a lovely blonde elven woman, bow within a split-second's reach of her pale hands, joins the crowd.

"Political songs." Her flat, derisive snort is clearly heard.  The bard grins and gives her a delighted look, heckle or no.  They are nervous, the crowd is, shifting from foot to foot, eyeing the Blackwatch.  He takes a breath and ignores the watch for now, rolling into another of Marcus's trove of really naughty songs, and the crowd's tension eases.

Back and forth the old man sings, lifting the mood then dousing it with a tune that brings every cold watchman's eye to the stage, listening to the Heartsong as he does.  The mood is oil on water and he plays to this on the final Blackwatch song.  

"Yer lookin' round, I'm hearin' I shouldn't be singin' this.  From Ellis, no less - she couldn't have been this cautious when we were fighting demons?  An' I got ta say, no one should feel that way bout their guard.  Course, if they're here ta protect, they're not gonna beat up an old man fer singin' are they?  Course not."

He launches into Who Watches the Watchmen, and the audience, some of them, start to nod.  A few jaws firm.  His eyes are bright with the music, the moment, the reactions, and a lot of the drunken dwarf's whiskey as he plays.

The song done, he tells the story and sings the song of Willie the Bard with barely contained glee.  He sings two more of the other bard's songs, but by now his baritone is showing wear and he has to stop to cough often.  A halfling with a violin steps up and takes over the crowd while the old bard rests.  

Willie shuffles off the podium, his coat clanking with tips, booze and other trinkets listeners have offered up.  The lovely blonde elf whispers to him as he stands tapping out percussion on his guitar and enjoying the other bard's song.  "You should get out of here and on a boat.  They're watching you."  A look at the crowd and the quiet dwarf meets his eyes, confirming the warning.  The old man looks and sees...more Blackwatch.  Many more than before.  The little wad of gum arabic tucked in his pocket seems very near and yet miles away.

His eyes aren't focusing right, and he silently curses the whiskey.  A barn is close and seems clear of watchmen so he meanders that way, staggering a bit on his peg leg.  He is fumbling for that bit of gum when the dreadlocked man strolls casually in.  For one heartbeat he's not sure who to fear more - the watch or the one-eyed man.  Until a Blackwatch does arrive, leaning with a glow of arrogance on the side of the barn.  

"Going somewhere?"  

The old bard lets the gum nugget go, trying to think, his thoughts rolling together like a pile of puppies.  The big man steps forward and Willie shuffles behind him.  The Blackwatch speaks to the dreadlocked man, cold, measured, and anticipatory.

"You with him?"

"Yeah.  I'm with him."

"How about we take a little walk, then?"

Willie looks back at the audience, still there, some wandering closer to see what his sudden loud coughing fit was about, and a gleam of an idea burns through the alcohol.  He turns to one-eye and the guard.

"Why don't you go with the man, sonny - I'm gonna find me a nice bed." He backpetals from dreadlocks and limps back to the crowd as fast as he can, ignoring the bruises on his knee and the numb ache in his folded calf muscles.  The short-haired half-elf's ox gives some shelter from one Watching eye, and the people mingling around the open crate form a human blind.  He ducks down and fingers the arabic again.  He's still drunk, but panic has lifted the hazy veil, leaving his mind clear but detached, as if he were watching himself.  Shifting, he whispers for them to surround him near the chest, and with a prayer in his head, he sings his song of illusion and vanishes.

Slowly he stands, unfolding past the old man's slouch to his full height.  His back clenches but there isn't time to stretch.  He moves toward the docks with calculated steps, pulling off the wooden leg as soon as he finds an unwatched nook, and starts hunting for a place to hide.  Blackwatch are everywhere, some coming from the city, some moving to, and a ship is leaving dock with a number of merchants and their crates and wagons and other nice hiding places aboard.  His spell won't last forever, and there is nothing, no place...

His eyes fall on a little boat with a partial cover.  Very few people use that boat.  Everyone knows where it goes, and to whom it is dedicated.  But he's been in that boat, his Lady and that Lady being friends, and he's been to that temple.  It feels right and he doesn't have the luxury of reflection so he strides toward it and snugs under the canopy.  The boat rocks, near enough to a docked vessel to be seen, but there are little waves today...maybe it will look like weather...he sings a bit of Tempest in a Teacup to appease the boat's Owner while he changes.  Willie's clothes are stuffed under a seat to be reclaimed later.

Willie does not return to the audience, nor is he seen in Leringard in the weeks following.  In the Twin Dragons later that night Andrew Reid wakes from a long nap (which to the observant eye might resemble having slept off a few too many) to find, much to his dismay, that he's missed the whole thing.

Title: Re: A Bardic Tour
Post by: RollinsCat on April 19, 2010, 12:30:12 PM

*Willie the Bard pops up quietly some months later in Lor, daring a show near the marketplace.  He sits without a hat out and plays for free.  He sings a number of tunes, most borrowed from other bards and none controversial - just entertaining the folks.  At the end of his show he starts a hot little mambo number on his old guitar, grinning from under the hood he won't remove.*

"Here now, this'll get ya dancin'.  Wrote this off a song I heard afore so it's not all mine but it'll move yer feet."

*he starts in with his usual rusty baritone*

A bard went back to Prantz you see
Because he missed the scenery
The joyful crowds and the charming songs
But wait a minute...something's wrong...

Hey hey no, no one but Sul-ter-i-oooh
Hey hey no, bow to Sul-ter-i-ooh
Go go go if you don't love Lord Rael
All you troublemakers with your music and your noises-

Hey hey no, don't want no deities
Hey hey no, just ho-mo-geneity

No, no...just Sul-ter-iiii-ooh, ohh!
Try a mushroom sandwich with a side of shut your mouth-a

Live in awe, you better never break the law,
Take some advice my friend
Learn how to bend
If-a you're a square peg
They're gonna pound you in

Hey hey no! It's Sul-ter-i-ooh!
Hey hey no! It's Sul-ter-i-ooh!
Go go joe, better learn to bow,
Or it's hello to the jail and then we'll never see you -

When you don't go, Sul-ter-i-oooh
Shake-a in your boots cause you're gonna feed the roots

Where you been, stop singin' or he'll do you in,
You better listen to your mama
Boy she's tried to warn ya
Kid you good-lookin'
But you don't know what's really cookin' when you

Say no no, no to Sul-ter-ii-ooh
Say no no, no to Sul-ter-ii-ooh
Ho ho ho, it's gonna hurt you know
You better off-a elsewhere if you wanna bait that bear
When you're insulting, Sul-ter-iii-oooh, ohh!
Yeah!

*he hobbles off after this, watching for trouble, vanishing into the shady alleys of the city*


Disclaimers:

1) If any gms want rolls on this happy to.

2) With apologies to Bob Merrill and Rosemary Clooney, Mambo Italiano is public domain.  If you want the tune, best version ever: YouTube - Mambo Italiano (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QGnh0q4RuQ8)

Title: Re: A Bardic Tour
Post by: RollinsCat on April 23, 2010, 11:44:54 AM

*Red Coat strolls into the old dockside tavern, running a finger lightly along the crack in the wall that leads to the bar.  He takes some time to examine the selection while ignoring the tremor in his hands - ...it's not that bad, I'm not that deep in.  I can have just one.  His hands shake again, need clenching his gut, but it only makes him angry as words and promises from a past remission crowd his head.  He orders a grape juice to spite himself.

The grape juice does nothing to still his shake.  He surveys the patrons to avoid looking at the dusty bottles on the shelf above the back counter.  The light crowd is a mix of dockworkers, bums who've managed to get their beer money begging, and better quality bums who managed their drinking cash in petty theft or information wrangling.  

Good.  Just who I need tonight.

There is another musician in the room, one he knows.  The other man, short in stature and long in his cups, staggers to the raised platform possessively when he sees Red Coat's bloody crimson velvet standing out among the drab linsey-woolsey and rough onesburg.  Red Coat smiles inwardly but merely nods, taking a sip of the soured juice and leaning against the long bar counter.

The other man starts into a rendition of Shames' Shame but his voice is off and the crowd indulges in their second favorite tavern game, Pelt the Bard.  Red Coat smiles again and waits until the diminutive singer has had enough of soggy food and empty bottles at his head and sulks back to his gin.  Silver Buckle - what do they put in that stuff?  Every bard I know loves it, including myself.

He waits further, finishing his drink, and the crowd quiets down.  A few recognize him and nod or jerk their head to the stage.  A few line up empty bottles with merry grins, themselves waiting.  He sets his bottle on the counter only to have the woman on his left snatch it for her ammunition.  He gives her a courting smile before taking out his big mahogany guitar and with three long strides, the platform.

He sings for a few hours; it's only past midnight when he dodges his last bottle and ends on his newest song, Bring on the Beer.  To the sodden crowd it's a hit and the barkeep gives him a smile.  He hops off the makeshift stage and to the counter, slinging Belle onto his back.  He didn't shake, not while playing.  He never does; the music fills that void, stills the need, brings quiet to the justifications in his head.  But now it's time and he slips True to the barkeep.  

"Drinks all around".  He doesn't shout it out; more effective to let word travel.  The barflys give him grins and tap their bottles to the one now pressed into his hand, and he taps back and takes a long pull.  The alcohol bite never gets old, always gives him a sensual shiver.  Muse, forgive me.  Again.

He spins the stool so his back is to the counter, watching the door and the crowd with lazy eyes.  He sees the other musician leaving, stumbling still and with a sour twist on his pouchy lips, and makes a quiet note of it before turning to his right.

"So what's new around Vehl, my petite blossom?"  The woman who snagged his grape juice bottle flashes a gap-toothed grin and launches into a long recounting of her sister's current infidelity.  Ten minutes later he tries to steer the conversation to his intended subject, finally diverting her from speculating on the endowments and bedroom skills of her brother-in-law and toward news of the Rofireinite temple.

"I heard something from a biddy near the docks last night, something about some attempt in the Rofirinite temple?  What did she say, someone got hurt?..."  He looks side to side along the bar, taking a deep drink of the bitter stout and debating buying another while he listens.  At the promise of hush-hush tidbits a few others turn.  Red Coat leans back and immerses himself in the gossip, sifting the verbal wheat from the chaff, making notes on anything that sounds promising...

//Information gathering for Tyra.

Title: Re: A Bardic Tour
Post by: RollinsCat on May 11, 2010, 11:12:07 AM

*He stepped foot off the plank onto the bird-spattered Lor docks, hands shaking.  The voyage had been every bit as awful as he feared and she was gone now, with whispered words that he barely remembered while the DT's had him in their grip.  She had been there for the worst, before he set sail.  But alone in the cramped cabin he'd payed a fortune to have to himself he'd cried and sweated out a few additional years of alcohol in a haze of pain and need that left him sick, pale, for most of the week.  Muse bless him, now only his midsection ached, and that tremor - that damned tremor that kept him from playing Bella or even strumming his guitar or writing a song.  But that too would pass.  He felt a wry smile; after all, hadn't it before?  How many times had he quit now?

His darker clothing and hood soaked up the midday sun and he loosened his shirt as he walked.  A purchase of some apples and some kinds words with a marketwoman got him directions to the Lor Milita Headquarters.  A moment's flirting and a little song got him local news and a rose as lagniappe.  He bowed to the wrinkled, smiling woman and tucked the flower behind his ear, opinions be damned; she laughed as he strolled off.  

He chose a nicer inn, paying for a room and requesting and taking a bath while his clothes were cleaned; he'd not face the Marshal of Lor smelling like an alcoholic who'd been trapped in a small, tubless room for over a week without booze.  Which he was, but she didn't need to know that.  



The Milita Headquarters building was tall, as were most of the buildings in Lor, with recently patched stucco on the lower level.  The blazing white plaster promised a cool reprieve.  Like many things in life, this was a lie.  His first step inside the building brought a suffocating heat, exacerbated by the lack of ventilation, and a rap on the head from the deceptively low doorway.  He cursed softly in Old Tilmarian and angled past some waiting bodies toward a wide desk with a harried young woman behind it.

"Yes, what?" Her hands never stopped moving.  He marvelled a moment at the number of things she seemed to be doing simultaneously; writing out a writ, organizing a stack of summons, pointing people in directions as they lobbed questions at her, and handling the ones who stopped in front of her desk.

"I'd like to make an appointment to see Marshal Tomyris."  He spoke clearly, ennuciating in his crispest diction as a contrast to her slower, more languid speech.

"Name".  Her hands had already shot to a list, and flipped to the second - no, the third - page.  Name?  He'd signed his letter.  Let's hope that inn has security...

"Andrew Reid.  I've written her, so she isn't unaware."  He leaned in, speaking softly.

The woman's short-fingered hands paused.  "R-e-e-d?"

"R-e-i-d".  He spared a casual glance around; no one was listening to him.  There was an argument starting over a rooster fight from the previous night and whether the winning bird had been hopped up on something.  Accusations got heated; a guard stepped closer, looking sharp in pressed livery but sweating as if under torture inside the tightly buttoned second coat.

"Left, second door.  Leave your dagger with the guard.  Amos, take this to Wendel.  Where can you be reached."  He blinked, dragged his ears from one of the bird fight bettor's colorful description of the other's personal hygiene and back to the clerk.  

"I'm sorry - "

"Where can you be reached."  He gave the name of the inn he'd chosen, front desk.  She noted it with a satisfied nod.  "A good choice.  We'll send word within a day or two.  The Marshal is out at the moment; we expect her back within the week."

He nodded, favoring the competent young lady with a smile and a bow, and walked back into the sun, barely noting a temperature difference. He stopped short at a sudden thought.  How is it she wasn't sweating?

Lor bustled, the Heartsong ablaze with so many lives so close together.  So many feelings, each a unique sound blended in a musical wash of colors across his emotions.  He held that sound inside his heart as he leaned against a market stand.  He'd packed the shabby clothes, the battered guitar...he smiled, watching three children play keep-away from a forth.  If the Marshal wasn't going to be here for a few days, there was time for Willie...*

Title: Re: A Bardic Tour
Post by: RollinsCat on May 26, 2010, 10:39:45 PM

The sun was pounding as Willie shuffled his way toward the docks.  Lor was sluggish in the afternoon heat and he took a shady spot to watch for a while, hood low and guitar at his side.  No one out on the walkway at this melting hour wanted to stop and that suited him fine; things would pick up, and he was here to listen.  He sat and concentrated on tidbits and trivia from anyone within earshot.

A little more than an hour later there were strollers and shoppers haggling for end of day bargains and he picked up his old guitar and began to sing a selection.  He slipped in The Price of Light and his favorite, Fox in the Henhouse, saving his newest for later when he had a small crowd.


Do you feel their eyes upon you
Do you feel the winds a' changin'
Do you know who they're coming for

Do you hear the feet outside our gates
Adamantium and blackened plate
Rap tap tapping, rap tap tapping, rap tap tapping on our door

There's nothing between them and us but our own determination
There is no peace for the pound of flesh taken as receipt
The choice is there to roll over or make some preparations
Draw the line and stand behind or roll over in defeat

We are the line in the sand, my friends -- we are the line in the sand
Too many have forgotten that it's there
We're the final stop, the wheel rut, the last man standing
There's no luxury to say it's not your affair

Knock knock says the spider
To the fat and happy fly
Come join me in my web and you'll be fine

I'm not what you think
Spider says with a wink
But he's knocking, knock-knocking, knock-knock-knocking for to dine

We are the line in the sand, my friends -- we are the line in the sand
To the north they follow orders quietly
Here we have our harbor and our coastline and our gulls
And the right to say that we are truly free

But we are the line in the sand...


A moderate reception, as usual split between those politically aware and those who just wanted to go home at the end of the day, but he was not discouraged.  He took some bows that went largely unnoticed and hobbled away, vanishing into a favored ally with a song under his breath.

Title: Re: A Bardic Tour
Post by: RollinsCat on September 25, 2010, 02:24:28 PM

The Junra sun was hot on his road-dusted brown coat. Two swallows of water, maybe three were left in the canteen and his tongue started to feel fuzzy just thinking about it. Cows and rows of corn lent some hope; there had to be a well ahead. He heard threshing in the distance. A row of young wheat, not ready for harvesting and therefore unattended, provided cover for a spell of invisibility laid over his normal stealth and he scouted.

No Rael guards.

The village was like so many others; clusters of homes built over barns to maximize space with the rest of each plot dedicated to small animal pens and gardens. The feudal lord's home was distant, a grand black shadow against the setting sun. Farmers and their families were just filtering back from the fields cart by cart - he smiled and waved, ears straining for any hint of dangerous recognition in the voices.

Nothing. Only a nod, maybe a smile or wave back as the oak guitar in his hand promised entertainment. An old fruit stand near the village center was free of produce at that moment and he selected it for his stage. Not the best idea he'd ever had in retrospect, trying to climb up with some tiny scrap of grace while his left leg was tied double and strapped to a fake peg. He ended up hopping up on his rear and just sitting there, hells with it. His left knee hurt almost too much to put weight on anyway.

He began to strum and played some instrumental pieces to get attention. His spiel and songs he had ready; he'd been playing them since outside Lor, scouting each village before making his Rael Kingdom debut. Each village, and the few places large enough to be towns, some trading posts, Castle Mask and outskirts...it was in Castle Mask he'd received the warning from an off-duty guard about how far their patrols went, and where he might avoid sticking his nose. Which meant he was already at the edge of their routes and maybe a little beyond. This village was more Golden than Mask.

Okay, less of a sucker punch than I'd planned. I'm a father, by the Muse. I have responsibilities that a stint in jail - like, say, forever - would put a crimp in.

That's it, Tashe, convince yourself. Big chicken.

He'd end his tour here and take off the bloody leg - literally so, from all the blisters he'd acquired - and make his way to the place he'd been heading toward two years ago when he'd last put the bottle down. He hadn't meant to end up in Lor, much less as James, and working closely with a Voraxian that he actually liked to boot. But the Muse could never resist swirling the waters of his life with Her slender elven fingers and so, Lor it was, and Dektis had remained unvisited. He would not have long there, as he'd sent the letter to King -

"Hey mister, you gonna sing?" Adorable little girl eyes met his with the quiet patience farm children learn young. He smiled. Her unfettered curiosity was a delight against the background murmurs of polite adult suspicions.

"I can, little lady. I can do that. What'ya want to hear?"

She looked around then whispered her request, a children's song he knew well. The guitar was tuned so he sang, for her, trying to project his own quiet joy into the song; nudging, shifting with his feelings.

"Little boy, little boy, where's your cat today?
My cat is out a' mousin' and so she's gone away

Little boy, little boy, where's your goat today?
My goat has gone a' grazing, in the barnyard hay

Little boy, little boy, where's your cow today?
My cow is home a' milkin' for our curds and whey

Little boy, little boy, where's your hen today?
My hen is gone a' layin' making eggs for our buffet

Little boy, little boy, where's your pa today?
My pa is gone a' fishin' catching dinner in the bay

Little boy, little boy, where's your ma today?
Ma is gone a' gardenin' picking flowers for a bouquet

Little boy, little boy, where are you today?
I'm gone a' singin' waiting for someone to play!"

She clapped, he smiled again and looked up to see a small gathering of tired, sweaty faces enjoying her responses to the song. Here we go.

"Ladies an' gentlemen, Willie the Bard here to sing a fair bit for your pleasure! Name the song, I'll play it, got some of my own too!" Some murmuring and a few requests were called out that he gladly sang. Then a few more, and some clapping and even a bit of dancing. In between the popular favorites and his less raunchy sailing songs he chanced Fox in the Henhouse, The Price of Light, High Time...the reaction a little less mixed than he'd expected. He looked for Prunillan symbols and saw a few placed so they could be hidden quickly. A nod to himself and he played on, trying to add his joy in having his fingers on instrument strings.

"Now I got jess one more, jess one, this one's for you that go out every day to grow that food we all need but you gotta hide those amulets, those pins, those symbols. Little thing I call Faith. Might listen, message in it.

Faith ain't got a master
Faith ain't got a boss
Can't tell me who to worship
Can't tell me which to toss

Got Deliar for luck and money
Prunilla for wheat and honey
Katia for the trees and bunnies
And Rofirein when you done a wrong

Got Aeridin for real good healing
Lucinda for the magic dealing
Ilsare for that lovin' feeling
And Xeen when that feelin' gets real strong

Faith's too big for one god
Faith's spread over all
Faith come from the heart place
Not some sign tacked to a city wall

There's Toran when you need a hand
When you need good metals there's Dor-and
Aragen when ya need to un-der-stand
And Shindie for the fishes in the sea

Got Mist for the storms and weather
Got Folian for hides and feather
Got Branderback for sneaky leather
And Shadon when you want a little glee

Beryl and the big red dragon
Az'atta and that Bara-eon
Grannoch and Kith-air-ien...and Vierdri'ira and Corath and Goran and Vorax and Grand and...and...am I forgettin' one?

Oh, yeah. HIM.

Faith ain't for the takin'
Faith ain't one god's voice
Can't tell me who to follow
Can't take aaa-way my choiiice!

All right, thanks folks, have a good night now..." Leaning on the left knee only reminded him how brief the rest was but he had to move. This was the dangerous part, there had been plenty of time while he'd been performing for someone to pass a message, for someone to be waiting for him and there was precious little cover to cast a spell. He hobbled fast as he could for the nearest cornfield, knowing those slick, sharp leaves would hide him long enough to lose Willie...

Title: Re: A Bardic Tour
Post by: RollinsCat on October 29, 2010, 08:39:27 AM

*stuck up on every inn one could reasonably get to in a month's time*

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN

Please come see, at the Leringard Arms, two voices as you have never heard them before; come and witness

LANDREW

Song, dance, and a pretty lady!  Be at the Leringard Arms Grand Re-opening!

Show starts at two in the afternoon for those in the east.

[/FONT]

Title: Re: A Bardic Tour
Post by: RollinsCat on December 12, 2010, 04:30:27 PM

An old, shabby bard makes his way into bars around Mariner's Hold, including the Silver Buckle during a lull in construction.  His song list is mostly tavern fare but he debuts a new song for the audience.

Ladies and gentlemen!  I was kicking around Nith some time ago, looking for new fans, and you will not believe what old Willie heard.  Comin' from the borders 'round Kuhl this is -- a little tale in these stressful times 'bout some crazy types decided to take the Cult head on.  I mean head on people!  Got some Steel in their backbone, they do, or some part of 'em I can't mention 'cause there's ladies present.  Hadda write a song 'bout it and it goes a little something like this...

The old man tunes the guitar and starts up an intro in his now-familiar rusty baritone.

You know things been building, times been down
Feels we got right turned around
Cult's touched down on Mistone ground
Spreading their disease

Got dragons bound to die for them
Carryin' on with Bloodstone's whim
And here we sit out on a limb
Waiting for the squeeze

But right when you think you're stuck
Comes some crazy blue-skinned...sorry, can't say it --
Who got the fire to walk on up
And kick 'em in the knees...there's the buildup folks, here's the tale...

The tune morphs into a chanty and the grizzled bard encourages singing along after the first go-through.

Creeping in past guarded borders at night, eight swords on a mission
On quiet feet looking for Drach to meet
The goal? Pure attrition!

Yo, ho, you don't have to go
But you have to admire the guts
The Cult might have freaks and half-dragon geeks
But they bleed when they're covered in cuts!

Hunting patrols on Kuhl's side of the line, culling drach like vermin
Fear and coercion may keep us line
But not friends of the blue-skin!

Yo, ho, I sure wouldn't go
Still I applaud their panache
The Cult's been right scaring and big ego airing
And it's very past time they got thrashed!

Weeks of good hunting left many drach dead with their blood was wilting the grass
Our group sent a message with heads on a stick
And swords stuck deep inside drach...carcass!

Yo, ho, maybe I'll go
Just to see such a sight
A handful plus three (and maybe little old me)
Beating the Cult at their fight!

Striding out tall with a beck and a call into an ambush well planned
A wild dragon's roar and forty plus four
Could not fully take down this mad band!

Yo, ho, imagine the blow
That an army was needed to win
A dragon and myrdrachs in waves and in packs
For a mere seven men (and one woman)!

Annnnd...even then they didn't get Blue
Like a cat he ended up on his feet
Even the crazies who followed him in
Whooped victory in their defeat

One man can't do it
And maybe not eight
But some of you might know a soul
Who wants the Cult gone and to do their own part...
Let's show them who's in control!

Softly on his battered oak guitar.

Yo, ho, a tale not of woe
But one of rising above
The Green Dragon Cult wants you bowing in fear
But the truth is?  They're not all that tough.

Thank you, thank you!  Take care now, ya hear?  

With that last song, Willie hobbles to the portal, muttering about the disgraceful condition of the tavern and he should speak to the owner about it, and vanishes.

Title: Re: A Bardic Tour
Post by: RollinsCat on January 03, 2011, 11:38:45 PM

He walks into the bar in Lor as it's still abuzz with the news of the battle and remembers to duck his head this time coming through the entrance.  His guitar is slung loosely on his back, ready to be swung around and played - his fingers itch to massage music from the strings.

The song is written, fresh, ink barely dry.  He's planning on passing it to bards he's worked with before, along with some payment to have them sing it, but this first performance is his and long stride takes him to the makeshift stage in seconds.  Some people recognize him and smile and he smiles back.  He snags a barstool on the way to the raised wood platform and plunks it down firmly, swinging around and planting his behind on the unforgiving oak.

He waits just a second as the bar chatter dies down and eschews an introduction.  Instead he starts right in to playing the guitar with a martial, rhythmic strumming.  Ever so softly he sings the illusionary sound that will accompany; drums, of course, their metronomic rap-tapping released during the song with periodic finger strikes on the wood.

The magic is waiting in his fingers, the audience large and just now allowing their attention to drift.  He sings to lasso those straying minds in his tenor, his vocal comfort spot, and listens to his own voice, letting the mood lift him as he hopes it lifts the others.


It was just into summer of fourteen-seven-five
Rancion took the Mask and held the Baroness alive
Lor's lands were trampled on by Rael's bully boy  
The Diet chambers echoed with loud demanding noise

Rael demands they'd answered and trade was marshaled through
But to capture Lor's own Castle well this really wouldn't do
The mood across the city was as black as a dark elf
The Mayors read the winds and put discretion on the shelf

Take up arms, it's time this mess was ending - take up arms and let's give them a show
Take up arms and our city be defending, take up arms because Rael has to go!

Standing tall and confident before an angry crowd
The Lord and the Lady Mayors together spoke aloud
"We are here today before you truly humbled by you all
To tell you we're not waiting for the other shoe to fall

Faithful friends and Lorites, the time has come at last
In half a week or less our army heads out for the Mask
Peace will be the aim but people if they force our hand
We'll plant our flag and plant our feet and battle for our land!"

Take up arms, shields and your chainmail, take up sword, pike and axe and bow
Take up arms, halberd mace and flail, take up arms because Rael has to go!

Well friends you can imagine the shock that statement brought
Most of the army had not a single battle fought
Home and hearth and country though it stiffens a man's spine
The soldiers got their weapons and they formed a marching line

There was a cheer the day they left a joyous shout burst forth
Lady Swann was walking with that army headed north!
The Heartwarden of the Beacon in her mithril plate so bright
And Toranite Stormhaven with forty stonebound knights

Take up arms, singing loud our anthems, take up arms and let's get on the road
Take up arms, sing your prayers and hymns, take up arms because Rael has to go!

Halfway to the Mask they were before a runner came
Five thousand Rael soldiers were headed down the lane
That number murmured front to back like a wild fire run
Their forces were outnumbered by more than three to one

Lady Swann was having none of it and instead she picked a spot
A quiet winding valley road where the battle would be fought
Palisades and traps were laid as quickly as they could
Little holes to catch the feet and a fence of sharpened wood

Swords up boys, here they are a'comin', pikes out boys, it's going to get rough
Swords up boys and get the bards a drummin', pikes out boys, let's show them our stuff!

The dust plume from the enemy could be seen for miles
As reality was sinking in among the rank and files
Adventurers had come along and a few then slunk away
While Milady Captain Trueaxe placed the soldiers for the fray

Scouts were sent from both sides forth to tip the coming scales
Lor's woodsman and shifter lass and three guarded groups for Rael's
The deep dwarf forces tried to pry but were bled out on our field
While the southern force's eyes and ears remained well concealed

Bows out boys and fill 'em full of arrows, bows out boys, don't give them a peek
Bows out boys and leave them for the crows, bows out boys and shoot 'em till they leak!

It wasn't as long as it seemed before the enemy approached
Despite initial victory nerves were stretched on a tight rope
But then, before engagement, raining down upon Rael's troops
Boulders big as men from some well-hidden giant groups

That turned the tide right there my friends, the giants fighting Rael
Even the dwarves were cheering for their old enemy to prevail
Each one a match for ten or more of the Deep Dwarf's fighting force
Then Lor charged in with stonebound friends, no longer the dark horse

Side by side, keep one eye on your buddy, back to back, strike the final blow
Side by side, it's going to get bloody, back to back because Rael has to go!

The battle raged on most of the day, fortunes shifting hour by hour
Lor's heart was matched by the sheer size of the Deep Lord's fighting power
Until news spread from behind the lines - Rael's general ceased to be!
The Lorites pressed advantage and forced the enemy to flee

Some chased down the stragglers
Others scoured the battleground
Tending to the wounded and the fallen that they found
The giants lifted up their dead,
Melting back into the wood
Their contract with Father Mithril had been honored well and good
A eulogy was sung for the passed
Their sacrifice wrapped in song
And bodies lifted to be borne home on the backs of the strong
A thousand men and half again
Had marched off to the war
Most first time fighting in that long Battle for Lor
Five hundred brave and noble souls
Fell to the gods that day
But they took down half the enemy before the rest could run away

The story doesn't end there with six hundred still on the task
The Captain of the Beacon pressed them forward to the Mask
To be met, not with violence but instead a smiling Baroness
Who appeared (to everyone's relief) to be in no distress

Rael had withdrawn and Lor took back lands they'd been holding
To Castle Mask and then beyond to the little town of Golden
Both sides lick their wounds while Prantz puts out Cultist fires
And for Lor's fighting forces I hope this little song inspires

They took up arms for family and homeland, they took up arms knowing they could die
They took up arms and drew a firm line in the sand, they took up arms and to Rael said goodbye!

So here ends the tale of the First Battle of Lor
This bard is rather certain there will be more
Freedom must be defended from enemies both great and small
Ask yourself what you'd do when it is you who hears the call...

Title: Re: A Bardic Tour
Post by: RollinsCat on January 14, 2011, 07:02:26 AM

*a homemade placard begins to appear on various taverns in known bardic haunts across Mistone, Dregar, Alindor, Belinara, and the islands*

Live in Concert - the one, the only - Willie the Bard!

One night only

Outside Audira, in Sedera, on Dregar, at the closest oasis

Wedlar, Augra 18, 1476

Everyone welcome including them peaceful Az'attan types and especially the pretty ones.

//Willie's Show (http://forums.layonara.com/calendar.php?do=getinfo&e=17809&day=2011-1-19&c=3)

Title: Re: A Bardic Tour
Post by: RollinsCat on February 07, 2011, 02:23:29 PM

Word among friends is that something silly (http://forums.layonara.com/calendar.php?do=getinfo&day=2011-2-9&e=17831&c=2) is going to take place in Hlint.  Alcohol and food are encouraged, along with more bandages and perhaps gifts for those trapped within.

Those who know Andrew will certainly know about this little event...

Title: Re: A Bardic Tour
Post by: RollinsCat on February 09, 2011, 09:10:07 PM

He speaks to his brother and sisters in song as he travels.  From Dregar to Alindor to Tilmar to Mistone, those he knew before, those he trusts, he gives the songs to.  He asks only that they are careful - he tells them of the Cult attack, warns them of repercussions, and trades information as he goes.  He wants no more blood on his hands.

"Yo, Ho, the Cult's Got to Go" is an easy favorite but the next one...not as much a crowd-pleaser.  They agree to sing it anyway, some of them, and whether that's to shut him up or because they feel the cause he can't tell.

He twists his guilt, spinning his own failure into public relations - but if there is one way to turn that tragedy into something good, this is it.

He sings it himself in a few bars, no place he expects to get disappeared - he's learned that lesson, at least.  The song's lyrics don't sit well with him and yet...he feels the emotion in each word.  It is for the concertgoers, and for the people who did not make it home, for Ilsare, and for the stonebound who came to see a show and ended up under a stone pillar.


"Encore"

Footprints to the hills of blood
Now hidden in the sand
Music's final fading throes
Farewells the former merry band
They bleed and fade, some to their stones
Some to lie and rot
Those who will not make it home
Those who will have another shot

Not all things are won by force nor all battles on a blade
Thunderstorm of poisoned eyes
Watch us bleed and watch us fade

Footprints in the hills of blood
Picking over dead
Dragons shriek mock eulogy
A new oasis pooled red
Bled white to ghost to memory
Song drifts up with ash
The guilty and the innocent
Judged equal in the clash

A message loud and clear writ crimson on our skin
There is no length they will not go to assure they win
No man or dragon safe no matter how vanishing their sin
In the end we all look the same to them

Children of the Broken One a war upon us laid
Cult of personality
They watch us bleed and watch us fade
They watch us bleed and watch us fade
Watch us bleed and watch us fade...

Title: Re: A Bardic Tour
Post by: RollinsCat on November 22, 2011, 07:44:05 PM

Word goes around that the Silver Buckle is holding a show, tonight, with several prominent bards attending!

Title: Re: A Bardic Tour
Post by: RollinsCat on January 30, 2012, 11:07:05 PM

"Yer who?"

"Willie the Bard."  Low, gruff voice.

The inn's guard chuckles."Thought you'd be dead by now, old man."

"Too ornery to die, kid.  Now get out of my way and lemme sing."

He's young, the guard.  Barely shaving.  Spins on his stool so the bard can thump by.  The tavern is half full and a mix of younger and older.  He's still nervous.  A trickle of sweat carves a faint path in his make-up and he slides the hat lower on his face as he gets to the stage.  There is a step and he's grateful.

Faces turn at the prospect of some entertainment.  Bottles are gripped firmer, drained, poised to throw.  The bartenders look over - a man and a woman, the woman even-faced, the man scowling but not at him.

He pauses.  He's very nervous.  The silence stretches on a little too long and they're getting restless out there.  He opens with one of his older tunes and strums along on the battered oak guitar.  It's hard to sing the way he's singing, but Willie's voice is deeper, rougher than his own, he remembers.

Two songs, three - four - decent reception.  Only a few things thrown at him.  He starts working them about Rael and the "citizenship papers".  What does it say that a kingdom needs to bribe people to believe in it?  What's that about?  Some booing, some cheering, and it's time for that song.

"Quarter-True, quarter-True, quarter for your soul!
A kingdom to Sulterio is the final goal!
If you know what’s good for you you’d better not say no!
Quarter-True, quarter-True, quarter for your soul!

"Ignore what you’re hearing
Of course you can choose
To sign or to wait at the back of the queue
Less merchant space
And heavier taxes?
Then accept our conditions, it’s all up to you!

"Half-True, half-True, half True for your ken!
Sign right here and make yourself a special citizen!
Give up pesky freedoms with one stroke of a pen!
Half-True, half-True, half True for your ken!

"It’s for your own good
You need our protection
Thinking is far, far too hard for your kind
The papers are lovely
The papers will help you
Life will be easier once you have signed

"Whole True, whole True, a gold True for you all!
What Rael’s army failed to take greed might cause to fall!
A little back in taxes and you’ll be in his thrall!
Whole True, whole True, a gold True for you all!

"No magic
No gods
Bow your head, pay your fee
No weapons
No defense
And no strange speaking
Sign your forms
Wipe your feet
And listen to meeeee...

True, True, money for your soul!"

One more old favorite, not his own but a sure crowd pleaser, and he thumps off, tipping his hat.  He did it.  His heart is pounding, but he did it.  He is Andrew Reid.  He is Willie the Bard.  The bartender slips him a bottle of beer on the way out with a nod.

He drinks it, invisible, by the back fence and feels himself soaring inside.  He can do this.  It's what he does.

Title: Re: A Bardic Tour
Post by: RollinsCat on March 28, 2012, 01:12:15 PM

There was dirt on Willie's clothing.  Okay, there was always dirt on his clothing, but it wasn't dirt he'd put there for effect.  It was actual dirt.  Gardening soil, wiped off absently and not cleaned.  Muse.

It smelled like someone else, too.  It was hard to pinpoint...a whiff of sweat, loamy and slightly acrid without the sandlewood and cigar touch his own carried.  Not his sweat.  Andeux's.

So Willie'd been out while he was captive?  Good, in one way - because Willie was coming out again, and this time his favorite crotchity old bard had a score to settle with the upstart who'd been singing his songs without paying respect to the true author.  Damned kids, stealing an old man's catalog!  How dare he?  Willie was going to find that skinny Reid kid and then they were gonna talk, yessir!

The entire train of thought made his head spin a little and he looked into the bedroom mirror and had a laugh at himself, at least until the outfit slipped on, the leg, the hat.  The guitar.

He was gonna find that stringbean double, yes he was.  And they were gonna have themselves a sit-down, sure as his name was Willie the Bard...

Title: Re: A Bardic Tour
Post by: RollinsCat on August 13, 2012, 02:33:28 PM

Tonight, (//Monday August thirteenth after nine pm eastern), near the fire in Center, a bard will be sitting.  He is a multi-purpose fellow, this bard, and will be available to sing songs, share tales, guide one on a trip to places known or unknown - although for a bard he's a bit directionally challenged - or to help with odd jobs.  Come up and poke him, he'll be delighted for the company, for what's a bard without an audience?

//Andrew Reid in Center tonight to help with quests and rp.

Title: Re: A Bardic Tour
Post by: Nehetsrev on August 13, 2012, 05:54:26 PM

//Wish I could attend, however we'll be out with family who're visiting from out of state tonight.

Title: Re: A Bardic Tour
Post by: RollinsCat on August 13, 2012, 09:05:36 PM

The bard and his acrobatic friend Vell take a seat and await anyone who might happen by...

Title: Re: A Bardic Tour
Post by: RollinsCat on August 13, 2012, 11:57:21 PM

What started as a bit of back-and-forth between landlord and tenant became a trip to obtain a horsewoman's oil.  From two came three when Naldin joined the scene; then four, as the bard's student Night came across them; five, with the fortuitous find of Argus; then six, Gunther, and into the mountains they went.  A bear was saved an untimely death but the bard's incomplete grasp of the giant's language didn't save any of Grannoch's lost children that day.

After that successful trip came a jaunt into the spider caves for dark silk, and for this was added Cord for her piccolo and voice, and later Jetta.  Tyrian made an appearance and all in all, it was a fantastic night of adventuring.


//thanks to those that showed, and thanks to Naldin for knowing the way!

Title: Re: A Bardic Tour
Post by: RollinsCat on October 25, 2012, 11:28:14 PM

Deep in the dwarven city of Lusaxon in the Taur'en hills, a most unlikely band gathers in a stone feasting hall for a concert.

A man in a long coat, red velvet over leather, emerges to face a crowd of hundreds of dwarves, a scant handful of humans, and a few finger's worth of elves.  He writes up to the moment of the show and improvises beyond, singing drinking songs, comedic tales, a few that more seriously address the threat of Rael, and a few created that very day.  Of his new material, two seem to get the most response; a seriously played remembrance of the happenings of the prior day and a stomp-along anthem to the city.


"In a tomb of kings and warriors, footsteps in the dust
Ivory bones shuffle past
Dried red streaks of blood, or rust

There they rest but rest they don’t, trapped in rocky cages
Carefully nurtured vitriol
Distilled down the ages

Curses screamed from wall to wall
Echoing down carved stone hall
Crimson spray and broken crawl - final hate from grey lips fall
A lock formed from a death rattle...

How long did they stay that way, barred from final night?
No one left to apologize
No one left to set things right

Dust like snow as dark forgets, this place you cannot tread
Until steps echo long and short
Odd companions to the dead

Elves and humans, kith and kin
Not of the past and so let in
Inside a rage as dense as tin yet gaseous, diluted thin
A cloying mist across our skin...

Racing time the odd ones out, to pull life from angry ashes
Each step heavier than last
Then and now in desperate clashes

New blood conquers what has gone, the lost are finally found
Still that rage and pain a boot
Crushing them onto the ground

What can fix the centuries
Who among us would be keys
In three small words the anger ease and ghostly memories are pleased
'I forgive you...'

'I forgive you...'

More power than in any spell and sharper than a blade
Elf and kin dissolve
The curses that ancestors made

From an opening of doors and hearts the living are brought out
What other good might come of that?
Seems to be worth thinking about"


There were frowns, thoughtful looks, some nods...his choice to sing this earlier on is a good one.  As the evening progresses the Lusaxonites drink like they have an auxiliary liver.

He drinks a good bit too, swigs here and there.  They give him advice, his friends - "Don't refuse a drink, they might take it as an insult".  "Sing-along?"  "Propose a toast!"  "Have them sing one of their songs..."  And he takes their advice, all of it, because they see and hear what he cannot, being center stage.

It goes as well as any show he's ever performed.  He's dead center in the storm's eye, emotions washing past and circling but not dislodging him, his voice nimble and fingers fast on Bella's strings.  Bella too soaks up the audience and sounds her absolute best.  To this crowd with no reason to like a human and even less to like an Ilsarian, it ceases to matter for most.  He's theirs and they are his for that few hours, and he sings the anthem with feeling.


"When Lusaxon was young, oh he was a dandy
The men were like tree-trunks, the ladies like candy
The draughts poured from kegs as a golden spring shower
Crisp as a fall wind and sweet as a flower

Lusaxon! Lusaxon! Lift one for me
There’s no other place that I’d rather be
Lusaxon! Lusaxon! Raise up your glass
To old friends and new friends both laddie and lass!

Lusaxon’s a sweet lamb but a lion in war
The city may purr but gods it can roar!
The allies he keeps are steadfast and true
From history’s pages...and maybe some new

Lusaxon! Lusaxon! Lift one for me
There’s no other place that I’d rather be
Lusaxon! Lusaxon! Raise up your glass
To old friends and new friends both laddie and lass!

Bold and unconquered the city he’ll stand
No matter who tries to mine up the land!
So rise if you love these sturdy old hills
Clap whistle or stomp and keep that mug filled!

Lusaxon! Lusaxon! Lift one for me
There’s no other place that I’d rather be
Lusaxon! Lusaxon! Raise up your glass
To old friends and new friends both laddie and lass!

I’m making this up as you sing along
And I’m glad that you’re all enjoying this song
Turn to those near you one to another
Let’s all raise our glasses as Lusaxon’s brothers!

Lusaxon! Lusaxon! Lift one for me
There’s no other place that I’d rather be
Lusaxon! Lusaxon! Raise up your glass
To old friends and new friends both laddie and lass!"

The last lines he made up at the show.  Thanks to the advice to not refuse a drink, he ends up a bit in his cups - a dangerous place to be for him, certainly, but Minu is right there to guard him from himself, for which he is profoundly grateful - and he forgets what he sang.  It isn't all that important though and he makes up a new ending.  And he'll make up more as he goes, he's sure.

Hours of singing, yet more time shaking hands, thanking people, wondering if he can sneak a drink when Elly's not looking...which turns out to be no, for if his wife's eyes stray from him then Jetta's alight.  He's more closely watched after the show ends than when it began.  The too-short dwarven bed calls, and he makes his goodbyes.

In front of a bunch of dwarves, he possibly being one of if not the only human bard to ever play the city, he gave the performance of his life.

Muse...thank you.