A Bardic Tour

[RollinsCat]

*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...*

[RollinsCat]

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.

[RollinsCat]

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...

[RollinsCat]

*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]

[RollinsCat]

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.

[RollinsCat]

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...

[RollinsCat]

*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

[RollinsCat]

Word among friends is that something silly 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...

[RollinsCat]

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...

[RollinsCat]

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

[RollinsCat]

"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.

[RollinsCat]

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...

[RollinsCat]

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.

[Nehetsrev]

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

[RollinsCat]

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

[RollinsCat]

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!

[RollinsCat]

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.