Garron nervously tightened the strings on his guitar and looked around apprehensively at the smoke-filled tavern. It was beginning to fill up with the bustle of usual customers and obvious drunkards who had not better place to go than its beer-encrusted floor.
He caught Ragrian’s eye, who flashed him a brief smile, undoubtedly meant to encourage him. He had arranged with her some time that he could play while she took a break. Now he was wishing he had not been so bold.
He ran through the list of songs and stories he hoped to regale the crowd with....The Tales of Gwydion Demon-Stalker?....probably, but he’d have to use a shorter version…Hadrian and Edara?...Nah, too much romance, not good for this crowd…The Imp, the Thief, and Nine Lovely Lasses?...Ah-hah! They would eat up all the dirty limericks, no doubt.
“Where’s the music?!”
Jarred out of his thoughts by the half-drunken yell, Garron looked up and saw that Ragrian had already left. He hurried to her central table, forgetting the list of songs and tales that he compiled in the corner where he had been preparing. He froze and felt the blood rush to his face. He glimpsed around the tavern. Most of the customers had barely noticed him, but a few were looking at him oddly and sizing him up. Now what?
He took a deep breath, and said as loud as he could, “Ladies and gentlemen, I am Garron Thrinault, and it is my pleasure to be able to play for you this evening.”
He hadn’t really expected anyone to listen or pay attention, but he would have given anything for someone to look at him, smile at him…geez, acknowledge him at least.
No luck.
He tried thinking of a song title...any song title!...but none came. He was completely blanking out.
“How about a song, minstrel?” someone shouted.
“Maybe he’s mute!”
“Nah, I heard him say something.”
“Looks like he saw a ghost.”
“Or a Drow.”
And suddenly inspiration came, as he recalled his chance encounter outside the Inn just recently and a sign posted by the town guard. He took a deep breath and…
“Ladies and gentlemen, let me begin by recounting to you an incident that occurred just outside these very walls,” he said. “An age-old conflict has once again been rekindled. Drow versus dwarves.”
The effect on the crowd was immediate. While sporadic conversations continued in a few corners, many of the customers had turned at least one ear to him. He had an opening.
“Thousands of years ago, elves and dwarves were friendly, peaceful…united. But during the second generation came the Race Wars, and dwarves and elves became implacable foes” Gods, he hoped he was remembering his history right.
“But their fury was nothing compared to what was felt because the Top Elves and the Dark Elves…or Drow. And the Drow today continue their war not just on the elves, but on all races that exist on the surface.
“The town of Hlint knows that all too well, does it not? Four separate attacks on the town recently, yes?
Cries of “aye” and “Kill them all” filled the tavern, although Garron thought they were more subdued than he would have expected.
“And now there are several Drow walking around town, are there not? Along with dwarves, orcs, giants and others.” He pressed on, ignoring the frequently shouting coming from the more inebriated of the tavern patrons.
“I have seen dwarves spit on Drows. And just yesterday, I saw a Drow spit on a dwarf. And the dwarf responded by pushing the Drow to the ground. Can the good people of Hlint stand for this anymore? Is this what passes for law and order in Hlint?”
It was an odd but amazing feeling, he thought, for he had them now. They weren’t really thinking at this point, but just going along with what he was saying, more excited about yelling together as a mob than discerning what they might be yelling about.
“Really, what’s the difference between a Drow, an elf, a dwarf, an orc or a giant. They all think they’re better than we are. Have you seen how they look at us?” He paused.
We should run them all out of town!” he cried. “Let’s make Hlint a human-only town! We don’t need their kind around here!”
The uproar was deafening. People grabbed chairs, torches, glasses, whatever they could find that could be used as a weapon. Several began marching towards the door. He had expected to get them riled up – he needed to get them riled up to make his point – but this was beginning to get out of control.
“Wait a moment!” he cried. “Wait a moment!” He gave a brief prayer to Ilsare.
And it was answered because the crowd stopped momentarily, and he again had an opening.
“Uh, it just occurred to me. If we run everyone out of town, who’s going to defend Hlint against an attack of the Drow? I mean, we have the town guard, but many of these races helped to defend Hlint against the previous attacks, right?”
There was some muttered agreement, although most in the crowd still weren’t sure where he was going.
He pretended to think some more. And then he spoke very low, almost whispered, to ensure that everyone leaned forward so as to be sure to hear him. “And what if, the gods forbid, that he – Sinthar Bloodstone – came to Mistone and his forces attacked? What then? I mean, he’s only captured most of the world. Isn’t it only a matter of time before he attacks here?”
It wasn’t the greatest argument, but he didn’t need it to be. He just needed them to follow him. Keep them moving, keep playing on their emotions.
The atmosphere was still very intense, teetering on the edge, but they were listening intently to what he said. “I mean, hear me out, I only say this because we’re talking about our survival here. Each of you and your family’s survival. But maybe I had it wrong the first time. I mean….” And he pretended to ponder some more… “maybe we need these people…maybe we need to work with them. I don’t know. It just doesn’t make sense to run them out, especially after we’ve been living pretty peacefully with them, you know. A lot of them have helped us with various things, haven’t they?
There were a lot of muttered “ayes” and “I suppose” in the crowd. “But what about the blasted Drow,” yelled someone. “Captain Garent said they’re going to attack Hlint because of some renegades here.”
He put his hand up to his chin and thought some more. “Well, that’s a good question…a mighty good question. What do we about the Drow?” He slowly walked around the room, looking everyone right in the eyes. Ye gods, he owned the place! It was an unreal feeling.
“Like you all, I feel no sympathy for the Drow whatsoever. Too many of us have lost loved ones to them.” He waited momentarily for the crowd to express its agreement.
“But….” And he paused. “These renegades. Seems to me that if they’re running from the Drow, that’s the kind of person I want as an ally, you know? I mean, that’s just my opinion. My ma told me once, the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Now think about that…seems to me I’d want that person as my friend. And besides, Captain Garent has said that some of the individual Drow in town are not spies, but they’re wanted by the Drow as traitors.
“But they’re going to attack us because these renegades are living here!” someone shouted.
“Yeah, but didn’t they attack Hlint four times before most of these renegades showed up in town?” He stopped and put his hands together that looked like he was praying. “My friends, the sad truth is, we will be attacked again, whether or not these renegades are in town or not. So we have to ask ourselves, how prepared do we want to be? Do we want strength in numbers – with elves, dwarves, Halflings, gnomes, giants and others helping to defend ourselves? Do we want these renegades providing us inside knowledge of how the Drow operate?
“This is no cosmopolitan town like Hampshire, with its girly men and sense of entitlement. This is a frontier town, a town where we work hard everyday and we give an honest day’s labor. And we judge a man not by what he wears, but how he acts and what he provides to the community. Is this not true?”
There were strong murmurings of agreements from the assembled patrons, who by now were sitting down and had put away their make-shift weapons.
“Certainly most drow are evil, I will agree with you…but clearly a few are not. There is good and evil in all men. Are all elves haughty and distant? Are all dwarves fearless drunkards?” He laughed as the expected cries of “yes” filled the room.
“Just something to consider, friends,” said Garron as he picked up his guitar. Inwardly, he gave a sigh of relief…he did not want to be held responsible for a riot in Hlint on his first night playing. He wasn’t really sure where he had been going when he started his oratory, but he had quickly learned what kind of influence a good public speaker could have. He wondered what kind of impact a song might have.
“And now, the Imp, the Thief, and the Nine Lovely Lasses.”
It was clearly a popular favorite, and the tavern erupted in cheer.
///(This was supposed to be a character development piece but went off in a completely different direction.)
