Our eponymous bard appears to have sat this little adventure out. I wonder what he could be getting himself involved in...
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“I just don’t know
where I see this going.”
“Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll be here. They’re only two days late.”
“I don’t mean that,” Aliessa sighed. “Have you not been listening to me at all?”
“Weren’t you saying how annoyed you were that the others weren’t here and how you couldn’t wait anymore?” Derrek asked.
He looked past the irritated woman, eyeing the man climbing upon the stage with suspicion. Aliesse leaned back into his vision, expectation written all over her face.
Derrek regarded her politely.
“Yes?”
“Do you even remember what day this is?”
“The Seventh of Wintermarch according to the Aretessian Calendar, also known as Trolfynnan Day in honour of the Corindian god of flutes, whistles and general drunken revelry. It is the day that many bard colleges decide to hold a festival in his honour and to test the mettle of all registered minstrels through challenges of skill, knowledge and trivial uselessness.”
“… and our anniversary?”
“Yeah… that too.”
Aliessa sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. Her exaggerated attempt at agitation caused her nestled newt to scamper from his perch upon her wrist and seek refuge beneath the slip of her shoulder strap.
The young woman of elongated delicateness wore a shimmering dress of shifting emerald and turquoise scales that appeared almost as if it were fashioned from the skin of some exotic beast. Her hair had been gathered amongst several colourful wooden pegs in which her pet snake had wound herself amongst like a long streak of cardinal highlight in her chestnut hair festooned with soft pink petals.
She had even worn delicate shoes that appeared as if they had been fashioned from the very element of ice and exposed carefully painted toes that seemed to refract into a rainbow of colour within her footwear. Not that Derrek could see this as her cat had curled upon her feet to nap as the evening progressed.
All in all, the girl was woefully overdressed for the establishment she currently occupied. Upon her arrival, all the patrons had turned to ogle in their muddied and tattered leathers and cottons. It was perhaps the long, curious staff that kept them mostly at bay. The curving fingers of the top seeming to trap an ever shifting eye within that maintained a wary, unblinking stare at anyone that showed too much interest.
The woman sighed, reaching for her drink. From beneath the table sprung a small ferret that bounced across and pushed her cup to her outstretched fingers.
But Derrek didn’t care. It was the man that was standing upon the stage, shouting at one of the audience before him and gesticulating wildly towards that chair that drew his attention.
“You know,” Aliessa said, setting down her cup, “when your friends had set off on their quest, I thought this would have given us the perfect opportunity to spend some time alone. It seems I’ve hardly seen you since you’ve been tromping off across the countryside for what seems like years now.”
“Mhmm.”
“And when you said that this weekend was going to be special I thought you had taken the time to arrange something pleasant for the occasion.”
“Yeah.”
“And instead you dragged me to the Copper Laurel and haven’t even said a word to me since entering the door.”
“Sure.”
“By the blistering winds of Arcadia! WILL YOU PAY ATTENTION!”
Aliessa slammed her hand upon the table, causing the cups to jump and spill their contents across the stained top. A small dish of nuts spun, tipping the food upon the dirty floor before immediately being beset by the ferret.
All the present eyes turned to the couple, save one pair. Derrek still looked warily upon the man at the stage, wrestling the stool from the distracted patron.
“I don’t mean to interrupt,” the man called, his voice high and screeching like someone scrapping their fingernails over Derrek’s eardrums, “but I’m trying to put a show on here!”
“I’m sorry,” Derrek said, finally blinking. “Was there something you said?”
Aliessa stood, a small gerbil tumbling from the folds of her dress.
“I’m going to use the chute.”
She stomped away, pursued quickly by her mini-menagerie.
Derrek merely motioned for more mead and kept a cold stare towards the fat man now fixing himself upon the stool.
“Right. Let’s get this start. So an ugly orc walks into a bar, right? And he’s got this parrot on his shoulder. Well, the bartender takes one look at that parrot and his eyes get real big. Then he’s all like ‘that’s pretty neat, where did you get it?’
“’In a cave!’”
The man gave a terrific squawk and fluttered his arms in mimicry of the colourful animal. The great rolls of his arms, squeezed out of the pressed but stained white shirt, flopped wildly about as he gestured. But only dead silence greeted his performance. Derrek merely shook his head.
“Guess I’ll have to explain it later,” the man called. He shrugged, picking up his lute and plucking at the strings a couple of times. Derrek could already tell the instrument was out of tune, but the man made no effort to fix it. Instead, he broke immediately into the Ballad of Baronug Crossing, his straining voice belting out the lyrics raucously over his hamstrung cords.
It was a painful experience, made even more intense by the slowly built clapping from the crowd. By the final stanza, they were cheering and singing along with the tune, mindless of the creatively void performance. At last, the song came to an end to mediocre applause and a few celebratory coins before the bard stood, kicking the stool to the ground and boldly striding down the steps.
He took enough time to smile and chat with a few passing patrons before making a beeline towards Derrek.
“Ah, friend, long time no see! How long has it been since the mighty Derrek Gungrik graced this fair city? I hardly recognized you earlier.”
“Alec Carver, still training in the practice of the lute I see?”
“Haha! I am a graduated master!” the fat man laughed, slapping Derrek upon the back. “I do hope that my performance hasn’t dissuaded you from joining in with the festivities.”
“I don’t know, I wouldn’t want to overshadow you once again. I mean, there’s only so long people can put up with your music once they actually hear talent.”
“Aha! Indeed! I’m so glad to hear that your lengthy exile hasn’t softened that wit of yours. I suppose you couldn’t enter the competition seeing that you are not a registered minstrel. Pity.”
“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t want to reveal you for the fraud that you are.”
“Ha, you wish, dunderic. But I see your date has decided to come back for some reason.”
Aliessa returned slowly to the table, eyeing Alec carefully.
“My lady! Still treating with second rate, two bit musicians after all these years.”
“Good to see you too Carver,” Aliessa smiled.
“I suppose that university of yours never found a cure for your unfortunate condition then?”
Aliessa merely crossed her arms.
“There is nothing wrong with me.”
“The lady doth still protest,” Alec smiled. “A pity too, you would be quite beautiful if you ever got that seen to.”
“Careful Carver. Don’t forget, should I desire, I could always turn you into the toad that you are.”
“But you couldn’t transform yourself into a maiden? Hoho, you pair are a real laugh. Good luck with the challenge, Drek, it’ll take more than miss fancy fingers to get you past the preliminaries.”
Alec turned, giving a carefree wave as he walked out. Aliessa turned to Derrek, her cross expression never changing.
“The Challenge? You had no intention of celebrating our anniversary, did you?”
“You know how much this means,” Derrek said. “The winner of the Challenge receives the title of Seeker of the Cord!”
“I don’t care about your silly titles.”
“Title! Seeker is more than just a title. If I received it, they would be clamouring for my plays from her to the Boiling Sea! Derrek Gungrik would be a household name. People would start appreciating my unique melodies.”
“Fine!” Aliessa cried, reaching for her bag. “You do what you think is most important and seek this stupid title.”
“Where are you going?”
Aliessa shook her head as she stomped away, her cat and ferret bouncing after her.
“Aren’t you going to wait for the others to return!” Derrek called.
“They can find me at the Academy!” Aliessa shouted, slamming the door as she left. Derrek leaned back in his chair, looking at the half finished mead.
“If I knew she didn’t want to wait, I could have spent my time registering,” he grumbled. He turned to watch the next performer to take the stage. At the very least he could continue to scope the competition until his drinks were done.
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