A bards Tale (IC)
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Bards of Eblana some of you may know me, many dont but that is of little matter. I fear that with the recent demise of one of the first graduates of the academy that a veil of morbidity and fear fills our hallowed ranks and brings with it a passion only those touched by the gift of song and the legacy of poetry can try bring to a close.
With this in mind I bring a gentle and lively challenge to all those that would consider themselves a performer of legacy and speaker of tales most valiant so that i may transcribe something more fitting than a gentle whisper upon the ashes to drunken applause and spilled ale.
So gentle brethren of strings and song, bring forth tales and speak anon, for in story you find the truth of strife, listen now and bring words to life.
nobody wants to start eh? well far be it for me to stand down from a challenge so i guess ill begin…
…Its often said among my people that an impossible task is merely a matter of time and persistence given motivation, the only exceptions to this are teaching a dwarf what hyperbole is and how to use it and teaching an orc art…
…Im not sure what possessed me and honestly i think it may have been the summer wine or the fact that frankly i cant stand to see a good wager go to waste but i took the challenge.
This is the tale of “Orcish Artistry” and to a lesser extent how i ended up as part of the academy.
I haven’t always been a bard, honestly i was pretty much worthless, i had at one stage been quite wealthy, not rich you understand but comfortable none the less, and had gained quite the reputation as a ladies man in local taverns, pubs, brody houses, back alleys…*cough* you get the idea. None the less due to a series of unfortunately poor bets on my part and a staggering lack of skill with my blade had ended up homeless and with nothing more than the shirt on my back to ward off the chill of an incoming autumn well that and the convenience of every local tavern wench in the area with a warm bosom in which i could hunker down for the night, after all i was young, charming and not exactly picky.
The Broken toe was a dank pit, no that’s not fair to dank pits…er….it was a cesspool of intoxicated and violent vermin violating every possible law to man and beast…not necessarily in that order, honestly i felt right at home.
I noticed Grogg right away, although at the time i had no idea who she was, that said it was kinda hard to avoid the albino orc in the room clad in plate battle armor, she was hammering “something” that i can only describe as odd colored, feted and squishy with what appeared to be a large ham bone into a shattered piece of brightly painted wood i presumed came from a broken shield she had found and making frustrated grumbles and grunts……self preservation led me the exact opposite direction and into the welcome cleavage of a tavern wench and eventually to a table where cards were being played. I could go into detail as to how i bested my foes with grace, skill and cunning, turning my last coin into a small fortune and embarrassing each and every one into hapless idiocy and broken mutterings over how each of there significant others would rip them a sunder over the loss of hearth and home, but i wont…because that would be a lie…
…after only a few reasonable hands i had managed to win enough for a bed for the night and what passed for a warm meal, sadly for me stepping down from the table wasn’t exactly an option but none the less i tried… and failed, after only a few short moments they had what little money i had and i had the sympathy of a very handsome woman that apparently had a thing for down on there luck fay. With a little negotiation and a lot of luck (and a few free glasses of house ale) i negotiated an apt deal for my services as a living hot water bottle and waited for the place to empty as to ease our departure.
I really should have known things couldn’t be that easy and honestly after seeing her husband i can see what she had gained an appreciation for my somewhat significantly more delicate visage.
The man stood well in excess of seven foot tall and if i were describe him as something akin to the strangulated progeny of a troll and shriveled up pumpkin with a dead rodent perched atop it wielding what clearly at one stage been a blade of a plow attached to a small tree and you can see why most would be intimidated……i was not…i was very very drunk…and my hand was in a place of comfort and soft warmness and unwilling to move…this was mistake number one.
Mistake number two was opening my mouth, a mistake it seems im somewhat prone to.
Now it may have been the drink but referring to the large gent as a “slavating slack jawed flesh golem with all the wit and grace of a used latrine who’s script had clearly been transcribed upon the stinking hide of a rat of unusual size then inserted improperly within his anal cavity” may have been an error on my part.
The blade fell so fast i didn’t see it move, just as well it missed me really, but it did hit the bar and sent pretty much everything on it crashing to the floor.
A gruntial scream of “MY ART!” was all that rang out as battered plank hit dirty floor. Her blade moved so damn fast i could have sworn if i had have been able to blink i would have missed it.
The next bit is a tad confused as honestly i was far too busy extracting my hand from betwixt the breasts of a now passed out tavern skank and leaving with as much dignity as i could muster, sadly twas not to be…the meat creature, that i suppose at one stage had been a man prior to replacing about ninety percent of his flesh with tattoos and scar tissue was accosting the Orc i later found out was called Grogg having a most interesting conversation regarding the inherent nature of artistic interpretation as a whole and that beauty must therefore lie in the eye of the beholder…
…it went something like this…
“dats not arts, itsa mess ov bones ‘n muck ‘n stuff HA!”
the meat in the form of a man murmured“….its….art”
Grogg growled“HA! Orcs dont knows bout art!”
The foolish meatsack mockedGrogg flexed her fingers around the hilt of her blade until it creaked
It was at this moment a massive hand stretched out what i can only describe as a flank of steak crudely formed into a finger and said
“ask that poof, even da fae’s say ya cant teach an orc arts”I froze in my tracks…
“i bet…” he started
Now some would say i should have shut up or at least bolted for the door, i wasn’t a bard at this stage, i had no skill in combat and honestly i was so outmatched as to be less of an irritant to this behemoth than a long bath and a bar of soap, but something in my twisted little mind snapped…
” you bet what? your inability to interpenetrate any significant act of art not akin to a fresh pot of flowers or a fine pair of mammeries hoisted in the gentle embrace of a corset unworthy of the title of artistic reverence?”
as i swooped to lift Grogg’s amateurish enterprise from the floor“see the use of color, the fine er…bonework and…erm…the..er…visceral use of flesh as a medium”
i baffled as i attempted to make hide not hair of the object in my hands, Grogg seemed quite pleased and the lummox confused so i bullshitted on.“why yes i would consider this a fine example of new orcish interpretation of her own inherent internal conflict and struggle with art as a whole”
I concluded with a flourish and returned to hot mess to its owner.“in fact” i continued
” i do believe i’ll take that bet, i truly believe i can in fact have this fine orc produce something suitable for a gallery within the span of a year”Groggs eyes widened, my anus tightened, the meat mans brow furrowed in confusion.
eventually a massive hand dropped and grasping what i could of it we shook on the bet.Time passed like treacle as Grogg gathered her supplies and we made our way to the door, i had just about gotten away with it…
“OY!” my backside relaxed in a wisp of sulfur and panic
“you was chatting up me missus!”pasting my most charming smile across my panicked face i turned to see once again a wall of meat in scraps of leather bombard its way toward me
“now ‘ow do you suggest we deal wiv dat little problem”
he growled through amber teeth and halitosis that could melt paint.“well” i smiled in the gentle and comforting knowledge that a full armed and armored orc warrior had my back
” i suggest that one, you close that trap of yours before whatever hell spawn you have felated requests that odious jizzm you consider saliva back and two i suggest you kindly go f*ck yourself as that dear darling lady should never have to even consider looking at your ugly visage while you attempt to copulate with her!”at first he looked dumbstruck, a little dizzy and then…well….
…anyway the bartender banned me for life and what few patrons were left got one of the most interesting floor show based sexually driven contortion acts they had ever seen and i got to see something that will most likely haunt my
nightmares for the rest of my life.“huh…its not exactly as big as the rest of him is it?”
Grogg muttered looking over my shoulder
“well come along then little bard, lets go do some art!”
she grinned her eyes gleaming…and that’s how i met Grogg, and to a lesser extent found out i could do this whole bard thing.
…ok whos next, im parched.
Thank you for the opportunity to share tales in this way, though I haven’t made your acquaintance yet, I hope to soon.
Drifting Lotus was a warrior of principle, driven by his honour and carried by his conviction. Though he wielded healing magic, he was very often to be found in the front rank of the battle-line, shield in hand, healing damage by preventing it from being done. I heard that it was his skills that helped the Academy to prevail over the Warlord, together with other, at-the-time, novice Clerics.
He was often to be found as a dissenting voice, questioning silently agreed half-truths and never waving from his own strong beliefs. I witnessed this first hand when he insisted on going to help others, when no others would stand up to protect the innocent.
His heroism was not confined to the battlefield or in the camp when the Academy was on mission, for he often went among the people helping where he could. It was a simple, kind gesture that showed his strength of character, as we often forget the quiet gestures that define someone.
He was the first of the aspirants, carrying the spirit of a cleric of renown. Her intervention saved his life and the lives of many others when all seemed lost.
Alas, it was his honour that was his undoing. Driven to despair by the actions of his fellows in the Academy, he took his own life. I did not understand it when I first found his body but the more I reflected on it, the more it made sense. He had entwined his honour with that of the Academy and he could not live if it was sullied.
I wish he had been able to take a different path, for his is a voice I miss in the halls of the Academy.
-Ford
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