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The Word of a Fool
Posted: 10 Jan 2006 07:38 PM |
OOC - I have been playing in Vives for a little while now and I have been become increasingly aware of my failure to post anything to the site. This is my attempt to rectify the situation.
The tales I will add here will all be observations of events that have happened around my character - "Garick Farwalker, traveller and fool." Names will not be mentioned and actual "detail" may change here and there to fit a bards sense of drama.
Quality of the end product is not guaranteed, read on at your own risk! |
Garick Farwalker, traveller and fool. At your service.
Solid Jackson, "Ya gotta do it workmanlike".
Sparky Shorttall, Hin mage |
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Re: The Word of a Fool
Posted: 10 Jan 2006 08:41 PM |
A DWARF, A LADY AND A FOOL
A man sits, sprawled accross a corner table. He wears the colourful silks of a travelling bard, the surface of the table in front of him littered with the clutter of an adventurers pack. For the moment the man is interested in the edge of a brutal looking axe and the equally brutal edge of his thirst. One receives the attention of a whetstone, the other the attention of a small silver flask.
After a while the bard looks up from his axe to meet the stares of a half dozen curious patrons. A few look guilty and turn aside but the night is sufficiently slow that others stare boldly on, hoping for a song or a tale.
With a slight smile the bard leans forward, axe forgotten. A last pull on the silver flask widens the smile and starts off a tale:
Not so long ago I was standing in front of an inn not unlike this one, talking to a pretty lass. Our talk was beginning to turn to our respective roads when a dwarven lad marched out of the door and right into our midst.
Once we had all sorted ourselves out, it came to my notice that the lad looked travel stained but hardly equipped for a journey in that area of Vives. Remembering my own start as a wanderer I put my hand in my pocket and gave the lad a coin or two, to better equip himself for life on the road.
Alas, it is my curse that I have a generous nature and I was well aware that a bit of steel is not always enough to save a lads life in the wilds. In my pack I had two pounds of raw Paws cotton and in my head I had the knowledge to turn that into a close-weave cloak good enough to turn rain or blade. A brief conversation with a crow followed while I headed to a nearby town and the nearest weaving loom.
The crow happily followed the lad in return for a small consideration (the eyeball of a deer I had recently culled from a herd grown too large). It later found me as I called for it, standing in front of a tailor shop with a brand new adventurers cloak in hand. The crow indicated a grand looking house nearby, obviously home to a noble and far from an ideal location for a dwarven lad new to the ways of human cities.
(The bard stops to take a drink from his silver flaks and then leans back into the tale).
Well...I know human cities well enough and took the precaution to wrap myself in a veil of illusion before I entered the house. I had no purpose being there but was worried for the lad.
The vast hall before me was empty of life and I could only look upon a dizzying array of internal doors with dismay, finding a single dwarven lad in there would be a tad difficult. Fortunately the lad helped out and I quickly traced his path by following a surprised feminine yelp up a set of stairs.
The sight before me was an odd one. A great bathing pool surrounded by marble and a private bar. A young noble lass was bobbing about in the pool, looking red faced and flustered as my dwarven lad watched on from the poolside with obvious...relish.
The noble lass fortunately jumped to the conclusion that the lad was fashionably early for a party that was to be held later on that day. She scolded him for being early and pointed to the door. Neither was aware of yours truly, hovering invisibly and enjoying the scene.
Unfortunately the dwarven lad was an uncomplicated sort and had been long on the road, all the time starved for female...attention. He loosed his leathers and joined the lass in the pool, screaming with glee and chasing that poor fainting female around in circles! It is possible I let out a chuckle then but fortunately nobody noticed if I did.
Around and around went lad and lass until the young lady got a grip on herself. I tensed, waiting for the cry to the guards and made ready to turn the dwarven lad as see-through as I! However both the lad and myself were stunned when the lass proceeded to cast the very glamour that was on the tip of my tongue, vanishing from sight with a cry of sheer fury.
Well, the best I could do was chivy the poor lad out of that great hall. This proved difficult given my invisible state and his amorous thoughts towards the lass. He immediately jumped to the not unreasonable conclusion that my helping hand belonged to the vanished lass and by the time the confusion was sorted out things had taken a turn for the worse.
With a great slam, a door to a nearby changing room crashed open and out steamed the lass herself. She now wore wizard robes of the finest black silk and carried a staff that glowed with baleful power! At this point I cut my losses and dispelled my illusion, hoping to at least startle her for long enough to get in a word or three.
Picture this folks - a naked, dripping dwarf, a sharply dressed bard and a noble beauty clad in little more than silks and fury. The whole scene lit by the baleful green light of a spell staff and made slightly unreal by the presence of an over large marble bath tub.
The only result of my dramatic entrance was to become the focus of the business end of that nasty looking staff. I was just composing a personal dirge when the lass changed her aim back to the dwarven lad as he tried to grab up his leathers in preperation for a timely escape.
With the lady's attention split I took the opportunity to open my mouth and give forth a silvery stream of disarming charm and reason. So fast did I talk that to this day I cannot remember the words that stopped us from becoming toad-shaped through the wrath of the noble lass. Whatever I said worked. I am more than grateful for that.
Having stopped the lass from smiting us with magic I was left with only a few minor obstacles. Getting the dwarven lad and myself out of there, avoiding a scene with the noble husband and avoiding ANY guard related complications. Once more my mouth opened and once more the flow of words soothed my way out of trouble.
As I left that house I held a dripping dwarven lad in one hand and my hat in the other. All the way down the stairs I alternated between bowing and talking to the point that I was ten yards out of the house before my exit had even registered on me. What a sight we would have made for passers by.
(The bard takes a final sip from his flask before ending his tale).
Needless to say the dwarven lad can still be seen around the town sporting his brand new cloak. A cloak that I fear may one day be needed to blunt the edge of a lady's knife... |
Garick Farwalker, traveller and fool. At your service.
Solid Jackson, "Ya gotta do it workmanlike".
Sparky Shorttall, Hin mage |
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Re: The Word of a Fool
Posted: 10 Jan 2006 09:34 PM |
AN ENCOUNTER MOST EXTRAORDINARY
A man takes a seat on a public bench, smoothing out his colourful silks as he does so. A small crowd has gathered around, attracted by the sight of an obvious bard.
The man lowers his travelling pack down beside him, extracting two objects as he does so. The first object is a finely crafted lute, the second a small silver flask. He lays the lute in his lap and takes a swig from his flask as he looks around his impromptu audience.
Without another word said the man launches into a tale:
It was not far from here that I met a most unlikely pair of travellers. A dwarf dressed in emerald armour and a massive half orc dressed in finest plate.
(The bard pauses to take a swallow from his flask).
It is known by some in the Port that I will identify magical items for free, merely for the interest I find in such rare things.
(Once more the bard drinks, using the action to provide rhythm to his tale).
The dwarf approached first and pulled out an extraordinary array of enchanted weaponry, doubtless taken from the bodies of fallen goblinoid foes. Each weapon was magical but none to any great degree. I described the power of each but only one had any history of note and the dwarf was not interested in such tales.
(This time the bard pauses to change the position of the lute held in his lap).
The half orc approached next, more interested in advice then in my knowledge of the arcane. He told me a sad tale then. Apparently he had awoken shortly before, stripped of recent memory, all of his clothes and much of his dignity. His only clue a set of strange cards, which he clutched in one hand. Since that time he had been searching for an answer and he hoped that I could help.
(This time the bard plucks a single string on the lute, a plaintive sound that he lets reverberate before continuing).
Well, my curiosity was caught and the cards were soon in my eager hands. A mixed set, old and brittle. It was obvious that each card had a face and markings but I could not make out a single one of the designs. What I could tell was that the magic they held was ancient and powerful...
(The bard pauses with the last word, drawing his audience in toward him).
There are few magical card decks in this world of ours and I could only think of one set that these could be. A rumour...a myth.
A Deck of Hazards, cards that could provide boon or bane depending on the face that they showed. Of course, the face of these cards were unreadable...
(Once more a significant pause. This time a few of the more impatient of the crowd murmur and the bard quickly returns to the tale).
Of course the half orc had been listening to me as I exclaimed over this find and his hand closed around the deck. Unfortunately I still had hold of them too and a card fell clear from the lads hand...spinning...landing...a flash of magical light.
(This time rather than a pause the bard manages to quickly whistle a snatch of an eldritch song. As the crowd draws in, a cold clear light explodes in the air and all start before realising it is all a part of the show).
One moment a half orc stands there and the next the dwarf and I are staring at a being straight from the heavens! A living suit of armour 10 feet high, radiating a cool sense of divine strength. In one gauntlet/hand it carried a flaming angelic sword and in the eyes there was a profound sense of purpose and an ethereal wisdom.
(This time when the bard takes a swig from his flask the gesture seems almost convulsive).
The ancient look in it's eye was there for perhaps two slow heartbeats and then the mind of the half orc surfaced. He missed our stupefied expressions and roundly cursed the deck of cards for being useless. It was only the sight of the flaming sword in his own hand that brought him to a shuddering, stuttering halt.
What happened next was a terrible moment, as two facts seemed to hit home at once. The first was his reflection in a nearby rain puddle; the second caused a terrible cry. "I can't feel it", said he. The cry was a heartrending screech of loss.
(Once more the bard stops but this times he merely scans the faces of the crowd).
It seemed that the lad was a child of nature, a ranger or druid perhaps. In this angelic form he no longer felt the song of earth and blood. Never shall I forget the tone of his voice as he was stripped of all he loved.
(A convulsive drink from the flask, eyes briefly distant).
The half orc turned to me and I was bathed in the full force of his newfound presence. He pleaded with me, begged me to restore him. A man in a condition of immortality, a bright soul shedding the very radiance of the gods and he pleaded with me to return him to his natural state.
(The bard lowers his head and sighs).
I knew but one song for the countering of magic, the least powerful such song that I know to exist. I could not bear to dash his hopes but knew that my song was as nothing compared to the power of the ancient Deck of Hazards.
(He raises his head once more and smiles slightly).
But I had reckoned without the bright soul of the half orc and his thirst for the natural power he had lost. As I released the notes of my counter song I heard the trill of birds beside me and felt the mighty earth shudder beneath my feet. The very air became saturated with the smell of water and lightning.
(There is a look of childlike awe on the bards face now).
Where once stood an immortal now stood a half orc, living armour changing into battered plate. With a trembling head he nodded to me and with a trembling voice he thanked me. Within moments he was striding off.
(The bards voice tapers off with the last word and most of the crowd moves back as the tale seems to end. Only a few hear the last words the bard whispers).
And as he strode off I saw that his right hand was still full. A deck of cards clasped unnoticed in his grip.... |
Garick Farwalker, traveller and fool. At your service.
Solid Jackson, "Ya gotta do it workmanlike".
Sparky Shorttall, Hin mage |
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