The Emissary Bard (World Of Chains Book 3)

by Lars M.

  As for myself, I really liked what I was seeing. Spell-wise, I was becoming a powerhouse. Some of my antics during our battles had even pushed my Acrobatics skill into Apprentice level, and the upgrade was just what the doctor ordered.

  Congratulations. You have reached the Apprentice level with your skill:

  Acrobatics

  You have become more adept at avoiding injuries. You take 25% less fall damage and receive a bonus of +3 to any defensive skills.

  As the final cherry on top, I’d gotten a new Leadership point to spend and, thinking back to our recent chat about defense, I put it in Resist Effects I and smiled as it joined the list of Leadership Skills on my character sheet.

  [Resist Effects I: Chance to resist physical status effects from melee attacks like stun, trip, knockdown, and similar increased by 10%.]

  Seemed like something that might save our lives later on.

  Chapter 10 – Happy Hour

  Once we returned to The Warlock's End, we focused on the essentials first. Baths for everyone, then food. Huge amounts of food, the best that Gillem was able to provide. He even agreed to put together a plate of specially-chosen delicacies for Atlas and placed it in my room. Early in the evening, we were all starting to nod off over our half-empty platters, and I felt forced to call it. "There's no way I'm getting any crafting done today, or anything else that involves the use of my brain. You guys?"

  A series of yawns and mumbles were the only responses, and my own jaw felt like it was about to break apart from the yawn that forced its way out. "All right - everybody do what you like. I'm going to play a song or two, and then crash."

  Usually when I start playing, I know which mood I'm going for. I might not know which song, tempo, or starting note I'll go for, but that usually solves itself along the way. Today was an exception to the rule. The day had been a rollercoaster of experiences, and I had no clue what was lying beneath the surface of my emotional sea. Looking around, I could see that the tavern was almost full. It shouldn't be a surprise, given the events of the past couple of days. When the villagers went out to discuss events of the village, there was really only one place to go. Heh - unless they wanted to stand in the square and talk. The square didn't have ale, though.

  When I set the bow to the fiddle, my mind emptied, leaving my fingers to perform on autopilot. The notes that appeared were lilting and merry, even jubilant, and I could feel a smile slowly growing on my face as my emotions emerged in the form of a jolly, fast-paced tune. People continued in their discussions, but I could see feet and fingers starting to tap along, heads nodding in time with the music. I'd missed this. What with the constant busy-work of the past few days, I'd forgotten that these interactions were often as much of a boon to myself as to the villagers. I'd really only planned for a brief session – a couple of tracks, maybe a song, followed by an early night. Suddenly, however, a notion appeared in my brain, crystallizing into a fully-fledged idea. As I let the music die down, I wondered at how busy I'd been since I entered the game, given that I hadn't even bothered to ask about any of this.

  I searched my repertoire for something suitable – and focused on the ditty that'd been running around in the back of my head for a couple of days. It was a silly old drinking tune from my youth, but perhaps I had a chance to get back at Gillem, and have a little fun in the process.

  I let the bow slide over the strings in an introductory sweep. "Sometimes, the music speaks entirely for itself. Sometimes, it needs a bit of an introduction. This one needs a few words." I chewed over my thoughts, wondering how best to phrase it. "Humor is... different where I come from."

  "Because you're not funny?" The yelled response drew a round of laughter.

  "I love you too, Millerd. Remind me to cheat the next time we play Fingers. Anyway, humor. It is different. The approach to it is, at least – it's hard to pin down the exact differences. Still, I have a feeling you'll like this one. It was introduced to me as The Legend of Gillem Short. Oops, I meant Simon Short. Weird mistake." Without further preamble, I launched into the melody.

  ”Oh, we're gathered here today to spin a proper tale

  So move a little closer and grab a mug of ale

  Do recline in comfort, the tale I will report

  Is nothing less than stunning – so come meet Simon Short

  ”Simon was his name-oh. Simon was his name.

  But he was just a tallish lad with quite the solid frame.

  ”He was quite the winsome lad, a master in his charm

  His smile did buy his welcome at any Brockston farm

  He learned his lessons quickly, whatever he did say

  Would guarantee a visit to a nearby pile of hay

  ”Simon was a hunk-oh. Simon was a hunk.

  But everything did change when Little Riley got him drunk

  ”Yes, his was quite the happy tale - all the girls agreed

  He was the perfect farmhand – and never short on seed

  But nothing's ever perfect – is how the preacher rants

  And Simon gained his sorry name when first he dropped his pants”

  I had to stop singing for a spell as the crowd exploded into laughter. Somebody had to help Mrs. Bertinga, who laughed so hard, she almost choked on a mouthful of wine. Somebody yelled "When did you see Gillem without his pants on?" When they quietened down, I wrapped up the song with a flourish and a dazzling smile, aimed straight at a scowling Gillem. Gotcha, you backstabbing sum'bitch. With a slower cadence, I sang the last two phrases and the crowd clapped along.

  ”Simon was his name–oh. Simon frigging Short.

  And when they said his name, they always finished with a snort.”

  The following applause illuminated what I loved about Grant's Crossing. Sure, the villagers weren't the most cultured of sorts. Even so, they were enthusiastic in their ways and sure to tell you whether they approved of what you did or not. Loudly. I bowed, unironically, smiling and waiting until the applause died down.

  "This. This is exactly what I mean... back home, I know what's fun and what isn't. Mostly because I know people, like I'm getting to know you, but also because I know what folks do for entertainment. Here? No clue. So, help me. Tell me about you, and I'll pay you back in kind."

  Usually, when I engaged the villagers in one of these games, they were quick to respond. This time? Deafening silence.

  After a while, a catfolk spoke into the silence. I didn't know him – he was a spindly specimen of the species, with a dirty, matted mane. Maybe I'd seen him working in one of the fields? His voice was rough, harsh, but his words were questioning my sanity. "Well, now and again, we have this bard who shows up to entertain us?"

  I barked with laughter. "Serves me right for not making myself clear. By now, I know you guys, more or less. Would be weird otherwise, right? I know you love music, cards, and board games. Dancing, intellectual challenges and games - basically, anything goes. What I don't know is what's probably obvious to you. How do I phrase this? Where I come from, we have what we call ‘stand-up comedians.’ People whose sole purpose and profession is to get up on a stage and tell jokes. They're so common that we have a wide variety of types, genres, and subgenres - some of these comedians do improv - make up most or all of their jokes on the spot, for instance. For us, this is normal. Here, I don't know what's normal."

  This sparked a round of buzzing before a chorus started. "Chertog. Where's Chertog?"

  I stood back in mute horror as Chertog got up and approached the stage, a wide smile fixed on me. His voice was loud and jubilant as he faced the crowd. "Sure, I'll share a nugget of wisdom with you. After all, I am the resident expert on entertainment." A few chuckles arose from the villagers. They were enjoying this! Backstabbers. "You lot can stand to pay attention as well; I'd bet I can teach you all a thing or two. Now most of you know this: Aeion, with our bloody history, isn't exactly a united, close-knit family. This means that everything I'm about to say can differ from place to place, and you'll find exceptions e
verywhere. Even so, you will find a few common denominators if you leave the village." He fingered his goatee. "The three things that define the choice and range of entertainment are race, class, and wealth.

  "Race is one of the most important factors. Well, really, it's a mixture of socioeconomic factors, tradition, and the indoctrination of the young, but the last time I tried to educate everybody, you kicked me off stage." He glared at the offender.

  A voice derided, "Well, ya din't have to be so boring 'bout it."

  Chertog sighed, sending me a "see what I'm up against?"look. "So, race. Orcs and half-orcs, for instance, are incredibly musical. A lot of the entertainment they enjoy has to do with the recitation of sagas, stories, and plain boasts, sometimes accompanied by music. Ratlings are often pranksters. A lot of people believe that this stems from some racial phenomenon, but that's just cheesy. In fact, a lot of ratlings are really mice."

  My groan was accompanied by several others from inside the inn.

  "Nah, a lot of it stems from a culture where they're loners, and a member’s reputation is improved by pulling pranks and getting out squeaky clean."

  "Thank you. We get it."

  "Heh. Good. Elves tend to strive for perfection and that's what rules them. There's intense competition to excel at whatever you choose, one-up your neighbor, brother, that other school you've been competing with for centuries - you get the point."

  "Catfolk tend to be the same as ratlings, except, they go for violence instead of pranks. What? Don't look at me like that, Preith. They're your people. In fact, Preith, and Naevys out there in her wooden abode, serve as good reminders that there are exceptions to every rule. Preith’s boring as they come and Naevys… is Naevys." Chertog looked lost for a moment before continuing. "We have tons of other races and groupings with their own brands of weird. Be that as it may, I can already see a few sets of eyes glazing over out there, so we're skipping the details. Just remember that it's a good idea to understand people before you meddle with them." Even though Chertog was addressing the audience, I was caught by a feeling he was talking to me.

  "As to our classes, they tend to influence the kind of humor people enjoy – but again, I doubt anybody wants me to elaborate on that. Let's just say that where the humor of a warrior tends to be blunt, a necromancer will never let an old joke lie."

  Gillem shouted, "...you're not even trying, are you?"

  "Come on. I'm just trying to get a raise out of you. Eh? Eh? Ahem. Moving on. Some rare few gifted individuals within each class decide to use the powers they gain to bring joy to the masses – and that's where things get interesting. Warriors become strongmen, show-fighters, or even jugglers. Summoners manipulate their beckoned forces to delight and amaze. Sorcerers call fire and ice for incredible spectacles. These are only the regular examples, mind you. Once we hit autumn and Greck brews his Apple Bloom, I'll share the story of the Puppeteer from Wearden, a Necromancer who decided to turn to entertainment and opened a traveling puppet theatre."

  "As much as I look forward to trying Greck's concoctions, I'm afraid you're leading up to a horrible pun." I had to hand it to him. Horrible sense of humor aside, he was adept at playing to the crowd.

  "A pun or a play on words? I would never... string you along like that. Besides, the necromancer's menagerie was rather limited – some would say bare bones."

  I rested my head in my hand. "Splendid. That was – yes, that was exactly what I suspected. In order to move this along, however, what about bards? Any interesting deviations from your typical bard?"

  Aurora, the pretty half-elven layabout, called from her chair. "Ooh. I know this one from my time back in the Cradle. The capital, you know. They were called Blades."

  Chertog clapped his hands. "A useful contribution. And from an unexpected angle, as well. How rare."

  "Hey!" The half-elf pouted.

  "The actual title is 'Blades of the Wielder.' Doesn't really explain much, does it? Horribly non-descriptive. - There's not a blade to be found among the lot of 'em. But I digress. Every last one of the group's a bard - with a very singular purpose: to engage in non-lethal duels - by means of insults, verse, music or song."

  "Duel by music," I mused. "Sounds like fun?" My mind went gallivanting back to a certain mighty pirate and his adventures with limerick battles.

  "I'll explain this one, Chertog." Aurora jumped to the stage. "It's way better when you've watched a duel - you'd probably just make it seem boring." Chertog looked affronted, but moved to the background. Aurora held up her hands. "Okay. Picture this. You're in the largest city on Aeion. You're aware that the second largest noble family has been feuding with one of the smaller families - how could you not be? It's the talk of the town, what with the love triangle and the scandal. Still, it's something distant that doesn't really touch upon your everyday life, right? Except suddenly, you hear a voice shouting, announcing a duel of Blades between the two families. You rush up and manage to hear the last couple of words, something about 'laying it out in the open for the world to judge.'" She laughed, reliving the memory. "Obviously, you know what that means - juicy, juicy gossip."

  The villagers laughed and Aurora winked and blew them a kiss. She was loving the attention. "You make your way to the front as the first singer starts. It's a beautiful, but tragic, tale of an unhappy marriage, where the noble woman throws her heart at the feet of a younger man. In the throes of passion, they decide to throw caution to the wind and run away together, against the wishes of his large and powerful family. You can't help but be swept away with the romantic notion of it - but then the song fades and the second singer starts." She hid her eyes behind her hands and then flung them away. "The rosy veil is torn from your eyes as he paints a different image. The song is one of a house in decay and a desperate attempt to improve their financial situations through deceiving a naive young man." Aurora extended one hand to each side, as if weighing two different items against each other. "Two stories. Same people, radically different content. Who to believe, right? Except, the emotion of the first song still lingers inside you, and the young man in question is known to be pretty bright." The pretty half-elf sighed at the memory. "So, the crowds part, the singers go home, and nothing much changes... but now, a large crowd of people are half convinced that the scandal is in fact based on true love. And that's exactly what I told everybody."

  The applause came from out of nowhere, liberally mixed with laughter. Aurora clearly hadn't expected it and blushed a pretty pink. I clapped along with the rest, waiting for Chertog to take over again.

  Looking rattled, he applauded even after everybody else had stopped. "That... that was very touching. Insightful too. Would it be overstepping myself if I asked you if you remember what followed?"

  She waved away his concerns. "Come on, Chertog, everybody who paid the least bit of attention back then knows what happened. The Clovenburgs eventually caved and allowed the young man to marry his beloved. The smaller family spent a surprising amount of time wavering before they finally allowed Lizette to divorce - a good sign that they weren't in it for the money and power. Oh, and the dowry paid by the Clovenburgs was just large enough that it couldn't be called a deliberate insult." She shrugged with a slight smile. "As close to a happy ending as it comes among the heights, I'd say."

  The pale dwarf stared at the tall blonde. Just stared, without comment.

  I prodded him, "Uh, Chertog. Did she break you?"

  "Shush. Thinking." His hand tapped his legs as the other one stroked his goatee.

  Aurora started fidgeting from the attention. "Erm, if that's all, I'll-"

  "You'll do." He folded his hands and addressed her formally. "Aurora Shadowsill?"

  "How do you even know... Chertog, if this is one of your jokes, I don't like it."

  "Not a joke. I'd given up on the idea of finding any local with the potential to become a Chronicler." Boos and a derogatory comment immediately flew from the audience, but Chertog continued, eyes fixed on Aurora. "That is not an
insult, people. The path of the Chronicler requires more than solely interest in information. You need a sharp memory, a mind for details, and the capability of grasping the power balances inherent in different systems. Within minutes, you've proved that you have those in plenty - entirely without any preparation. Aurora Shadowsill, would you be interested in becoming my apprentice?"

  The half-elf looked completely floored. "But... Arcangelo?"

  "Meh. I can have several apprentices. Also, he's only talented. You're gifted."

  Ouch. Please don't sugarcoat it on my behalf, Chertog. Right then and there, I decided that I was going to do anything to complete my Chronicler quest in High Hold and show him up. Oh, and figure out what was behind that damn door inside the Brass Bells Mine, while I was at it!

  Aurora stared at her feet. The usually so animated half-elf looked very unsure of herself. "But - I don't even care about history or anything like that. I just like knowing what's going on."

  "You don't have to be a boring geezer, staring at age-old scrolls until your eyes bleed. A lot of us just are. Also, you choose your own fields of study. Listen, you don't have to decide anything right now - just stop by anytime; we'll chat." Aurora nodded and Chertog smiled. "Now, apart from being an excellent tale, Aurora's story also serves as the perfect introduction to my final topic: wealth. Not only does wealth limit which kinds of entertainment are available to you. It also shapes which kind you are more likely to enjoy. Take the Blades. They come in all shapes and sizes and are available to anybody in and around the Cradle of Hope and a handful of larger cities. The only limitation your money pouch puts on you is the talent of the bard you're hiring. Even so. If you'd indulge me, Aurora? I'd wager you could outline the difference between the performances among the poor and the rich."