Category Archives: Creative Stuff

It’s a Trap! – Part 1

Well, it’s been almost a week without me actually posting some writing so here’s some more D&D action I did in between big projects.

Sources close to me have said this piece is particularly good for reading in airports.

—————Break —————

“By the hells!”

The resounding crash broke the dampening silence. Anxious breaths drew as the others watched helplessly while their friend tumbled forward. Fingers splayed out and arms waving madly, Jeremiah grasped frantically for some handhold to halt his descent. The floor beneath his feet crumbled like dry autumn mud shaken loosely from a farmer’s boot. His body slammed against the tile before him and his dark fingertips dug tightly into its ridge. With feet dangling helplessly beneath, Jeremiah breathed a sigh of relief as he noticed he was now hugging a large embossed tile with a symbol that vaguely resembled a stylish Fe rune.

“Are you alright?” Aliessa called after everyone realized that Jeremiah was not, despite initial appearances, plummeting to his death.“FINE!” Jeremiah hissed between gritted teeth. His face was red from the exertion as he tried to pull his large frame from the small hole. The chain links of his shirt bit into his flesh as he pressed as much of his weight on the portion of himself not suspended in air.“Hold still, I’m coming,” Amber called.“No, don’t!”“Now is not the time for heroic machismo,” Amber sighed.Jeremiah jerked his body to the side, swinging one knee above the old clay tile. With better leverage he was able to roll uncomfortably on his back. There he lay, taking in slow, sweet breaths while waiting for his hammering heart to calm.“You know, you could have just waited. I would have helped you.”“I… didn’t…want to …can I have a moment, please?”

“So because of your stubbornness we should all wait on you?’“I just about died!”“Oh, and now that’s our fault?”“Please, people! I don’t think that this is really the time,” Keirn called.And he didn’t think he had to quantify that statement. The sorcerer stood by the peculiar cog-work door they’d passed through, holding tightly to a thick cord that kept a large, smoothed stone aloft. They had realized, just moments before it was too late, that the strange mechanism was connected to its twin on the far side of the room and set to trigger if they didn’t keep it suspended. So while the young man was tasked with keeping it open on his end, the rest of the group was trying desperately to get across the curious floor to stabilize the other.At this moment, only Amber was close to getting across and she had now retraced her steps to continue her argument. Kait was a third of the way, a few strides from Jeremiah’s near misstep. However, she refused to move any further without assurance that there was an actual safe path. In the interim, she had hunkered down for a long wait, somehow managing to sort through her packs to produce two needles and a ball of yarn despite being restricted to a three by three square of floor. Now she looked like a little princess on her throne of travel bags.Derrek had climbed one of the cracked pillars bordering the room. Perched upon its broken centre, he surveyed the rows of etched runes like a master strategist overlooking his army. Beneath his guidance, the group had managed to so far strand three of their number across the incomprehensible runes. The tiles were arranged in nine columns that covered most of the room making it impossible to skirt the puzzle. And the numerous holes along the edges of the room suggested others had tried.“Fine, let’s just get across this damn thing and get out of here,” Amber said. She turned, her red hair snapping like a vicious fire in her wake. Without a second glance back, she stomped across an Ur, Tyr and Eh rune before stopping and looking back at Derrek. “Where now minstrel?”Derrek leaned as far as he could over the broken marble lip. ‘I believe if Jeremiah takes the closest Rad then you should be able to proceed.’Jeremiah looked over the tiles around him and sighed once he spotted the elusive letter.

“I hate when you have to jump for them.”

Jeremiah wasn’t entirely sure how this puzzle worked. Derrek had gone on a long explanation that involved a fair knowledge of pressure plates, distribution of weight, leaded balances and an advanced grasp of machinery that no normal person would be expected to understand.

Needless to say, the rest of the group were putting their lives in Derrek’s hands. Jeremiah didn’t understand how the seemingly bottomless pit played in but his current grasp of the situation required the spelling of some bizarre ancient phrase so that they weren’t riddled with arrows from the walls, crushed by boulders in the ceiling or possibly both simultaneously.

“Stop complaining and just do it. You don’t see anyone else whining about their part.”

“Anyone else? So far I’ve been doing most of the work!” Jeremiah cried.

“Oh, is that why I’m further along then?”

“Derrek’s been giving you the easier path!”

“Everyone, QUIET!” Keirn shouted. The room drifted slowly back to its initial silence. It was easy to forget that this place served as a tomb, not only for the original worshippers but also the countless treasure hunters that had high hopes of obtaining golden statuettes, rubies the size of hams or whatever else drove the crazy fools into these dark caverns.

“What is it?” Kait anxiously called.

Keirn silenced his sister with an impatient wave of his hand. His biceps were bulging but he was more focused on peering out the doorway, eyes trying to pierce the encroaching darkness just beyond.

“Did you hear something?” Amber shouted.“Odd, I haven’t detected anything,” Aliessa said, gliding up to the other side of the door. A brown and orange tabby pranced just behind her. Its ears pricked as both pet and master rested at the edge of the door, the wizard holding her torch high overhead.‘What part of the word QUIET, do you people seem to struggle with?’ Keirn hissed. He leaned over, snatching the torch from Aliessa’s hands and pitched it quickly down the dusty hall. A few rats scattered, squealing indignantly as they scurried from the flaming stick’s tumbling cinders. The torch clattered against the floor, rolling a few extra feet before resting in a pool of inky nothingness.“I’m not getting that,” Aliessa whispered.Keirn ignored her as he shifted his weight to relax his tiring muscles. The aged pulleys groaned with the shift in direction. Everyone waited for a few minutes, each expecting a telltale scratch, clank, hiss, thump or thud to herald impending danger. They began to grow restless when nothing continued to happen.“Can we get on with this?” Amber commanded.Derrek looked over to Keirn, but when he didn’t receive any angry glares, he resumed his directing. Kait’s needle returned to their gentle click, click, clicking and Jeremiah and Amber continued their disgruntled silence.“Amber, if you can step to that Fe and Jeremiah if you could step to that Sigel…no wait!”Jeremiah shouted in surprise, falling backwards as the tile crumbled beneath his foot.‘Are you trying to kill me?!’

“Sorry. Does anyone remember the name of the ancient god who rides a boar?”

“Well it doesn’t have a Sigel!” Jeremiah shouted.

“We can see that,” Amber sighed.

“I thought this was supposed to be in some dead language anyway,” Kait said.

“It is.”

“Oh.”

“Freyar,” Keirn called.

“How do you remember that?”

“Am I the only one that’s been paying attention to the murals in this temple?!”

“Once you’ve seen one naked man drawing, you’ve seen them all,” Aliessa shrugged.

“Ah, of course. Jeremiah, if you could go to the Eh to your right then.”

“Derrek, dear, do you have any idea what you’re doing?” Aliessa asked returning from her vigil and standing at the base of Derrek’s pillar.“Well, not really, but we’re doing pretty well so far,” Derrek casually replied. “Amber if you could take that second Fe.”Jeremiah frowned. It would be just like the bard to bumble them into even worse trouble. Jeremiah dropped to his knees, pressing on the adjoining tile with his hand.“Oh don’t be so ridiculous!” Amber shouted. “Just jump to the next letter!”“I’m so far the only one that’s almost died. Twice! What if he’s wrong? I won’t have anywhere to go from there.”“Oh, you make it sound as if it would be a big loss.”“It kind of would be!”“Well, I suppose if we’re talking about pure mass, then yes you would be a big loss.”“Look, I’ve put up with just about enough of your…”“My what?!” Amber shouted. “You think that this has been easy for me?”

“Well…yes.”

“Well, it hasn’t. It’s always been about you and I can’t stand it anymore.”

“About me? I gave you everything you’ve ever wanted. Whenever you needed me, I was always there for you!” Jeremiah yelled.

“Precisely! You were smothering me!”

“Smothering you?!”

“Exactly. You wouldn’t ever give me my own space. Sometimes I just wanted to spend some time alone. Was that too much to ask?”

“What about all that time you spent at the temple? Or with your friends?”

“I wasn’t alone then; I was with other people!”

“I can’t believe you are blaming this on me!”

“Well it is your fault!”

“I have a feeling we aren’t talking about the spelling anymore,” Kait muttered. Her needles kept their rhythmic clatter as she watched with anxious interest at the pair’s bickering. “Is this how Keirn and I sound?”“My fault! You refuse to take any responsibility! You’re too busy playing the poor victim!” Jeremiah screamed. He took a few steps towards her, despite the frantic calling from Derrek and Aliessa.“My fault, that’s rich. You never tended to my needs! You were so clingy and insecure that you never listened to what I wanted!”“What you waaaa…!” Jeremiah hollered as he stepped through another false tile.“Serves you right!” Amber shouted as Jeremiah scrambled to catch onto solid ground.“Hells! Can someone give me a hand?”“Oh, so now you want my help? Why don’t you do it on your own!”“Why don’t you cross this damned board on your own then if you’re so bloody independent!” Jeremiah grunted, scratching his fingers deep into the aged clay.“If I knew what I had to spell, I would. But here, why don’t I spell your path for you!” Amber shouted back. She stabbed at the tiles around her, “A S S H O L and over there is the Eh!”The thunder of the crumbling tiles beneath the jabs of her staff filled the air and drowned out the frantic calls from those gathered at the edge of the puzzling field. The shattered pieces tumbled wildly into the empty pit beneath.

“Well, let me show you yours! B I T … does anyone see a C?!”

“You broke it earlier,” Kait whispered.

“Oh, that’s just clever. You think you’re so damned smart don’t you!” Amber called. She threw her bag to her feet, scrounging around in it until she triumphantly pulled a long thin golden rod from within. She held it over the crevice she had just broken. “Why don’t you just admit that you never loved me – that you care more for this damned thing then you ever did for me.”

“This is why we discourage dating within the company,” Keirn growled. He pulled heavily on his chord, grunting as he dragged himself over to where Derrek had discarded his crossbow. Shouldering the heft of the stone’s weight over his shoulder, Keirn snatched up the weapon and began to leverage it towards the middle of the room.

“What are you doing?” Aliessa called.

“Ending this.”

“You can’t shoot her! She has the relic!”

“My aim isn’t that bad,” Keirn replied.

“No, Keirn, wait!” Derrek called as he began scrambling down the pillar. However, the loose marble gave out beneath his feet, and he tumbled the last ten feet before landing heavily upon his back. Aliessa gasped, rushing to her beloved’s side.

Keirn ignored his friend’s plight, steadying his aim as best he could while sweat beaded from the extra exertion of holding the stone at this new height. However, as the crossbow’s latch clicked, there was a more distinct echo that rang through the open door. Both Keirn and Jeremiah turned to the dark hallway and Jeremiah realized immediately the torch had gutted out.“By the gods!” Keirn shouted. The darkness seemed to quiver as the shadows gave birth to indistinct shapes. Keirn released his chord, the pulleys screeching as the rope ripped from his hands and the counterweight stone crashed loudly to the ground.There was a loud grinding as the stones shifted against each other and the entrance slab dropped from its raised alcove above. Before it smashed to the ground and locked into place, the sorcerer snatched another stone, lifting it as best he could and halting the door a mere foot from trapping them within.

Overhead, the complicated machinery ground and clanked as the exit shifted to match its twin’s position.“Admit it, Jeremiah, you never really cared for me!”“What are you, crazy?” Jeremiah called back.“ADMIT IT!”“Kait… don’t let… her drop it!” Keirn shouted.However, Kait sat paralyzed as the chaos ensued around her. Her fingers still held the yarn in mid stitch. She turned to her brother, who madly motioned towards the fallen crossbow with his reddening face. However, a ferocious pounding erupted from the other side of the door and the massive slab shook as some terrible force attempted to bash its way through.“Wha…what do you want me to do?” she asked.“Anything!” Keirn gritted. “Shoot her if you must!”“Oh… Oh! Oh no. No no no no no… I couldn’t.”“Aliessa!”

“Derrek … Derrek, honey, wake up!”

“Aliessa!”

The wizard ignored his calls and looked Derrek over for serious injury. Her feline paced up and down the length of his body, dainty nose sniffing gently at the delicate man sprawled awkwardly upon the ground. From the long sleeves of her short jacket emerged a brilliant snake that seemed to wrap lightly about the man’s wrist while flicking its tongue softly over his vein.

“KAAAIIITTTTT!”“Oh… Oh no. Oh no. Oh no,” she stammered, the yarn quivering within her hands.

“I can’t believe that I ever loved someone so … selfish… so vain!” Jeremiah shouted. “It’s clear to me now that you never cared for me like I did for you!”

“You are impossible!” Amber screamed, raising her voice to be heard over the banging upon the door. She still held the rod threateningly over the precipice. “Do you want me to drop this? Don’t think I won’t!”

“Then drop it! You have no power over me anymore!”“By the gods,” Keirn sighed. “We’re all going to die.”The rope to the counter weight began to snap from the strain.

Continue to It’s a Trap Part 2 >

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The Black Dragon of Death

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Back in the day, my brother was busy creating a fantasy world of dungeons, dragons, and interactive computer worlds. It held the working title of KOS, which didn’t stand for anything as far as I know. It was a world inhabited by heroes typical of many adventuring games. Besides being the first, and likely only, reader of this now ancient project I was involved only in the production of poems. Ideally, epic pieces that would capture the reader and enhance the flavour of the world. I didn’t get far with this project, however, digging through my remaining scraps I have dredged up this piece. It was to reflect one of the legends in a world dominated by heroic deeds – a celebration of one of the original six – at least that was the intention.

The most revered
The one they feared
The Black Dragon of Death

He rose up high
Into the deep blue sky
The Black Dragon of Death

Two eyes burned red
Filling all with dread
The Black Dragon of Death

Snout and body long
Emanating an eerie song
The Black Dragon of Death

Black scales of steel
Cold and hard to feel
The Black Dragon of Death

With fiery breath
Sharp claws of death
The Black Dragon of Death

To hunt and kill
And eat his fill
The Black Dragon came

At his sight
People fled in fright
When the Black Dragon came

All challengers tried
And all did die
When the Black Dragon came

He swung down low
His sharp teeth to show
The Black Dragon came

But from the east
From a land of peace
The Lone Rider came

On a stead of white
Riding hard that night
The Lone Rider came

Long back hair braided back
Her face set for attack
The Lone Rider came

She was a girl still young
When the battle begun
The Lone Rider came

And at the youth
He looked bemused
When the Lone Rider came

So he changed his goal
To the brand new foe
When the Lone Rider came

His eyes glinted bright
As he charged with might
When the Lone Rider came

He held back naught
As the two foes fought
When the Lone Rider came

The Rider in turn
Would quickly learn
From the Black Dragon of Death

For he had great power
As she fought that hour
The Black Dragon of Death

Her horse was lost
As from it she was tossed
By the Black Dragon of Death

The talons cut sharp
And her flesh they’d part
By the Black Dragon of Death

In the hour late
She nearly lost to fate
By the Black Dragon of Death

For her it looked ill
As more blood did spill
By the Black Dragon of Death

But a stab true and fierce
His armoured hide pierced
As the hands of DeHett

With a blood curdling cry
The Dragon would die
At the hands of DeHett

Balls – Part 8 of 8

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< Return to Balls Part 7

I know you’ve all been awaiting with bated breath for this. So I’ll just skip right to the main show.

—————Break —————

“Congratulations contestants. We are now on the final portion of the Bard’s Challenge. This is perhaps the most important portion yet! While the wizards in their towers think they alone can use the arcane sorceries, we bards know this is not true. For what could be more trivially useless than the practice of magic itself! But us minstrels do not live lives of boring study and routine. No, our magic is that of the heart and the moment. Thus, without preparing the majority of the spell in the morning, our contestants have twenty minutes to make the greatest magical display using our secret reagent. Tobias!”

The back curtains parted and the aid pushed a large table forward with a great white sheet covering it. He stood behind the table, reached for the middle of the sheet.

“Competitors!” he shouted in a valiantly courageous attempt. “I present to you… koe-chiap!”

“Koe-chiap?!” all three competitors shouted in unison.

“That’s right,” the administrator said, turning to face the crowd. “Imported from the mysterious distant west is this rare paste. Its use is not entirely understood but scholars wager it is part of some coming of age ceremony to test youth’s constitution and vitality. We’re told it’s a concoction of pickled fish and spices but believe it’s made from the ground pulp of a strange red fruit and horse manure.”

Derrek, Laara and Alec rushed to the table. Great bowls filled with the thick, viscous liquid were arranged in an eye pleasing manner. There appeared to be different colours ranging from a sickly purple to a bright green.

“You have twenty minutes, competitors! May the best bard win!”

Derrek grabbed a bowl, holding it in his hands and looking expectantly at the others.

“By the hells, what are we suppose to do with this?” Laara said. “We don’t even have anything to prepare spells with.”

As if on command, a few more aids came running out with arms wrapped about large woven baskets. They set each before the three competitors. Lifting the lids, an assortment of alchemical supplies and tools were shoved unceremoniously within.

Laara and Alec dove head first into the baskets, tossing alembics, pestles, mortars and flasks aside.

Derrek set aside his bowl, rooting from some ingredients to work with. He wasn’t entirely sure what sort of spell he could perform with this reagent, especially since he never heard of it before. He had learned a few cantrips at the College as most classes often awarded bonus marks to the students that could knick spells from the neighbouring Academy. Dating a wizard also gave certain advantages when it came to understanding the practice of magic.

His digging eventually provided enough ingredients for a rudimentary summoning spell. Not the flashiest magic on the block unfortunately. Summoning spells typically involved inducing a magical compulsion in some poor chump to go and fetch the desired item for the practitioner too lazy to get it himself.

Derrek looked over to Laara and Alec. He knew nothing of his female adversary but judging by her confusion over the proper end of a burette, Derrek wasn’t too worried. However, Alec was laughing almost maniacally to himself.

It was a little disturbing.

“I’ve got this in the bag,” Alec whispered. He threw his materials in the ground in a great heap, falling to the floor and scratching a rough circle of chalk upon the stage.

“Oh really? If I remember correctly you couldn’t even get the simplest light cantrip to glow.”

“Those are totally hard and you know it.”

“It’s lighting a piece of straw!”

“Heh, you’ll see. I’m going to destroy this challenge and be named Seeker. And you know what the first thing I’ll do will be? I’ll make a doll of you and carry you around as my dummy. Then the realms will know how stupid you really are.”

“That’s the most idiotic plan I’ve ever heard,” Derrek said as he lay his instruments carefully out before quickly turning to his rose thorns and mashing them in a mortar.

“That sounds exactly like something your dummy would say!” Alec laughed.

“You’re the worst.”

“Hey, want to hear a joke?”

“Your bardic talents?”

“Why do Derrek’s songs sound better by candlelight?” Alec upturned a pouch of marbles, watching them roll chaotically amongst the seals he had scrawled.

“It sets a sexy mood because I’m so gods blessedly handsome?”

“Because you can shove the wax in your ears!”

“That’s it?” Derrek asked. He began to scrawl his ancient runes upon the floor.

“Did you not get it? Need me to explain. Because I can explain if you need me to.”

“Explanations are the fastest way to ruin a joke,” Derrek said.

“Yeah, know the second fastest? You, and being dumb.”

“That’s two ways,” Derrek said. He began to roll his barley seeds in the mashed concoction of rose thorn, mandrake root and persimmon skin.

“Ten minutes competitors!”

“You know Alec, you’ve always been half the man that I am. If you want to just bow out now, no one would think less of you. In fact, they may think more.”

“You see this?” Alec asked, standing and holding his bowl of ketchup before him. “This is the image of your defeat.”

Then, without further provocation, he upended the contents of the bowl over his head. The liquid seeped over his hair and dripped down his great jowls. It fell in great globs upon his fancy clothing. The thick goop rolled over his eyes until he appeared as a great, squishy red grape.

He stood in the middle of his circle, unmoving. Derrek and Laara watched with anticipation. The seconds ticked by and everyone seemed to hold their breath.

A large glop fell upon the floor at Alec’s feet.

There was a soft pop once the substance hit the wood and the tiniest wisps of smoke curled from it. All eyes turned to the stage, where tiny burnt tendrils seemed to run from the scattered marbles as if they had given a small surge of electricity towards the foreign substance but too quickly for anyone to notice.

The glop fizzed a second time then fell silent.

“Was that it?” Derrek asked.

Alec stared at the drop of the floor while still blinking.

“I… guess? Can you still see me?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Damn this useless charm! I was told it would complete whatever spell I attempted!”

As Alec ripped a necklace hidden beneath his collar from his throat, Derrek stood, dropping his small ball of ingredients into some purified water and mixing it quickly. Then he strolled over to Alec, careful to avoid stepping on his chalk outline and raised the container to the man’s lips.

“Here, drink this.”

Before Alec could protest, Derrek upended the contents into his mouth. Reflexively, the fat man’s drinking instinct kicked in, downing the potion in one great gulp. With the last drop from the bowl, Derrek quickly whispered the words of completion then attempted to think of some item he desired.

“Yuck! What was that?”

“Balls!” Derrek cursed. “I guess mine didn’t work either. I suppose koe-chiap doesn’t make a good substitute for blood.”

“Five minutes contestants!”

Laara gave a shout of excitement, standing quickly to her feet.

“I think I’ve got it!” she exclaimed. She turned excitedly to the judges. She then sang the softest of magical verses. Derrek recognized the incantation amongst the chorus. It was an old type of sorcery quite similar to the ancient skald verses. With the last word escaping her lips, a soft glow seemed to surround her. She looked surprised as she held up her hands. From the mystical light, a string of globes seemed to pull free, floating before her outstretched arms as if obeying her command. With a gentle flick of her wrist the orbs seemed to roll excitedly about her like pretty faerie lamps.

“There they are!” cried a voice from the audience. “Get the balls!”

“Balls?” Alec slurred, his voice suddenly heavy as if he were drunk.

From the audience four people emerged, rushing towards the stage. With amazing acrobatic flair they tumbled around, beneath and over the started crowd. Derrek recognized their flips immediately.

“Mikael?”

The flamboyant man himself emerged from the wings, his wind-and-fire wheels already in hand. He leapt to Laara’s side, his shirt unbuttoned down to his navel to display his trimmed and apparently oiled chest as he prostrated elegantly before her.

“Forgive me, my lady, but I’m afraid I must confiscate these!”

He punched her across the face, causing Laara to drop like stone to the ground. But as Mikael grabbed for the abandoned balls of light, they seemed to pop into blinding bursts of light the moment his fingers touched them.

“Those aren’t the real ones!” cried a voice from the audience. “Find the true balls!”

“Baaaaallllsss,” Alec slurred once more, stumbling over the stage. He landed, head first upon the judge’s table, collapsing it to the ground in a great snap of tinder.

Mikael and the acrobats turned to Derrek.

“So sorry, my friend, but it looks like we’re going to have to dance again.”

Mikael brandishes his wind-and-fire wheels, the clinking of the blades ringing clearly through the air.

“Can’t we just discuss this?” Derrek asked.

“Orders are orders,” one of the acrobats said.

“And don’t even think about escaping!” another called.

In perfect unison, the acting troupe flipped and rolled until they had him surrounded, their daggers and swords pointed worryingly at Derrek’s chest.

“I’m sure this is completely unnecessary. There’s no need to mess with this,” Derrek said, waving his hand over his beautiful face.

“Well, you seemed to suggest that you didn’t have the orbs when we drugged you,” Mikael said. “So, unless the potion didn’t work or you can resist the effects of a voracity divination…”

“Voracity divination?” Derrek muttered. “That sounds an awful lot like something a wizard would make. Where would you get that?”

“Actually, it was your -“

Before Mikael could finish his sentence, there was a terrific shatter as an enormous raven burst through the window. Following it immediately scampered an enormous newt and black cat. The creatures turned directly to Mikael, cawing, hissing and newting as they smashed through the hall.

The crowd shrieked at this final interruption, scrambling for the doors in a great, heaving mass from the enlarged menagerie.

As the critters descended, Mikael shouted, throwing his weapons to the ground.

“Mercy, friends! I mean no harm to you, cute creatures of the earth! Peace!”

But, the animals didn’t share Mikael’s passivity towards nature’s kin and they lashed out with talon, claw and newty mouth. Unable to morally defend himself from that which he felt need protection, Mikael screamed as he fled the furry, feathered and scaled onslaught.

The other acrobats, however, just looked at each other and shrugged before advancing on the bard.

“There won’t be any more convenient interruptions to save you now.”

“Stop right there!”

The treacherous thespians turned towards the doorway where a tall, eye-patched individual stood with a small contingent of thugs. They raised daggers and crossbows towards the stage as Dian stepped forward.

“Sorry for the delay,” Dian said. “But it took awhile to get past the crowds.”

“I thought the cat was with you,” Derrek said.

“Gorge? She’s back at the hideout,” Dian said.

“The cat is with me!”

Everyone turned to the back of the stage. Emerging from the shadows in a long white gown with a glowing staff in hand was a familiar woman.

“Aliessa?” Derrek whispered.

Dian, the thugs and the acrobats looked between each other, turning to point their weapons at as many people as they could.

Aliessa ignored them all, walking unflinching past the tide of steel. A soft glow seemed to pulse about her menacingly. Resistance parted before her and the wizard walked undaunted until she stood face to face with Derrek.

“It was you.”

“That’s right,” Aliessa said.

“But why? Why did you do it?”

“Before you continue, could you explain what it is?”

Almost annoyed, every party turned to see Marien crawl out from some overturned chairs. She was covered in bright red splotches, suggesting she didn’t fare the trampling too well. However, she held two blades menacingly between the thugs and the acrobats on stage.

“It was I that informed Marien that you have the Globes of Power,” Aliessa said, drawing herself erect. Marien ceased her advance just below the stage as the shimmering glow around Aliessa brightened menacingly.

“But why?” one of the acrobats asked.

“Because I knew she needed them to activate the talisman. In truth, I had hired their party to fetch the globes because it was our anniversary and we were supposed to spend it together. But that damnable party of yours wouldn’t leave you alone for three days. I had to be rid of them if were to celebrate!” Aliessa cried malevolently.

“But why tell her that?” one of the thugs asked, pointing to Marien.

“Simple. I knew Marien would kidnap Derrek in order to try and steal the orbs from him.”

“Wait, why did you want your boyfriend kidnapped?” another acrobat asked.

“I needed him gone from his room so Alec Carver could ransack it. I told the fat fool that Derrek kept his greatest stories with him in a journal. It would contain the best material of his travels that would fetch any minstrel worth his salt untold gold in any tavern he performed them in.”

“But why did you need Alec to steal Derrek’s material?” one of the judges who had remained behind asked from his hiding spot.

“I knew Derrek never kept such a journal,” Aliessa said, her voice dripping with cleverness. “He keeps everything as a jumble within his head. But Alec was too foolish to know this. I needed him to just make Derrek’s room appeared ransacked while Marien had him kidnapped.”

“But to what end?” the third acrobat asked.

“Because Marien would inevitably fail to find the globes on Derrek’s person. I had sold Mikael a potion, lying to him that the imbiber would be forced to tell the truth. That way, when Derrek said he didn’t know where it was, Marien would naturally think it was hidden in his room. When they returned to the inn, they would see the mess and think someone else had stolen the globes.”

“But you didn’t expect Derrek to go to the street gangs!” one of the thugs accused.

“No,” Aliessa whispered, her eyes narrowing. “Derrek was able to cure himself of the potion I fed him. With his mind cleared, he confronted Alec who almost revealed the plan.”

“It… it was you,” whispered Laara from the ground. “You’re the one that sent the giant bird.”

“If there’s one thing that foolish fat man is afraid of, it’s birds,” Aliessa laughed. “It was no big challenge, I prepare an enlargement spell every morning and all I had to do was cast it upon one of my pets.”

“But why?” the last acrobat asked. “Why all this subterfuge and trickery?”

“Because,” Derrek said with growing defeat. He turned from Aliessa, his heart heavy in his chest. He could barely form the words to speak. “Because it’s our anniversary.”

“That’s right!” Aliessa shrieked, lifting her staff. “Our anniversary!”

The thugs, acrobats, Dian, judge, Laara and Mairen looked confused.

Finally one thug raised his hands in defeat.

“I don’t get it.”

“Don’t you see!” Aliessa shrieked. “This is because of this damn Challenge! You never planned on spending the weekend with me at all! You just wanted to be in this stupid tournament!”

“It was my dream,” Derrek whispered. “My dream to be Seeker.”

“It’s just a really bad copy of the Wizard’s Challenge!”

“Wait. Wait a damn minute!” Mairen cried. “All of this… all of this was to stop him from competing in this bloody competition?!”

“Yes,” Aliessa admitted, her voice dripping with acid and malice.

“No seriously!” Marien shouted. “THIS WAS ALL SO HE WOULDN’T COMPETE IN THIS STUPID CHALLENGE?!”

The woman gave off a litany of curses.

“What a gods damned waste of gold!” she shouted, stomping towards the exit. “Now I have some thrice cursed useless talisman and no fiery hells way of powering it and…”

“Wait!” called the acrobats. “Does this mean we’re not getting paid?”

They dropped their weapons, turned and slowly edged their way past the thugs. The thugs then turned to Dian who merely shrugged.

“I guess you don’t need anymore protection.”

Dian led the thugs from the hall.

Derrek turned to Aliessa.

“Well… now what?”

“I don’t know,” she said lowering her staff. The glow around her shimmered then vanished.

The hall fell deathly quiet.

Aliessa raised a hand to brush some loose hair from her eyes.

“I can’t, I can’t help but feel like it’s slightly my fault,” Aliessa whispered.

Derrek sighed.

“It’s just that this Seeker title really means a lot to me, Aliessa.”

“I know,” she said. “But I feel… maybe… maybe if I hadn’t supported you so much you wouldn’t have thought you could get it.”

Derrek nodded solemnly.

“And if I didn’t think I could really get it, I never would have tried to, I suppose.”

“I guess… I suppose this is it.”

“I guess so.”

Aliessa walked forward, lifting a hand slowly to Derrek’s cheek. She let her fingers brush his skin, to feel his warmth one last time. He reached up his hand, taking hers. He could feel how soft her skin was. As she drew near, he was reminded how heavenly she smelled.

They looked into each others eyes. Hers were welling with tears, the pain written plainly on her face.

“I won’t… I won’t say I love you,” she whispered, looking down and resting her hand upon his chest. “I promised I would never cry.”

“Maybe we don’t have to,” Derrek whispered.

“You’re right,” she said. She leaned forward, giving him a quick peck on his cheek. “Goodbye… my dear. Goodbye Derrek.”

“Farewell.”

They embrace. Derrek wrapped his arms tightly about her, holding her absolutely close. Despite her vow, he could feel her shudder in his arms and the soft dampness of her tears against his chest. But still he held her close as the sobs came until she could cry no more.

They released, but reluctantly. Aliessa hadn’t even noticed she dropped her staff. She sniffled back a few straggling tears and bent to pick up her weapon. But Derrek bent faster, grabbing it and holding it aloft for her to take.

She smiled weakly as she took it. She turned, walking slowly towards the exit. Her dress swayed with each rock of her hips. Derrek watched entranced as she glided away, like the phantom of a dream fleeing the coming morn.

“Will I ever see you again!” he called.

She paused before the door, looking up at him one last time.

“All you need to do is close your eyes.”

She opened the door and was gone.

Absolute silence fell upon the hall.

It was done. It was all done. Everyone had left.

Derrek was alone.

In one fell swoop he had lost his girlfriend and his chance at the Seeker challenge. He turned to Laara who still lay upon the stage. Whether she had fallen unconscious again or was merely acting so to maintain the gravity of the scene, he couldn’t tell. The remaining judge, in pure dramatic style, had also made himself scarce.

But surely, there would be no chance of him winning the title now. And though the winner of the first act was surely going to come down to subjective opinion, Derrek was positive he had lost the trivia contest by one point. And there was no way his spell would compete against Laara. She would no doubt be crowned winner so perhaps this was her way of repaying him back for being a worthy competitor.

Derrek turned towards the door, his body felt completely drained. He didn’t know what he would do now. He didn’t know where he would go. He had no direction, no aspirations and no future.

The world suddenly seemed bleak and drained of all colour.

But then, there was a curious shadow of red and blue that seemed to skitter across the walls. He paused amongst the wreckage of chairs and watched as the light danced and bobbed becoming brighter and brighter as it went. It seemed to be shining from the exit.

Derrek turned to see Alec burst through. Clutched tightly in his hands were two small glowing orbs that clinked as he moved.

“Balls!” Alec cried triumphantly as he held the objects aloft.

“Come back here you bastard!”

Alec turned then hurried towards Derrek, his flabby flesh jiggling about him like so much free jelly.

Just as the balls were pressed into Derrek’s hands three people burst into the great hall. The large, dark man had his great two handed sword drawn and a look of pure bloodlust in his eyes. Following him was a taller, sinewy, younger man carrying a thinner but more elegant sword in his hands while dark brown eyes filled with loathing searched beneath a mop of messy hair. Pulling up the rear was a woman who looked remarkably similar to the tall man, a bow drawn and an arrow notched between her fingers.

“Rutting swine!” cried the tall man. “Give those back!”

Alec cried, quickly ducking behind Derrek. As Derrek watched the group approach, the wrath in their eyes seemed to vanish and replace with confusion and a great deal of fatigue. Up close Derrek noticed they were covered in dirt and dried blood. Their clothes were ragged and matted as if they had been through some great ordeal.

There was a clatter as the great two handed sword fell to the ground in pure exhaustion.

“Derrek?” the woman muttered.

“Jeremiah, Keirn, Kait,” Derrek said. “You’re… you’re back!”

“And we have those damnable orbs!” Keirn cried, pointing his weapon at the globes in Derrek’s hand. “Let’s get those to Aliessa so we can finally be paid. I really need a bath and a nap.”

“Oh, I don’t think she’ll be wanting them now,” Derrek said with a shrug.

Keirn stared at him unblinking, his brain slowly processing this new information. His sword clattered to the ground as he fell to his knees and cried with hands upturned to the ceiling.

“Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!”

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This is all I have got

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I sometimes feel that my posts are barely footnotes on the bottom of a page in comparison the lengthy stories that keep going up. Alas, I am not that verbose. Also, I am in the middle of some scribblings so I thought I would share with you my latest words.

The following should be sung, like a lullaby:

Don’t fear your dreams my child

The amarok’s in the wild

Overhead the hunter flies

On golden wings she cries

So rest with me my child

Protected here from the wild

We are her glowing prize

Watched over with loving eyes

Wait for the sleeper my child

To drive the snakes into the wild

Know that when the fire dies

Once again the Phoenix’ll rise

*Note: the amarok is mythical/legendary beast from native american culture. Some describe it as a cross between a bear and a wolf. Others claim it is a dire-wolf of prehistoric times. I really like the sound of the word and think we need to move beyond the most typical of legendary beasts and bring into the picture some new favourites. With so little written about amaroks the possibilities for it are endless – in a story writing perspective. Also the name is cool as is anything that tries to be associated with prehistoric creatures like dire-wolves, sabre-tooth cats and my favourite – Terror Birds!

Balls – Part 7 of 8

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< Return to Balls Part 6

When it comes to the last portion of this story, I’m left with a difficult task of trying to figure out the bets way to split it. I hope this works.

————-Break————-

If Derrek felt entertaining a crowd in a tavern was difficult, then this was perhaps the most nerve-wracking, soul-wrenching experience he had ever endured. He was more accustomed to friends and a small campfires – a captive audience if ever there was any. But here, with so many eyes on him, the pressure to perform was like being struck by an enormous wave and dragged out to sea.

For the first challenge, Laara produced her harp and let loose her tremendous musical skills. It was a moving piece; her instrument produced such clear and enchanting notes. Derrek recognized the composition as that of The Unicorn’s Last Folly. So evocative was her talent that Derrek could almost hear the narration echoing the tale like some ghostly spectre falling upon the hall. He was transported away to those hidden glades and the remorseful loss of the unicorn as it was driven over the cliff by the great bull. With the last pluck of her strings reverberating about the hall, Derrek could almost feel himself turning into the white surf of the ocean along with the fabled creature.

Unfortunately, Alec was called next. Perhaps it was the judges punishment for Derrek breaking the rules as the administrator gave him an almost condescending grin as Alec took the stage.

Derrek had played with Alec when he attended the College, and the man was a fairly accomplished musician in his own right. He was very good at picking up compositions and learning older songs. His biggest weakness was in the creation itself. He could reproduce, but his original work always fell short.

And there was no way that Alec could follow Laara’s symphonic performance.

The fat man strolled to the front stage and immediately demanded a person in the front row give up their seat. Once he was handed a chair, he sat down, taking his lute in hand and strumming a simple cord.

Then he began his oral delivery.

He wasn’t going to play at all. It was a beat telling of a tale with the lute used to accentuate his delivery. And Alec began to tell the story of the Defence of Balearis. Word for word, it was an accurate retelling of the kingdom’s stand against the Lich Lord’s forces and the betrayal of the Priestess of Treachery. The only details that were altered were the roles that Derrek, Kait, Keirn and Jeremiah had played. They were replaced for fictitious creations of Alec’s each delivered with convincing accents in the tale. It was, begrudgingly a most compelling delivery and a seamless blend of acoustic and oral components.

The applause erupted at the conclusion and Alec smiled triumphantly as he tossed the chair recklessly off the stage before returning to Derrek’s side.

“Your turn.”

Derrek stepped forward, his mind racing for what he would do. There were other tales he could tell but his whole style had been stolen! Even if the events were different the telling would be too similar and Derrek’s performance would be too derivative. Alec didn’t need to use all of Derrek’s material to sabotage him. He just needed to steal the soul of it.

He looked out over the crowd. That sea of faces stared back expectantly. It was an unsettling silence, where the lone cough would echo hollowly in the great space. Derrek just stood there, his mind unmoving as if all thought had froze within his brain. He didn’t know what he was going to do. He didn’t know what he could do.

He needed his muse now more than ever. He closed his eyes, silently pleading for her to come to his aid. He needed something, anything at this point. He couldn’t be known as the man that stood. This was his big moment and he was blowing it.

A soft tingle crept into his foot. At first, he thought it was just falling asleep. But then he was possessed by the curious sensation to tap it. Tentatively, as if he were lifting a naked toe towards some unknown pool, he lifted his foot and dropped it.

The sound beat back the deafening silence.

He tapped his foot again.

An otherworldly beat swelled within his chest. His second foot began to enter the fray. It was as if some alien force possessed his body, causing his limbs to strike out on their own. They moved in no determined fashion. This was not a jig or a waltz. His feet carried him across the stage in a pattern completely contrary to any folk dance or court saunter. His feet beat against the wood of the stage, creating their own tempo and orchestra to carry him along.

He lifted his hands, unsure what to do with them. He felt he should do something with them, leaving them dangling at his sides like two dead fish just didn’t seem appropriate. He reached for his lute to begin an accompaniment, but his fingers balked at the touch of the instrument. Instead, they took control themselves, spinning in great circles about his body.

Faster and faster he moved across the stage. His muse was in full control now and he didn’t question or resist. The audience sat in rapt silence, watching the young man as he writhed his way in front of them. A soft rumble began to reverberate within his throat, and Derrek opened his mouth to release the unearthly howl.

Faster and faster he spun in some discordant patter of feet and warbling voice. His arms were like thin branches of a willow tree, flapping violently in a tumultuous storm. The hall began to spin and blend before him, turning from concrete shapes into a haphazard mess of colours and contours before his spinning eyes.

And still he turned until the winds of whatever demonic force propelled him filled his ears and made him deaf to all other sounds. The constantly turning of his body covered his skin with an all-encompassing tingling that distorted the sensations of hot and cold. The sights before him melded into one single painting of great streaks and splotches.

And just when he thought he would be lost within those muted sensations, he suddenly stopped. His arms fell limp by his side, his voice seemed to crack and give way while his feet took root and refused to move.

He just stood there, staring dumbly at the crowd.

The crowd stared dumbly back.

Seconds seemed to stretch into an eternity before at long last some distance person began to clap. A few more added their slapping hands. Feeling as if they had missed something but not wanting to show it, a whole chorus of applause broke from the audience.

The judges stared at Derrek. The young man gave a short bow and quickly hurried back to the other three.

“Wha-the hells was that?” Alec whispered.

The administrator slowly took to the stage, calming the audience once more.

“Well that was… quite the display of talent and ingenuity on the part of our competitors. However, traditional… and non-traditional… entertainment is not the sole purview of an accomplished minstrel. One must also be a well-spring of information and knowledge. They must carry the news of distant lands and be experts on foreign customs and rituals. A minstrel is akin to a walking encyclopaedia and to that end we enter the second portion of the Bard’s Challenge. Trivia!

“If all three competitors would come to the front please.”

It was clear that this was going to be a head to head competition.

“To the smartest goes the spoils,” Alec smiled.

“First Question!” the administrator barked. “Name the capital of the Akshari Empire!”

“What is Quarre,” Derrek said immediately.

“How did you know that?!” Alec sputtered.

“We spent a short stint in its jail. Long story.”

“That is correct. Though, you really don’t have to phrase your answer in the form of a question,” the administrator said. “Next question! What is the name of the elongated zink otherwise called the Lizard!”

“A tenor cornett,” Laara said, her voice like the soft ringing of a dinner bell.

“I’ve got this next one,” Alec said.

“Next Question! What people would you find in the blasted far north, renown for their slavery and pit-“

“Baatez,” Derrek said. “Travelled with one. But you wouldn’t know that.”

“Next question! This instrument is typically made from the horn of chamois or goat.”

“Gemshorn,” Laara replied.

“Next question! What common ingredient is used to prepare the herbs in remedial salves and poultices?”

“Pig’s intestines!” Derrek shouted. “You never think how important it is until you don’t have any and

substitutes are a… tricky proposition.”

“Next question! This partsong consists of vocal musical composition and –“

“Madrigal!” Derrek and Laara shouted in unison. Derrek eyed Laara suspiciously.

“How do you people know these things?” Alec cried.

It was clear where the real competition for this section lay and the two squared off. Derrek had the upperhand on the esoteric questions that left the sheltered Laara scratching her head. But she had clearly spent most of her time studying the musical theory and history during her training. If Derrek wanted to edge her out, he was going to have to beat her to the answers on those questions.

The two of them began to answer so fast that the judges were shouting out the next question before the previous one was even answered. Back and forth they went, like a rapid match of Ulama. Alec was left staring dumbfounded, his head snapping between the two players as if they were swatting his eyes between his ears.

Laara and Derrek’s voices began to rise so loud that it drowned out the questions being asked until at last the administrator stood.

“Final question! Name the famous beverage brewed in the Hills of Barrowfold which gave rise to this peculiar brand of music from its distinct tankards.”

Derrek and Laara looked at each other. Each one wanted to shout the answer, worried the other knew it, but hesitation held them back. Derrek aped three responses before he stopped to consider the question. Strangely, he didn’t actually know the answer.

A tentative voice rose.

“What is grog?”

“Correct. And you don’t need to phrase your answer in the form of a question, Alec.”

Carver smiled broadly as he nudged Derrek in the side.

“See that, I told you I’d get one.”

Continue to Balls Part 8 >

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Balls – Part 6 of 8

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< Return to Balls Part 5

I don’t like having two D&D stories running at the same time so I’m going to try and finish this one off as soon as I can. I think next week will bring about the exciting conclusion to our rascally bard’s tale.

—————Break —————

“Oh yes, I’ve made the trip to the Servinian Wastes. Remarkable land if I may say. What’s that? Why yes, I’ve spoken with the Countess of Calandria. Remarkable woman, full of spirit as they say. Excuse me? Rebellion? No… I really don’t know much about that I’m afraid. Spent most of my time in the castle.”

Derrek pushed his way through the throng, emerging from the crush of bodies to where Alec stood. Aspiring minstrels and bards had gathered about him, listening intently to the stories that sounded far too familiar.

“And what of the sunken treasures of the Jade Turtle? Were you apart of recovering those?”

“Derrek!” Alec cried. He shifted nervously upon his feet, his fake smile wavering. “What-how did you get here? I thought you wouldn’t be competing.”

“And why would you think I wouldn’t?”

“Oh, just, you know. You’re not a real registered member of the College or-“

“And yet here I am.”

“Ah, yes. Here you are.”

It was awkward.

Alec smiled nervously, grabbing Derrek’s arm and pulling him away from the throng of onlookers.

“Perhaps we could spend more time catching up!” he called. Once they were alone beneath an arch, he turned the unimpressed man.

“How are… things?”

“Why are you stealing my stories?” Derrek asked.

“Yes, that. Well, you see, I didn’t know you would be needing them. So I thought I would just… you know, assist myself with your material. Like a testing of it, if you will.”

“And yet, I don’t recall writing any of them down. You came to my room looking for my tales, couldn’t find them but there you stood repeating them nevertheless.”

“Uh. Right. Fancy coincidence that.”

Alec was swallowing quite voraciously. He looked like a fish dangling from the angler’s line.

“You’re not particularly clever,” Derrek said. “Nor is Mikael particularly traitorous. And I’ve dealt with Mairen in the past. She’s not nearly this subtle. Who is behind this?”

“I want to tell you, believe me,” Alec gritted. “But I made a vow of secrecy.”

“Believe you?” Derrek asked. “You were the one that got me barred from the College initially.”

Alec laughed nervously.

“Oh that. It’s so long ago. Water under the bridge and what have you!”

This was getting Derrek nowhere, save confirming his suspicions of some greater puppet master. What he need was a more direct tactic. He need an attitude that would cut through this nonsense. He needed Keirn.

Derrek closed his eyes, feeling the brush of his muse as he began to channel the essence of his friend.

His hand reached quickly for the head of his lute. A few quick flicks of his fingers to unlatch the concealed triggers and he produced a hidden blade, pushing Alec roughly up against the wall while the metal bit at his throat.

“AH! DERREK! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!”

“I don’t have time for this,” Derrek spoke, his voice dropping and turning husky. “Tell me everything you know or I’ll make the last song you a sing a requiem.”

He pushed the blade closer for effect.

“No! PLEASE!”

Derrek flicked the blade, producing the tiniest of scratches against the fat man’s jowls. He howled with the piercing cry of a dying man.

“I won’t ask again,” Derrek growled.

“ok…OK! I’ll tell you!”

Derrek pulled back the blade, looking left and right to insure they hadn’t drawn any unwanted attention.

Alec reached a hand up to his throat, rubbing the fresh cut. As he held his blood flecked fingers to his eyes, he began to swoon on his feet. Derrek grabbed him roughly by his ruffled, styled lapel.

“Look, I never wanted any of this!” Alec said, raising his hands in submission. “I never wanted you expelled. It wasn’t my idea. I was set up to take the fall. I was a patsy!”

“What does that have to do with my drugging and your vandalism?”

“I’m getting there!” Alec said hastily. “You see, they came to me. I didn’t go looking for them. They wanted to see your ambitions reigned in, checked. They didn’t want you to garner the attention of the masters.”

“Who did?”

“I don’t know,” Alec said.

Derrek raised the blade warningly.

“I swear! I never saw them. They communicated with me only through letters.”

“Where? How?”

“Now, or when you were enrolled here?”

“When I was enrolled?”

Alec pointed towards the dormitories.

“I found them on my windowsill when I returned to my room at night. My door was always locked so I don’t know how they were getting there except…”

“Except what?”

“Well, one time I returned from my studies early. I had forgotten my coin purse and couldn’t really afford all the wine for the evening. When I opened my door, I heard a greater flutter and as I rushed to my window I saw the retreating back of a large bird.”

“And these same letters told you to ransack my room last night? How do you know they were from the same person?”

“The writing and paper were all similar. The writing itself was very elegant and flowing but it was the paper that mostly caught my attention. It was dried papyrus. Only, recently it wasn’t a bird delivering them but a cat.”

“A cat? What kind of cat?”

“Well, it was about yay high and…”

Before Alec could explain more a terrific scream filled the air. Both men turned towards the sky to find a large bird swooping down upon them. Immediately, Derrek dropped to the ground but Alec just shouted as the animal descended upon him. The fat man raised his arms to defend himself, but the bird struck with beak and claw, driving him screaming from cover and into the courtyard.

The creature hovered for a second, eyeing Derrek warily. It looked like a common raven but almost three times the size. Derrek tightened his grip on his blade but the bird merely squawked its disapproval before chasing after Carver.

Would-be bards and minstrels shouted in surprise and uselessness as the giant avian fluttered through their midst. Derrek jumped to his feet to give chase. However, the bird ceased its pursuit the moment Alec ran into one of the dormitories, barring the door from inside.

The beast gave one last caw before taking wing and disappearing into the sky.

Derrek approached the door, knocking loudly against the wood.

“Alec! Alec, I know you’re in there.”

“I’m not coming out!”

“The bird is gone!”

“I don’t care!” he screamed. “The moment I come out it will be back for me. No, they know I was about to tell you. I… I won’t cross them. I can’t!”

“You’ll miss the Challenge!” Derrek warned.

“So be it! I can try next year!”

Derrek sighed. That was always his excuse. And so long as Carver kept receiving money from his parents he never had to worry. Derrek sighed, returning to the courtyard. There was nothing left to do but wait for the Challenge to begin.

Despite the interruption of the giant raven, the contestants seemed particularly unshaken by the encounter. Some, in true bardic fashion, had already begun retelling the events to make them more dramatic. Personal flair invariably began to exaggerated the moment to a daring defence against a flock of mighty Rocs by a few brave souls.

Bards made the worst damn eyewitnesses.

However, it did leave the officials in a bit of a fluster and they approached the participants with wary glances to the sky. Three of them came to address the participants, bedecked in bright pantaloons, tunics, ruffles and the most extravagant hats money could buy.

“Very well, you have all been registered for this year’s Challenge,” the administrator called, gathering everyone’s attention mostly to his enormous peacock feathered chapeau. “As you all know, the Bard’s Challenge involves three main tasks. I just want to add that any suggestion we stole the layout from the Wizard’s Challenge are wholly slanderous lies by the wizards and the Academy in an attempt to belittle our process. For one, they don’t have a singing and dancing portion. Which is good for us, because it makes the Wizard’s Challenge mighty boring for others to watch.

“Second, our trivia portion bears no resemblance to their recitations. Once again, the Bard’s Challenge tests its participants on their ability to remember interesting tidbits or knowledge and, forgoing that, fabricating some entertaining lie that at least sounds plausible. The wizards, however, feel some misguided need to repeat arcane theory or mystical history or whatever nonsense generally drives students to fall asleep.

“Finally, while it is true that we both share a magic component to our respective Challenges, you can bet that the Bard’s Challenge shows more ingenuity and excitement. Mostly because we don’t tell you that there is a magic component. Ha! I want to see all those monologues you’ve been studying help you now!

“Above all, we hope that you perspective minstrels maintain to the tenets of the bardic way. Cleverness, wit and unwavering confidence! Very well, no more dillydallying. Would all the would be bards come this way!”

The administrator beckoned for them to follow and trudged off with most of the participants in tow. Only four stood back, watching as the administrator led the majority of them away. Derrek shrugged and turned to see what the other two would say.

Once the last of the participants following the administrator passed through the arch to the inner courtyard, a great portcullis came crashing down behind them. The stragglers yelped, turning towards the bars and pulling on them helplessly.

“Very good,” spoke the female administrator. “The five of you…”

“Six!” cried Alec from his distant door.

“Six of you have passed the first test. We aren’t here to tell who is and who isn’t an artist. True bards and minstrels know in their hearts that they are so. Those poor suckers will have a full year of additional studies and lectures pay to hopefully learn this lesson for next year. Now, if you all will follow me, let’s get this competition underway.”

The woman turned in a flourish of rainbow scarves, clothes and ribbons, walking towards the main hall as bells hidden in her great woven hair jingled merrily.

Derrek looked at the other contestants curiously. All of them were unsure if this were another test. Derrek shrugged and hurried after her. Two followed suit with Alec tentatively emerging from his barricade and following at a distance. The last two remained behind, watching the man in pure green who silently appraised them.

Once all of them had followed the woman through the door, the administrator turned, jammin a heavy key into the lock of the door. The click of the heavy tumbler fell into place and she lowered a great plank of wood. She then turned to the worried four faces watching her.

“Very good,” she smiled. “You’ve passed the second test and to not suspect that the Bard’s College is filled with absolutely trickery. Every good bard and minstrel must trust both his instinct and others if she is going to get anywhere in the world. Perhaps those two will eventually figure out that the third administrator is mute and doesn’t have anything to say after an hour or two. Who knows, Gorbel sure does just love to stand and stare! Come along!”

The four of them walked after the jangling hair through the back halls of the Bard’s College. Memories returned to Derrek of sneaking through these passages during the night. He could remember the sounds of rehearsing bards’ voices filling the air during the evenings. As they passed closed rooms he recalled the hours spent in movement and body study as they learned the intricacies of uncountable cultures and their dances.

And all of that before he was kicked out and had to spend two years at an Academy.

“Hey, not bad. Final four already eh?” Alec whispered, nudging Derrek encouragingly in the ribs.

“Don’t think I haven’t forgotten you still haven’t told me anything.”

“Tell you what, you beat me in the Challenge and I will tell you everything I know,” Alec smiled.

“You’re just hoping you have to perform first so you can use my best tales,” Derrek grumbled.

“Here’s hoping this year is also done by alphabetical order!”

“Here we are!” the administrator called. She slammed another key into a wooden door, opening up the back of the main stage for the competitors. They each passed quietly through, gathering around her as she stood before the front curtain.

“Very well, before we begin I have to insure that you all have been registered of course.”

A young man came running from the wings, his face flushed and his breath heavy. He held out three papers to the administrator who took them with a smile.

“Thank you Tobias. Here we are: the last registrations of those who didn’t fail the first two challenges. Gorbel and Elcelsior were much faster this time.”

The administrator pulled a pair of jewelled spectacles from her shirt and looked over the papers.

“Very well, when I call your name please identify yourself. Alec Carver.”

“Present!”

“Laara Sinclair?”

“Here.”

“Dirrek Ginmg… Gungm…”

“Derrek Gungrich,” Derrek corrected.

“Yes, of course. That’s it then!”

“Ummm, excuse me ma’am,” the fourth contender said. “But you haven’t called my name.

“And who would you be dear?”

“Dirrac Gilimari.”

The administrator flipped through her clearly three papers before looking back at the young man and smiling politely.

“It seems we’ve misplaced your forms, if you wouldn’t mind following Tobias here, he’ll help you get them sorted immediately.”

The young man nodded, following the flustered aid from the stage.

The administrator shook her head, a cascade of tinkles emitting from her hair.

“There’s always one every year,” she sighed. “No matter, hopefully next year he’ll remember to file his registration. I hope Tobias is gentle with pitching him out.”

The administrator turned, clapping her hands loudly. Immediately, the curtains were drawn back, revealing the grand hall in all its glory. Massive chandeliers hung from the great vaulted ceiling casting long shafts of light down through their tinted crystals. Enormous decorative banners and tapestries hung from the walls and balconies filling the massive hall with intricate designs and glorious pieces of colourful art.

Immediately, the gathered crowd began a thunderous roar as a hidden band struck up a celebratory cord. The administrator hopped forward, letting her dress, ribbons and scarves twirling about her as she twisted her ringing head. She immediately flowed into an elegant dance with her body moving perfectly in time to the music as if the two had become one.

As she finished, the applause seemed to swell to a thunderstorm and she stood beaming in the adoration, bowing deeply as whistles and flowers were sent her way.

“Thank you, thank you!” she shouted, raising her hands. She waited for the applause to die enough for her to speak. “Greetings honoured guests and welcome to the sixteenth annual Bard’s Challenge. We welcome with open arms our esteemed guests of Etreria to bear witness to the ultimate competition to name our Seeker of the Cord. This year, we have three very special competitors!”

“Let me first welcome Laara Sinclair! Esteemed daughter of the High Duke of Westermarch, Laara is an accomplished orator and harpist. Being the daughter of a High Duke, she has borne witness to many talented individuals coming through her halls but it was the charming smile and quick wit of Petrarchis that lured her into the dreamhalls of minstrelry. Hopefully her father’s knights don’t find her until she has successfully achieved that dream!”

The crowd cheered as a very stunned and overwhelmed Laara stepped forward and bowed meekly.

“Don’t act timid, we deduct points for that,” the administrator whisper to the girl. “Our next competitor calls the temperate steppes his home. Born of a wealthy merchant and apothecary, the ever pampered Alec Carver sought training in these illustrious halls as he had no other prospects for his future. Much to the dismay of his family, he refused to return to carry on any of their businesses, aspiring to become the biggest name in the land and prove to all the children at home who taunted him that he could amount to something!”

Alec strolled confidently forward as the applause, while continuing, didn’t seem as supportive as that of Laara.

“Be careful, for even the smallest of chinks in the mask of your confidence will break under the crowd’s scrutiny,” the administrator whispered. “Our final competitor is a surprising one since we have very strict rules against non-members participating. But after being what he considered unfairly expelled from the College, our dashing (and may I add gorgeous) Derrek Gungrich sought training at one of our rivals’ Academies. There he met another young man from his village and after only a year and a half at the Academy, they returned home to set off on grand adventures. Eschewing traditional classroom instruction and gathering worldly experience, Derrek travelled across uncountable lands and kingdoms until returning to the city of his true calling. Relying on the virtues of a true bard, he lied and trick his way into the final test where he hopes of finally receiving recognition for his artistic endeavours!”

Derrek was too stunned by the candid introduction that he simply stumble forward and gave as gracious of a bow as he could.

“Don’t think anything goes beneath our notice,” the administrator whispered to him before smiling broadly and applauding with the crowd.

“Let the Challenge begin!”

Continue to Balls Part 7 >

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The memory of poetry

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I was feeling a little at a loss of what to post. I have not story fragments to share at this time. I have no earth-shattering or witty comments on current events. Instead, I thought I would delve into my stored collection of poems.

It is amusing to look at work, largely forgotten by time. Most of my favourite poems date from University – my poetry phase. From those that I recorded, I have selected one that still brings a smile to my face as I recall both the poem and the washing machine that inspired its creation.

There are Spartans in My Basement

There are Spartans in my basement
I really do maintain
Though I haven’t seen them
I feel them now and again

There are Spartans in my basement
I feel them march around
For the whole house starts to shake
From the attic to the ground

There are Spartans in my basement
And what a noise them make
The rhythmic thumping of their feet
Is a sound hard to mistake

There are Spartans in my basement
And they seem to time it right
Only when we do our laundry
Do they come to march and fight

There are Spartans in my basement
And funny you should note
That they seemed to disappear
When our washing machine broke

There are Spartans in my basement
A new washer to see
I have a funny feeling
They’ve gained a new technology

There are Spartans in my basement
I think they now must fly
For helicopters seem to land
On our house when passing by

There are Spartans in my basement
Helicopters on the roof
And when we do the laundry
I know that I’ve my proof

Cry of the Glasya-Labolas

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Yes, I’m aware that I missed Friday’s post. But I do have an explanation. I am currently vacationing in the frigid Siberianesque land of Ottawa and didn’t bring my external hard drive with me. What I hadn’t considered at the time was the fact I kept all my writing on my external so I really don’t have much to post while I’m here.

My stay is also shaping up to be a little longer than I anticipated but I don’t want to go two days without posting something. And something more than “lol, no posts because I’m stupid.”

Now, I did just see Side Effects and thought perhaps I could write up a post on my thoughts for that movie. However, after discussing it with my friend, I really don’t see much point. At the end of the day, Side Effects is created to be solely entertainment with little thought or care for creating a believable world, characters, themes or narrative. Thus, any discussion about the unbelievability of the characters and the ludicrousness of the plot is a waste. The creators had no intention of making a sound story and deep analysis is really just a waste of anyone’s time.

So, suffice to say I wasn’t a big fan of it but given it’s premise (the possibility of a drug inducing someone to commit murder) was rather stupid anyway. I would have forgiven the movie that small element if it decided to be a more scathing criticism of the American Healthcare System, but it is very conservative in its views and by the end not only is the system itself not at fault but also it was the “wicked woman” who was bringing sin/evil/trouble to the unwitting and innocent male.

So it’s both highly favourable to a corrupt system and stupidly patriarchal in its social views. I much preferred Seven Psychopaths but that movie obviously won’t do nearly as well.

Instead, here’s the beginning scribbles of what I’m working on currently. Forewarning, it is in early alpha and extremely rough so don’t cut yourself on the edges.

—————Break —————

Cry of the Glasya-Labolas

The court thundered. The stone walls shook beneath the tempest of violins and drums as the commanding keys of the piano wove masterfully through the piece. But even the clarion of the trumpets and the gentle weep of the harp sounded little more than background chatter. For there was but one sound that cut through the minstrel band like the stampede of an unstoppable cavalry charge.

And it was produced by the smallest, least intimidating creature Keirn had ever seen.

She stood between the thick stone pillars of the throne hall. Dwarfed on all sides by the yawning arches of the audience chamber for the ancient keep. Even the thick tapestries and heralds hanging from the walls couldn’t dampen the pelting voice roaring from those thin vocal chords. A single, unassuming woman stood unmoving upon a tiny wooden block.

But while her feet appeared rooted, her arms twisted with each haunting symbol that erupted forth from her with a greater force then a storm whipped tide. It seemed inhuman the sounds that she twisted from deep within her breast. Had Keirn not been standing there to experience it himself, he would never have believed it to be true.

And neither could the assembled court.

Every onlooker watched in stunned muteness as the foreign words of this incredible singer drowned out all other sounds and thoughts from their minds. There was no doubt in Keirn’s mind. This was the most beautiful and elegant aria he had ever heard. Granted, he’d never heard one before, but even the Duke Hasselbach sat riveted upon the edge of his stolen throne in rapt entrancement.

And just when Keirn thought it couldn’t more impressive, a sudden string of notes he’d never imagined singable came bursting forth from her, directed right down the hall at the raised lord and his gathered attendants by two thin waving arms.

There was but one soul in the entire chamber that seemed unmoved by the piece.

Derrek Gungric, Keirn’s closest companion and minstrel had his back turned upon the performance and busied himself with a nearby candlestand. Through sheer apparent boredom, he passed the soft flame from one candle to the next, letting the wax drip in thick rivers down the sides until it pooled in the small holders.

“How can you not like this?” Keirn whispered. “I hate your music the most and even think this is damn good.”

“Heard it before.”

“Not like this,” Keirn said. There was no way in this life or the next anyone had heard something like this.

There was a collective gasp as the young singer stepped from her perch. She turned, addressing the courtiers to the sides and the guards standing before the massive barred doors. It was impossible to know what she sang but the delivery gave the briefest impression that it was directed at you alone before she broke the spell and turned to the next face.

It was impossible to look away. Until Keirn heard a strange rustling and quickly scanned around for the source.

Having exhausted his attention with the candles, it seemed that Derrek was now busying himself with darkening a pair of thick glasses with a large piece of charcoal.

“What are you doing?!” Keirn hissed, slipping as unobtrusively to his side.

“I can’t watch this any longer,” Derrek said.

“So you’re going to blind yourself!”

“That’s the plan.”

Keirn stood momentarily mute.

“We’re suppose to be guarding the Duke!”

“So?”

“How are you going to do that if you can’t see?”

“Shhhh!”

Keirn turned to the intruding voice only to be greeted with Jeremiah’s stern face. The larger man motioned towards the singer with a look of impatience. Keirn cast a glance back at the Duke who appeared to be completely oblivious to the disruption. He motioned to Derrek as explanation for his actions but Jeremiah merely waved his hand dismissively.

Keirn turned back to the stubborn minstrel. He’d already completely blacked out one eye. He sighed, turning from his friend back to the performance. Keirn would just have to settle with being extra attentive to make up for the lack of eyes from the bard.

Not that there wasn’t an already impressive show of force in the court today. Trained archers lined the galleys and four guards stood watch over every entrance. But the show of force was easily forgotten beneath the elegant woman before them.

Keirn then felt a tugging at his sleeve.

“What?!”

“Do you know where Kait left her bags?”

Keirn leaned in close to his friend as the singer hit another stretch of impossible notes.

“Why don’t you ask her?”

“She looks like she’s having fun.”

“And I’m not?”

“You’ve already missed the overture. Besides, I’m doing you a favour by missing this atrocious performance.”

Keirn sighed.

“What do you need now?”

“The leg bones from dinner.”

“Of course you- what?”

“From the swine. You know, you said yourself it was the finest you’d eaten in weeks.”

“I’m well aware of what I ate!”

“SHHHHHHHH!”

Keirn grabbed his friend’s dainty wrist and pulled him from the throne dais. Once he was sure he was out of earshot from the duke, he turned upon the impossible delicate features of his friend.

“First, why in the blazes would you need those. Second, why are they in my sisters bag?!”

“Probably to finish her chime.”

Keirn merely blinked at his incomprehensible friend.

“You’re impossible sometimes.”

“So do you know where she left them?”

“I believe she was requested to leave them in the guard quarters just outside the hall.”

Suddenly, there was a pause in the vocals as the instruments swelled in the break.

Derrek frowned.

“I’ll have to get them later.”

He then began removing his shirt.

Keirn grabbed his hands.

“Would you stop!”

“The wax should be ready by now,” Derrek said, slipping his hands free and tossing his jerkin aside.

“Look, you may be jealous of another bard getting the lead performance for the Duke but that doesn’t give you the right to ruin this. Especially when we haven’t even been compensated yet!”

Derrek paused with his belt in his hand. The woman’s voice burst forth and he dropped his pants.

“Probably best to do it now,” he said, shaking his boots free. Keirn growled, snatching for the discarded trousers as the bard quickly hopped to the candlestand in nothing but his linen braies. There, the blonde man dipped his fingers into the cooling pools of wax and plugged them deep into his ears. As Keirn rounded on him with trousers held menacingly in one hand and the belt in the other, the bard danced effortlessly about his wailing arms before slipping behind him. There he plunged his fingers into Keirn’s ears and the young man could immediately feel the hardening wax plug his ear canals and mute out all but the faintest echoes of the lingering song.

Keirn rounded on his friend, feeling a familiar frenzy drawing in his chest. But just as he was about to wield his friend’s belt as a whip, he caught a sudden shift of motion on his periphery.

He turned, watching as the Duke’s rapt attention turned to that of sheer horror. The honour guard standing by his side merely gaped in fear, their crisp halberds dropping from frozen fingers. Keirn felt the motion instead of hearing anything in that dampening silence. All about him, a perceptible change had overtaken the crowd. The courtesans and guests seemed to draw back from the room, pressing against the walls before turning and fleeing towards the doors.

But all entrances to the throne room had been sealed by request of the Duke. The mob merely pounded useless against the wood.

Keirn wasn’t entirely sure what it was that drew his attention back to the centre of the room. But as he turned his face he could feel a sudden burning wave of heat wash over him. And what he saw caused his heart to stop.

There, standing upon the raised wooden step was a towering horror. Keirn wasn’t even sure what it was.

The creature wore the body of a human, bare chested but with thick irons wrapped about its arms and dangling from large wrists. The chains pulled taut as great iron collars shackled monstrous canine creatures that snapped about the monster’s thighs. But both man and beasts were much larger than anything… human.

The creature raised its head, a burnt stag skull resting upon its sinewy shoulders. From the darkest pits of its sockets burned an undying red light like stoked embers. A dented and torn scale mail skirt hung limply about the creature’s waist, coated in dried blood and flecked with rotted pieces of fur and flesh that gave a nauseating scent of death that radiated from the monster.

Finally, a pair of great eagle wings sprouted from the creature’s back. But these weren’t majestic appendages by bloody and broken masses of torn skin and protruding bone. Great splotches of featherless skin were stretched over the bloodied heavenly remnants.

Through the thick wax, Keirn could hear the hollowest echoes of screams.

The creature raised its arms and the four front hounds bound forward. The chains about its forearms unravelled as the beasts bore across the flagged floor faster than any worldly predator. Before anyone could react, they had descended upon the petrified Duke, curved claws longer than daggers tearing through cloth and flesh in mere seconds.

All the Duke’s guards merely watched in unmoving fear as their liege was torn to shreds before them.

Keirn felt something strike the back of his head and he turned to see Derrek practically naked and staring uselessly at a pillar through his darkened glasses. The minstrel made a gnawing gesture then shrugged his shoulders.

“Now’s not the time!” Keirn shouted.

Then he realized Derrek couldn’t hear him. The feminine man merely smacked him again and repeated the gesture.

But the distraction had shaken Keirn from his inaction and he could feel the pressing need to do something and quickly. He grabbed his friend by the wrist and pulled him away from the throne towards the guard room. He didn’t know what the bard was planning with the bones but perhaps he knew some sorcery to deal with this terror.

Course, Keirn had no idea how he was going to get through the frightened mob.

Yet, as Keirn hurried towards the side entrances, he noticed the gathered audience turning almost as if they were directed. They all peered back to the centre of the room where Keirn could hear only the faintest of whispers mingling with the ravaged slobbers of those great hounds.

Whatever distraction beheld the others, it made pushing past them with his blind, naked friend in tow easier. Keirn descended on the door, trying the handle and feeling it catch against it’s latch.

“It’s locked!” he cried. Uselessly.

This deafness thing was going to take some getting used to. Keirn turned to Derrek for more guidance but the bard merely repeated the bone-gnawing gesture.

The temperature in the room noticeably rose and Keirn could feel sweat beginning to bead upon his neck. He raised his hand to wipe it away and noticed a curiously change seem to overtake his neighbours.

The attendants clutched at their ears, pressing back against the walls or collapsing against the floor. Some appeared to writhe in agony while others drew whatever item or weapon they had at hand. Thus, armed they struck out madly about them, hitting and stabbing whatever their weapons found purchase in.

And in this monstrous crowd, Keirn’s sister was still. With stilling heart, Keirn realized she could still be standing at the Duke’s side where those beastly hounds still feasted. Keirn began to push his way through the crowd.

He’d barely taken a few steps before he felt someone his wrist grabbed. He turned to see Derrek still standing with one arm raised to gnaw. But there was something in his posture that seemed to suggest a great sense of urgency. It was hard to pinpoint what, but something about how he held himself seemed to indicate that if they had the bones then they would be able to get their friends.

Balls – Part 5 of 8

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< Return to Balls Part 4

Now that I’m feeling better I can proudly return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

—————Break —————

Derrek woke with a groan. Pushing his mind through the haze of unconsciousness, he remembered a warning and immediately reached for his crotch. He sighed with relief as everything was accounted for.

A laugh caused him to roll painfully upon his side.

A lone candle sat in a twisted metal stand, casting soft light upon a figure sitting in a worn chair. A large cat was stretched across the lap with a single, languid hand brushing up and down its fur. The face, half cast in shadow, watched him closely with one eye.

“You have no fear of that from me.”

Derrek reached his hand to his forehead, pressing against the burning pain in his skull.

“You are quite fortunate you found me in time,” his benefactor continued. “The poison had done a number on your system.”

“Poison?”

“But I am most curious how it is you found me.”

His watcher leaned curiously forward, the cat springing from her perch to gaze up at Derrek with expecting eyes.

“I think I’m having one of those days,” Derrek said. Suddenly, he sat erect, as the memories began to come back to him. “What time is it?”

“Well past noon. Why?”

“I still have to register!” Derrek cried, jumping to his feet. He felt weak, like he had been tossed down an endless staircase, but he he couldn’t let his exhaustion stop him now.

“Registered for what?”

“The Challenge,” Derrek said. “I can’t explain, Dian. I must go.”

“I don’t know who you angered, but it is not safe out there.”

Derrek looked about for his missing lute.

“The hat.”

“Hat?”

He found it leaning against the wall and quickly reclaimed it. He tested a few of the strings before turning the instrument over in his hands.

“That’s how I found you. One of your men wore a Colvian hat.”

Dian’s head shook with confusion.

“I do not understand. How did that tell you he was with me?”

“Is not your favourite dish Colvian roasted pheasant?”

“Well… yes, but…”

“And he worked for you,” Derrek said with a shrug. He wasn’t entirely sure what Dian was struggling with as it seemed so obvious to him. He searched about for an exit, heading quickly towards the thin shafts of light he assumed outlined a door in the gloom.

“Why did you come looking for me?” Dian asked, getting out of the chair. Dian moved quickly after Derrek, wedging a light frame draped in modest clothes of a simple northern peasant between Derrek and the door.

“Well, who else do I know that could remedy me?”

“You knew you were poisoned?”

“I couldn’t be hung over.”

Dian’s head shook.

“You are making no damnable sense. What is all this about?”

“The Challenge. And if I don’t get myself registered then Alec is going to win. I can’t explain more.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t understand it yet.”

Dian just sighed with resignation.

“Very well, go get your registration. But know that I will have someone keep an eye on you. It is plain to me that trouble dogs your path.”

“It can’t be too bad,” Derrek said, pausing as he rested his hand upon the door handle. “If they wanted me dead, they would have killed me by now.”

“And who would that be?”

“Still working on that.”

He pushed his way out of the cellar and back into daylight. He could hear the shouting of the hawkers and the buyers echoing down the streets. With a clearer head, he quickly gathered his bearings and made straight for the College of Bards.

He had better recollections of his night. He remembered Mikael’s betrayal and Mairen’s threat. He wasn’t entirely sure how that had ended but no doubt it was them that had him drugged. But that didn’t explain why Alec Carver had ransacked his room, assuming it was Carver which the inn’s Matron referred to as the fat man.

Nor did it explain why all three of them were conspiring to keep him from the Challenge. But there was no doubt that was their ultimate aim. That assurance led speed to his feet as he made his way towards the College.

As Derrek hurried, he couldn’t help but feel a presence following him. It was an unmistakeable sensation, like the soft crawling of cold fingers down one’s neck. Derrek didn’t question these instinctual feelings. If there was one thing the College had taught him it was that a man must always be open to inspiration from his muse. Derrek’s had more a penchant for discerning danger than creative inspiration, but one couldn’t really choose the creative spirit that answered you.

Derrek paused before an armour stall, pretending to peruse the inventory. Specifically, he started examining the shields. He held one after the other overhead, turning it slowly in his hands. After a few seconds of inspection, he would drop one and turn to the next. The merchant made to help him, but Derrek ignored him, picking through shield after shield until he found the one with the greatest sheen.

He then held it aloft, turning it until he could pinpoint the presence stalking his tail.

To his surprise, he caught the reflection of a big, fat black cat.

“That’s who Dian sent to keep me safe?” Derrek wondered.

He returned the shield and continued on his march.

The College of Bards was a rather grandiose structure. It had a single grand tower rising majestically into the air surrounded by the main building and the adjoining bunk houses. Though mostly constructed of imported wood and quarried stone, it was quite clear the original design had been to evoke the grand view of a cathedral. Since few churches or temples had the opportunity to be built in Etreria, the College sought to beat the monks to having the most visually impressive home. Probably so they could claim the monks copied the bards.

The College was a remarkably busy institute. It seemed almost every young girl and boy dreamed of being a successful minstrel. More were drawn with the dreams of being great performers and of illustrious careers in the playhouses and upon the stage. The reality was far harsher. Very few troupes ever achieved great renown and it would be the fortunate graduate who found work remotely related to their studies.

But it was also a curious institute on its own. Derrek believed that you really couldn’t teach talent. Either a person was followed by a muse or they were not. There were no classes that could compensate for that creative force. And those that attempted to fake it produced the most derivative work.

For those blessed with a creative spirit, the College served a much more important function. It allowed the aspiring minstrel or storyteller to forge important bonds and networks with the most influential individuals. Most two bit copper establishments would hire anyone that could squawk a familiar canto or produce a dodgy haiku on the spot. But to see the inside of the grandest theatres took real reputation. The Seeker title bypassed all that and gave one entertainer a free ride to the big leagues.

To be barred from the institute was perhaps the greatest sabotage a rival entertainer could perform. Especially since non-members were unable to register for the Challenge.

There was a small booth erected at the gate. A tired looking secretary sat within, an enormous stack of registration papers by her side. She thumbed a large pair of gilded eyeglasses while she watched each passer by warily.

As Derrek approached, she slipped her glasses over her nose and regarded the man coolly. She gazed behind him then bolted upright, leaning out the front of her booth and waving her hands.

“Is that cat yours?” she called. Derrek looked back at the well fed feline.

“No, it’s not mine.”

“I would hope not. Unsanctioned use of magic is strictly forbidden on College grounds!”

She unlatched the door from inside her booth and stomped around, shooing the creature away.

The cat mere fell back on its haunches, its fur standing up on end. It opened its mouth, hissing loudly and swiping its paws as the woman drew near. As the woman stomped closer, her hands waving madly, the cat retreated hesitantly – obviously reluctant to leave Derrek’s shadow.

It seemed odd to Derrek that Dian would have the cat enchanted. It didn’t seem in character for Dian to purchase such frivolous expenditures, especially for someone running one of the roughest gangs in the shadows of Etreria.

It also struck Derrek as a rather poor time for the woman to leave her booth unattended. While distracted, Derrek walked up to the woman’s papers, looking over the sheets with interest. One pile was filled will all the accepted applicants and the other contained emptied forms.

With deft hands, Derrek snatched the quill, dipping it in the ink and selecting the easiest filled form to forge.

All he had to do was change the name of the applicant and cover the telling marks with flowery script.

He briefly considered the injustice that Dirrac Gilimari was about to face but was consoled with the fact that, had he been more clever, he would have done this to enter himself rather than rely on the handouts of his family or the College sponsorship. After all, what was a minstrel if he didn’t display some amount of ingenuity?

With sheet filled and filed, Derrek watched the woman chase the feline further away before turning towards the grand hall. He twisted the lute in his hands, played a few encouraging chords, then set about searching for the spot where the competitors were arranged to meet.

Continue to Balls Part 6 >

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Balls – Part 4 of 8

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< Return to Balls Part 3

The ever continuing adventures of our fearless bard commence once more!

—————Break —————

Derrek woke with a start. He could still hear the echoing threat ringing in his head. Immediately he reached for his crotch, sighing with relief to know everything was accounted for. He then looked around, curious to find himself in a familiar tiny room.

The rafters slanted overhead, the beams musty with the smell of mildew and age. A small wardrobe had been placed near the door just below the steps leading to the alcove that contained the bed. A writing table was directly across from the wardrobe.

However, his papers were not stacked neatly upon them. Instead, his supplies had been violently scattered across the floor. Dried ink ran down the long leg of the desk and fragments of ceramic told of the containers last moments. All his papers had been thrown about, caught in a small whirlwind that materialized with the apparent intent to destroy his stuff. The wardrobe doors were pulled open and clothes thrown forth as if the cabinetry had vomited them out.

Derrek pushed himself till he sat on his bed. Then he quickly clutched his head as the room began to swirl in his vision. He felt like he was free falling through the air and the walls were spinning like a child’s top. Strings of pain laced across his brain. He immediately felt like lying down again.

“Is this what it feels to be hung over?”

Derrek was not a stranger to liquor but possessed the enviable knack for never suffering from his drinking the morning after. It didn’t matter how much or little he consumed, he always woke bright and cheerful with the start of each new day.

This day, however, was far too different. He stomach seemed to flop within him like a beached fish squirming with its last strength for the safety of water. His body was sluggish and unresponsive, as if his thoughts were unable to make the journey to his limbs.

He turned to the window, immediately regretting the action as sharp pain responded to the blast of light filtering through the torn curtains. He immediately collapsed against his moth eaten pillow, seeking refuge beneath its stained comfort.

What had happened last night?

It felt like a bad dream and nothing was distinct. He remembered being surrounded by half naked men, really disappointing wine and some questionable acting. There was something else that skittered just at the forefront of recollection. A recognizable voice that made him think peculiarly of spoiled fish.

Also, there was something about orbs. Something that seemed important enough to warrant further investigation.

Ignoring the pounding of his head, Derrek tumbled from the twisted embrace of his blanket, crawling pitifully along the floor until he found some trousers and a decent tunic. Most his other clothes appeared in too disrepair, either torn and covered in dirt and ink, to be wearable.

He pulled on his boots and grabbed his lute and coin purse before stumbling feebly out his door.

He had to lean heavily upon the rail as he nearly rolled down the stairs. There was little activity on the main floor of the tavern. The matron was puttering about, sweeping beneath tables covered in chairs. There was a stirring behind the bar and Derrek stumbled his way over.

“Innkeep!” he hollered, his voice thick and slurred.

The large man stood up from beneath his counter. Derrek couldn’t help but reflect on how most innkeepers were often quite large and dressed in similarly stained aprons.

“I have a name,” the man grumbled.

“Your finest meats and cheeses, if you’d please. I have a busy day ahead!”

The innkeep eyed Derrek warily.

“First, I thought you said you’d given up on meat.”

“Your finest cheese then!”

“Second, you hardly look like you’re ready for any day, busy or not. Wild night?”

“I don’t remember,” Derrek said, slumping against the counter. “Think you’d mind adding a mead to the order?”

“I’ll give you water but I can charge you the same if it would make you feel better.”

“Unlikely,” Derrek replied, his lips flopping against the polished wood. He found if he rolled his head at just the right angle, the pressure of the counter seemed to alleviate sixty percent of the pain flashing about his brain.

“Will you be participating in the Challenge today?” the innkeeper asked, eyeing Derrek’s lute.

“I have aspirations,” Derrek muttered from the counter. He lifted his head as a small tray of cheese and a great mug of water were slapped down loudly beside him. “By the way, I didn’t happen to have any visitors last night. Either while I was here or away?”

“Don’t rightly know, I wasn’t working that late,” the innkeep said. “Marta! Oi! Did this fine gentleman have any callers?”

The Matron looked up, slapping the broom handle in her palm.

“What do I look like, eh? Some sort of fancy herald?”

“Don’t give me that lip woman! You know very well that he has been expecting friends for a few days now. Would you turn away all potential customers because you’d rather sit drunken before the fire?”

“Don’t take that tone with me! If it weren’t for my work this whole place would crash down about her piggish head!”

The pair’s raising voices weren’t helping with Derrek’s headache. He tried to politely wait it out by stuffing some questionable bread into his ears. He then focussed his attention on the aging cheese and peculiar water.

“No worry, it wasn’t important anyway.”

“Look, woman! Now you’re upsetting the clientele!”

“Me? He looks positively sick after eating that foul mess you call food!”

“Well, we could serve some decent meals if you learned to cook like a proper wife!”

“Just add it to my tab,” Derrek smiled, pushing himself to his feet and staggering towards the door.

“Hold on a sec,” the Matron called. “There were some folks asking around for you the other night I believe.”

“A woman and two men?”

“I don’t remember all of them,” the lady replied, scratching her frazzled mane. “But I do remember the fat one. Carried an instrument like yours. Seemed to suggest you were old friends or the like. Wouldn’t have let him near your room otherwise.”

Derrek nodded.

“Much appreciated. Oh, and if the three I described before do come, tell them to wait for me up at the Academy.”

Derrek stumbled out the door.

He wasn’t sure where he was headed but given his present state of mind he wasn’t sure of anything. He mostly acted on the urge to find some decent drink and the growing certainty that if he didn’t find some money soon his current room and board would catch on that he couldn’t afford the tab he was quickly accumulating.

And so he did the most foolish thing one could possibly do in the City of Roads.

He wandered.

It was a well known idiom that even if one knew where they were going it was unlikely they would get there in Etreria. The streets had the knack of swallowing up the aimless. Citizens treated the lost posters as just another form of decoration, often besetting on the poor pamphlets with their brushes and paints to make them more decorative than actually participating in any search for the lost souls.

Likely, there was little effort made for the vanished because most knew it was pointless. To say there was a seedy underbelly in Etreria would give the mistaken impression that there was a respectable body to be blemished. Because of so many clashing cultures, no one knew how to properly regulate them. Most foreigners arrived with their own preconceptions of what the laws of the land should be. It was joked that Etreria was home to the most courts and fewest magistrates in the lands.

The original fort still stood, a tiny bastion of lawfulness that, instead of attempting to clean up the bursting civilization growing around it, merely just walled itself in and hid from the ever growing problems. If anyone was ever caught breaking the law, it was almost impossible to figure out how to punish them.

Instead, the wealthiest merchant families turned to hiring their own guards and mercenaries to protect their interests. Thus the main artery roads that saw the most trade were heavily watched but the further one strolled from those main thoroughfares, the more the laws descended into the rule of the wild.

“Und stratz mit ze uldensackt, flutens.”

Derrek paused, noticing his addresser emerge from beneath the tattered remains of a long abandoned stall.

“Hello.”

“Lost, fluten?”

The man was a dirty sort; the kind that found his bed beneath the awnings of forgetful merchants at night and sorted through the wastes for his food. He had distinctive tattoos printed upon his face in pale imitation of the markings of the eastern gangs. Though his clothes were grimy and worn, his fur rimmed hat looked perhaps the most aged.

A startling wave of nausea washed over Derrek and he tipped, leaning against his confronter and looking up at him with bleary eyes.

“You… you look travelled.”

“What are you on?” the man asked, his eyes narrowing as he pushed Derrek back. Derrek leaned against the stall to keep himself upright.

“Leboe. Dian. Take.”

It wasn’t perhaps his most comprehensible sentence, but he hoped the message still got across.

The thug looked at Derrek with confusion. He drew a rusted knife from his belt.

Derrek shook his head.

“No. No, need Dian…”

He would have continued more but felt the muscles of his throat begin to contract and he turned, the remnants of his breakfast and whatever he had consumed the evening prior ejecting upon the ground.

The thug merely turned to his compatriot waiting in the shadows and nodded his head further down the dank alleyway. Derrek just waited, still hunched over as his digestive system worked over what little else it was holding. However, after ridding himself of the undigested food, he begin to feel a slight alleviation in his headache and his stomach felt less like it was tossing on the open seas.

Soon, the sound of stamping feet echoed down the back alley. There was incomprehensible grunting and one of the men pulled Derrek upright. He wavered before a rather rakish individual with much cleaner clothes and a large black patch tied over one eye.

“Take him,” came the stern reply.

Almost immediately, Derrek was hoisted upon someone’s shoulders and bounced down the alley. He really couldn’t gather where he was carried, but there was the sound of a scratching gate before he was pushed through a door into a dank basement.

He heard orders shouted as his lute was pulled from him and he was hoisted upon a table. Hands pinned his limbs as old One Eye appeared above him, peering down with its concerned namesake.

“Drink.”

A cup was lifted to his lips as a hand opened his mouth. Derrek felt the burn of the liquid wash against his throat.

And then he felt nothing.

Continue to Balls Part 5 >

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