Tag Archives: Balls

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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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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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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Balls – Part 3 of 8

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< Return to Balls Part 2

Must we pick up with our spoony bard? We must. More balls!

Writer’s Confession – often when I didn’t know how to start a section I’ll just begin with describing the setting and see where things go from there. This can lead the narrative into bizarre directions but I just try and roll with it.

—————Break —————

The city of Etreria was a city of crossroads. It sat near the border, fed by the famous Eleven Worldly Trails and the magnificent Spine of the World. These twelve trade routes insured an endless supply of travellers and merchants that caused the city to swell with gold and supplies. To say that Etreria was a wealthy city was to say the Infinite Sea merely a puddle.

In its earlier days, the city was little more than a modest hill fort, protecting a small lay-over camp for the traders on the Spice Road. It served little strategic value, it held little desirability for farming and was so far from any serviceable rivers to hardly be considered worthy of any further development.

And yet, miraculously, the damn place kept growing. The traders from the far east began to set up small trading posts beneath the bored eyes of the presiding knight captain and his men. This provided greater incentive for the distant men to carry more and more goods west, garnering the attention of the thrones to the north and south. However, armed conflict over the miserable spit of rock was far more trouble than the kings wanted, so they commissioned the creation of roads connecting their lands to that outpost.

With the sudden interest of foreign regents, the ruling family decided that there must be some value in the oft ignored post where military commanders went to be forgotten. Thus, better infrastructure was funded and suddenly three interests were competing to create the most enticing avenue to funnel the confused foreigners.

The kings entered a fierce trade conflict, each maneuvering to obtain more goods from their foreign visitors than their rivals. What they bought didn’t matter; vases, silks, spices, pets, herbs, goats, grains, berries, alcohol, beads, strange rocks and hats were sold for more than any of the traders would value their worth. With a sudden demand for everything exotic, more and more traders were sent and the roads connecting to Etreria from all angles were paid so much attention that they became renown throughout the kingdoms.

This unexpected boon in trade grabbed the attention of other kingdoms both near and far and suddenly a whole host of new players were throwing their hands in over the fort. But no one dared send a military force to claim the city through force for each ruler feared provoking a collation from the others to permanently oust them from the valuable markets.

And so, the rocky, infertile lands surrounding Etreria were covered in the snaking paths stretching to the far corners of the known lands. Each route vied to be the most enticing to the ever growing number of merchants, seeking to cover their routes with stretches of guard posts, comfortable inns, tax credits and even pleasing banners.

Unfortunately, given so much choice, the foreign merchants became paralyzed by the decision of who to trade with. Instead, they squatted right down at the foot of the old Etreria fort, building their own storehouses and shop fronts to sell to each investor right at the end of the Spine. It wasn’t long before merchants outnumbered the soldiers and competition sprouted amongst the traders for who could sell the most to their eager customers. They did everything to undermine the fellow sellers: marriages were arranged, courts were created to tie opponents in a mountain of bewildering bureaucracy, assassins were hired to quietly eliminate the more troublesome and adept individuals and some even went so far as to cut their prices.

With the merchants so entrenched, it wasn’t long before the kingdoms followed suit. And then, Etreria became a jumbled city of peoples, customs, litigation and general market driven mischief. This hotbed of cultures and ambition could not have been a more perfect place for the College of Bards to settle. And so the minstrels and wastrels arrived, adding ever more colour and confabulation to the City of Roads.

It was a city Derrek had only been to once before but one he had vowed to return. He hadn’t planned on it being as soon as it was, however, but now that he was here he couldn’t help but feel that it was the ever gentle prodding of fate. His journey with his companions had brought him far and wide but to bring their weary feet to Etreria, right near the Challenge, seemed far too fortuitous for it to be anything else.

It was his time to be named Seeker, he knew it. All his experiences, all his adventures, were in preparation for this moment and this time. He just had to pen them down and find the right recourse to express them.

And so he sat beneath the candlelight facing a dozen empty parchments and a full bottle of untouched ink.

His head rested in his palm and mead rested in his spare hand. He stared unblinking at the blank faces of the paper – his mind a complete desert of ideas.

He didn’t know what to write.

He took another swig from his emptying cup, glaring furiously at the papers as if he could will his thoughts upon their surface.

It was a maddening state to be faced with the greatest opportunity but to have nothing to put towards it. He had been here once more, this exact city and this exact place.

And it hadn’t ended well then.

“Hopeless.”

He raised a wavering hand over the table, swiping the parchments dramatically from the desk to flutter freely in the air. He watched the last sheaf drift on lazy currents to the floorboard before stooping over and picking them all up again.

That was the fourth time he’d attempted that method but still no ideas sprouted. Even playing the part of a troubled playwright wasn’t producing results. Perhaps he needed more conviction in his delivery.

“A pox of a thousand and one fleas to infest your armpits!” he screamed. He threw one sheet at a time from his writing table. He then stared at them expectantly upon the floor.

Still nothing.

This was going to be harder than he planned.

A welcomed knock came upon his door and he jumped to his feet, hurrying over for the expected

refreshments.

To his disappointment, it was not the serving wench from downstairs upon his step. Instead, it was the flamboyantly dressed Mikael.

“Friend! What a pleasant surprise it is to see you again!”

Mikael burst through the door in a flutter of fantastic cloth and waving hands.

“How long has it been? Three, maybe four years? What have you been doing with yourself? You look absolutely fabulous, I must say. Is that a new jerkin? It looks absolutely smashing on you, really brings out your figure. And what a fabulous colour as well! Did you pick it up from here? I don’t recognize the design.”

The man plopped down upon Derrek’s chair, lifting to inspect his cup carefully. He tipped the drink to his nose, his small nostrils tentatively testing the scent of the beverage. Immediately, a look of disgust painted his face as he sprung to his feet.

“You know, we should really catch up. Last I heard you were bounding off to study at some school or some such. There must be so much to cover!”

He walked over to the window, pulling against the warped wood until enough space had been cleared for him to pitch the mead out.

“I know this terrific tavern… though it’s not really much of a tavern. It’s more like a feast hall. Though there’s less feast in the ‘traditional sense,’” he accentuated those words with his two fingers, “but it is nevertheless a very entertaining place. What say you, old friend, shall we paint this town for old times sake?”

Enough time lapsed between the young man’s words for Derrek to blink. Clearly an indication for him to take a turn to speak.

“What are you doing here?”

It was perhaps a more forward route than Derrek had planned to ask. However, the words had been sprung to life from the tip of his tongue before any reigns could be harnessed about them. Freed now there wasn’t anything that could be done save wait the response.

“Derrek! Confidante! Word on the street was that you were back in Etreria and I thought to myself, ‘Mikael, it has been ages since you’ve spoken with your good friend. Proper decorum would necessitate that I make an appearance upon his stoop, would it not?’”

“I’m sorry,” Derrek said, walking over to his desk and straightening his papers with an air of trained professionalism, “but I am a little busy. Not much time to party and all that.”

“Nonsense,” Mikael said, waving his hand. He strolled over, placing the cup upon the writing desk with finality before clasping Derrek’s arm. “If there is one thing I know, there is always time to party. You’ll have plenty of time to work on your manuscript or ballad or whatever it is you do.”

There was no point in arguing. It was all Derek could do to grab his jacket before being ushered out his cramped room and down the rickety stairs of the inn.

“How did you know I was back?” Derrek asked.

“Oh, words have feet and such,” Mikael smiled. “When they finally reached me I knew I just had to drop what I was doing and come see you right away. And, might I add, you are looking mighty handsome after this time. Been eating well?”

“The stomach doesn’t cramp anymore,” Derrek said. “I spoke to an apothecary and they suggested it was too much meat in my diet. So it’s been nothing but vegetables and fruits.”

“Oh, I hear you,” Mikael laughed. “I could not agree more! Not one bit. Course, it goes without saying that our four-legged brethren are our most trusted companions and we do them a bad turn by throwing them on our dinner plate.”

Derrek shrugged.

“They just make my stomach upset.”

Mikael led him into the busy street still bustling with the shuffling bodies of merchants and visitors attempting to push their way from the stalls and into the numerous taverns and theatres that dotted the street sides.

Great paper lanterns were strung overhead, their soft red light illuminating the roads beneath. Long banners were hung down store fronts with elaborate designs to both convey the owner as well as advertise the weaver’s great artistic flair.

A woman of deep ebony skin emerged from her crate, stopping Derrek and Mikael as she held up her slender arms. Bells were fastened to leather straps that ran down the length of her arms and body until wrapping tightly about her ankles. She clicked her fingers, the chime of small cymbals ringing cleanly in the air.

The performer looked seductively at both the men before beginning to writhe and twist her body in tantalizing form. Each bell bedecking her smooth skin gave off the sweetest of chimes as her almost silken gown billowed elegantly about her body.

Immediately, both men reached for their coin purses.

Derrek felt the retreat of dastardly fingertips retreat into the pressing crowds as Mikael pushed his way forcefully past.

“My apologies, milady, but we’re not interest!”

Once cleared, he turned to inspect Derrek’s belt and smiled.

“I see you still haven’t lost your reflexes.”

“Tired distractions lacking originality. This city is better than that.”

“I knew it would come back to you!” Mikael laughed, pulling him ever further through the streets.

The sights and smells washed over them while they forged their way along twisting boulevards. Due to its nature, Etreria loved roads and lay them where they could causing the most peculiar shaped alleyways and streets. Paths would hook in on themselves with no reason and budding buildings would create zigzagging passages beneath their overhanging balconies. It was the sort of city one could easily get lost in; swallowed by the turning paths, shuffling mass and drowning colours.

At last Mikael and Derrek emerged before a massive hall with a grand façade. It was almost entirely wood, with grand carvings covering the entire front. Intricate interwoven ribbons were etched about great sculptures of primitive men with bulging muscles wrestling various flora and fauna in their wild nakedness. The doors to the structure had been thrown wide open, the heat and laughter from inside spilling out in reckless revelry.

“Welcome to the Hall of Bears!” Mikael announced.

“Official name?”

“Affectionate.”

Derrek was dragged up its steps and pushed inside.

It was clear the architect was shooting for some northern motive. Once passed the entryway, an enormous fire pit ran straight down the middle of the massive front room. Metal spits held a large collection of foods slowly turning over the flickering flames. Bordering either side of the pit was a pair of large tables with a thin bar splitting their lengths. Beside this area, the tables lined the walls leaving a large space separating the middle seating and the rest. Where a head table would have been was an open stage with large red curtains running along its back.

“Boys!” Mikael called as he entered. “I’m back!”

A raucous cheer rose from the gathered men as goblets and glasses were raised. The heady scent of fine wine and spirits dominated what otherwise should have been a space filled with the mouth watering scent of roasting meat.

However, there was no scent of stuck boar to fill the air below the vaulted timber roof. Only vegetables, roots and fruits were rotating upon the spits. Derrek couldn’t help but also notice a distinct lack of serving wenches.

“Not my typical scene,” Derrek said.

“Come now, my troupe has prepared a special show just for you.”

“An unexpected honour.”

“A celebration for the reigniting of old friendships. Come, we have a seat prepared.”

Derrek was brought to the front of the middle spit. A large man with a penchant for the furs of a wild barbarian moved aside while patting the space invitingly. Derrek slowly buttoned upon the top of his shirt as he smiled and sat down.

“What can I get you?” a bare-chested youth asked walking up to him.

“He’ll have an Ascandian Spirit,” Mikael said, patting Derrek’s shoulders. The young man nodded before departing.

Derrek cleared his throat, running a hand through his luscious blonde hair. The crowd appeared a mixture of rugged aged workers and younger, preened youths. It was the sort of place that Derrek, with his almost feminine features and shape, easily stood out amongst the crowd.

Derrek smiled politely as his server returned with his drink. Once the servers back was turned, he carefully tested the contents to make sure they were genuine.

“Fantastic!” Mikael smiled. “Now give me some time to get ready and we’ll get the show started.”

The man hurried towards the stage, scampering up its side steps and disappearing behind the curtain. Derrek looked around, noticing with some trepidation that all eyes were on him. There were almost twenty patrons, the only two women occupying a far corner beneath the shadows of a large, detailed pillar of a man and buck butting heads.

A soft rumble caused Derrek to turn towards the exit as he watched two of the working youths pull the massive doors closed.

“Shouldn’t we keep those open. Perhaps for fresh air?”

The bear of a man sitting beside Derrek merely folded his arms.

“Don’t want no one interrupting the show.”

A soft drumming echoed from behind the curtains hushing the remainder of idle conversation. The drumming grew louder, joined quickly by the rhythmic stamping of feet. As if rehearsed, many of the patrons began to thump their hands against the tabletops in chorus.

Derrek turned quickly to his wine.

Suddenly, a man burst from the curtains. It took Derrek a second to recognize Mikael Lors beneath the great ironed helm with enormous deer antlers protruding from its studded sides. He had a single red cloth wrapped about his near bare body which he clutched to his chest with his left hand. Derrek hadn’t seen Mikael for a long time and during their absence the boy had obviously misplaced quite a bit of weight. There were still the faint reminders of his rounder days, noticeably in the soft padding of his neck. His skin also seemed slicked, as if he had just been dipped in oil.

Mikael strode boldly to the front of the stage, addressing the gathered crowd with a great, ringing voice.

“Behold my fellow travellers! We stand upon the brink of a great journey, nay, a transformation! For before you stands the great Baldr of the Northern Wilds, a legendary god-man who stood before the might of oppression and tyranny. Behold! For you are about to witness the thrilling tale of liberation and salvation! It is a tale of forbidden love and treacherous betrayal! A tale of personal expression!”

Mikael raised his hands to the hair, the cloth falling from his shoulders to catch about his waist. Beneath the cloth ran a deep red line, clearly paint but fashioned in such a way to appear as a terrific wound that ran all the way down to his navel.

Derrek, of course, had heard the tale of Baldr and the supposed fate that had ended with the legendary man cleaved in two. It seemed a most fitting play given their locale but there was something in Mikael’s delivery that made him sit on edge. Derrek couldn’t pinpoint it, but some mischievous gleam in the young man’s blue eyes tickled the primitive sense of self preservation.

A loud gong rang behind Mikael and the curtains were immediately whisked open, revealing the rest of the cast. Derrek was surprised to note two girls amongst the troupe since he had been convinced he knew the direction this production was heading.

All the men wore fur or tattered breeches with their bare-chests gleaming as if slicked with sweat. The women wore longer costumes of tanned leather. Derrek supposed they were going to portray the wild wolf packs but they looked more armoured mercenary than furry animal.

Another ring of the gong sent the three males rushing to Mikael’s side as they all crouched behind him, reaching around and pressing their fingers against the lead’s wound. A final ring and, in unison, they all pulled their hands back, streaking the red paint as if the blood were exploding from his chest.

One of the women produced a flute, beginning a rapid melody to represent the frantic rise of tension as Mikael squirmed beneath the clawing hands figuratively ripping him apart. The drumming began and many of the patrons joined in, building the feverish tempo.

“Come with me, fellow travellers!” Mikael cried. “Come with me to the end!”

He burst from the grasping arms, leaping from the stage to land upon the middle table. Derrek now realized why space had been cleared and quickly snatched his drink back as Mikael stumbled past, his loincloth now mostly dragging behind him as the cloth fell through the revealed metal rings bound about his hips.

As he descended down the centre of the room, courageous patrons reached up to grasp at the cloth still dangling from his hips, tearing at the fabric with their fingers. The drumming and fluting quickened in beat as the other men of the troupe crawled along the stage like beasts upon their stomachs. They followed the clearly symbolic trail of entrails in their master’s wake.

It was all quite post modern but a little heavy handed.

“Please, how long do you plan to drag this out?”

The voice cut through the revelry like a loosed arrow, killing the musical accompaniment with one, shocked note. The other actors ceased their writhing and Mikael slowed his flight.

The patrons turned towards the shadowed table and the interrupting question. Once again, some prickling warning ran down Derrek’s spine as his ears echoed the words from a familiar voice.

“We… we were at least going to finish the act,” Mikael whispered.

“I’m not paying you for this mindless drivel. Do it now!”

Without further warning, the women drew wicked daggers, leaping from the stage towards Derrek. More surprising, the men stood, producing weapons themselves somehow concealed beneath their meagre clothing.

And it was clear they were coming after Derrek.

He sprung to his feet, hurrying and looking about him trying to size the situation up. However, all the large, burly men in the audience seemed to shrink away from the actors flying off the stage and taking refuge at the furthest edges of the room. Some patrons fled to the front doors, banging uselessly against the barred massive wood.

Reflexively, Derrek reached behind him for his lute but then realized immediately that he had been pulled from his room so quickly he’d forgotten to bring it with him.

The first woman was upon him, striking out with her blades. Derrek didn’t even bother standing for a fair fight. He immediately doused her with the remainder of his drink, before throwing the cup towards the other and scampering for cover.

He cast about for some escape, noting the holes near the roof to vent out the rising smoke from the fire pit. Derrek looked at the pillar he knelt behind, noticing that the intricate carving had plenty of foot and hand holds.

He began his ascent.

There were shouts below him, and he noticed the troupe not even pause as they came tumbling forward. There was no hesitation as they leaped upon the carved bear and muscular man, scampering over them as if it were no more than shimming up a rope. In seconds they were just below him, one reaching up and pulling rudely on Derrek’s boot.

Derrek lost his balance. He landed upon a table and rolled off, laying upon the floor in pain. He turned his head and watched with fascination as Mikael detached the two hoops at his side, holding the items before him with their curious flame styled blades.

They looked remarkably like wind-and-fire wheels.

“Sorry old friend,” Mikael said, bending over in little more than the remaining thin strap of red cloth covering his decency. He pushed one of the blades to Derrek’s throat, the metal uncomfortably warm.

Derrek then heard a sharp clapping.

“Now, that is a performance I can enjoy. A bewildered, cornered animal with just the right touch of betrayal.”

Walking from the shadowed pillar was a face that he could now identify. Her wavy brown hair tied severely back in a tight knot that appeared to pinch her features and add even more severity to her face. Her freckled features were lined and worn by endless scheming and double-dealing.

“Mairen. I didn’t know you enjoyed this kind of show. If you really wanted a date, you could have just asked. You know, like a normal woman.”

“Save the witty banter, I can barely stand it from Keirn,” Mairen said.

“So Mikael is part of your network now too.”

“It shouldn’t be surprising anymore what one can buy with money. Now, you know what I’ve come for, bard.”

“I’m not done my play.”

Mairen leaned down, the heavy smell of her perfume filled with the scent of desperation and ruined lives.

“I’ve come for your balls,” she said.

“Which ones?”

Mairen drew a long, crooked dagger.

“Well, I believe that is really up to you now, isn’t it?”

Continue to Balls Part 4 >

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Balls – Part 2 of 8

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< Return to Balls Part 1

When last we met our fearless heroes they were balanced on an impractically placed ship. They were also letting some mysterious pirate captain get the better of them. However, one name seemed curiously absent from this encounter.

Our eponymous bard appears to have sat this little adventure out. I wonder what he could be getting himself involved in…

—————Break —————

“I just don’t know where I see this going.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll be here. They’re only two days late.”

“I don’t mean that,” Aliessa sighed. “Have you not been listening to me at all?”

“Weren’t you saying how annoyed you were that the others weren’t here and how you couldn’t wait anymore?” Derrek asked.

He looked past the irritated woman, eyeing the man climbing upon the stage with suspicion. Aliesse leaned back into his vision, expectation written all over her face.

Derrek regarded her politely.

“Yes?”

“Do you even remember what day this is?”

“The Seventh of Wintermarch according to the Aretessian Calendar, also known as Trolfynnan Day in honour of the Corindian god of flutes, whistles and general drunken revelry. It is the day that many bard colleges decide to hold a festival in his honour and to test the mettle of all registered minstrels through challenges of skill, knowledge and trivial uselessness.”

“… and our anniversary?”

“Yeah… that too.”

Aliessa sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. Her exaggerated attempt at agitation caused her nestled newt to scamper from his perch upon her wrist and seek refuge beneath the slip of her shoulder strap.

The young woman of elongated delicateness wore a shimmering dress of shifting emerald and turquoise scales that appeared almost as if it were fashioned from the skin of some exotic beast. Her hair had been gathered amongst several colourful wooden pegs in which her pet snake had wound herself amongst like a long streak of cardinal highlight in her chestnut hair festooned with soft pink petals.

She had even worn delicate shoes that appeared as if they had been fashioned from the very element of ice and exposed carefully painted toes that seemed to refract into a rainbow of colour within her footwear. Not that Derrek could see this as her cat had curled upon her feet to nap as the evening progressed.

All in all, the girl was woefully overdressed for the establishment she currently occupied. Upon her arrival, all the patrons had turned to ogle in their muddied and tattered leathers and cottons. It was perhaps the long, curious staff that kept them mostly at bay. The curving fingers of the top seeming to trap an ever shifting eye within that maintained a wary, unblinking stare at anyone that showed too much interest.

The woman sighed, reaching for her drink. From beneath the table sprung a small ferret that bounced across and pushed her cup to her outstretched fingers.

But Derrek didn’t care. It was the man that was standing upon the stage, shouting at one of the audience before him and gesticulating wildly towards that chair that drew his attention.

“You know,” Aliessa said, setting down her cup, “when your friends had set off on their quest, I thought this would have given us the perfect opportunity to spend some time alone. It seems I’ve hardly seen you since you’ve been tromping off across the countryside for what seems like years now.”

“Mhmm.”

“And when you said that this weekend was going to be special I thought you had taken the time to arrange something pleasant for the occasion.”

“Yeah.”

“And instead you dragged me to the Copper Laurel and haven’t even said a word to me since entering the door.”

“Sure.”

“By the blistering winds of Arcadia! WILL YOU PAY ATTENTION!”

Aliessa slammed her hand upon the table, causing the cups to jump and spill their contents across the stained top. A small dish of nuts spun, tipping the food upon the dirty floor before immediately being beset by the ferret.

All the present eyes turned to the couple, save one pair. Derrek still looked warily upon the man at the stage, wrestling the stool from the distracted patron.

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” the man called, his voice high and screeching like someone scrapping their fingernails over Derrek’s eardrums, “but I’m trying to put a show on here!”

“I’m sorry,” Derrek said, finally blinking. “Was there something you said?”

Aliessa stood, a small gerbil tumbling from the folds of her dress.

“I’m going to use the chute.”

She stomped away, pursued quickly by her mini-menagerie.

Derrek merely motioned for more mead and kept a cold stare towards the fat man now fixing himself upon the stool.

“Right. Let’s get this start. So an ugly orc walks into a bar, right? And he’s got this parrot on his shoulder. Well, the bartender takes one look at that parrot and his eyes get real big. Then he’s all like ‘that’s pretty neat, where did you get it?’

“’In a cave!’”

The man gave a terrific squawk and fluttered his arms in mimicry of the colourful animal. The great rolls of his arms, squeezed out of the pressed but stained white shirt, flopped wildly about as he gestured. But only dead silence greeted his performance. Derrek merely shook his head.

“Guess I’ll have to explain it later,” the man called. He shrugged, picking up his lute and plucking at the strings a couple of times. Derrek could already tell the instrument was out of tune, but the man made no effort to fix it. Instead, he broke immediately into the Ballad of Baronug Crossing, his straining voice belting out the lyrics raucously over his hamstrung cords.

It was a painful experience, made even more intense by the slowly built clapping from the crowd. By the final stanza, they were cheering and singing along with the tune, mindless of the creatively void performance. At last, the song came to an end to mediocre applause and a few celebratory coins before the bard stood, kicking the stool to the ground and boldly striding down the steps.

He took enough time to smile and chat with a few passing patrons before making a beeline towards Derrek.

“Ah, friend, long time no see! How long has it been since the mighty Derrek Gungrik graced this fair city? I hardly recognized you earlier.”

“Alec Carver, still training in the practice of the lute I see?”

“Haha! I am a graduated master!” the fat man laughed, slapping Derrek upon the back. “I do hope that my performance hasn’t dissuaded you from joining in with the festivities.”

“I don’t know, I wouldn’t want to overshadow you once again. I mean, there’s only so long people can put up with your music once they actually hear talent.”

“Aha! Indeed! I’m so glad to hear that your lengthy exile hasn’t softened that wit of yours. I suppose you couldn’t enter the competition seeing that you are not a registered minstrel. Pity.”

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t want to reveal you for the fraud that you are.”

“Ha, you wish, dunderic. But I see your date has decided to come back for some reason.”

Aliessa returned slowly to the table, eyeing Alec carefully.

“My lady! Still treating with second rate, two bit musicians after all these years.”

“Good to see you too Carver,” Aliessa smiled.

“I suppose that university of yours never found a cure for your unfortunate condition then?”

Aliessa merely crossed her arms.

“There is nothing wrong with me.”

“The lady doth still protest,” Alec smiled. “A pity too, you would be quite beautiful if you ever got that seen to.”

“Careful Carver. Don’t forget, should I desire, I could always turn you into the toad that you are.”

“But you couldn’t transform yourself into a maiden? Hoho, you pair are a real laugh. Good luck with the challenge, Drek, it’ll take more than miss fancy fingers to get you past the preliminaries.”

Alec turned, giving a carefree wave as he walked out. Aliessa turned to Derrek, her cross expression never changing.

“The Challenge? You had no intention of celebrating our anniversary, did you?”

“You know how much this means,” Derrek said. “The winner of the Challenge receives the title of Seeker of the Cord!”

“I don’t care about your silly titles.”

“Title! Seeker is more than just a title. If I received it, they would be clamouring for my plays from her to the Boiling Sea! Derrek Gungrik would be a household name. People would start appreciating my unique melodies.”

“Fine!” Aliessa cried, reaching for her bag. “You do what you think is most important and seek this stupid title.”

“Where are you going?”

Aliessa shook her head as she stomped away, her cat and ferret bouncing after her.

“Aren’t you going to wait for the others to return!” Derrek called.

“They can find me at the Academy!” Aliessa shouted, slamming the door as she left. Derrek leaned back in his chair, looking at the half finished mead.

“If I knew she didn’t want to wait, I could have spent my time registering,” he grumbled. He turned to watch the next performer to take the stage. At the very least he could continue to scope the competition until his drinks were done.

Continue to Balls Part 3 >

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Balls – Part 1 of 8

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So here’s a little introduction since my counterpart just threw my writing willy-nilly into the Interwebs.

I’ve written a few scraps, collections and short stories tentatively branded as D&D (because I are so clever) and basically running under the premise of what life would be like if my friends and I lived in a fantasy world… of dungeons and dragons. Since they are all silly projects, I haven’t actually given them any editing time.

Turns out, there’s a lot less dungeons and dragons and a lot more bickering and squabbling. Most of the ideas for the stories come from big or little life events of the people around me. This one in particular was inspired by – you know what, I don’t want to ruin the surprise. It has the rather impressive title of Balls and is the first real short to feature Derrek as the main character.

Since they are all silly projects, I haven’t actually given them any editing time. So mind the spelling errors, grammar mistakes and logical inconsistencies. It’s the least I could do for my friends. So, enjoy!

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“If you know what is good for you, you will hand me the talisman.”

“Don’t do it!” Keirn called.

The wind whipped ferociously about them, mangling his words so that even Jeremiah had difficulty hearing them. He wasn’t sure if his friend was actually trying to persuade him or just giving the expected protestations of a man in his position.

Not that Jeremiah was in any shape to follow his advice. They were had by the balls.

The woman known as Scarlet Heather turned her hand crossbow, releasing a cackling bolt into the air that sizzled past Jeremiah’s left ear.

“Must this be protracted any further? Don’t make me ask politely.”

Her other hand held aloft the soft glowing balls clutched tightly in her fingers. They clinked as the woman swayed upon her feet. A great palpitation of light emitted from the twin artefacts, the flash curiously striated with red and blue. Jeremiah could almost hear them crackle like ice slowly breaking apart.

Jeremiah took one step forward. But the deck pitched beneath his feet, causing all those aboard to grab madly for support. Only the pirate captain herself seemed to keep her footing upon the pitching vessel, her tired expression never loosening.

“We need to hurry!” Vera cried. The squat girl had her arms wrapped tightly about some dangling netting, her feet barely skipping the rotting wood of the ship. “This ship won’t stand forever.”

“The least you could do is bargain our freedom first!” Kait shouted.

“Honestly, I could just shoot you know and take the talisman from your body,” Scarlet Heather said, aiming her weapon squarely at Jeremiah’s chest.

He felt his heart skip at the threat. He looked at her pleadingly, staring straight at that soft face framed by the long, whipping strands of shimmering russet hair. Only her hardened gaze stared back.

“Please!” he shouted. “Why… why are you doing this!”

The deck shifted once more, causing Jeremiah to slip and fall heavily against the wood. Pain shot up his banged elbow but his hand still managed to grasp the rail, keeping him from tumbling to his doom. Once he regained his footing, he saw his adversary’s weapon had dropped slightly.

“It’s nothing personal, dear,” she whispered, the words barely escaping her ruby lips. “Trust me, I had no intention of things ending like this. But I have a contract that I must finish. Please don’t think this is has any bearing on my opinion of your character.”

“But the bounty on us has been dropped!” Jeremiah said. “Our lives aren’t worth anything.”

“Speak for yourself!” Keirn shouted.

“Like I said, this is nothing personal. I just need the talisman, you can have your globes and we can all go our merry way.”

“You can’t give them those!” Vera shouted as her feet, fully airborne now, kicked helplessly while the ship leaned even further upon its side. “Our instructions were very precise!”

“Yours perhaps. I was hired solely to retrieve the talisman.”

“I don’t think that was the intention of your contract,” Vera said.

“I don’t deal with intentions, only with gold. Now, shall we continue this standoff or shall we wait for this miserable wreck to completely dislodge itself and plummet to our collective grave?”

The tattered sails overhead snapped warningly in the wind, each gust threatening to pull the vessel further from the craggy perch. The ship groaned beneath its own rotting bulk as if it were conscious of its eagerly anticipated demise.

“You can’t give her Messchernizzer’s Talisman of Shattered Dimensions!” Kait warned. “We don’t know the ramifications of activating it without the protection of Glory Aessalia! This could doom us all!”

A sudden gust careened against the hull, pitching all the members forcefully to the ground. A terrific explosion of splintering wood filled the air as the ancient ship screeched down the cliff side. Vera screamed as the ropes she clung to unravelled dropping her down the length of the deck as it ground itself to a sheer wall disintegrating against the stones.

Jeremiah suddenly felt his full girth supported by the lone hand grasping the rail, and his fingers burned with the strain of keeping him anchored to the collapsing vessel. With a shout, his strength gave way and he felt the sickening sense of airlessness as he tumbled. He caught sight of the hired thugs falling like screaming planks of wood to the yawning chasm beneath them. Jeremiah was about to join them as the old contents of the ship’s cargo burst through the hall, leaving enough broken wood and debris for him to land roughly upon the broken skeletal frame of the elderly craft.

He groaned, shifting to his side. But the wood splintered beneath his shifting mass, causing for him to throw his arms roughly about the thick shattered planks forming the sheer deck.

“We’re going to diiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” Vera shrieked. She clung hysterically to the dangling rope, her body swinging with momentum to smack her against the deck over and over again as the wind rushed up from beneath them.

Suddenly, the ship came to a sudden stop with a tremendous crash. More wood burst from its degraded bonds, raining in splinters into the air. Jeremiah looked between his legs to see what had stopped their fall. The ship had managed to drive itself between a great rocky spire pinning them, temporarily, in the air at a great ninety degree angle.

He then quickly looked towards his friends. Though now guardless, as the last thug fell screaming past with his arms flailing, the siblings remained tied securely to the ship’s mast.

But what of the globes?!

Jeremiah looked back where Scarlet Heather had stood. The space was now completely empty of both woman and artefacts. Had she dropped? He looked down the length of the ship frantically searching for the rogue.

Miraculously, she stood upon the shattered rail, her hands unimpressively resting upon her hips. Beneath her, a great spider web of coils had appeared, likely launched by the curious contraption upon her wrist. Her hands still even glowed with the faint light of the orbs.

“Well, now that my men have fallen to their untimely demise, can we finally finish this exchange?”

Jeremiah turned to the two dissenting opinions. But Kait merely looked on the verge of tears and Keirn dangled curiously with his eyes closed as if he had drifted off into a boredom induced slumber.

Jeremiah scrambled to find some footing, the wood groaning beneath him. At last, he found enough purchase to turn and hold the talisman out, looking down at the remarkable woman.

“Very well. The talisman for the orb and my friend’s freedom.”

“If you think I’m coming up there to release your companions, you have another thing coming,” Heather called. “But drop the talisman and I will send up your globes.”

“No,” Jeremiah said. “How do I know I can trust you? The globes first.”

“Seriously? It would almost be easier to just wait for this damn ship to crash and search through its wreckage.”

“Just make the trade!” Kait called, her voice quivering.

Jeremiah took a resolute breath, reaching his hand out into the growling air as far as he could, then he released his grip.

The talisman tumbled from his fingers, turning about and about as it fell. Its long silver chain whipped about like a wild comet’s tail.

Heather raised her wrist launcher, shutting one eye as she steadied her aim. With unerring accuracy, a single bolt was loosed, snatching the twisting chain and plugging the object into the hall just within arm’s reach of her position.

She then grabbed a single piece of leather, looping it upon itself and nestling the globes beneath. She fastened it to her launcher, took careful aim once more, and fired the orbs towards Jeremiah. It struck the side of the deck just by his head, the tinkling of the orbs within giving off another rainbow pulsation.

“Until next time!” Heather called, raising her fingers to her lips and blowing Jeremiah a kiss. He felt his heart skip quickly once more.

“What about my friends?” Jeremiah called.

“I suggest you get them quickly,” Heather cried. “I don’t think this ship will remain for long.”

She balanced along her makeshift platform until she reached the rocky spire, taking the time to inspect it before finding a suitable ledge to begin her descent.

“And what of meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee?!” Vera cried.

“I shall see you back at the port!”

And with that, the pirate captain departed, leaving Jeremiah with the sobbing redhead and his still bound companions. With tears still running down her cheeks, Vera began to slowly inch her way up the dangling rope but Jeremiah had no idea of how he was going to get to Keirn and Kait.

Had he been a religious man, he would have prayed.

“Why can’t these things ever be easy,” he muttered.

Continue to Balls Part 2 >

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