Hector quickly learned that living at the House of Priests was almost no different than living in the orphanage. There were chores, there were bullies, albeit a bit more polite and less violent than the bullies he grew used to growing up, and those who were in charge held very little respect for him. Not that he expected much respect from anyone, but he thought that at least being a trusted friend of the priestess who rescued Sul Veneris would at least earn him something more than their tolerance.
Feeling as though he would outstay his welcome before the month was up, the rogue recalled Trystan mentioning something about a gambling hall near the Entertainment District. If he could either pilfer or win himself a little bit of extra money, then he would be able to afford a stay at any of the cheaper inns and taverns. So, each evening, he would sneak out from the dorms and explore the metropolis to get a better idea of where places were. It took the better part of the week to scout the back alleys surrounding the Entertainment District before he could determine where the gambling den was. It didn’t help that he was occasionally distracted by a rich, soothing baritone voice of a minstrel who strolled through the district with his lute, singing heartfelt ballads of unrequited love, tragic deaths of forgotten heroes, and distant lands filled with adventure and treasure.
It wasn’t like Hector to get so distracted, but something about the performer’s voice practically enchanted the poor thief.
After paying the entrance fee of five shards, the rogue frowned to himself when he realized he only had five shards left. There was a risk that he would completely lose it all if he wasn’t careful. He then considered the gear he had, which included two weapons that he wasn’t fond of. Granted, the taxes were high, and he likely could get more money for them elsewhere, but Hector was a little stuck where he was. Especially if he intended not to leave Ysolt behind. Then again, if she knew of the job proposal that he received from the high priest of Sig earlier in the week, she would probably disown him. So, he just had to make sure she never found out about it.
He opted to place a five-shard bet, which would leave him completely broke if he lost. It was a risk he was willing to take, as he still had a free place to stay, even if it reminded him of his childhood traumas. He could survive another day and night there if he had to.
Roll 2 Dice
Score: 5 – Lose Your Bet.
It looked as though the rogue’s luck wasn’t much better than Trystan’s. Quietly, he snuck out without anyone noticing and returned to the dorms without disturbing those who were sound asleep.
Ysolt had the following morning off from her training. She offered to take Hector to the market so he could sell his sword and then wanted to treat him to a drink at the Three Rings Tavern afterward. The tavern was as lively as the center of the metropolis, as two troubadours were performing by the bar counter for all to hear. The elder bard sang out, his voice as clear as a bell and accented by the soulful tune played upon the younger bard’s lute. Through the melody and lyrics, a song unfolded, revealing the tale of three brave heroes, an enchanting princess, and a fierce dragon. Hector shuddered each time the dragon’s role came into play, as the elder bard strangely sounded just like the sea dragon the rogue stole from over a month prior.
The elderly man sang not of just adventure, but a love triangle between one of the heroes, the princess, and, strangely enough, the dragon as well. The tune playfully told of drama and deception, ultimately revealing that the princess was not who she claimed to be; the other two heroes would eventually retire to become farmers together, all while the dragon decided to use its hoard to open a cat rescue. In the end, the princess and final hero fought epically to the death over a dragon’s hoard that wasn’t theirs to fight over to begin with.
Hector was left a little confused by the end of the song, yet Ysolt was cackling hysterically at each random twist and turn. Many of the tavern’s patrons came around and tipped the pair of troubadours. The priestess made sure that they each had a tankard of mulled cider by the time they were ready to take a break from their performance. Both of the men thanked her for her generosity and sat with her and the rogue to chat for a while. The elderly man talked about retiring from traveling. “My entire life, I have quested for the ‘Greatest Story Ever Told’,” he explained, catching the younger bard’s interest. And eventually Hector’s, when he mentioned the Divine Bard, Sig.
“Sig blessed this tale above all tales to a mystic known as Damar the Hermit. Legend has it that he lives in a cave, the location of which has long been forgotten. Yet, he awaits the day when he can pass the story on to the one person who might find him,” he continued with a chuckle and slow shake of his grey head. He reached over and gently gripped the younger bard’s hand with his arthritic fingers. “You, my lad, have proven to be an accomplished performer. You are still young and filled with the strength of a full life you’ve yet to live. Follow the Spine of Harkun to the north. When you find that old hermit, then you will have fulfilled what I could not. You will become a great troubadour!”
The younger man's tan skin blushed a deep hue that nearly matched his long, auburn locks. “You still have some life in you yet,” he attempted to counter, but the older gentleman shook his head and waved his hands dismissively. “No, no. My bones ache, and I cannot summon the strength or skill to climb those mountains,” he said with a sigh before downing his cider decisively. “We know a guy who’s got some skills and gear to help with the rock climbing,” Hector muttered into his tankard, his already pale skin growing paler still at the memory of having to climb up the sheer, obsidian wall of rock that was Devil’s Peak. Ysolt chuckled for a moment, but confirmed what the burglar had mentioned.
“Trystan good wilderness guide. Knowledgeable and careful,” she said as the elder man walked away to relieve himself of a full bladder. The younger bard, however, leaned in and tapped tankards with the priestess. “Would you be so kind as to introduce us? It would be a thrill and quite the tale if the legend was true,” he said, making eye contact with the dark woman next to him. It was then that Hector looked over his shoulder to get a better look at the musician. It was then that he recognized his voice, serenading the night around the Entertainment District. “I know your voice. I’ve heard it during my evening expeditions around the city,” the shorter, blond man said from beneath the cowl that obscured his face in shadow.
Introductions were made. The handsome bard was named Cedric Langaire. He had only arrived in town a week prior, and had hoped to earn a patron to amuse and perform for. No one had taken an interest yet, and he feared he would need to travel to Golnir. It felt as though Marlock City's wealth was being funneled into the military and away from the performing arts. “Come. Travel with us. We have stories. Adventures. Might inspire you,” Ysolt suggested. “What kind of stories?” Cedric asked, his dark eyes lit up with curiosity.
It looked as though the rogue’s luck wasn’t much better than Trystan’s. Quietly, he snuck out without anyone noticing and returned to the dorms without disturbing those who were sound asleep.
Ysolt had the following morning off from her training. She offered to take Hector to the market so he could sell his sword and then wanted to treat him to a drink at the Three Rings Tavern afterward. The tavern was as lively as the center of the metropolis, as two troubadours were performing by the bar counter for all to hear. The elder bard sang out, his voice as clear as a bell and accented by the soulful tune played upon the younger bard’s lute. Through the melody and lyrics, a song unfolded, revealing the tale of three brave heroes, an enchanting princess, and a fierce dragon. Hector shuddered each time the dragon’s role came into play, as the elder bard strangely sounded just like the sea dragon the rogue stole from over a month prior.
The elderly man sang not of just adventure, but a love triangle between one of the heroes, the princess, and, strangely enough, the dragon as well. The tune playfully told of drama and deception, ultimately revealing that the princess was not who she claimed to be; the other two heroes would eventually retire to become farmers together, all while the dragon decided to use its hoard to open a cat rescue. In the end, the princess and final hero fought epically to the death over a dragon’s hoard that wasn’t theirs to fight over to begin with.
Hector was left a little confused by the end of the song, yet Ysolt was cackling hysterically at each random twist and turn. Many of the tavern’s patrons came around and tipped the pair of troubadours. The priestess made sure that they each had a tankard of mulled cider by the time they were ready to take a break from their performance. Both of the men thanked her for her generosity and sat with her and the rogue to chat for a while. The elderly man talked about retiring from traveling. “My entire life, I have quested for the ‘Greatest Story Ever Told’,” he explained, catching the younger bard’s interest. And eventually Hector’s, when he mentioned the Divine Bard, Sig.
“Sig blessed this tale above all tales to a mystic known as Damar the Hermit. Legend has it that he lives in a cave, the location of which has long been forgotten. Yet, he awaits the day when he can pass the story on to the one person who might find him,” he continued with a chuckle and slow shake of his grey head. He reached over and gently gripped the younger bard’s hand with his arthritic fingers. “You, my lad, have proven to be an accomplished performer. You are still young and filled with the strength of a full life you’ve yet to live. Follow the Spine of Harkun to the north. When you find that old hermit, then you will have fulfilled what I could not. You will become a great troubadour!”
The younger man's tan skin blushed a deep hue that nearly matched his long, auburn locks. “You still have some life in you yet,” he attempted to counter, but the older gentleman shook his head and waved his hands dismissively. “No, no. My bones ache, and I cannot summon the strength or skill to climb those mountains,” he said with a sigh before downing his cider decisively. “We know a guy who’s got some skills and gear to help with the rock climbing,” Hector muttered into his tankard, his already pale skin growing paler still at the memory of having to climb up the sheer, obsidian wall of rock that was Devil’s Peak. Ysolt chuckled for a moment, but confirmed what the burglar had mentioned.
“Trystan good wilderness guide. Knowledgeable and careful,” she said as the elder man walked away to relieve himself of a full bladder. The younger bard, however, leaned in and tapped tankards with the priestess. “Would you be so kind as to introduce us? It would be a thrill and quite the tale if the legend was true,” he said, making eye contact with the dark woman next to him. It was then that Hector looked over his shoulder to get a better look at the musician. It was then that he recognized his voice, serenading the night around the Entertainment District. “I know your voice. I’ve heard it during my evening expeditions around the city,” the shorter, blond man said from beneath the cowl that obscured his face in shadow.
Introductions were made. The handsome bard was named Cedric Langaire. He had only arrived in town a week prior, and had hoped to earn a patron to amuse and perform for. No one had taken an interest yet, and he feared he would need to travel to Golnir. It felt as though Marlock City's wealth was being funneled into the military and away from the performing arts. “Come. Travel with us. We have stories. Adventures. Might inspire you,” Ysolt suggested. “What kind of stories?” Cedric asked, his dark eyes lit up with curiosity.
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