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the Bard's Curse


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#1 Calum

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Posted 09 December 2007 - 10:28 PM

Poor, so poor. Hunger gnawing at his insides, at his vitals, he felt like it was eating away at his own organs, the young man tried to ignore the clawing, gripping sensation as he declaimed to the crowd.

"Yon, there lay my sweet, fain I would have gone to her, but the evil Baron conspired to keep us apart."

A commotion rippled through the crowd as a man in expensive surcoat and doublet muscled his way toe the front. Looking at him with a sneer, he turned to his comrades. "This one'll do for tomorrow morning's entertainment." The crowd, already, had melted away as they seized him with rough hands before binding his own behind him, pushing him before them like some best to market.

He'd heard the tales about this place; rough justice, if could be callld that at all, and he was sorry now he hadn't listened. Coin he'd had had been poor, the innkeeper frightened to offer him even a bed, unusual for a bard, who were, everywhere, always welcome. Or had been. He wondered what this morning's entertainment was, although to dwell on't was probably not a good idea.

The harsh light of the morning woke him as the clangor of the guards hammering on the cell doors reached him from down the corridor. He'd tried hard to keep up his appearance for the crowds, saving his best garments for wear in the square, but they were tattered and frayed now. Not that he'd need them for much longer, he was beginning to think, as they came for him, and hustled him out, hands bound behind him still. With his hands free .. but they knew that, then, he realised; what a bard could do. Despair.

A morning circus greeted him; the crowd roiled, hungry for blood, his, it seemed. From the roar before he'd got there, and the stage, which seemed not quite empty, although there was noone there, he guessed there had already been some "justice" done here this morning.

The royals, he'd been a fool. And of course this one was a baron, he heard them address him, they must have thought him poking fun at their liege last eve, or at least one excuse was as good as another. He listened while the "charges" were read. Sedition, fraternisation ( what was that he supposed, talking to people; perhaps that was outlawed now), mummery (that too, things had gotten worse). The crowd fell silent as the bailiff, or thug, for that was what the man was, no matter his title, reached the end of the list. The collective silence gave way to a roar as the baron, with a glint and an evil smile, pronounced sentence. "Death", just the one word. A life, and there it was, a death. The end of all the things he had ever known, and what if there was no more to come ?

The crowd seemed to dim to nothing as he perceived a woman in its midst; piercing him with a gaze, she gave a nod. His bonds loosened. No time to wonder, for he had a chance. But he'd had a life, friends, and lovers too, most of them gone he knew not where. This man, this evil man, would win again, would kill, he was sure. Already the guards were coming for him, the hangman seemed to swell with importance. Enough, he thought. He raised his arms, and began, the crowd falling silent. The baron paled. "Seize him!", he yelled, but it was as if he was choking on his own words, his fear. The guards moved, but were petrified with a look, helpless to look on. He began chanting, raising his voice, ululating, words, dialect even he himself had never heard. A scream was heard from the bench as the Baron fell to the ground. Boils and suppurating sores wreathed his form, his guards looking on, afraid to approach. The man screamed as if he would burst, but he would live, the bard knew, he would live. His strength left him, and the guards nearest the stage once again began to move. Darkness, and pain, and, in the end, light. Awe, and wonder.

#2 Vayren

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Posted 28 December 2007 - 02:53 PM

A young ranger tired from travel came upon a city known for it's corruption and violence. The corruption and violence came from the most ironic of people...the baron himself.

As he traveled through the streets and alleys of the city he was sickened by the poor and hungry laying in the roads.

A commotion was seen up the street in the town square, citizens ran by him screaming for blood. The ranger calmly strolled towards the townsquare to see the spectacle.

A bard was in chains standing before the baron himself. As the baron gave his punishment, "death," a shiver ran up the rangers back, "wat a shame," he thought. The ranger had often been envious of bard's for their clever use of words and musical talent. However, there was a feeling of this bard, a sort of aura that the ranger could not describe but could feel due to his half-elf blood.

In a split second, everything changed, the baron came under some sort of spell. The ranger looked at the bard intrigued. He knew the bard would not make it out alone and wanted to know more. The ranger reached for his bow, armed it, and pulled back the string. Aiming at a guard, throughout the commotion, he waited for the right moment.

#3 Guest_roistlin_*

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Posted 05 July 2010 - 10:47 PM

(From Calum): A young humanoid donning the fabrics of Xa'Vantry holding a wooden staff walks in.

Twiddling his thumbs a bright ball o light appears in the room.
'Ah; another runic label to impress my wife.' says Roistlin
Opening the barrel; Roistlin
Gets a crystal necklace: from the barrel. (penny)
(penny)
(*penny) !!! Drops 211 GOLD in a small pile upon (your choice) of floor.'
(penny) Poor, so poor. Hunger gnawing at his insides, at his vitals, he felt like it was eating away at his own organs, the young man tried to ignore the clawing, gripping sensation as he declaimed to the crowd.

"Yon, there lay my sweet, fain I would have gone to her, but the evil Baron conspired to keep us apart."

A commotion rippled through the crowd as a man in expensive surcoat and doublet muscled his way toe the front. Looking at him with a sneer, he turned to his comrades. "This one'll do for tomorrow morning's entertainment." The crowd, already, had melted away as they seized him with rough hands before binding his own behind him, pushing him before them like some best to market.

He'd heard the tales about this place; rough justice, if could be callld that at all, and he was sorry now he hadn't listened. Coin he'd had had been poor, the innkeeper frightened to offer him even a bed, unusual for a bard, who were, everywhere, always welcome. Or had been. He wondered what this morning's entertainment was, although to dwell on't was probably not a good idea.

The harsh light of the morning woke him as the clangor of the guards hammering on the cell doors reached him from down the corridor. He'd tried hard to keep up his appearance for the crowds, saving his best garments for wear in the square, but they were tattered and frayed now. Not that he'd need them for much longer, he was beginning to think, as they came for him, and hustled him out, hands bound behind him still. With his hands free .. but they knew that, then, he realised; what a bard could do. Despair.

A morning circus greeted him; the crowd roiled, hungry for blood, his, it seemed. From the roar before he'd got there, and the stage, which seemed not quite empty, although there was noone there, he guessed there had already been some "justice" done here this morning.

The royals, he'd been a fool. And of course this one was a baron, he heard them address him, they must have thought him poking fun at their liege last eve, or at least one excuse was as good as another. He listened while the "charges" were read. Sedition, fraternisation ( what was that he supposed, talking to people; perhaps that was outlawed now), mummery (that too, things had gotten worse). The crowd fell silent as the bailiff, or thug, for that was what the man was, no matter his title, reached the end of the list. The collective silence gave way to a roar as the baron, with a glint and an evil smile, pronounced sentence. "Death", just the one word. A life, and there it was, a death. The end of all the things he had ever known, and what if there was no more to come ?

The crowd seemed to dim to nothing as he perceived a woman in its midst; piercing him with a gaze, she gave a nod. His bonds loosened. No time to wonder, for he had a chance. But he'd had a life, friends, and lovers too, most of them gone he knew not where. This man, this evil man, would win again, would kill, he was sure. Already the guards were coming for him, the hangman seemed to swell with importance. Enough, he thought. He raised his arms, and began, the crowd falling silent. The baron paled. "Seize him!", he yelled, but it was as if he was choking on his own words, his fear. The guards moved, but were petrified with a look, helpless to look on. He began chanting, raising his voice, ululating, words, dialect even he himself had never heard. A scream was heard from the bench as the Baron fell to the ground. Boils and suppurating sores wreathed his form, his guards looking on, afraid to approach. The man screamed as if he would burst, but he would live, the bard knew, he would live. His strength left him, and the guards nearest the stage once again began to move. Darkness, and pain, and, in the end, light. Awe, and wonder.


:skull: :dude: :bpotion: :dude: [b][align=] :yy:

#4 Volus

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Posted 03 August 2010 - 11:03 PM