Tales by Lyaeus, the travelling bard.

By: Crathen Posted on: April 30, 2010

What follows is a pair of tales which I overheard, in various establishments, from the mouth of Lyaeus, a travelling bard. Though perhaps unremarkable to many adventurers, Lyaeus' audience, the (mildly inebriated) denizens of each locale certainly seemed interested!

- Overheard in the Dancing Boar Inn on the 14th of Scarlattan, 470 AF.

[Lyaeus arrives with a swirl of his cloak, his face vibrant and youthful. The regulars of the Inn gasp in delight; Lyaeus' performances are never to be missed.]

'lo, Cyrenians! It has been far too long... I come with a tale this night, one of horrors and death, and yet, one which ye might find astonishingly close to this mountain citadel...

Last I left this tavern, I went in search of a real adventure, since the mood took me. I found no interesting thing as I descended the mountains; as I set off across the hills in the vague direction of the Bastion of the North, my step remained undisturbed. Finally, and thankfully, I topped the crest of a hill and saw the crumbling ruins of an ancient castle.

Delighted, I made haste to the courtyard, and was dismayed to find the place too ramshackle to risk my health exploring. As I made to leave, though, I spied a trap door, set into the corner of the courtyard. In high spirits once more, I entered, swiftly finding myself surrounded by earthy, cold walls, and plunged into nigh total darkness.

[his eyes dart back and forth, gauging the crowd's reaction. He gazes briefly at a scantily-clad dancer who has slipped unnoticed into the main room, winking conspiratorially at her. She blushes deep, and moves closer, eager to hear more.]

As my eyes adjusted, I decided that I must arm myself lest danger lie ahead. I brought forth my rapier, and my lyre, arming myself with musical protections as well as physical ones. Trotting through the tunnels, I found myself swiftly at a junction: to the west, a room of mirrors, and a further tunnel, to my east, a tidy tunnel leading to some sort of mine, and, to the south, an even darker tunnel than the one in which I stood. Being neither a vain man nor a miner, I decided on the dark path.

My wandering brought me swiftly to a shadowy staircase, laced around with the ominous scent of dead meat. A lesser man, indeed, would surely have turned tail now. But I pressed forth! And as I crept forward, I found myself amidst a cluster of dead humans. They looked mighty indeed: arms the size of tree trunks and sharp teeth, but they looked passive, too. My heart pounding in my ears, I fled deeper into the tunnel.

Thank Scarlatti, I found myself amongst far more normal creatures, fiendish, short goblins this time. Determined to do some hard work while this far below ground, I set about dispatching them.

[he moves to an empty part of the room, swishing an almost blunt rapier to and fro, impressively imitating a warrior's form. With a final "ha!", he dispatches the fifth imaginary foe, and sheathes the rapier, looking toward his audience with feigned terror in his eyes.]

But as I slew the last, a further terror assailed me! A stooped, dark creature, swathed in blackness, with claws and teeth as mighty as any lion you'd care to name. It struck, enraged, time and again, and I could scarcely fend it off. It leapt several times for my neck, attempting to siphon my blood off through wicked fangs, and thus did I name the creature which assailed me: a vampire.

All my instincts, you see, they screamed, "flee!". But I pushed them down. I touched the shield tattooed on my arm and cured myself as the vampire struggled to penetrate. When he made it through, a magical hammer shattering the short-lived aegis of my shield, I was ready, and sprung to the attack. Taken aback, he did not last long as my rapier sliced deep into the pallid, dead flesh.

And so, triumphantly, I left, the corpse of the ill-fated vampire in hand. Emerging back into the light, I sought a shrine to my Lord Scarlatti, and offered the vampire to Him. And to that day, friends, the dead things of Azdun still fear the name of Lyaeus, travelling bard...

[with a gaze that would melt butter he assesses the crowd, noting with seeming satisfaction their rapturous expressions. The dancer, Shadya, stares intensely at him as he walks gracefully toward her, but it would be remiss of me to continue that story.]

- Overheard in the Crystal Leaf Inn on the 7th of Miraman, 515 AF.

Gather 'round, my friends, for I have enough of the lyre for one night. I shall spin ye a tale of true terror... and the terror is, it's a true tale.

[he shudders dramatically, taking a deep pull from the tankard at his elbow. Setting it down, he gives the barman a sly nod, and clears his throat.]

There's an island, far off the western coast of this land. Like any other island you'd care to mention. Once, many lived there... crafted jewellery and wrote books, they did. Animals, too, there were dragonflies and snakes, and much besides.

But some on the island were not content to revel in the peace what they had been granted. A fell alchemist, he called himself Giacinto, and lived on the island, too. He was one such... he experimented and tried to transcend the natural way of the world. He made many a wondrous discovery, and for the most, his fellows were enriched by it.

[he looks to each member of his audience, huddled close to catch the soft, hypnotic murmur of his voice. Taking a slow, thoughtful sip from the newly-filled tankard, he drops his voice once more, sadness writ large on his features.]

Such fortune was not to last, I fear to say. Finally Giacinto made such a discovery that he burst into the chambers of his leaders, Chaklos and Ferran. He begged their permission to enrich the island in ways they could never even dream of. His discovery was ill-fated indeed, for not all turned out as he hoped. With the permission of almost all the island's inhabitants, he wrought his chemical spell, and transmuted the flesh of every living creature, himself included, into soulless, living metal.

The metal-clad inhabitants of the island lamented for months upon months, even as the habitat they had once revelled in proved anathema to their new, metallic skin. Not even the helpless animals and creatures of the land were spared. They hid in the mines, and, unable to send Giacinto to his death, sent him above ground, easy prey for the elements he'd always scorned.

That alchemist still wanders the ruins of the home he destroyed, spectre-like in his golden armour, his golden prison. Far west, my friends. But mind the lesson... the ways of the world are immutable. You may get away with this, or that, but not for ever.

[standing, and draining the rest of his tankard in one gulp, he sets it down and bows theatrically to his pensive, frightened audience. The barman stares into space, nodding absently as Lyaeus pockets the heavy pouch of coin that is his payment. He has earned, tonight, the barman thinks. Like every night.]