[kiwidoc]

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Ceylar looked directly across the table to catch the eye of the neatly dressed oriental woman. She seemed to be listening closely, even eager to join the conversation. Watching her closely for while the mage decided there was definitely more to this woman than her simple outward appearance led you to believe. In fact the very simplicity of her appearance could be a form of disguise.

At the same time as Ceylar was surreptitiously assessing Twai, the prim, monkish lady was doing the very same in return. She noted approvingly that this half elf seemed to be a woman who went straight to the point; there was no flippancy about her, unlike that PG woman. This ranked high in Twai’s very strict criteria of what should and shouldn’t be, so she decided to greet this lady with a gracious nod and a small smile.

Ceylar spotted the new arrival nodding at her. Not exactly sure what this woman wanted, she leant forward. “Is there something on your mind you would like to share?”

Twai eagerly took up the invitation. "Well, you all look like competent adventurers to me, and that is the very thing I was looking for. f you have an adventure in mind, please count me in. I do hope it's something challenging, otherwise we shall forget about the whole thing."

The stocky red headed dwarf looked up from his food and wiped a greasy paw on his tunic. “Hey now, I donna know about you, but I just came back from one, and I needs a few more tankards of ale before doing any more monster bashin’.”

“Barkeep, more ale!" Da'arjeeling called noisily to Banny at the bar. Turning back to Twai he continued "And besides which, whos you be, and why shoulds I want to go with you?"

Bann set a large tankard of ale in front of Da’ar and he promptly buried his face in it with a satisfied belch. Ceylar was visibly annoyed; first at the blunt intrusion into the conversation and secondly at the dwarf’s atrocious table manners.

“My good man, I don’t know where you were brought up but in my world it is not done to interrupt a lady! And please, close your mouth when you eat. It is just simple manners after all.”

Twai smiled her approval of this much-deserved reprimand, but the smile slipped a little when Ceylar turned to her and spoke again. “I don’t think anyone would go off adventuring just like that with a complete stranger. So could you oblige us by telling us your name and who you are.”

Da’ar glared at her indignantly. "Hey now, lass, you're manners could use a little coaxing yerself, so leave off," he muttered at her, trailing off to a half heard grumble about daft women in bleedin’ armour.

Suddenly all the inhabitants of the bar were startled to hear an odd choking noise from the far corner. Assan had been sitting quietly completely unnoticed by the others since her arrival, but now she sat hands tightly over her mouth trying to stifle unbidden laughter at the antics at the other table. As she saw the shocked faces her splutters grew louder as she rocked back and forth trying to hold in giggles. Her former quiet demeanour and composure was totally lost and she burst into spontaneous laughter.

Da’ar scowled at the daft lass laughing in the corner. It was bad enough that she was adventuring on her own when she should be at home where she belonged, but to laugh like that in public?
He notices the girl laughing across the bar. "Eh? What's so amusing lass? Ye have a tickler er wha’?”

With a truly heroic effort Assan controlled her laughter enough to reply. "Er, hello there, dwarf, nice to meet you here.”

She flashed a friendly grin. “I say, I think I could get to like some one like you, a warrior would be nice...But first, tell me about yourself. How did you come to this place?"

Da'ar snorted, and swallowed another noisy mouthful, then bawled across the room in a loud holler, "I come here from whupping some goblins and orcs.”

He grinned as he warmed to his story. “I and me buddies just finished chopping the buggers to itty bits, but theys wanna go fight some dragon. I says, ta nine 'ells with all yous, no ways by Moradin's beard me'll attack a durned wyrm, go gets yerselves killt. And I comes here to get me’s some ale to wet me throat

With a mischievous grin PG joined in the interchange between the dwarf and the monk "Well I can't fault you for your logic Da'ar! It was fighting the wyrms's smaller cousins, you know, those Wyvern nasties that did for my last party. All but me and the ranger anyways, and by the time he'd healed he had quite lost the taste for adventuring.”

“Can't say I blame him really, five months of being in a woodland hut with me seemed to have sapped all his energy!” with that she let slip a coy giggle and another sidelong glance at the ranger.

"Still it seems some of us here may have travelled further than others!" PG turned to Twai "Where do you hail from lady? Your dress is passing strange even for Amn."

"It does not really matter where I come from", the young monk replied, "but I can assure you, it's far away from here. The name is Twai, by the way."

She sat in silence for a brief moment. "And I'm wearing these simple clothes since I have no need for anything else. I don't need armour, shield and helmet to defend myself! But anyway, I'm looking for a group of adventurers with honest and brave intentions to join up with, this little town is boring me to death... It's action I want! And there is always evil to fight..."

PG couldn’t help a wry smile at the young woman’s puppyish enthusiasm, but her voice was warm and friendly. "Well hello there Twai."

"And you", PG turned this time to Assan.

"Please draw up a chair here and have some of this delicious wine, then perhaps we can all have a chance to laugh at some of your misadventures!" She smiles to take any sting out of her words, and pats a seat next to her.

The cleric left her corner table and moved closer, sitting tentatively on the stool next to the friendly woman. PG smiled warmly and nodded to her.

"I do believe that you could be one of the desert folk from your dress. Is this so? When I was in the circus there was a sword sallower who hailed from Calimshan, He tended to dress in similar clothing. A bit less metallic though!"

She laughed as she rapped her knuckles on Assam's breastplate.

"Rak'Kar was a good man, but he didn't last long at the circus. We had to bury him in Cormyr after he got hiccups in the middle of his act..." For a moment PG eyes focussed far away, but then slipped Da'ar a little wink and a wicked grin.

Da'ar let out a loud bellowing laughter, "Hic ups! Heh that's good! Should’na swaller a sword anyways, theys fer stickin’ in yer enemies, not yer throat."

He picked up his tankard and took a large and noisy swig of ale.

Assam spoke with a quiet smile. "I come from a land far away from here.”

"I haven't done anything all that exciting in my time, but we all need to start somewhere, don't we?" she said with a little nervous laugh. It was clear she was somewhat uncomfortable in her present company.

Da'ar burts into a hearty guffaw, spraying poor Twai wit gobbets of stew and ale. "Aye, lassie, we's all be needin' a place to start off of. So, yous lookin' fer adventure then? Well, what do ye' be good at? Swords, magics, gods, a bit of all?" Continuing to Assam he says, "Well’n, whys you be so far dis way? People don't rightly leave their folk so far with out a good reason."

In response to this blatantly untactful remark Ceylar fixed the dwarf with her most baleful, disapproving glare. If looks could kill the dwarf would have felt a chilly dagger through his heart. The dwarfs hearty burp and enormous grin showed he was totally impervious to daggered looks, chilly or not!

Ignoring the byplay, Assam answers PG with a friendly nod. "Why yes, I have been in the desert some in my time. You might say that the gods favour me. I worship them, perform many tasks for them and in return they offer me their assistance. I find it a perfectly satisfactory arrangement."

”I have experienced many varieties of adventure in my time” she pats her mace, “but I'm always open to new challenges. However I must confess I would prefer to face them someplace that that is not too cold."

Ignoring the irate Ceylar, Da’’ar flashes an evil grin at Assam. "If dat's de way ya feel, Twee, its not me skin. Buy I prefer a bit of metal between me an' a blade," Da'ar said addressing Twai, slapping is plate mail.

The door swings open as a tall man enters quietly, in fact he is so quiet and unobtrusive he goes almost completely unnoticed against the banter from the central table. His face is no longer in the first flush of youth and is weather beaten and scarred and his thick short-cropped hair is liberally pepped with grey. However there is a certain graceful cast to his face, a nobility even, that made him ageless. He wore ornate plate armour of obvious high quality that matched the impressive greatsword slung from his hip. He took a seat in the far corner, and nodded to Banny who scuttled into the kitchen and hurried back with a steaming platter of stew and fresh bread.

If any of the others had been listening they would have heard a brief conversation about how satisfactory the stables were, and how pleasant the stew was. They may have heard Banny persistently calling the man “Sir Errol”, and “my lord” and they would have seen the man grimace and wave his hand in a futile effort to dissuade him. But, no one was watching or listening so the interchange went entirely unnoticed.

The sound of a long, luxuriant, indulgent yawn broke through the conversation. PG who was seated facing the stairs was treated to a sight that immediately grabbed her attention. There was a man stretching contentedly and yawning as he wandered down the stairs – and what a man! He had the fine cheekbones and tilted green eyes of an elf, framed by a mane of lustrous silver hair. His frame was lithe rather than muscled, and at just over five feet he was tall for a full-blooded elf. Yes he was attractive, and yes he moved with a certain languorous grace, but this wasn’t what caught her eye. The man had presence. Even when it was obvious he had just woken his quirky smile and charming eyes seemed to fill the whole room.

As he reached the common room and sauntered over to Banny PG spotted the harp hanging from his back. Ah, that explained a lot; why he was just waking when the sun had already set – bards kept late hours for they played long into the night. It also explained the shimmering light silvery mail he wore, mail that jingled and chimed melodically as he moved.

Banny beamed at the bard. “Ah, Lapsyng, you’ll be wanting a glass of wine or two and a bit o’ stew to break your fast?”

“Thank you my good man. That would indeed be wonderful.” Lapsyng’s voice was a clear, pure tenor with the rich resonances of a trained performer.

The cheerful innkeeper poured a tall mug of fresh and clear white wine and placed it by the bard. “And will you be singing for us tonight?”

“Why yes I do believe I will. And I shall start right now, while I am waiting for my most delicious repast.”

Unconsciously PG licked her lips at the very thought of hearing this delicious man sing. The elf slid off his cloak and unslung his harp in one flowing movement, revealing the twin short swords hanging from his blade. With no scabbard or sheath they hung loosely from his hips radiating quiet dangerousness, and chiming in a soft counterpoint to the music of the mail.

A low mutter came from Da’ar. “Bleedin’ elven bards, bleedin’ posers more like. Me’s ‘ould like to see ‘im tryin’ to whup an orc or two! Speshly with those bleedin’ pig stickers!”

Lapsyng looked over at the dwarf and raises one elegant eyebrow then leant over his harp, his sliver hair mingling with the sliver strings and his face resting on the lovingly polished wood. As the elves eyes closed a sudden hush fell on the room, and as one man all those present except Ceylar leaned forward in fascination.

This time it was Ceylar who raised one elegant eyebrow in quiet acknowledgement of the bard’s skill. The elf had just cast spell to enthral his audience. Well, no spell was going to ethrall her!

Lapsyng coaxed a few gentle chords from the harp, and then began to play a sweetly melancholic melody. The clear bell like tones fell into the hushed room like drops of rain on a clear mountain pool. Eyes closed Lapsyng swayed as his fingers caressed the strings, the harp now an extension of his body and soul. His lips began to softly shape words but as yet he made no sound. There was no movement in the room except for the dancing of his fingers, all sat still – lost in the sweet sorrow woven by the silver strings.

His fingers became still, resting on the strings to damp all sound. The common room was so quiet you could swear no one was even breathing. The bard raised his head, and for a few brief seconds his anguished eyes fell on Kyan. Then he began to sing, his voice soft but clean and sweet as a springtime shower of rain, a gentle cascade of wordless notes. Slowly, gradually he began to add the odd, sad, ringing chord to underpin his voice. Almost without any one noticing it the chords became more frequent and complex till he was weaving an intricate pattern of notes in accompaniment to his song. Now, at last, the words came.


In spring your eyes are gold and green
The sweetest eyes I’ve ever seen
Your hair shone with a silky sheen
Springtime brings your love to me
The sun it strokes your golden skin
Light of heart and long of limb
And when we race you let me win
Springtime brings your love to me

But springtimes come and springtimes go
Though I want them oh so slow
I wish away the winter snow
And springtimes stole my soul away

Summer comes in soft and free
You gather mountain thyme for me
In your sweet smile I can see
Summer warms your love for me
When I see your face again
You bring the morning sunshine in
And when we race I let you win
Summer warms your love for me

But summers come and summers go
Though I want them oh so slow
I wish away the winter snow
And summers stole my soul away

The leaves are turning red and gold
The nights are growing long and cold
I watch you slowly growing old
Autumn seals your love for me
The berry ripens on the bough
And grey among your gold hair now
You know you never race me now
Autumn seals your love for me

But autumns come and autumns go
Though I want them oh so slow
I wish away the winter snow
And autumns stole my soul away

Bitter cold the long, long night
Now your hair is nearly white
To keep you warm I hold you tight
Winter steals your love from me
The shortest day is nearly done
We watch the sinking of the sun
You know your race is nearly run
Winter steals your love from me

But winters come and winters go
Though I want them oh so slow
I wish away the winter snow
And winters stole my soul away


Lapsyng held the last achingly pure note of the song for a long moment as the harp continued to play a pattern of weaving notes that slipped gradually into plain chords and then one last minor chord that rang uncluttered through the air. The voice and the chord died away together and the room was silent. Seconds passed, minutes even before the spell of the music broke. Kyan’s face grew Applause started, swelled and grew to a tumultuous wave flowing over the bard. He sat untouched by it for several more minutes then gave a sigh, shook his head and bowed to his audience with a truly brilliant smile.

Laying his harp carefully down he scooped up his stool in one hand, his wine in the other and unceremoniously settled himself with the large group at the centre table. Quick as a flash he reached out and purloined a potato off Assam’s plate.
He flashed a joking smile, setting most of the group instantly at ease.

Ceylar had sat watching the bard’s performance with hard, cynical eyes, unable to hide her lack of enthusiasm. As the bard joined them she turned an icy stare on him. “You seem quite full of yourself bard, is there any reason to be?”

He bowed with a little self-mocking smile. “ Fair lady I am Lapsyng, bard to the dragons, or at least the dragon lord up there. He told me himself that I am his favourite, and even held a ceremony to dub me his own personal bard".

He spoke in such a serious tone that they all believed him absolutely till he flashed that half mocking grin again.

Kyan had sat motionless throughout the entire performance with a look of pain etched on his usually placidly cheerful face. As the bard joined them the pain began to fade, but his eyes remained fixed on the musician, reflecting deep interest and respect.

“Lapsyng, that was truly excellent.”

Lapsyng turned to face Kyan and for a few seconds lost his smooth poise. He stared, shook his head slightly and said "Thank you. I'm glad you enjoy it. You are the reason I became a bard... or at least, people like you."

Ceylar bite back her instinctive urge to make a scathing response to Kyans fawning, but could not hide the scornful glance she gave him. A typical male to be so impressed by a tawdry song. It was merely a bit of half decent playing with a spell thrown in to flummox the easily lead, so why all the praise? It would take a lot more to impress her.

Lapsyng was fully aware of her disdain and just a little amused. He threw a quick smile and a wink to PG who was also amused by the icy magicians responses.

"My dear lady, forgive my levity. Seriously I must answer your question with three of my own. I could merely GIVE you the answer, but that would be doing you a disservice. So let me ask you.... Have I any reason NOT to be self-confidant, realising as I do that such an attitude is detrimental to every aspect of my life? Have you any reason to NOT be self-confidant, when I tell you now that doing so will be detrimental to every aspect of your life? And have you any reason to fear that self-confidance, knowing it will only be to your detriment? Now I pose a fourth question: Are you so eager to see harm done to all, yourself included, for no better reason than a troublesome past?"

Ceylar blinked. Troublesome past? Whatever was the blithering fool talking about? She quickly recovered her former composure and replied. “Despite the fact that you did not answer my simple question, I will answer yours. The answer to all four of them is 'I don’t know', because of the simple fact that I do not know you and you do not know me. Hence we know nothing of each other's pasts, lives or motives.”

The door opened yet again, and a small group walked in. However these were no adventurers, there clothing identified them as simple farmers and they greeted Banny like the old friends they were. They settled around the largest empty table, called out noisily for drinks and began looking expectantly at Lapsyng.


The bard smiled wryly at Ceylar and gave a half mocking bow. “A very quick and apt response fair lady, but alas. I may not stay here and discuss the whys and wherefores of confidence, as I have other perhaps less onerous tasks to perform. As you can see, my audience awaits”

The bard walked smoothly to his stool, carefully picked up his harp and with no preamble launched straight into a rollicking reel that set feet tapping, fingers dancing and faces smiling all round the room. As he played on more and more of the townsfolk came in. Banny beamed in satisfaction as the inn rapidly filled up; it was clear that Lapsyng was a popular attraction. Villagers and farmers greeted each other noisily across common room, and tables and stools were pushed to one to make room for dancing. It was obvious that no more serious talking was going to get done tonight.

The first to go upstairs was the quietly spoken, noble faced man. Ceylar followed soon after, her face clearly showing her disapproval at the drunkenness and frivolity. The others stayed on for varying lengths of time, and the sky was already turning grey with the first hints of dawn before Lapsyng himself was able to pack up the harp and wander up the stairs.

Banny had been right. The Black Dragon was a good place to sleep. When each of the eight guests of the inn retired to their comfortable well appointed rooms they found it remarkably easy to slip into a deep, timeless sleep.



[This message has been edited by kiwidoc (edited 06-07-2001).]