The Flight Of The B;ack Dragon - a Fantasy Tale

[kiwidoc]

Is anyone interested in reading the novelised version of the D&D game I am DMing. If you are, is this the right place to post it? This is not a simple journal of the game, using lots of references to the rules. This is written in proper fiction style. I will be posting a chapter or so at a time.

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There is only one kiwidoc, accept no substitutes

STANDARD OPERATING PROCEEDURE
www.judyhope.co.uk

[RudeDawg]

Originally posted by kiwidoc: Is anyone interested in reading the novelised version of the D&D game I am DMing. If you are, is this the right place to post it? This is not a simple journal of the game, using lots of references to the rules. This is written in proper fiction style. I will be posting a chapter or so at a time.

woo hoo !!!

POST IT POST IT !!!


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[Sazerac]

Yes, absolutely! I for one would enjoy reading it! Is it humorous as well?

[kiwidoc]

This is a novelised version of my D&D game. It was initially set up as a short scenario, for which I wrote level 9 characters with physical descriptions, personalities and quirks. These were assigned randomly. I challenged the players to write bios that explained all of this – and the material in their bios will gradually become apparent. This was supposed to be a test of how all our styles meshed and how they coped with me as a DM and vice versa. We are having such a good time we are going ahead with a full campaign

The prose is mine, though I have used the themes and adapted the prose material in Lapsyngs posts a lot as they were much more full than the others. All the dialogue is pretty much as the players wrote it and I think you will agree they did an excellent job.

Assan = Tarencil
Ceylar = Milamber from Elysium and Abyss
Da’arjeel (Da’ar) = Aivanther
Errol Gray = Initially Prince Legolas; later Lord Shield
Kyan = Mageman
Lapsyng Sho = Initially Warlock aka neo Warlock; later Rude Dawg
PG = Iwishao Wazahero
Twai = Grojlach

The author retains all rights to the material posted here, including publishing rights and copyright. Reproduction of this without her permission is forbidden.


Flight Of The Black Dragon

Chapter One: The Black Dragon Inn - Part One

The sun beat down on the long dusty road that wound over the rolling hills, meandering its way to the nearby town of Eshpurta. It was a warm day for spring, and insects buzzed lazily over the wildflowers that dotted the verges of the road. The chirping of cicadas made a sleepy counterpoint to the distant sound of a lark flying high above the field. It was early evening, and the gradually sinking sun was turning the fields and distant hills so to shades of purple and gold.

A lone figure stood at the crossroads, peering at the ancient moss encrusted milestone. She was a lithe, slim young woman with short-cropped brown hair revealing the graceful up swept lobes of a half elf. Under her long blue cape glimpses of armour could be seen, black leather and occasional flashes of brass studs showed in the late afternoon sun. Suddenly she straightened, flicking her cloak back over her shoulders to show a serious looking long sword hanging from her right side. She had clearly decided she couldn’t make Eshpurta by nightfall and began the dusty trek down the side road following the signposts to the village of Bandjur.

Bandjur was a small village, more a hamlet really lying about two miles north of the main road to Eshpurta. It was a bedraggled looking place that had obviously seen better days, with a few shabby wooden houses badly in need of new paint and one single heavily rutted street. The only cobbles were in a small area in front of the town’s only inn, and in the large courtyard at its rear. Tired villagers walked in from the fields, their faces as washed out and worn looking as their clothes. They turned to stare at the half elf as she walked past, but none spoke.

The light was just starting to fade when she reached the inn itself. The “The Black Dragon Inn” looked somewhat out of place here. Unlike the rickety wooden buildings that made up the rest of the village, it was solidly built and well painted. It was obviously very old, and had grown and been altered many times over the years. The walls were made of soft coloured river stone; and the slate tiled roof was a maze of odd angles and joins. Parts of the building were two stories high while the centre was three storied. There was a long ranged lean-to at the back that doubled as a stable and storage area.

The sign was a little faded but was of recognisably fine work. It showed a single, magnificent black dragon, whose lines flowed so beautifully and impressively the half elven woman couldn’t help but wonder if it had been drawn from life. And what an odd thing to name an inn after, a feared and hated black dragon.

There was nothing fearful about this inn. The shutters were all open, and well-tended flower boxes sat below each window. On the cobbles near the door a huge horse trough overflowed with a brightly coloured array of flowers. Light spilled from the black leaded windows, and the heavy door of black wood studded with polished brass stood ajar in an open invitation to enter.

The blue-cloaked woman entered the door and glancing down she noticed how generations of feet had worn a dip in the centre of the steps. The common room was brightly lit, airy and very clean. Ancient black beams were hung with sparkling brasses, fresh flowers rested in pottery vases on the well polished oak tables and an impressive array of pewter tankards hung over the bar. The walls were decorated with a range of woodcarvings, wrought iron and the odd mirror.

She found her eyes drawn almost immediately to the one solitary painting - on the wall by the stairs. It was old, the once rich colours of the oils now muted and faded. The painting showed a man standing in front of a peaceful, gentle landscape depicted in swirling soft greens and browns. The man was neither impressive in build nor handsome, but his black clad body had a kind of lithe grace in repose. But it wasn’t this that drew the woman’s gaze. His startlingly dark eyes seemed to leap out of the canvas and follow her around the room. She shivered suddenly.

“Looking at the old dragon lord himself are ye?”

A cheerful face appeared behind the bar, over a plump body wrapped in an enormous white apron. The gnome eyes twinkled at her as he grinned. “They say that he’s the one that built my old inn all those years ago. But I’m getting ahead of myself here. The name’s Banny Butterburn, and welcome to the Black Dragon.”

[This message has been edited by kiwidoc (edited 06-04-2001).]

[This message has been edited by kiwidoc (edited 06-04-2001).]

[This message has been edited by kiwidoc (edited 06-16-2001).]

[kiwidoc]

Flight Of The Black Dragon

Chapter One: The Black Dragon Inn - Part Two

The woman flashed a dazzling smile and held out her hand, greeting the gnome in his own language. “Mr Butterburn, its a pleasure to meet you! They call me PG, and many thanks for the welcome.”

Switching to the common language she continued. "Have you seen any groups of adventurer types around? I often find their stories and company agreeable. I myself am newly arrived in Bandjur and have never heard of this Dragon Lord, so perhaps while I wait perhaps you could tell me the tale? I do love a good story! Oh yes, almost forgot! Could you give me a glass of white wine, and a small plate of whatever today’s special is?"

PG handed over the silver needed and leaned on the bar nonchalantly, waiting for her story, and also hoping for companionship. She sighed to see the great room completely empty of all but her and the cheerful innkeeper. She had been a long while on the road on her own, and would definitely not say no to some lively conversation – especially if it was with any young (not to mention good looking) men or elves.

Banny bustled around in the kitchen and settled PG at the bar with a plate of hot stew, a loaf of fresh bread and her glass of wine. With a gleeful smile he leaned forward over the counter and rubbed his hands.

"Well now, there's many a story I could tell you about this old tavern. She's as old as the hills they say, there's stones in this here building go back a thousand years or more. Aye, and these walls have seen a fair bit. Some folks round here say she's haunted, that they hear strange noises here at night, but none that has ever slept here says so."

He grinned widely "In fact they do say a sleep here is the sweetest any where in Faerun, and the dreams are the most peaceful you will ever have. Me, well I wouldn’t sleep anywhere else. It just wouldn't seem right"

There was a sudden, loud bang as the door was slammed fully open. The pair at the bar looked up startled as a stocky red bearded dwarf stomped noisily in. His dented but well cared for plate mail rattled noisily as he sat down at an empty table. Grey eyes glared and PG and Banny from a heavily scarred, scowling face. In contrast to the battered and weather beaten appearance of the rest of him the dwarf’s magnificent beard was plaited in two long braids and tucked neatly in his belt.

"Hey, you, barkeep! Whatcha starin’ at. I need a swig of some strong dwarven ale and a meal to keep me goin'"

With a mischievous wink at PG Banny scurried to fill the rude dwarfs order. While he waited for the food and ale, the newcomer stared around the room till his eye fell on the painting of the man in black. He muttered in a rough, growling undertone "So is dat the guy who’s obsessed with all this durned black here? And why in Moradin's name would you name a tavern after a wyrm?"

As he waited continued to mutter loudly to himself, mainly uncomplimentary remarks about the tavern with a few choice words about women dressed in armour thrown in for good measure.

The innkeeper beamed at his new customer as he laid the platter of stew and bread in front of him, with a good mug of foaming ale on the side. “Banny Butterburn at your service.”

To his credit Banny’s smile didn’t slip as the dwarf answered him through a mouthful of soup, splattering gravy over the gleaming tabletop.

“Darjeen, at yours” With that the dwarf returned to his food and continued to eat as noisily as before.


PG’ s eyebrow quirked up in amusement. This gruff little man was more entertaining than irritating. Mind you his two-headed axe looked as if it had seen a considerable amount of fighting and that big crossbow could do some serious damage. Best to get on his good side then – the dwarf was not as much of a joke as he appeared.

The svelt half-elf muttered to Banny "Well I might be interested in booking a room later if I get lucky!"

She slipped him a quick wink. "For now I think I'll go chat to that young Dwarf over there, for its well known, when a dwarf appears an elf is sure to follow..."

Using all the considerable charm at her disposal sashayed across the room to the dwarf's table; with her grace and experience a simple sashay was so easy and usually highly effective. Her short bobbed hair swung slightly, and her hips even more so. Brushing some food from the seat next to him she sat down and she fixed him with the full brilliance of her smile. "Well hello and well met son of Moradin! Do you mind a little company while you eat?"

Before the dwarf could even reply she continued "You can call me PG, and I just know we're going to be SUCH friends!"

Satisfied with her efforts she leant back and waited. Now, that should have done it!

Momentarily stunned by the brilliant smile, Da'ar choked on his food and then growled, "I dunna be Moradin's son! I'm the son of Belton, and me's be his son, Da'arjeen. My friends calls me Da'ar, but everyone calls me Da'arjeen."

Da’ar grunted in unaccustomed concentration. What did this young flibbertigibbet want, prancing around in her daft leather armour? Swallowing the food that was in his mouth, he took another noisy bite then spluttered "I guess yous can join me. Seems to me to be a free bar. Hows you come to be here lassy? And whats yer does fer a livin?"

PG winced slightly as a gobbet of gravy soaked bread landed on her leather breastplate, and she carefully flicked it off with the tip of her finger. With her winning smile just a little dimmed she battled bravely on. "Well I am just passing through when I caught sight of this delightful inn and thought to stop for a meal. As to what I do, that does tend to vary!"

She took a deep breath to compose herself. Her smile back to its full dazzling glory she continued "I started off as a circus performer, and can still walk a high wire if needed, though these days I have mostly been walking the path of adventure! Something I would guess you are no stranger to, judging by your garb."

Da’ar tipped back his head and laughed, treating Banny and PG to a delightful view of the contents of his mouth. This wee lass had balls!

"Aye, I knows me way with this." He said patting the large, two-handed axe leaning against the table. "And dis armor ain't fer looks!"

A gentle tread over the stone flagged floor marked the arrival of yet another customer. A second half elven woman walked gracefully up to the bar. PG eyed her speculatively. This could be opposition. The woman moved with style and grace, and her long blonde hair that flowed down her back in glorious silken waves. The flowing lines of her robes and the arcane runes on her staff marked her as a mage. Damn – her face showed the delicate bones, the fair skin and the flashing green eyes of her elven heritage. This lady could be REAL opposition!

And then the woman turned her gaze on them. Her expression settled into well-worn lines of haughty disdain and her green eyes filled with ice. It was patently obvious she did not approve of either of the disreputable looking pair. With a sniff she turned to the innkeeper and despite his best attempt at a smile she addressed him in a cool and imperious contralto.

“Could I perchance have a bite to eat, and do you stock any of the more drinkable wines? Oh, and barkeep do you have a room left for the night?”

Banny held his breath and fixed a smile on his face while he slowly counted to ten. It was going to be a night of difficult customers, so it was. Before he had the chance to answer the over proud mage yet another customer entered.

Banny sighed in relief at the man’s appearance. At last someone normal! He was a tall, strapping robust man who looked like one who spent a lot of time outdoors. His pleasant olive skin face was well weathered, and had many fine laughter lines round the mouth and eyes. His armour was also somewhat weather beaten, but well cared for and obviously not ornamental, as was the huge long bow that hug from his back. He scanned the room with sharp but friendly eyes and strode purposefully to the bar.

“Evening innkeeper, ma’am. The name’s Kyan. "Hello, I have travelled long and am tired. Give me something good to eat and a drink." Kyan grinned at Banny and thrust out a large, friendly hand.

“And make it the best beer this place has on offer.”

Banny poured the man a tankard of foaming nut brown ale. “Pleased to meet you Kyan. May I just ask whether you will be needing a bed for the night?”

Kyan nodded to the barman, and then took a seat at the far end of the table where the dwarf and the half – eleven woman sat in deep conversation. Anything to get away from the icy and supercilious look the other woman had just given him!
With a deep happy sigh he sipped his beer, and then waited for his meal listening to his neighbours who appeared to have much more to say than he did.

"Whatcha fer?" Da'ar growled, not liking to be listened, "Ye want to listen then ye gots to talk. Mes no likes strangers, I's be Da'arjeen, my friends call me Da'ar, but everyone calls me Da'arjeen."


Slightly startled by the gruff dwarf's outburst, PG directed her attention to the interesting but weather-beaten face of the man at the next table.

"Yes please do come and join us", she says. "We're just getting acquainted with each other ourselves. I am called PG, adventurer and explorer, seeker after lost treasures and battler of beasties, be they large or small. What should we call you?"

She then whispered to Da'ar in dwarven "Sure he is a big one!"

Kyan looked up at the pair "They call me Ken Yan, but you can call me Kyan."

He hesitated briefly "Sure, I guess I might as well join you, you do seem friendly enough. Unless Da'ar has any reservations about it?"

"Well hello then Kyan!", PG replied cheerfully."We were just starting to talk about adventuring and the like. Have you had much experience?"

Kyan couldn’t help but notice the lifted eyebrow and slight, breathy giggle that went with this reply. Somehow it seemed practised and automatic, as if it was something the half elf was not fully aware of doing.

"I myself am some what of a scout, I'd judge Da'ar here to be a warrior," PG went on with another laugh. "Though lets face it that guess wasn't difficult! I think you are probably a scout of sorts too, mayhaps a woodland one?”

The weather beaten man offered up a quiet little smile to PG. 'Yes, I am a ranger indeed, and quite at home in woodlands and scouting. And yes, I've had my share of adventure too.'

He ignored the rude uncouth dwarf and the icy mage and kept his friendly but inquisitive gaze fixed on the charming human woman. His expression was superficially bland and emotionless, but a second glance showed that he was deep in thought. PG frowned a little – what ever it was that could have triggered this, he appeared to be keeping it strictly to himself.

As Kyan introduced himself, and moved down the table Banny and the tall icy mage leaned on the bar for a few minutes fascinated by the conversation playing out in front of them. It took them a few moments to notice that yet another traveller had silently entered the tavern. It was another woman, dressed in battered plate covered with a light coloured loose travelling cloak that emphasised her olive skin, and glossy blue black hair. There was an exotic cast to her face, adding mystery to her black eyes.

The newcomer slipped quietly into a corner table, saying nothing till Banny wiped his hands busily on his apron and bustled over to her. The lady looked up and introduced herself as Assan. Her speech was laced with a heavy and musical accent Banny couldn’t quite place. She ordered a platter of vegetables, asked for a bed for the night and retreated back into her original silence.

The lively PG continued to talk “The young lady at the bar listening in I would say was a magician of some type from the staff, though I suppose she could be a priest"

She turned to that bar and flashed her best welcoming smile at the women standing there. There was an obvious invitation in PG’s voice, and the magician turned a cool, assessing gaze on her. Perhaps she should humour this young human woman and join the oddly assorted group at the big central table. Her voice was icy calm as she spoke to PG “Flattery will get you nowhere young one and it is very observant of you to notice that I am indeed a mage.”

PG winced visibly at the sarcastic edge to the last comment, but the magician chose not to soften her tone.

“My name is Ceylar by the way.” This remark seemed to be addressed to no one in particular. Her probing gaze turned to the far corner where the diffident young woman sat alone. Ceylar’s eyes narrowed. There was more to this lady than met the eye.

The door banged as yet another customer entered. This was the first to actually close the door behind her. She was a svelte lady with a distinctly oriental cast to her features; her dark hair cropped short at the front and caught up in a knot at the back. She was dressed in clothing that was neat and functional, but definitely not ostentatious. A simple quarterstaff was tied across her back, and she seemed to be carrying no other weapons or armour.

Banny bustled forward again. “Banny Butterburn’s the name. Welcome to the Black Dragon Inn. Will you be needing some refreshments and a room?”

“Good evening Mr Butterburn, you may call me Twai. Yes, I require a room if you please. Mind it is a clean room, with fresh sheets though. And may I have a plate of steamed vegetables, not too well cooked, and a slice of roasted meat if you have it, but please, no gravy. Oh, and don’t salt the vegetables, I prefer to do this for myself.”

Twai cast an appraising and somewhat suspicious glance around the room. Immediately she noticed a few adventurers at the central table, obviously in the throes of introducing themselves. This was promising; it could be just what she had been looking for.

The newcomer sat down at a small table, immediately next to the big central table, and absently polished the already gleaming surface with her sleeve, flicking off imaginary crumbs. She carefully rested her backpack next to her on the ground, and simply waited for her meal while avidly listening to the conversation at the next table. Her ears pricked up, waiting for those all-important words "dangerous situations" and "desperate call for help" to come up, words that would sound like music to her ears.

Banny smiled as he busied himself in the kitchen preparing Twai’s simple but precisely ordered meal. It was the busiest night he had seen in months! Why, the great room was turning into a regular adventurers rendezvous. He mentally ticked the patrons off as he chopped, peeled and iced.

That PG was a bit of a rogue if he ever saw one, probably knew her way round locks and traps. The leather armour was a dead give away – she was a lady who relied on stealth and agility as much as force and weapons. It went without saying that Ceylar was a magician. Someone so sure of her own superiority had no doubt studied at one of the great schools.

Banny smiled involuntarily as he thought of Da’ar the dwarf. He hadn’t missed the disdainful comments about women in armour, and there he sat in Banny’s great room, surrounded by women adventurers. He was easy as well, a fighter. Probably just a simple, rough and ready warrior by the looks of him. Kyan was an easy pick as well. The hearty and friendly man was a ranger if ever he’d seen one.

That left the two somewhat more difficult women to place. The quiet one in the corner, what was her name? Assan, that was it. She was a bit of a puzzle. Banny frowned in concentration ... plate mail yes, but what was she carrying? Oh, it was a mace, a sling and a shield. He grinned broadly. A cleric, Assan had to be a cleric as no one else used such a daft combination. Twai the picky lass with no armour other the quarterstaff was some sort of martial arts experts. Weren’t they usually monks or something?

He piled the carefully prepared food onto a spotlessly clean plate and checked that his best cutlery was beyond reproach. He loaded it onto a tray with a clean napkin and made his way carefully back into the great room again. As he passed by the painting he couldn’t help but look at the old “dragon lord”. What were the odds against there being six adventurers in his Inn at one time, and no two the same? All it needed now was a bard and some sort of fancy fighter and he would have the full set.

“Well, old man. Are you up to something.” Banny shook his head and chuckled. He was getting foolish in his old age. Talking to pictures, whatever next?


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There is only one kiwidoc, accept no substitutes

STANDARD OPERATING PROCEEDURE
www.judyhope.co.uk

[This message has been edited by kiwidoc (edited 06-04-2001).]

[MILAMBER]

This is great!! Grabbed me right away. Lots of female characters. I need more!

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"The object of war is not to die for your country but to make the other bastard die for his."
-General George Patton (1885-1945)

[DawnChaser]

An intriguing beginning. I can't wait to read how this plays out. Excellent work.

DawnChaser

[kiwidoc]

Bump cos rude Dawg and Sazerac haven't seen it yet! More coming soon - I promise!

[Redblueflare]

This is great Kididoc! Where's the rest?

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Everyone is entitled to their own opinion, I just don't have to listen.

[kiwidoc]

The author retains all rights to the material posted here, including publishing rights and copyright. Reproduction of this without her permission is forbidden.

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).]