Ch3 - Swapping Stories (Patreon)

Out of nowhere, my growling stomach decided to butt in and inform me that it was increasingly displeased with my lack of attention. No wonder - I realized that I had completely forgotten to eat lunch, and set out to do something about it. Gillem had taken over the bar, and was simultaneously arranging for the preparation of tonight’s dinner, intermittently sticking his head through the back door to yell orders to the kitchen staff. They didn’t have anything ready for an early dinner yet, but Gillem still managed to scrounge up a plate with a selection of dark bread and cold cuts - simple, but filling.

It was a good showing this evening. Attendance generally varied a lot, favoring the weekend. Most families tended to stay at home during the work days, and then maybe show up once in the weekend - Saturdays and Sundays both, as the important part seemed to be the social interaction. Since going out on work days was generally viewed as a waste of money, the crowd was usually composed of singles with money to spare and the occasional family with an occasion to celebrate - rarely more than twenty to thirty persons. Numbers had increased lately, however - and I fully intended to downplay the effect of Othell being chased out of town and attribute all of it to the prowess of the newly-fledged village bard. At least, that was the approach I planned to take when I was to argue for a pay raise.

Oh yeah, in the midst of all the excitement and celebration when I accepted the job offer, I'd failed to notice that part of the pop-up at first. Being the village bard granted me automatic lodging, food, a snappy title I could add to my name tag if I so chose (I did not) and a weekly pay of 3 silver, to be adjusted upon agreement with the Council. It wasn't much, but the mere fact that I was being paid to play outdid most gigs I'd ever done in real life. Now, as I stood there, surveying the crowd, everything felt right in the world, for once. This Saturday, almost every table was packed, and the mood was one of unbridled positivity. Customers had to dodge kids running amok between the tables, and a good number of red faces and raised voices implied that a good number of people were going to regret the evening’s overindulgence on the Sunday.

I raised my bow and started to let everybody know just how good a mood I was in. I was slowly building up a decent rapport with everybody. Within a few moments after starting to play, I’d be able to judge whether the crowd was ready to relax and pay attention, or I’d do better in relaxing a bit and let people finish their ongoing discussions. Today though, I could tell from the subtle motions of people relaxing in their chairs and conversations slowly dying down that I wouldn’t be intruding on something important, so I slowly let my playing rise in pitch and volume, as I bid them welcome with a silly piece I invented for the occasion. It was a bumbling, happy piece with little rhyme, reason or coherence, and I’d made it up earlier, watching a local cat prancing all over the place, playing with the motes of dust in the air. A short while later, I let the final notes die down, and looked out over the attentive crowd, quite a few sporting silly little smiles that surely matched the one on my face. I stepped to the edge of the stage and addressed them. “Tonight, my friends, I would like to take a moment to thank you. Most of you know, that when I arrived in the village, I wasn’t as - let’s say appreciative of my situation as I could’ve been.”

A ratling boy yelled: “Ma says you called the Mayor a bunch of bad words.” And the crowd dissolved in laughter, while his mother tried to shush him. 

I laughed along with them and said, “I can neither confirm nor deny that piece of absolute truth. I can attest to the fact that I’ve since then come to enjoy living in Grant’s Crossing - a lot.”

A voice in the back took a shot, “Yeah, well, we’re still not borrowing you any money.”

I fired back at him: “I can see you, y’know Gillem. Even way down there.” I turned the attention back to the crowd. “Now, a few of you already know that I’ve started chronicling the foundation of Grant’s Crossing itself, because I believe it’s a shame that no-one’s taken it on themselves to gather the story yet. Still, there is one aspect that I would love to focus on - namely war." I cleared my throat to get the voice just right - no-one around would get the reference anyway, but keeping proper form was important. "War. War never changes. This is a saying where I come from, which I've heard countless times, and happen to agree with wholeheartedly. What does change is the way peoples and civilizations endure and handle their conflicts and their aftermath." I lifted the bow, adding. "This song was actually played often by both sides during one the largest conflict my people have ever withstood."

I launched into “You’ll never know” - a sappy song from 1943 about two lovers separated by war.I could see a good number of people swaying silently in time to the music, and a brave few even started clapping and singing along with the chorus. When the scattered applause died down afterwards, I continued, "So much hope and longing in that song, and it goes to show a lot about my people, that both sides in the same conflict actually long for the peace following the war - that we might be involved in many wars, but we strive for peace and love."

"Sometimes, however," I strummed a chord with a sound like a note that was terminated prematurely. "A conflict is over before we have the possibility to wrap our minds around what's going on - and we're left dealing with the aftermath. How we handle that is even more telling about a people - and I'd love learn more about you. In short - I'd love to show you more about my people, if you tell me more about how the peoples of Aeion handled the Separation." I gave them a dazzling smile and an inviting gesture to the stage.

There's always a moment of confusion after a comment like mine, where nobody wants to be the one to draw the attention, but the citizens of Grant's Crossing were becoming used to my antics - if I always had to perform one-way entertainment, I'd end up exhausting my repertoire in no time. Also, these exchanges usually ended up being a lot of fun - and I always learned something. Sometimes it'd be a story or a poem, at other times a new song or two - once and again it was just a reminder that Gillem really was physically unable to play worth a damn. We didn’t have to wait long this time around though - after a brief pause, a half-orc with a brutish demeanor hopped onto the stage. I had to admit that I wasn’t the very best at telling half-orcs apart, but he looked like one of the raft handlers.

Without a hint of a smile, he snarled, “I need a drum.” And caused a commotion for a bit, until Jeb sprinted down into the basement and returned, covered in dust, but triumphant, with some sort of hand drum. The half-orc checked it over and then carelessly chucked it down from the stage - where one of the other raft attendants caught it, and started laying down a slow, haunting beat.

The half-orc on the stage glared out over the audience. “The Cabal are good story tellers. They will tell you that they took over in peace. Everybody accepted their rule and rules and everything has improved.” His eyes narrowed, and he continued in a rasping voice, “Tarral curse them for pits-spawned liars.” A few grumbles and protests went up from the crowd, but the half-orc stared them down. “I, Hagren, will tell you the legend of the Mar’kath tribe - the last of our tribes to live truly free, not beaten down in a ratty part of town.” He nodded at the drum player, and the beat quickened, took on a happy, joyful tone. He then intoned the words along with the drum, not quite singing, but nevertheless creating a chanting, mesmerizing tune.

“Mar’Kath we. Bloodbringers all. We rule the plains supreme.

Enemies die and quarry falls. All heed the Eternal Dream.

We die in turn and all is well. The Circle still remains.

Ac’ram felosh, keleb sedell. Unchanged upon the plains”

The drum beat took on a frenzied pitch, and Hagren’s voice increased in volume, reverberating from the walls of the tavern.

“The ground she shakes, the world is torn. But still we heed the call.

Our brethren lost and we forlorn. We honor one and all.

When all is still, we look around. From coast to coast we range .

Tarral D’leth, Tarral fetaun. And yet we rule unchanged.”

The sound of the drum lessened in fervor, and the beat continued, less frenetic and with a touch of apprehension.

“Cabal approached our lands today. They state a wish for peace.

We see the game they try to play. Our grounds they try to seize.

Their laws supreme, their rule ‘bove all. They wish to claim our plain.

Harrah moderc, Harrah su’kal. Not until we’re all slain.”

The cadence changed completely, decreasing in tempo to the point of almost stopping, and Hagren spoke quietly over the drum. His rasping voice still clearly reached everybody over the silence of the tavern.

“Our bodies broke and spirits quelled, in squalor now we live.

Women slain and warriors felled. Nothing more to give.

The Dream has come and gone at last, the Circle finally broke.

Tarral baltor, Harrah nergash. We die or choose the yoke.

When Hagren finished the last sentence, he jumped down from the stage and walked towards the door. The crowd meanwhile practically exploded in discussions, muttering and even a few catcalls. For a moment, I didn’t know what to do with the powder keg he’d just lit, but I decided to nip it in the bud, raised the violin and subjected the crowd to the loudest, most ear-splitting screeching tone, I could possibly create. I immediately activated my High Tide skill - this might be a hard sell - and spoke out into the stunned silence, “Hagren, please come back. I would very much like to thank you for your retelling.” Hagren stopped near the door. He didn’t return to his earlier seat, but he did turn around, waiting.

I addressed the crowd again: “Hagren makes an excellent point. History, as they say, is written by the victors, and it is extremely easy for the voice of the defeated to be drowned out eventually - unless we keep the history alive. I, for one, would like hear the full story, and not just the official version. Also, please do not believe that this is something limited to Aeion. Where I come from, we have a country that has often been labeled the greatest existing nation - yet its history is not without its fair share of atrocities.” I proceeded to tell them the story of the Trail of Tears - heavily edited, of course - I did not want any penalties because I slipped up and accidentally told the crowd that I was from another world and they were all just NPCs.

When I was done, I flung my arms wide open and said, “Very few people in this room are old enough to have taken part in the Separation and the turbulent times that followed - and nobody in this room should try to assign blame or point fingers. To me, the only truly culpable individuals are the ones who actively try to ignore or alter history instead og learning from it. Please, I would love to hear from all of you who have a story to tell - whether positive or negative.”

The next hours were filled with stories - a veritable deluge of them. While at first it had seemed like everybody were shocked to their core from someone speaking up against the Cabal, when the gate was opened, the stories poured out. Every race had been affected by the Separation, most drastically so. The dwarves had not suffered heavy losses, numbers-wise, yet the cultural cradle of their race had floated away, never to return. The elves had lost their capitol and all told, over a third of their race had dies or disappeared overnight. Ratlings had always been spread over the entire continent, meaning their losses had been minimal, yet they had suffered heavy persecution in the aftermath. People perceived them (sometimes rightly so) as trying to profit from the crisis. 

Not all the stories were negative, however, as the struggles and conflicts sometimes brought out the best in people. When the entire south-east was struck by famine, following the disappearance of a huge agricultural zone, an unlikely alliance between elves and dwarves formed to transport emergency supplies to the region. An infamous pirate used his airship, the Bloody Vixen, to lift the inhabitants of half a town to safety, as the town itself was floating away. What been a decade-long war of skirmishes between a human settlement and the indigenous lizardman tribe turned to a protracted search-and-rescue operation, as the area of the lizardmen broke down into a horrifying labyrinth of poisonous fumes, pitfalls and poisoned water.

It was getting late, and I was considering how to best wrap up the evening, seeing as how I was starting to see a few yawns here and there. I spotted a familiar face in the crowd, and decided to take the stage, as the former speaker wrapped up hist story. I applauded along with the crowd. “Thank you very much for that. We have heard a lot of different stories teaching us, and me especially, much about the aftermath of the Separation, and how it brought both good and bad out in all of our peoples. I’d like to thank you, Hagren, especially, for speaking up - that took a lot of courage.” I turned to address everybody. “I cannot say that I have any opinion on the Cabal. Pits, a couple of weeks ago I hadn’t heard the name before. And while tonight clearly shows that their rule has not been one of absolute blinding innocence, I do appreciate some of what they’ve done. From what I’ve heard tonight, It’d be unheard of, if not downright impossible, to see a good folks representing as many races as have gathered here tonight in peace. Catfolk playing cards with ratlings? Elves drinking in excess with orcs and nobody throws a punch? This is the peace of the Royal Cabal. And for that, if nothing else, I would like to ask whether anybody knows a suitable official song or verse of the Cabal to round off tonight’s telling?” With that, I smiled directly through the crowd to the half-dwarven girl who’d first told the story of the Royal Cabal and the Separation some time back - and fortunately, she understood my inquiry right away.

She moved towards the stage, blushing wildly, and glanced at me. I held up my violin with a questioning look on my face, but she shook her head, and faced the crowd. Moments later her clear voice spellbound the tavern, and her clear, open face added a definite sense of innocence to the a capella performance.

Shadows have fallen

Aeion lies dying

Brethren at war

While they cry in pain

Races diminished

Stories forgotten

We saved the world

Has it been in vain?

We do not want this

Not our battle

Can’t turn away

We will do our best

Cabal, they named us

Schemers and faithless

Still we’re unbroken

And we will not rest

Kingdoms united

Races indifferent

Brothers at peace

This shall be our test

The girl stopped singing, and immediately jumped down to her seat at one of the tables, but the applause the exploded from the crowd followed her for quite a while. While she did her best to hide her face behind her hair, she couldn’t quite hide the smile on her face at all the praise.

When the sound had died down, I cleared my throat: “Yeah, I don’t see anyway to best that performance - and I have to admit, that it’s the perfect way to end the evening - with a message of hope for the future. So thank you all for coming out tonight, and for sharing - it has been a learning experience for me.” One final, polite round of applause and over the next fifteen minutes a decent part of the crowd started paying their tabs and meandering towards the door. The tips were good tonight though - 6 silver and change, and I hadn’t even been doing the lion’s share of the telling. On top of that, my Performing and Singing skill both increased. The kicker was a full 500 reputation gained with Grant’s Crossing, which was both amazing and astounding simultaneously, since I’d stopped gaining rep with the village from just playing. I theorized that maybe regular reputation gain from playing only worked until a certain point, and further increases only came from if you’d made an impact beyond the regular on the village - I’d likely be able to verify that at a later point.

A slow clapping sound neared the stage, and I was torn from my idle thoughts as a familiar voice taunted from the front of the stage: “Impressive how you’re able to avoid doing any work whatsoever and still leave all these people with the impression that you were the one performing.” Gillem rested his arms on the stage, sporting a wide grin.

“Is that another way of saying you’d rather be a bard than a barkeep? If you convince the Council I need a raise, I can probably put in a good word with Greck to take on another apprentice. Then we just have that minor issue with your playing - tell me, do cats still try to mate with you when you play?”

Gillem made an obscene gesture and we shared a laugh. “Point. Oh, and the raise is easily handled - we in the Council actually agreed that we’d ask you to take on a small task for Grant’s Crossing. Handle this, and you’re assuredly in for a raise.”

I perked up. “Really? Fill me in.”

“You basically just need to go out and make friends. East or west first, you decide - but the village needs safety in order to grow, and that’s been in short supply since we got here. With Othell taken care of, however…” He shrugged.

I quickly inspected the pop-up.

[You have been offered a quest: “Winning Hearts and Minds.” With the worst local threats eliminated, the Council of Grant’s Crossing looks to expand their hold on the nearby area. In order to aid them, improve relations with either the Kobolds to the east or the local Harpy nest to the West.

Reward: Unknown - depends on the degree of success.

+300 Universal Reputation.

Accept/decline?]

My brow furrowed. “So…you want me to singlehandedly either deal with the group of harpies that had your entire Council on the run back in the day…or a whole community of Grecks?”

His grin faded and he shrugged awkwardly. “Yeah, I know, it’s a hard sell. But, honestly, the village could really do with some improved relations with either of the groups. Think it over, will ya?”

I nodded, and he took off with a parting grin, leaving a foaming ale on the edge of the stage. Good guy. I was definitely not jumping at the bit to get on with that quest. For one, I was quite at ease in the village and in no hurry to get on with the plot, and apart from that - well, I really didn’t want too much Universal Reputation - I was trying to remain inconspicuous here.

While I was packing, I was surprised to see Darya approach me at the stage. I greeted her with a smile. These days we weren’t at odds, and I enjoyed the experience - we weren’t hanging out or anything, but at the very least there was no animosity between us.

She gave me a lopsided smile, “You’re an insufferable nerd, you know? War - War never changes.”

I grinned and shrugged. “Guilty as charged - I’m glad there was a fellow nerd around though - otherwise no-one would’ve gotten the reference.” 

Darya’s grin grew wider. “Walked right into that one, didn’t I? I just wanted to say that it wasn’t entirely horrible tonight - it’s nice to hear some of the older songs from time to time. Would’ve liked to hear you play Let’s go Sunning - probably wasn’t the mood you were going for though.

“Hah, no. A little happy for a discussion of war and repercussions, probably. Tell you what, though - first off, I think I could play it, but I definitely don’t remember the lyrics for that one, and second, the lead’s a woman if I remember correctly. If you’ll sing it, I’ll play it - deal?”

Her smile slipped a bit at that. “No, I don’t think it’s fair to inflict my singing on the poor villagers - they don’t hurt me, I don’t hurt them. You keep up the work though, Arcangelo - I see a lot of smiling people here.” 

I could only watch in awe as she turned and walked away - if she were an NPC, I’d judge that I’d finally made it to Liked reputation. I shook my head and slowly made my way up to my room. Some dusty old poem said something like: “The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.” While I didn’t have far to go at all, I did have promises to keep. Moments later, I’d opened the shutters, and my old friend, the chameleon greeted the tones of “Blue Moon”, played pizzicato style, with what I could only interpret as a deeply satisfied hiss.

Later, I slept, happy with this, my small, but peaceful world.