A Night to Remember: Difference between revisions

Revision as of 22:32, 21 February 2015

Nairn, Alberia. October 5th, 989. Dusk.

A few days ago a bard, and foreigner, named Fenwick Brom Chaucer came into town. Like most bards, Fenwick was invited to stay with Angus McCormac in his home. He was given a warm, dry place to sleep and the best food the village had to offer. In return, the bard brought news from the outside world, told stories from distant lands, and even played some music. He was getting ready to move on to the next town when another bard arrived in Nairn. Curious, and always ready to learn more news, stories, and songs, Fenwick decided to stay another night.

The eve of October 5th was clear and calm. Most of the village was gathering around the village center and catching up on gossip. In Nairn, all major events were held in a big, open building. The building was two stories high and large enough to comfortably hold every member of the village. On three sides of the building hung 12ft tall double doors. The doors were heavily reinforced and could be barred from the inside. On the fourth wall was a platform raised a couple of feet of the ground. The humble dais was was were the elders sat when there were official town meetings and were bards performed when they were in town. In the middle of the floor was a large fire pit that villagers were dumping wood into. Above the fire pit was a simple venting system that let the smoke out but stopped rain from getting in. Because of the nice weather, the doors were latched wide open and the villagers were mingling mostly outside of the building.

Angus McCormac stood on the dais talking to a thin, white-haired man holding a Rebec like Chaucer's. That pale man wore strange black robes and had a red tattoo under his left eye. His fingers ended with long pointy nails, and he had the smile of a snake. The man gave many of the villagers the creeps, but the rules on hospitality were sacrosanct.

Fenwick was still trying to adapt to life on his own, he had been the second member of a duo for his entire adult life, and while he could naturally command the attention of a room, it did not always occur to him to do so. He had a modest demeanor and was not yet accustomed to life in Alberia, where bards were respected and praised, which reinforced his humble approach to the large social gathering. He was planted on the ground of the building, sitting cross-legged near the fire pit with his back to the stage he would be performing on later tonight, his instrument laying casually flat across his lap, and his attention focused on the gathering of people and their interactions.

He had started to become familiar with certain members of the small village in his short time here, not only familiar faces but mannerisms and personalities, and he was eager to observe them when he was not the center of their affections. He was equally curious about Deargh Baird Cairns, though Fenwick had been a bard for most of his life and had met many along his travels, the only one he could claim to know was his father. If he was going to improve his craft, and diversify his offerings he would need to learn from other bards like Cairns. For now he sat back and observed, amicable to any and all who might approach him where he sat.

"Ok, but stay in earshot," Caerwyn shouted to his younger siblings as they ran off to find others of their age. Caerwyn's father wasn't attending the festivities tonight. He only did so if something serious was being discussed by the council. Caerwyn didn't really get along with any of the kids from his peer group. There had been animosity between them when they were younger because Caerwyn was different, but by now they had all agreed to amicably ignore Caerwyn unless there was business between them. He was glad his siblings didn't have any stigma because of him.

With his siblings off to their own devices, Caerwyn turned his attention to everything else. He had seen the bard, Fenwick, on the first night he was here but had avoided him since. Caerwyn could sense that in some way the bard was like him. He wasn't sure how he knew, or how exactly he could tell, but something about the bard resonated with him. The reason he avoided him is that the bard seemed to notice it too. Caerwyn didn't really trust strangers, so he figured it was best to not try the travelers attention to him. The captain at the nearest Inquisitorial camp was already watching his family because of his mother, he didn't want to try any more attention to himself. The bard probably wasn't related to anything like that, but why take chances? Unfortunately, his siblings really wanted to come see the new bard and were already miffed at him from only taking them to see the first bard on the first night.

Realizing he had skipped dinner, Caerwyn meandered over to one of the campfires outside of the hall. At the particular fire that he was going toward sat Old McHenry, a local fisher. Old McHenry always sold fish on a stick that he cooked over the campfire at events like this. They weren't anything to brag about, but at a copper a fish, it didn't get much cheaper. Caerwyn nodded to McHenry and flipped him a coin. McHenry nodded back, and Caerwyn grabbed one of the sticks over the fire. The other great thing about McHenry was that his wife cut his 'lying tongue" out of his mouth before she left him, so you never had to make small talk either.

The village had been all a flutter because not one, but two (count 'em, TWO) strangers were in their midst: Fenwick the bard and a mysterious man with a red tattoo. Fenwick had been in town a few days and by now had amassed quite the nightly audience in the village center. This gaggle of villagers had grown since his arrival and tonight it seemed nearly everyone was accounted for, even those from the far off farms. So Jayne and Celeste thought tonight would be the perfect night to unveil their latest line of inventions: a quick-release cart hitch, pigeon points (delicate but strong arrowheads ideal for precision shots at small game), and, Jayne's personal favorite, a metal guitar forged from a new light alloy of her own secret recipe. Lightweight, loud, and lovely.

"I'll set up over here, you do whatever it is you do," Celeste said with a smile as they reached the door of the main building. What Jayne did was simple really. She only had to mingle through the crowd and brag about their smithy skills then circle back to their stand. In short order, someone would arrive and say, "I heard from somewhere that you have a new arrowhead that I have to see?" It worked like a charm every time and no one ever thought her a braggadocio.

This time though she took the guitar with her. What I wouldn't give to be a bard, she thought. Damn this stupid wispy voice. She eyed Fenwick and desperately wanted live vicariously through him if only for a moment, but he had a line of admirers starved for stories encircling him.

So she turned her attention to the other newcomer, the man with the red tattoo. Unlike Fenwick, the ONLY person near this man was a very uneasy looking Angus. But she saw his Rebec and shrugged. Why not? she thought, and strode up onto the dais and gave the man a hearty thwomp of welcome on the back.

"Good eve'nin'," she whispered as loudly as she could.

Jayne's hearty greeting nearly knocked the man off his feet. She was a big woman and he a small man. As the man regained his balance, a dark look crossed his face. Angus took one look at Jayne's strange instrument and sighed, "Celeste, this is Deargh Baird Cairns. A bard from Moth. Deargh, this is Celeste McDoe. She owns and runs the local workshop." Jayne should probably be used to the constant mix ups, but she expected more from people that had known her since she was a child. "Well I'm going to go talk to Fenwick and see if he has more to entertain us with tonight." Then the old man nodded to them both and took his leave.

Deargh looked Jayne up and down with annoyance before saying, "Celeste was it? That is a strange instrument you have there. Do you consider yourself a musician?"

Meanwhile, Angus approached Fenwick where he was sitting near the fire. "Good evening my young man. Are you planning on entertaining us again tonight or are you going to let the new comer have the stage to himself?" As far as Fenwick could tell, the old man wasn't trying to lead him one way or the other.