The Tavern [OPEN]
Aug 4, 2015 0:56:53 GMT -5
Post by raulwicke on Aug 4, 2015 0:56:53 GMT -5
[googlefont="IM Fell English:400;"]t h e T A V E R N MORNING: Raulwicke could honestly say that this was the most strange tavern he had ever come across in his travels. The bar was musty, the air smelled of thick alcohol, (more akin to that which is used in the dying of garments than the destruction of kidneys), and a terrible sad desperation that only comes from an army of people working jobs that are going no where. It was Raulwicke's kind of place. Raulwicke sauntered up to the bar, his bravado returning after having been shaved down to size by the girl with gray eyes. Even ordering a mead and turning to survey the Tavern, he still could not get the girl who had snarked at him so playfully, and yet had cut him so cooly, out of his mind. But Raulwicke was at ease here. These were his people. Drunkards, and disciples of lost arts, the very scum at the bottom of the bucket of life. Well, that would soon be fixed. The entire Tavern could be described in a single sentence to Raulwicke: It smelled of gray. The very air was bland and stale, and was in need of a much necessary airing out. So with this thought in mind, Raulwicke began to play. The Ballad of the Trickster A long time ago, In a land much different than this. Was a great teacher, A master of Tricks. He swore upon women, And took men's gold. He did this for ages. Or so we are told. The people called him Fool A joker, prank-master But those who knew him well Called him The Trickster The Ballad of the Baton (Part I) The Trickster's totem is a special staff A gift from his mother, His sisters and Father But freely given, this token was not stolen from each, that's how it was wrought. The sister first, She loved him well, And that's how Trickster stole her sacred Bell. He asked for bell to summon his sister second But the Advocate asked Why she could not her beckon The Trickster thought on this for a moment, But the quiet cleverly thought of a ploy, "If you summon our sister, with you she will play, And again I will be left, without friend or toy" The Advocate saw the reason in this and parted with her Bell, What she could not have know, was how he would not use it well. Raulwicke set down his lyre as he noticed that no one in the Tavern had even so much as turned to listen to his tales. Perhaps they are the wrong sort of tales, he thought to himself. He nursed his mead, and began to ponder. What kinds of stories would this strange brood enjoy? |
