Rescue at Wardoff Manor 1

(Here's the first of the Tales of the Second Blood War. It's a work in progress so please bear with me.)

“Very well, I shall pay you 25 ductis a night if you would sing and tell stories to my patrons as they dine here.” the gruff orc said in his guttural voice to the olive-skinned woman seated across the table from him. The woman nodded and smiled. “You are most gracious Master Ebon. I will do my best to keep your patrons happy.” she said.

Ebon the orc stood up and raised his right fist to his left chest, saying, “Then I welcome you, Lady Anya, to the Red Hare Tavern and Inn. May your song bring gladness to us in these troublesome times.”

Anya stood and answered the orc with the same Gromon salute-greeting. “I thank you, Master Ebon for your accommodation and your employment. Be assured that I will do my best to entertain your guests and ease their burdens.”

Ebon called to the boy cleaning a nearby table, “Karl! Please show our new bard to her room and make sure she’s comfortable.” Karl left his cleaning rag and walked over to Anya as she picked up her lute and a sack containing her belongings. Anya followed Karl through the musty corridors, thinking that she’s been in better places, not to mention better paid. But ever since the Asperian invasion — the attack of “the demons from the western sea” because Asperians are a vampire-like race — and the occupation of the islands of Margon and Seleniel, as well as the city state of Sorma, the land of Pentapotamo was plunged into war. Nobles have been called to command armies or have begun to barricade themselves, so bards no longer find themselves called upon to entertain in the halls of the rich and aristocratic humans and the gnomes. The elves have their own music and the orcs have little use for such things, and none of the four races found need for tales and music at a time like this. The bards now have to walk the roads to tell stories and sing in whatever tavern, inn or eating place they can find that is still standing, if they are to have coin to eat and live.

Karl opened a door and let Anya in, handing her the iron key to her room. Anya looked at the key, recognizing the short, serrated-blade design as gnomish, specifically Kodayni. Old design, but still useful, and far better than anything the human smiths of city states of Sorma, Hanathai, or Margon ever came up with. Having spent some time with the gnomes of Kodayn, Anya was familiar with the Kodayni gadgets and devices, and how jealously protective Kodayni gnomes can get with them. Thus, only devices that are at least ten years old are sold outside of Kodayn, and usually at exorbitant prices. So this inn is not so shabby after all, thought Anya, to be able to afford Kodayni locks for its doors. Anya lay on the bed and began thinking of what she would play for the patrons that night. . .

* * * * *

“Sing for us, bard! Sing of the good old times, when life was peaceful!”

Anya wryly smiled. She expected as much from Ebon’s patrons, mostly refugees fleeing from Asperian-occupied Sorma. From her travels that crisscross the Nine Cities, she knew that such “good old times” never existed as there always were small wars between the Cities over land, trade, and ancient grudges about who stole whose sheep or wife among the various nobles and whose breakaway kin was protected by whose city. But then, these were conflicts of the artistocrats that rarely affect the peasantry. But the Asperian invasion, now dubbed as the Second Blood War, affected noble and peasant alike. The vampiric fangs of the Asperians make no distinction between noble and peasant blood, both are food to them.

Anya thought of the vampyr invaders, then of the refugees fleeing them that are now before her, and began to sing.