The Story of a Bard

* A Short Preface *

This story came about quite by accident, during the process of creating a character for the Dungeons & Dragons game. When I decided the character was believable and vivid enough to include his life story in a narrative... I did. If my bard is well-received by you, dear readers, you can expect further stories from him, as well as adventures written in the third person. All, of course, in the world you know and love ;) - the world of OBT.

* The Story of a Bard *

When I look at the peaceful hills surrounding this inn today, I am reminded of home and a childhood full of fun and carefreeness. Although it may be hard to believe, my parents were simple folk, not much different from you, gathered here. But the fact that they were—after all—peasants in no way diminishes them from being the wonderful people they will forever remain in my heart. Listen.

I remember my father as a cheerful man, living in harmony with both those around him and the rest of the world. Despite his profession as a hunter, he mourned every animal he killed and always made sure that neither meat nor hides were wasted in our home. He said it was out of respect for the magnificent creatures who gave us these gifts. It's just a shame that one of those magnificent creatures killed him one day during a hunt. My older sister told me that he was killed by a furious boar. In any case, I was eleven years old then, and my father forever etched himself in my memory as a smiling, tall, broad-shouldered man with a bow.

My mother, on the other hand, was always much stricter than my father. She said he was a carefree fool, incapable of shouldering the burden of responsibility for himself, his family, and his children's future. She herself spent her daily life tending the skins and furs my father brought home. I must admit that I owe my current fame as a bard to her. Not just hers, of course, though she was the one who secured the money to send me to a prestigious bard school.

I remember the day I fell in love with the music and craft of the bard as if it were yesterday. The village I came from was located near a major trade route. Most caravans stopped in the town, only half a day's journey away, though some opted for a cheaper stopover in the village that was my home at the time.

One day, a mysterious gentleman wandered into town with some merchants. I saw him enter our inn in his colorful attire, adorned with tiny bells. I quickly followed him, running into the inn. After a moment, I spotted him—he was sitting in a chair, tuning a lute. I'd never heard such wonderful sounds before. Seeing my interest, the bard gestured for me to come over. Smiling, he suggested I try playing. At the time—and you probably won't believe this either—I was an extremely shy person, so in a barely audible voice, I stammered that I couldn't. The bard sat me on his knee and showed me how to strike a chord on the fretboard, how to strike the strings. When I succeeded, the stranger ruffled my lush, black hair, laughing gleefully. That day, I decided I wanted to be like him – to share art with the world, to wander, and to play the lute so that I could enchant every living creature with my music.

Not all the days of my childhood were happy, however. I recall a funny story – amusing now, but at the time, at least chilling. As a child, I was locked in the basement beneath the house by my older sister. The light from a small window fell on the carcass of a rat, covered in all sorts of filth. Worms, spiders, and other filth. I spent half a day in that tiny basement, involuntarily gazing at the horrific sight. To this day, I shudder when I see those tiny vultures, waiting for someone to die, to feast on corpses and misfortune.

Years passed, and I strived to realize my dreams. I honed my hearing and worked hard enough to buy a simple, old lute. I trained on my own, often taking advice from travelers who were also familiar with music. On my sixteenth birthday, my mother announced that I was going to a renowned bard school in a distant city. A week later, I set off, spending the next few years acquiring knowledge of music, the world, and magic. I must admit, I learned remarkably quickly for a country boy.

The school was impressive. The estate was surrounded by a tall hedge, and on its grounds stood four beautiful buildings, which surrounded a cobbled courtyard like a ring. These houses quarters, lecture halls, concert halls, and a canteen. The courtyard itself was filled with statues of legendary bards, and in its center stood a massive statue of the school's founder. If he were still alive today, he would be turning 500 this winter.

I'm not proud of it, but I was ashamed of my heritage back then. My peers came from good families—the children of lesser noble houses or wealthy merchants. To this day, I wonder how my mother acquired enough gold to secure me a place in that prestigious bardic academy. Either way, I lied, saying my father was a great adventurer, a true hero, and my mother the daughter of a king from a distant, southern land.

But where did these gloomy faces come from? That I'm boring, right? Well, listen to my first real adventure, which I had the pleasure of sharing with the Wolffang Company, whom you may be familiar with. Improbable? But true.

I stumbled upon them by chance, during one of my first journeys after graduation. They were fighting alongside a rather large band of goblins, led by a particularly large brute—an ogre. At first, I hid, but after a moment, I realized neither side had noticed my presence. The monsters outnumbered them and didn't seem to tire, unlike my then-new companions. I emerged from behind a rock, drew my lute, and began singing a song to raise the spirits of the adventurers. The spell woven into the music instantly spurred them on. The monsters fell one by one, and when the battle was over and the emotions subsided, I was showered with thanks for my significant contribution to that encounter.

I joined the group and journeyed with them for an entire season, gaining knowledge, gold, and fame. Before parting ways, they persuaded me to get this famous tattoo. It has magical, mystical properties—all members of the Wolffang Company have one on the back of their hands. Indeed, if you ever see a left hand covered in such an intricate tattoo, you can be sure you're dealing with a veteran of the Wolffang Company. Well, I must admit, people have always seen me in a good light, which is why they accepted me so quickly. It's a matter of personality, something you can't train.

Thanks to this something, over the years I've made many valuable friends. Among them is a renowned warrior, a powerful mage. One nobleman even calls me his friend and welcomes me to his castle whenever I please. Well, almost.

Anyone who has friends, of course, also has enemies. My number one personal enemy is my peer. Once, when we shared a room at the bards' school, he was like a brother to me. Until he stole the heart of a girl, which was supposed to be mine. We once faced off, but we were separated and fined before either could harm the other. I was ready to kill him then, because betrayal is one of the few crimes that should always be punished by death. But more on that another time.

Yes, so much for adventure, but you're interested in how I spend an ordinary day, aren't you? I wander from town to town, from village to village, from adventure to adventure. I exchange stories, learn songs and poems, new melodies. I live to improve myself and to bestow my art upon the world. I've been considering starting my own bard school; it seems like a profitable business. Good for the world and a little gold for my meager pocket. And speaking of gold, would someone please order me another pint of mead? I'd be grateful.

It was about the past and the present, adventures and the mundane. Now it's time for the future. I'm still young, strong, and my mind is remarkably sharp. If my father, though a good man, was just a peasant, I'm a hero. And I'll be even more famous than I am now, richer than my mother's imaginary king-father. Seeking adventure is definitely a good choice if you want to quickly make a fortune and gain fame. Moreover, every hero-bard will bring even greater glory to his wondrous art. And my children will be able to say that their father accomplished something in life. They will not be ashamed of their parents and their roots. I will see to that.

But where there are children, there must be a woman, right? I have met many a sweet girl in my life, in my travels, but I will not make a simple peasant girl the mother of my children. And I certainly will not marry one. Come, young lady? You don't have to leave yet; it's not that late... Yes, indeed. Fame and fortune, my dears, are the key to a good marriage.

So in twenty years, I will have a wife of noble birth, well-off, healthy, and educated children, and a fortune worthy of a royal family. But death claims everyone, sooner or later. I am almost certain I will die a hero, for that is how great men die. My father fell in battle, for that is the proper term for that unfortunate hunt. Though he didn't have gleaming armor or a blade of tempered steel, he was a hero, risking his life daily for me and the rest of our family. And if I become so powerful that no force can defeat me in battle, then... I will not die alone. I don't want that, and I will never allow it. I will leave my estate to my children, and all I will ask for is... a monument. So many bards have their monuments, so why can't I? Immortality. That too is something worth fighting for, but too many have failed to hope for success. But immortality can be secured through art and... the granite monument that stands in the estate's garden.

That's all for today, my dears. It's late, and even a famous bard needs a little sleep sometimes. I won't be leaving this town for another two days, so come back tomorrow to hear another tale. I know many, and I'd be happy to share them with you for a few coins. And while we're on the subject of coins, you can leave payment for my labor in this hat, which also has a story of its own. Perhaps I'll tell it to you tomorrow? Good night.