Death of a Minstrel Vol.I

We begin with the young naive minstrel named Dirk. Little more than a kid, still he joined up with the Order. Dirk had sworn to his god that he would serve the Order, and so he would. The Order was an organization with two goals: to fight evil and to help those who needed help. Dirk was better suited to the latter goal.

Dirk ran with a group of friends, most of whom were up-and-coming knights of the Radian Heart. A few of them were also members of the Order. Dirk and his friends had set out into the wilds to aid one of the knights of the Radiant Heart. They were on a mission to deal with a troublesome cult of lycanthropes. The knights were well prepared for the fight, and Dirk's encouragement gave them that extra edge.

As the party set upon the last remaining werebeasts and their servants, it became clear that the foul creatures had regrouped and anticipated their attack. A chaotic melee broke out and within moments, Dirk found his arm snugly locked within the jaws of a massive werewolf. No amount of effort would free it! Fortunately, it did not take long for the knights to finish off the evil creature, including the one latched onto poor Dirk. The party regrouped and began to survey the site. Everyone was fine, even Dirk! A few of the knights dug around for loot, a few others tended to wounds and otherwise secured the area.

The result was clear: The mission was a success and it was time to return home, to celebrate!

Conveniently using magical transportation, they returned to the headquarters of the knights. Splitting the rightful treasure, they talked and drank into the night until they had their fill of both. The last thing Dirk remembered was stumbling down the dirt road, under the brilliant light of the moon, toward the portal that would take him home.

Dirk, however, awoke to the warm touch of a morning sunbeam, the faint taste of blood lingering within his dry and sore throat. He was exhausted, disoriented and aching. He sat up, slowly, and recoiled in horror at the realization that his clothing was tattered and covered in blood.

Yet Dirk, at least, was not injured.

To his despair he discovered strands of hair, torn scraps of cloth and bits of unidentifiable viscera on and around him. Naive or not, the minstrel was not dumb. Dirk knew what had happened.

As Dirk stood, he realized where he was. Near to a small pond and not too far from a lonely tavern which sat along the road he had recently walked. He knelt over the pond and looked at his reflection. Anyone who looked at his would know something was wrong. He looked terrible.

Fortunately Dirk had most of his belongings still and he stripped down and changed into spare clothing after cleaning himself off. He limped toward the tavern, hoping no one would ask questions. Luckily for Dirk, the place was quiet with only some workers and the usuals about. He pulled up his hood and went to the barkeep. Despite his state, Dirk purchased a full case of wine and went for the darkest corner to polish off a bottle before leaving.

Dirk set out for the nearest portal. It was time to return to his home in the city, which fortunately was nearby. The trip through the portal was remarkably unpleasant. Dirk was almost home, yet it all felt wrong. Dirk stood for a while outside the main gate before deciding to find a quiet spot to sit and drink some more of the wine. With each glass it was easier to stay long, much easier than trying to figure out how to get past the guards. His situation would only end badly if they found out about his sickness.

Hours passed as he sat there and drank away his troubles. The sun began to hang low in the sky, and Dirk was drunk. This was even worse. Should he run away, or go home and lock himself inside? The moon would shine brightly tonight. Dirk didn't know what to do, sitting there pondering and pondering.

The was until he got a Speedy Messenger calling him to an emergency meeting, from one of the knights. They needed him deep within the city, at a place free from prying eyes.

His heart sunk.

He had to go, he was sworn to go. So he pulled his trusty helm over his head and trudged to the gate. Mere hours from now the cobblestones he trod upon would be bathed in moonlight. Dirk could feel only one thing as he stepped past the city guards and citizens of the city.

Fear.

Dirk continued on, for he was obliged to. After all, he was still Dirk. He was still a good person... right?

...Right?

Dirk continued along, staggering; half in fear and half drunk, using every building along the way as a crutch. Maybe he could still do some good...

TO BE CONTINUED.

Originally told by Lief Saltvik during the second Day of Stories. Recorded, written and embellished by Minto T Fuzzypaw.