Death of a Minstrel Vol.II

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 for his order. He had been ordered to attend to a meeting in the city, and he was duty bound to go.

It didn't take long for Dirk to make it through the winding streets to his Order's headquarters, he knew the city like the back of his hand, even when not sober. There it stood, a building warded with powerful magics to prevent anyone from scrying on those within it.

They were to meet with an elf, an elf he hadn't met before and was clearly unassociated with the Order. Most elves lived far from the city, so what brought this one here? Already the elf garnered misgivings from many of the attending members of the Order, yet the high ranking members knew the elf and knew they could trust him. He was quick, quiet and could clearly handle himself in a fight.

The elf was also known for patrolling areas which would mean certain death if caught, such as where he found his charge. The elf had found a man bearing the magical collar of a slave. The man wanted, unsurprisingly, to be freed. The enslaved man was interrogated, and Dirk did his best to follow the conversation, while swaying drunkenly. A muffled belch rolled from his helm and garnered him a disapproving glance from the knight next to him.

Dirk was able to pay enough attention to gather the following about the slave:

- He had been captured by a powerful drow family, and forced to do their bidding. - He was forced to sign a blood pact with an entity unknown to Dirk - The enslaved man was now a warlock

Questions arose whether the man was truly an involuntary warlock, after all he had signed the blood pact. The man almost seemed brainwashed at times, speaking fondly of his drow captors and defending the pact he made with his eldritch patron, and other times wishing to be freed. It left the group in a deadlock. They argued over what to do next.

It didn't matter to Dirk, he had heard enough. He had his own problem - he knew if he stayed here too long he would change into a werebeast and lose control amongst his friends, he had to leave. He devised a clever means to escape.

"S'a waste of time! This man doesn't even want to be helped." Dirk shouted in drunken exasperation.

This shocked, and perhaps hurt, the elven ally, who pointed at the door "You are free to leave if you do not want to be here..."

"Finally!"

Dirk stepped from the room, stumbling only a few times, as he made his way out. He felt bad for what he had done, his outburst was nothing like Dirk. But what mattered was he had escaped from his friends and now needed to escape the city.

Then it clicked, the portal! He was not far from the portal which would take him far from these people. He jogged toward the portal matrix and glanced to the sky, the moon was no where to be seen. A patchwork of clouds obscured the sky. The light from a star or two managed to poke through the cracks, taunting the panicking minstrel, but no moon-light leaked through. As he finally reached the portal, the pitter-patter of raindrops hitting stone flooded the quiet air.

He'd made it.

"Wonderful weather." he thought dryly to himself as he blinked to another place.

Dirk hadn't been particularly thoughtful of his destination, and he appeared along a well travelled trader's route which was not far from fertile countryside and caves. They were controlled by vicious tribes of goblins.

He looked to the sky once more, the rain hadn't followed him and he braced for the moonlight. Fortunately it was cloudy here, and he was fine, even if the rain hadn't come with him. He looked to his left, and in the far distance a few lights dotted the small cozy village with it's warm inn and comfortable bed, good meal and revelry. The temptation was strong, but Dirk shook his head and knew he wouldn't be able to enjoy such things.

Dirk turned right and marched alone into the darkness.

If Dirk was going to lose control again, he would rather put the goblinoids into danger than innocent civilians. They were known for attacking strangers on sight - traders, farmers and even adventurers (although such often ended badly for the goblins).

Dirk removed his helm and looked again to the sky, spying a break in the clouds. There it shone in all it's radiant glory. The Moon.

"I wonder if Selûne-" was the last thought he had before he awoke with the dawn.

Dirk had an uncomfortably familiar feeling about his situation, as he lay in anguish for many minutes before he could build the courage up to look around. He was more sore, tired and hopeless than he had ever been in his entire life. He surveyed the land around him with blurry vision, before realizing he was completely lost. Wherever he was, it was rocky and mountainous.

Once more, his clothes were tattered and stained. This time there was more than simply blood and bits of entrails on him. At least a half dozen cold bodies lay in repose, scattered in various states of destruction around the groggy minstrel.

Dirk climbed to his knees and inspected the corpses warily. Goblins, hobgoblins and even a wolf. Bones broken, flesh ripped and torn. It was grizzly, and anyone else would've had a hard time keeping down their breakfast.

Dirk was entirely unfazed.

Until upon closer scrutiny, he noticed that pieces of the corpses were missing... As if something had eaten-

It was then that his breakfast did come up, as he wretched and gagged in all his gory detail.

When Dirk eventually recovered, at least enough to get back on his feet, he thought long and hard about his situation. He had not slept in two days and spent the last one far too drunk. He felt like death.

It was time to get help.

First he needed to get home. Dirk gathered his remaining belongings and departed from this place. He spent hours wandering the wilderness, staying quiet and away from anything that might notice him. It was his plan to pick a direction and just walk. As the morning hours flew by, the minstrel mused over what would be his demise.

Starvation?

Thirst?

Goblins?

Wild animals?

He polished off the last sip from his waterskin and angrily threw it at the ground. He had never been great at navigating, especially outside the city. He fell to his knees and cradled his head in his hands and simply wept at his fate.

Soon his wails turned into cries of laughter, of hysteria.

If he never made it back home, what would his friends think of his last day with them? Would they ever know the story?

Did it even matter...?

TO BE CONTINUED.

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