Death of a Minstrel Vol.III

After everything that happened in the last few days, Dirk decided there was only one thing left to do. He would write in his journal and record what had really happened the last few days. Some day, hopefully, someone would find it and tell his friends; let them know why he'd been so rude. Hopefully they would forgive him. Besides, the bard in him didn't want his story to just disappear!

Now where was that charcoal? Dirk searched and searched his pockets, unable to find the piece of charcoal to begin writing and became increasingly frustrated. That was when his fingers grasped a smooth metal and glass object... A portal lens. How had he forgotten this? This could save him, he could get help!

The minstrel twisted the lens and thought of a place far away from the wilds. The City. Even if the knights of the Order were not there, surely there was someone who could help him. In the blink of an eye he was outside the city wall, and he staggered through the main gate with tattered and filthy clothes. He overestimated his own strength, as he had to lay on a bench where he promptly passed out.

He was not restless, he did not dream, he simply faded into unconsciousness. He slept until something prodded his arm and jolted him from his slumber.

He shot upright, startling the human woman who had found him, a friend of his, a paladin of Ilmater. Their eyes met and Dirk begged her for assistance, but would not tell her what was wrong only that he could not be here, that they had to go. He realized he had slept through most of the day, there wasn't much time left to get help. He got to his feet against protests from the woman and his own body. Dirk stumbled toward the gate, his friend deciding to follow along, silently.

Dirk stumbled through the main gate, his friend following along and they spotted a mutual friend on her way into the city. From the moment that this half-elf laid eyes upon him, it was obvious that something was gravely wrong. She approached the pair to ask if they were alright. They answer was obvious, no.

Dirk with his two confused and increasingly concerned friends set out from the city. He finally had a plan. He knew how to stop things from going wrong tonight, the final night when the moon would still be full enough this month for him to turn into a monster. Dirk would be able to cure himself before the next full moon.

North of the city lay an abandoned keep. Long ago a group of knights had guarded the place; situated along the trade routes which ran along both sides of it. But none used it any more and it was in some state of disrepair, often polluted with goblins. For the most part however it was in decent condition, including the old prison cells.

The minstrel led his friends into the empty keep, up a set of stairs and instructed them to lock him into a cell. It was almost dark, but he still had hours to wait until he lost control. This cell would contain him and he'd not hurt anyone.

He explained his predicament to his friends as best and as quickly as he could, and they agreed to keep him safe. They were far from enthusiastic, and sat outside the cell waiting. Dirt paced back and forth in the cell for hours, a strange calmness coexisting with the dread within him. Even if he changed again, what harm could he do within a locked cell?

Then it happened, his body began to contort and change. He hunched over, screaming out a blood curdling cry. Hair began to sprout from every inch of his body, and his muscles bulged. His massive, now wolf-like jaws dripped with saliva... Hungry.

No longer was this Dirk the minstrel, but a monster in the flesh. In a moment the creature bent the bars of his cell and attacked Dirk's two friends.

The battle was fierce, yet quick. These two women were trained adventurers and it did not take long for them to fell the creature. As they stood over it, the creature reverted once more into the broken body of the minstrel Dirk. He lay cold upon the hard cobblestones.

Dead.

Yet it was not the end for poor Dirk, for his friend was a paladin of the One Who Endures. Before his spirit could wend it's way through the domain of Kelemvor and to the afterlife, he could feel a plucking and a pulling. With but a thought he knew he could return, and so he did; his spirit ceremoniously returned to his body and life given back to the minstrel.

As Dirk recovered painfully from the ordeal, his two friends discussed the situation. Though the minstrel was amongst the living once more, he was still cursed with lycanthropy.

They pondered how they might help their friend. That's when it clicked, the Archdruid of the Grove! If anyone knew how to help Dirk, it would be him. They sent him a message and before long the trio found themselves in the cozy earthkin village to the north, near to the Grove.

The Archdruid had answered their message, even though it was only an hour or two past midnight. The wise old dwarf knew exactly what was needed: Wolfsbane. He also knew where to find it, and with the help of some haste spells they hustled to procure the herb before sunrise.

Dirk wouldn't remember much of this, still suffering from the earlier fight. Somehow he managed to keep up with the others until they had the wolfbane, but he could only focus on one thing at a time.

Follow. Run. Sit. Eat.

Then he was cured. The Archdruid invited everyone back to his Grove for breakfast. To the minstrel who had suffered so much the last few days, this was a feast. The most wonderful, delicious meal he had ever eaten. Dirk thanked everyone for the help they had given him, and the kindness they had shown him.

They had saved his life, given him a second chance even as they had to slay him in the form of a beast.

He felt lucky, and perhaps, he was. After all, this was the death, and rebirth, of a minstrel.

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