Bazil walked quickly, a spring to his step. He was still
happy about that decent fight against Julian. That was one down, now he
just had to find Balanthalus. Something caught his vision, something barely
noticeable in the corner of his eye. A flash of sunlight in the grass to
his left.
Looking down, he spied a small discarded fiddle string
laying by the wayside.
Hmmmm. He thought. The bard has been here.
Working a small spell of location, Baz found the one who had dropped
the string. It was recent, and the bard was just over that next rise! The
end was at hand! Gripping his staff in both hands, and bringing a Firebolt
spell to the forefront of his mind, Bazil quickened his pace to a run.
As he crested the hill though, his hopes were dashed. Sitting in a hammock
strung between two errant trees was indeed a bard, but not the one he was
hoping for. This one had a straggly goatee, was fairly old/decrepit,
and his overall appearance was...shall we say...not altogether savory.
At Bazils sudden intrusion, the roguish bard reached clumsily for a small
knife thrust into a stump beside him.
"What be the meaning of this! Ye be a dirty ruffian, ain't
ye!" The bard said hoarsely.
Calming his anger, Bazil responded. "I think YOU are the
ruffian, old man!"
The bard drew himself up, almost as if preening.
"Begging your pardon, young laddie, but Master Cordicello
is NO ruffian. I'll have you know that I was once High Bard of Rivenrock!
Second in power to the King himself!"
Since when is a bard second to a king? Baz wondered.
"Ok, Master *stifles a laugh at this* Cordicello...my
apologies for interuppting your....fine....camp. I mistook you for one
of mine enemies"
The bard dismissed it with a wave of his hand and offered
the young mage a sip from his bulging wineskin. "No matter lad, the doesna
mean we can nae become friends!
Aye?"
One drink can't hurt....
Chuckling, Bazil accepted and took a big swig from the
skin. The stuff burned the whole way down.
Suddenly, as if a bolt from the blue had struck him, Baz
realized where his lone remaining enemy had gone! The dirty little music-maker
had gone to water trying to escape his wrath! Baz didn't know HOW exactly
he knew this, but that didn't change the insight.
Cordicello had already launched into a grandiose,
somewhat fabricate tale about how he alone had retrieve the mighty Amulet
from the clutches of evil. Bazil interuppted with a raised.
"Again, my apologies, noble, masterful bard, but
I am in grave need of a boat. You wouldn't happen to have one, would you?"
The tottering old bard looked up from his memories,
his eyes glinting with an ancient knowledge, and a stunning insanity. Bazil
was nearly frightened, then the moment passed.
"It just so happens that I do have a sea-going craft,
Bazil. I will loan it to you, but after your mission is complete, I want
it returned? Good enough?"
At the young mages nod, Cordicello handed him a
small box. "Merely place this in water and speak the command word, and
the craft shall appear."
Consumed with gratitude, Baz grinned, gave his thanks,
and ran off to the northeast, and the coast of the mighty lake. The bard
would not escape THAT easily.
It wasn't until later that he realized that Cordicello
hadn't spoken with an accent at the last. Something was strange about that
old man....