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.

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.

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.‏‎‏‎