Prologue: Hors d'oeuvre
It all began with a story.
Well, no, not really; everything else that had happened, happened. Like the birth of the universe and all the other stuff that happened over billions of years. This story happened while our civilization was fairly young – a story with heroes, princesses, kingdoms, war and demons. It is an epic tale full of action, suspense and danger!
To cut it short – the hero, Musashi, wielded the sacred sword, Claiomh Solias, vanquished the evil Arch-Demon, saved the princess and, subsequently, the world! Now how's that for a tale!
"You're lousy." A tiny girl with accusing blue eyes said. She wondered why the bard was alone, singing and playing his badly tuned lute, and now she found out why.
"Comments to yourself, child," the bard replied, and used a foot to nudge his hat towards her, "That'll be two pennies, for the tale and for the tune."
The girl looked at the bard and then at the hat, scrunched her face up in contemplation and spat in the hat before running off. "My granny plays the lute better than you!"
"Everyone's a critic," he mumbled and cleaned the spit from his hat. For the third time today.
Maybe his mother was right, maybe being a bard was something he was hardly suited for. She did tell him that he could carry a tune as well as a slug could carry an elephant, but he always thought she was joking. Maybe he should head home and continue the family business of pig farming. It is a rather lucrative business anyway... aside from the smell of pig, which he could never get rid of unless he burnt his clothes and bathed for an entire day.
Ah, home... just thinking about it made him nostalgic. It was a boring town, much more boring than the city, but it had the benefits of not getting mugged on a weekly basis, a nice bed to sleep in, regular meals that had identifiable meat in it, and his childhood sweetheart: Petunia. Granted, she had a funny squint, but he could look past that.
He supposed it was about time for him to pay a visit to his family and catch up on all the good times. He could regale them with his stories from the city (no singing it out, or else mum will hit you again) and they could surely use a hand around the farm.
The bard looked around, taking in the faire in all its faire-ness. It was amazing – the biggest celebration in the city every three years, with song and dance, and beer and wenches. He didn't really have much luck in the last department though, but for what it's worth, he enjoyed himself immensely the past few days. People were so alive during this time, that the faire was more like an entity on its own – a noisy, colourful, whirling, exciting event that was brought to life by the citizens.
It was the second last day of the faire, and it was tradition on the last day that the Darjeeling Acting Troupe would tell the story of the Hero Musashi, as well as the royal family holding the ceremony of Remembrance. He wouldn't be able to attend the ceremony but he was definitely looking forward to Darjeeling Troupe's play. The cream of the crop, the pinnacle of plays, with the best actors and orchestra that money could never buy. He had to save up for a year (mainly because he wanted to make his barding pay for the ticket, but realization struck him that having a proper job or two would provide a much steadier income) but he got tickets for the third best seating area. Box seats would've taken him a while more to get, and he didn't want to wait another three years before the next play.
It'd be a waste if he left for home now, so it's going to be three more days before he'll say goodbye to the city of Allucaneet.