Resbang 2015 with artist VictoriaPyrrhi

Welcome to the fic you never asked for! First and foremost it's important to say right here right now that this is not intended to be a heavy fic nor one to be taken seriously. There are some offensive language and controversial topics so if you are fainthearted, this is not the fic for you. Like at all. This fic was written for shits and giggles, and for me to take time off and dive into something funny. I understand if you don't find the same things to be humorous or even very gruesome. It's ok.

Many many thanks to Julie, Alex, and Jeb for betaing through the early stages of the mess. A huuugggeee huge shout out to Julie for helping me plot through the stories. Additional thanks to Rose, Ash, and once again the MVP Julie for staying with me through wild nights and sin.

Art can be found on the Resbang Masterpost since ffnet is terribad at outside links; it's a lovely pinterest board with a few pictures and quotes from the stories within this fic. It's super creative and I started cackling when I first saw it. Give the artist some love y'all~

Triggers:

Smut, Angst, Major Character Death(s), Cursing, Actual VooDoo Cursing, Personified Inanimate Characters, Debauchery, Defecation, No Sign of Holy Water To Quench Thirst, Food Kink, Vulgar Language, Violence

Note that the smut is never between two people, I'm not about that life.

More miscellaneous A/N:

Wes is the Dumbledore of this universe

If you think something is an innuendo and you're wondering if I did that on purpose, 90% of the time you're not wrong

I hope you still love me after this and if you don't then I understand completely

There's no SoMa in this fanfiction they are just friends but you know that's not true

Last warning:

If you're reading this and you're easily offended by sexual references and questionable activity then this isn't the fic for you and this is not a reflection of my serious fanfictions; this is crack out of my ass

Summary: A bard tells a tale of the fickle heart in a time where love is far more difficult than fighting dragons. He speaks of a woman and her porcelain soul, crushed by none other than a man and his rolling spirit's selfish desires. He chuckles a legend of another and her loneliness, and a boy and his ivory tune. He sings of a story as ancient as the red, painted caves, a journey of the most devilish of powers and how they loved themselves far greater than another. He whispers the hymn of a boy and the godless nights he spends with nothing more than his hand, and then how he comes to experience something more. He explains of a girl stuck in her wanderlust for new sights and wonder, and her cousin who chases her until she reaches her own end with her own lust sated. He laughs for a beat about a girl who gives herself to the forest in her journey for her happiness. And finally, he tells about how the sun wanted the moon and so much more- how they all wanted so much more.

The bard stepped into the tavern.

As the sun was setting behind him, he paused for a moment to smile at his new location. It was shabby to say the least, but it also meant that the occupants would be loose with their coin. Or that's what he'd hoped once night had settled and their apple juice lit their bellies.

Surely.

He signaled for his troop to move forward, taking the first step, knowing that they would follow him. And they did, though they glanced around warily, anxiously whispering amongst themselves as they clutched their instruments tighter against their bodies, wondering just what went through Wes's mind as he chose this particular spot for their performance.

The town of Pelopina was a wreckage, so naturally, their leader was drawn to it. He seemed to enjoy it even though he was of nobility- said it had character, to which the harpist groaned. It was worrisome how merrily he seemed to stroll down the town just moments before, his face bright enough to make up for the dark shadows that loomed behind its corners. He stopped once at what seemed to be a bazaar, weaving through the crowd as if he were a local, glancing at each booth with purpose until he found what he was looking for.

But when he reached for his purse, it was gone. Unfazed, he smiled to himself, wishing the thief well for it was a poorly made accessory from Juniset anyway. There was nothing inside except for perhaps 2 Ruu, just enough for a meal. His hand recovered smoothly, continuing on past the empty space and toward the folds of his sleeve of his other arm, pulling out 5 Dia from the folds of the cuff.

After he came back to meet his company, he held up his purchase- a lute string- and they flocked to his side, checking for injuries. Wes laughed as they found none, pocketed his spoil of war, and then picked up his satchel. Although they were still hesitant, especially the musician who refused to pick up his shawn for quite some time, Wes assured them that he'd already made prior arrangements and that the tavern was much more secure than the streets of Pelopina.

Certainly he was right about one thing- no one in their right mind would rob a building that already looked like it was in shambles. There were other places where they could perform, places where they had profit- and maybe a stage, noted the drummer. Perhaps even a place that looked like it had running water and customers other than rats.

But they trusted him, because everything he touched turned to gold.

Wes had a way of working, one that not many others could bear to follow once they learned of the risks he would take and how he seemed to walk on the line between Tartarus and the Fields of Elysium.

All for good sport, he said.

The troop's members changed every few months because their leader would wear down their patience and tolerance faster than they could realize what a mess they had gotten themselves into. He would take risks greater than what they could afford and often times the benefits weren't worth the trouble. They found themselves in positions where their nights looked bleak sometimes, but Wes was always sanguine.

What was life if they lived on the safer path, he said.

Westerdore was truly a noble with too much time on his hands and no where to throw his attention to. Where else could he turn but the streets that filled him with curiosity? With an insatiable wanderlust, he meandered around the country with his group of musicians, living off of their performances and a bag of emergency funds that was worth far more than each of the towns were on their own. Rich people were terrifying, noted a new, poorer recruit from the troop.

The group flinched at the clink of metal and slurping food. The patrons of the tavern were another breed of terrifying, their shady looks causing the drummer Kilik to walk a little faster. But Wes was hardly bothered at his audience, greeting the owners merrily with a reminder of his reservations, prompting them to usher him towards the fireplace where a small tin can was placed, offering it in case they didn't have one of their own. He thanked them and set his bag down behind him. As the rest of his friends tuned their instruments, he readjusted the strings on his vielle, light fingers twisting the knobs on top while his other hand plucked the instrument.

Perfect.

The harpist Harvar sat down first, nodding to Wes as the latter was tuning his lute for later. Harvar started with a strum of a chord, capturing the entire tavern's attention instantly with the first note. As he continued to play, the rest of his group joined in one by one. The cornemuse and the drum were the last to begin while Wes had still been fiddling with the lute. He smiled to himself at the stories he had prepared for the night, hoping that the rest of the squad would think so too. At the end of his thought, he picked up the vielle and its bow, combining his music with the melody already floating in the air.

As it continued, the customers returned to their meals, pleased with their night. More people from the streets were drawn into the building at the sound of the instruments and in no time at all, the seats were all filled. A jovial atmosphere settled and the owners' faces were bright with excitement and energy. They hadn't seen such life in their establishment in months and they looked to the leader of the group with wonder. Wes was as incredible as the rumors told. With a tambourine strapped to his leg and a grin plastered on his face, he carved yet another successful night where all seemed hopeless.

Kilik exchanged looked with Harvar and simultaneously they picked up the pace, exhilaration shining in their eyes. It was their moment of release, the band itself being a catharsis for their stuffy lives. Once before, they had traveled together aimlessly until they came across Wes, who was an acquaintance at the time. He was much more wild then; the presence of two equally bored but cautious nobles became his impulse control. Still, being as close as brothers, not a word needed to be uttered for them to speed forward. All was fun and game as their leader snapped at their heels with his own quickened song. Hearty laughter boomed around them.

Eventually, the crowd stretched in front of them switched patrons and a new set of meals were placed in front of them. And again. Harvar was the first to hear the distinct tapping of Wes' heel, changing his strumming to one he played every night at every performance, alerting the rest of the troop.

Then the music crawled to a slow tune, the vielle stopping entirely. That seemed to capture the audience's attention, and they looked to the corner with expectation. Wes picked up the lute, setting his other instrument down in its place, strumming it softly. Once he cleared his throat, the tavern hushed.

And then he began.

There are many tales that I've heard

But today I speak of songs from the future

Of the distant storms that bring new skies.

I start with a tale that breaks more wind than a hurricane

So hold onto your seats for though they may be unconventional

Their love is real as their betrayal.

In another place sits a sound as pure as ivory cores

And although the heart is pristine

A beloved melody will always come to an end.

There is a story that never had a chance to begin

Despite their efforts there are some things that don't belong

And there are other things that serve as halves for a whole.

I tell of a journey, one familiar as the bones of the pheasant you gnaw

You might know of the feeling well as you grind the morsel between your teeth

Well, you aren't the only one with an affinity for poultry.

There are others who can't let go of their lonely hearts

With lust comes sin as two girls of the same blood fall

They should have known that all they touched went to ruin.

In an attempt for happiness one more reaches for the light

But what she found instead was another painful reminder

Of why there was no such thing as joy.

All of these tragedies end with a love

That should have never come to be

And yet the sun still chases after the moon.

Then again, what do I know?

For I am only a mere Troubadour

And now, I welcome you to death's door.

(Because surely you'll die laughing)

He started on the first chapter of sin.