Author's Note: Well here's a new one, let's see how it plays out. Don't worry, it won't take too much time from The Saga of Boy, as the games run on opposite weekends :-)
Chapter 1: A Child of the Tavern
Amber Osho looked up from her lesson book at the wild thunder of applause and strained to see around the doorframe. Her father must be doing well tonight. She couldn't hear the strains of his music over all the men singing, but the noise told her there would be gold on the stage when he was done.
A woman in a tight-fitting bodice suddenly blocked her view and she snapped her eyes back to her book as if she'd never looked away. The woman gave her a knowing smile and set a plate of hot stew by her elbow.
"They're putty in his hands." The woman said kindly, knowing the girl was waiting for news. "He's finally taking advice and skipping the classics for the rowdies they can sing along to, and if he's not careful he'll be buried under the coins."
"Thanks Tish!" the girl said, satisfied. She turned back to her lesson book.
Tish slid the girl's chalk-scribbled slate around to her to double check the answers. The girl watched her slyly out of the corner of her eye, but the older woman gave no indication of noticing.
"Not bad sprout. Who was the Catavashan emperor before this one?"
"Gliesnard Farather, he became a Lich at 1,245 years old."
"Good. And the sum of fourteen and nineteen?"
"Thirty three. Can I go now?"
"Yes, as soon as you eat something."
Amber quickly ate the stew in front of her and bolted out the door, blowing a kiss over her shoulder to the aging serving maid. She wove her way through the crowd to the bar and scrambled up onto it for a better view of the stage. She could barely see her father's head over the crush of patrons, but that changed when the bartender, a towering half-orc, scooped her up and set her on his shoulders with a chuckle. She kissed the top of his head playfully.
"Thank you Grander!"
"My pleasure sprout, just don't fall off or your father'll have my guts."
Amber giggled at the thought of her slender dad putting his fists up to the hulking giant of a bartender, half again his height and four times his bulk. Grander raised an eyebrow.
"You mockin' me, sprout? Well let me tell you, your father's a fearsome opponent in a fight. We've been friends for many years and I've seen him mop the floor with folks bigger than I am."
"Nuh-Uh Grander, my dad doesn't fight!"
"You don't think so? Well, let me tell you about the time we were on the road together, before you were born..."
He began the story and Amber reacted with appropriate laughter and awe at all the right places. She'd heard this one several dozen times before, but never tired of it, or any of the other stories of her father's adventures. As usual, the Halfling sitting at the end of the bar interrupted every now and then with a correction, usually to his own aggrandizement. When he and Grander fell to arguing, as usual, over who killed the most bugbears near a certain cave, Amber hopped down off the bartender's shoulders and worked her way down the bar. She whistled the chorus of the song her father played as she poured drinks for the regulars. She knew by now just who she could charm tips from.
"So Miss Amber, I hear your father's leaving us again," an elderly man called out to her as she carefully counted out his change.
"Never for long, Mr. Noventer!" she called back gaily over the general noise. She wondered if the rumors were true, and as always whether she was happy to look forward to the adventures of the road, or sad to leave her friends here. It may have been both, but that sort of compromise would have leeched the moment of all its dramatic satisfaction. In that she was her father's child.
The rumor was confirmed that night when he came to take her upstairs after his last song. She was in a chair in the small tavern office, to all appearances fast asleep beneath a thick woolen cloak when he came in with Tish.
"She looks so tired, I hate to wake her."
"Then don't. And by the way, one of these days you're going to have to settle in one place for that child. Do you think she's up for another six months on the road when you just returned from the last trip?"
"Amber's fine, she's resilient. I don't know about her being a bard with her attention span, but there's a niche out there for her somewhere."
"It'll be an odd one for sure, the poor without roots or mother, raised by wenches and drunks. You need to settle Daget, and give that child a home and mother."
"You volunteering, Tish m'love?"
"Stow it you old flirt, I may have four decades under my belt but I'm still too young for you!"
She snapped him with a towel and Amber fought to hold back a giggle. She was glad her face wasn't showing from beneath the cloak for she was sure her mouth was twitching. Tish's voice took on a more serious note.
"When are you leaving Daget?"
"In the morning, I've contracted with a trading caravan heading to the Unclaimed Territories."
"Be careful won't you? Bring both yourselves back again."
"Of course m'gal, have I ever failed you in that? Now hold the lantern for me while I tuck this little raccoon into bed."
Tish muttered something under her breath, causing Daget to chuckle. He carefully scooped up Amber in his arms and carried her to their room. She snuggled deep into the pillows on her bed and decided finally that she was excited to be going on the road again. She would miss her friends at the May Leaf Tavern, but six months wasn't long, considering.
The trading Caravan was a riot of color, fascinating smells and exotic designs. Even the horses pulling some of the wagons had swatches of bright fabric woven into their manes and tails. Amber had never met Gypsies before, and thought them beautiful and graceful as they checked the shipment of silk against travel wear. The group of wandering folk made up nearly a third of the caravan, and they brought with them as always their wives and children. Her father noticed her eyeing the other ten year olds with some trepidation and pulled a packet of hard candies from his backpack. He handed them to Amber and nodded towards the other children.
"Go and share them around."
Amber nodded gratefully and skipped over to the group. She hadn't had much contact with people under twenty, so she approached the gypsy children almost as if they were a new species to befriend. Fortunately for her, the children were gregarious and curious, and dragged her instantly into some game of mock warfare.
Amber's father watched her with amusement, rocking slightly on his heels. He turned gracefully when he heard footsteps approach him from the left, and saw the familiar face of his employer. He smiled and raised an eyebrow as Daget executed a theatrical bow, then offered his hand to shake. The man's eye caught the flash of red hair amongst the darker gypsy children and shot Daget a look.
"She your's? I'd worry about her associating with that crowd."
"She is, and I'm not worried. Amber is well able to take care of herself."
He smiled indulgently as Amber went from participant to director, and laid siege to the imagined castle of the other group. His employer shook his head disapprovingly.
"Well it's your choice of course, but I suppose there aren't really any other children to play with on this short a journey. I'd just keep an eye out to be sure she isn't picking up any bad habits that young. Anyway, I've found room in the wagons if you need it, but most of our company prefers to sleep out."
He phrased it almost as a question and Daget nodded graciously.
"Of course, but I need a dry place to store my instruments.""Already arranged."
"Then we are at your service, good sir."
The man excused himself and headed back towards the train. Daget waited for his attention to be engaged elsewhere and headed to the Gypsy wagons. The area was a well-practiced bustle of activity, and he managed to catch a word here and there from his limited vocabulary.
"Santi" he called out the greeting in their language, "hello!"
A woman came forward with a suspicious look. Daget bowed deeply and used up a few more of his repertoire, speaking in what he hoped was a good accent.
"Luck to you and your family, I will be traveling with the Prozul train to sing and play, you are welcome to come and listen, I would like to learn your music as well."
She smiled amiably and ushered him into their camp to introduce around. He caught every third word or so of what she said to him, but to his relief she didn't seem to expect a response. When she reached a man putting out the last of their campfires she introduced Daget with some triumph. Daget caught his own name and the words "Prozul" and "liraca" in the tirade before she turned back to him and introduced her fellow gypsy.
"Satiajo." She announced, pointing to the man, "liraca...mu-sik."
He understood and bowed to the man before offering his hand. The man Satiajo took it willingly and returned the bow.
"Welcome," he said in accented common, "I look forward to sharing some new songs, and you're welcome to join our fire once the Prozul's have turned in for the night."
"I thank you, and also on the behalf of my daughter. I hope you will allow your children to spend time with her, she doesn't have the opportunity often to play."
Satiajo looked over at the fierce little redhead leading the "troops" and chuckled.
"Who will allow or disallow those of her age to do anything? They seem to be enjoying their games, I will ask mine to not play too roughly."
"Do not trouble yourself, please; it wouldn't be fair to them unless I ask the same of her!"
He spent some time discussing their caravan and complimenting the health of their horses, picking up some new words before returning to the Prozul wagons to begin the journey.
Each night her father would play long classical ballads for the Prozul family, and told patriotic tales until the moon rose. Then while the family slept Daget and Amber would make their way to the Gypsy camp, where fast improvisational tunes wove together and challenged all who listened to dance. Daget and Satiajo learned each others' styles and created new styles together through the long evenings. Amber learned quickly to eat lightly of the hard rations served by the Prozuls to save room for the exotic hot dishes of the Gypsies: from bubbling goat cheeses eaten with crusty bread to brandy-soaked pancakes lit afire and tossed high in the air to delighted shouts and served with sweet preserves.
She watched in fascination as the men displayed their peculiar fighting style, more dance than battle. Their moves were hypnotic, a curved blade in either hand catching the light of the fire as the edges met in ceremonial combat. The older children taught her the basics they'd learned from birth, using curved Kukri daggers instead of the adult Scimitars. She worked tirelessly at it, ignoring blisters and cuts to be able to join the youngest children in a performance for the tribe. The fact that she was in a display of children two to four years younger did not daunt her, and her father's standing ovation meant much more to her than the accolades of the tribe.
By the end of the three month trip the folklore and customs of the Gypsy family were ingrained in Amber. She'd had palm and cards read for her and carried charms against the evil-eye. One of the older girls braided Amber's hair into long, tiny red-gold ropes down to her shoulders, telling her the braids would confuse the spirits that brought ill fortune.
Three months flew like lightning, and Amber felt her time in this exciting new world running out. She made an attempt to be sad and mournful, but there were too many things to catch her interest and inspire laughter every day. Only when the caravan pulled into its final destination and began to offload did Amber manage tears at the thought of leaving her new friends. Her father received his pay and recommendation from the Prozuls, and attempted to console her by heading to a weapons shop. He found her a Kukri blade of her own, delicately etched with the image of a climbing vine in full leaf. When he presented it to her she spared only a nostalgic sigh for the memories it evoked before she was completely distracted by its beauty and balance.
With the Kukri dagger displayed proudly in her belt she followed her father to an Inn for lunch. Her father wisely began retelling one of Gander's old stories, turning her thoughts back to the tavern in Lansovar she called home. The recommendation from the Prozuls was enough to get them a job bringing a set of three horses safely to Lansovar, where they'd been sold to a noble family. With no wagons to slow them they were home in just over a month, Daget riding one horse and leading the third. He collected the pay still owed him and headed for the May Leaf Tavern.