"Good evening my lords and gentle dames. Settle with thine ale and I shall regale you with my latest piece, 'The cautionary tale of Thorg the Half-Orc, who dismissed his thief and was sliced in two by a trapped treasure chest.'"
The barman rolled his eyes and polished an empty tankard. It was gleaming, just like all the other cups. Business had been slow lately and he had hoped that allowing the gormless young lad to sing his soppy ballads would bring in more customers. So far it was not working. Garrick's 'lords and dames' consisted of an elderly and slightly deaf dwarf, whose semi-dependant relationship with alcohol had paid the tavern's taxes for the last five years, and a doe-eyed young thief whose shoes were worth more than the whole establishment.
Maybe he did have Garrick to thank for Skie's continued custom. She clearly had a thing for bards. She used to come in from time to time with that slimy one, Eldoth, but he seemed to have fled town for some reason. Now she just sat at the table they used to share and moped. To the new bard's mortification, his usual ballads had made her cry.
"What would you like me to play instead my fair maiden?" he had asked earnestly.
This had earned a snort of laughter from the barman. Judging by the demonic sounds she and Eldoth had made in their rented room, she was a long way from being a maid. It would not surprise him if those noises and his recent loss of customers were related.
"Sing something about adventurers," she had sighed. "I want to hear about a real-life hero. Someone tall and strong and good looking. But male."
Garrick had not composed any songs that precisely fit this specification, but he had vowed to depart to his room (which was actually a bale of hay in the stable) and compose one for her at once. The trouble was that he only really knew one adventurer. He had been tall and strong for sure, and though Thorg was decidedly not good looking, since the half-orc was long dead, he felt that it would be ok to use a bit of artistic license.
.
"The half-orc Thorg, his courage burning,
His eye to Durlag's tower turning,
Greed and ambition fed his yearning,
To loot the treasures locked inside.
Alas, therein our hero died.
.
"Two friends joined him anticipating,
His violent thirst for monster baiting,
Would clear the way to riches waiting.
A thief joined him to trap disarm,
A wizard to save him from magical harm."
.
"This sucks!" heckled the dwarf. "Where's yer romance? Where's the human interest? I'm not emotionally invested in yer character, so why should I care if he died?"
"Romance! Right, ok," stuttered Garrick, panicking and resorting to some ill advised on-the-spot improvisation.
.
"Alora and Edwin soon started mating,
And Thorg, he found this irritating,
But nowhere near as badly grating,
As Alora's relentless need to talk.
For like a parrot she did squawk.
.
"He hired her services without knowing,
How the chatter would keep on flowing,
Despite his irritation growing.
Her conversation did not impress.
Thorg kicked her out to her distress.
.
"Alora followed whinging, wailing,
Upon his heels chasing, tailing,
'Til Thorg declared he'd be impaling,
The tiny and loquacious broad,
Upon his double-handed sword."
.
"'Broad?'" howled the dwarf, "Yer calling her a 'broad?' That's sexist that is! How are adventurers of the female persuasion supposed to circumvent the patriarchal gender stereotypes that limit the public recognition of their careers if bards like you go around referring to them as 'broads?'"
"I needed something to rhyme with sword!" spluttered Garrick desperately.
"Ford, roared, ignored, accord!" listed the dwarf. "BORED; which is what we are of yer bloody ballad!" He fist-bumped the barman.
"Please finish Garrick," smiled Skie weakly. "It wasn't quite what I had in mind but I was enjoying it."
.
"He and Edwin onward questing,
Their time, their skills, Thorg's life investing,
In from the hand of Durlag wresting,
The wealth abandoned long before,
When Durlag quit this mortal shore.
.
"Alas without a thief assisting,
They found the tower most resisting,
And yet Thorg carried on persisting,
Despite the many deadly snares.
At last one caught him unawares.
.
"A treasure chest Thorg was inspecting,
Gold in his greedy eyes reflecting,
Snapped shut, the hapless orc bisecting,
His legs flopped down upon the floor.
His top half lost forever more."
.
"Then with the cowardly wizard fleeing,
His red robes of Thay a-peeing,
Our hero ceasing to be being,
Learn from Thorg's brief and tragic tale.
Without a thief, your group will fail."
.
Garrick lowered his lute and hung his handsome head mournfully. Without needing to be asked, the barman handed the dwarf a bowl of fruit, kept handy especially for this purpose. The dwarf took careful aim then hurled three of them at the bard in quick and (considering how much he had been drinking) surprisingly accurate succession.
"Three tomatoes?" said the barman in a surprised tone of voice. "That's generous. Personally I'd have given him two."
"I only had a day to write it!" protested Garrick. "And he was hardly inspiring material. Now were I to write a sonnet in praise of Skie's exquisite beauty…"
"No, I liked this better," said Skie. "Thank you. I don't think you'd better sing it again though."
"Why not?" frowned Garrick.
"The wizard in the song? Edwin?" she said, "He's in town. I don't think he'll like it."
"I knew he was around, but I heard he had a spat with the Hero of Baldur's Gate over some woman called Dynaheir," said Garrick airily. "That's why I was so unflattering, every hero needs a good nemesis to go with them! Word in the taverns is he's going to be booted out of the city."
"What?!" snapped Skie, suddenly furious. "My beloved Eldoth was only banished a week ago and the 'hero' has moved on already? To hell with that! They're not splitting up Edwin and Dynaheir. I'm getting Daddy to put a stop to this right now, in the name of true love!"
Garrick barely had time to register the sudden change in atmosphere before Skie rose to her feet and stormed from the tavern, slamming the door behind her. He sat shell-shocked at the table for a moment, before the dwarf rose to his feet and patted the young lad on his tomato-stained back sympathetically.
"Next time skip the poetry and just try buying her a drink," he said sagely. "My advice to you."