Fredas 4th of Heartfire 4E201 Evening

Benor

Today might well be the day I crack.

"Lurbuk! For the love of Stendarr, quit that infernal playin', 'fore I cut off your fingers. Swear you've gotten worse."

The thrice-damned Orc just chuckles, his jarring lute notes buzzing. "Ah, Benor. Jealousy does not suit you. Worry not, I won't steal the love of Jonna from you."

"As if either of you had a chance," Jonna retorts from the bar. She give me a look of half-apology, but I know she won't do anything about him or me, business as it is. And actually breaking the greenskin's fingers would probably end my hopes of becoming a guard, so I instead just ignore him and focus on my ale. I'd do anything to stop harvesting peat, but gathering herbs or chopping wood don't seem much better to me. Not much else to choose from in a place like Morthal.

As I'm thinking about whether another drink would be worth Lurbuk's headache, I hear the door open and close. Judging by Jonna's bright greeting, it must be a traveller. Surprisingly, Lurbuk's 'singing' doesn't send him scurrying off into the night. Deaf or desperate for a drink. Neither minds me.

I decide Jonna's ale is worth another song, and head to the bar. I sit a couple stools down from the traveller. Not close enough to bother him, but hopefully he's chatty and has some news or some story to share. "Another one, Jonna." She grabs my tankard, and I get a quick look at the man. Definitely not a Nord, but some kinda human. Nice clothes, no armor, full pack. Must just be stopping in on his way somewhere. But where?

Jonna sets my mug back in front of me, and another in front of the traveller, just as Lurbuk finishes his last 'song,' pausing for applause that never comes. It's almost impressive, his confidence when absolutely no one like him. "Sorry 'bout the music," I say to the man beside me. "He started rentin' a room here a season ago, and won't leave."

For a moment, I think he won't respond, til he says, "Tis fine. Sadly not the worst playing I have heard." A particularly jarring note reaches my ear, and we both grimace. "Possibly the worst singing though. Talao is the name."

"Benor. Aye, that's Lurbuk. But this wench behind the bar won't kick him out."

"Watch yourself," says the wench, "Else you'll be the one I kick out. Business this slow, I need all the income I can get."

"Pray pardon, but don't you think you might have more patronage with a more… soothing atmosphere?"

"'Swhat I keep tellin' 'er," I say. "But she always says-"

"A steady room is better than you drunken louts coming in on whatever night you please, yes I do say." She polishes a clean tankard; she always does that when she's stressed. "You're the first traveller here in weeks. Anyone headed to or from Solitude just stops at Dragonsreach and then sticks to the main roads. Even the alchemists and lumber tradesmen have stopped coming since-" She abruptly stops, lips pinching together.

Talao leans forward. "Well if that isn't the most obvious hook for a good story. Since what?"

She hesitates. "Don't wanna scare you off."

"Oh, come off it, Jonna. 'Slike this." I turn to face him fully, and he seems interested for once. "'Bout a Masser ago, ol' Hroggar's place burned down, with his wife and kid in it. Wouldn't have been much to that that besides a tragedy, except Hroggar moved in with another woman before his family's graves were settled. Alva's her name, and Hroggar ain't the only man she's seduced."

"Speaking from experience, Benor?" Jonna grins at me.

"Hardly. Not that she hasn't tried, but I'll not cuckold another man. And something ain't right with her."

"So you think, what, Hroggar murdered his family to lay with Alva?"

"So says most of the town, but I don't think so." I stroke my beard. "She certainly has no problem sleepin' around even now; I can't imagine Hroggar destroying his life just for a different bed. And there's also whispers of… ghosts." I whisper the last. Don't want to invite their presence. "Some think the local mage might be behind that."

"Not this again," Jonna sighs.

"I know Falion is your brother, Jonna, but he practices necromancy! You tellin' me that's not suspicious? Maybe he burned down the place to get some fresh corpses or summat, I dunno."

"Benor fancies himself a detective, but he can't put two and two together, let alone realize that Firion is a more respectable man than he could ever be."

"Whatever!" I throw my hands in the air, ignoring the grin on Talao's face. "Point stands, people keep seein' a ghost 'round the ruins of Hroggar's old home, that runs whenever someone comes by. Means she died an unclean death. Scares people off, and now we're stuck with this damn Orc raping our ears every night."

"Quite the conundrum," the traveller says. "And no one has made any progress on the mystery?"

"Nobody wants to look into it at all. Small town, big superstitions." Jonna fills our mugs again. "Let the dead lie, they say, but they're just afraid."

We all drink, but we're interrupted by an unwelcome guest. "Well, what did you all think of that song? I saw you all talking, and I can only assume you were praising my skills, so I came to grace you with my presence."

"Lurbuk, I can honestly say your presence here is only tolerable thanks to the amount of alcohol in my body." To prove her point, Jonna knocks back the rest of her drink.

Smiling like the dimwit he is, Lurbuk says, "You say the nicest things, Jonna. And you, traveller. What think you of the dulcet tones of Lurbuk the Bard?"

"Well, I can honestly say I have never heard anything like it."

He smiles even wider. "Why thank you!"

"Twas not a compliment."

I snort as Lurbuk's smile dies a little. "Come now," he says, "What would someone like you know of the artistry of bardism? What have you ever done?"

I can see Talao stiffen a mite as he says that. "Perhaps you'd best not judge a man you know not, Lurbuk. You might not like the repercussions."

"Is that so? You haven't proven anything to me. For all I know you're just some other nobody with no ear for genius."

Talao give a loud sign, and an apologetic look at Jonna. He chugs the rest of his ale - pretty impressive with how thin he is - then lays into Lurbuk.

"What do I know about the bardic arts? Let me tell you, Lurbuk the Tone-Deaf. See, I have heard of you before, at the Bard's College in Solitude, where I studied for some time. I have spoken to those poor souls that tried to teach you. They could not drill a single chord into that thick skill of yours, nor coax a single note from your voice that did not sound alike the rutting of Trolls."

"Uh…"

"Five times did Headmaster Viarmo expel you from their ranks, only for you to show up the next morning, like a stubborn piece of dung clinging to a shoe, or a leech sucking the life from everyone around you. Only after his students begged him to do something did he allow you to 'graduate,' so that you would finally leave Solitude, and told you to spread your 'gift'… as far from them as possible."

"I…"

"What do I know?! I have sung songs and witnessed and told stories that your addle-pate could never comprehend. Your playing bears more resemblance to the screeching of Chaurus than it does music. You would cause a Hagraven to commit suicide sooner than listen to your stories. In fact, I am now convinced that the Dwemer removed themselves from Time itself because they saw your coming in an Elder Scroll, and decided that exile would be preferable to the minuscule chance of hearing one ruined note of your voice. YOU, sir, are an embarrassment to the good name of bards and musicians of all kinds everywhere, and if you had any sense, you would sew your mouth shut, before breaking your own fingers, and then find the most desolate empty mountain to live upon, so that you would never again visit the travesty of what you call music upon another living soul in all your time on Mundus."

Stunned silence. The only sound for a moment was the crackling fire in the hearth. I see Lurbuk open his mouth several times as if to say something, but he seems speechless for the first time ever that I have seen. Eventually, he turns his back on us and walks to his room. He shuts the door behind him.

"I apologize," Talao says. "I'm not usually so harsh, but it has been a rough week."

"That… was… the most amazing thing I have ever seen. Heard. Whatever. Wow, Talao."

Jonna seems conflicted. "If I wasn't so sloshed, I might be more upset. I hope you didn't just run out my only renter, Talao."

He grimaces. "I'm sorry. Let me make it up to you. How much for a room?"

"Five septims a night."

He hands over a rather hefty bag. "Here's seventy for the next fortnight in advance. I'll likely not be here that long, but I don't know how long my task will take me. And I'll gladly play some decent music in the evenings for you when I am here. Maybe I can even find someone else to replace me if I send a missive to Viarmo."

"That's all well and good," I say, "but I doubt anyone would want to set up here while travellers are still avoidin' the town."

"Then I'll help with that as well." Jonna and I are both clearly surprised at that, as Talao responds, "What? Ghost stories, love, and betrayal? Sounds like a good story to discover for me. I would like some help with mine own task after, though."

"If you help us rid the town of this curse, Talao, I'd follow you 'gainst a damn coven of vampires."

Talao grins. "Hopefully nothing that terrible where I'm headed. So, here's my plan…"

As Jonna and I listen in, I can't help but think. Maybe I'll be a guard before this is all done after all.

A/N

One Masser: I've used this phrase as a replacement for the antiquated "one moon" that finds its way into most pseudo-medieval stories. Since Masser and Secunda have different lunar cycles, (30 days and 24 days respectively) I felt it made sense to specify which moon, rather than saying "one month" or "last full moon".

Also, I hope I realistically crushed Lurbuk's spirits enough here. I doubt anyone will really be mad at me for that, but if it makes you feel better, I may have just saved him from the Dark Brotherhood. Or maybe not. Who knows?