Role

Chapter 3

After some time, the bard reappears near the makeshift stage,
settling onto a stool. His face is somewhat flushed, and his
eyes blur ever so slightly. In his hand, he holds a massive
goblet made of bronze, and, before speaking, he tilts it back
before his face, gulping down the wine that did not end up
running down his tabard. When he does speak, his voice
somehow remains clear and unaffected by the drink.

"This wine cup here, this chalice, well, one like it, figures
deeply into the future exploits of our young bard. See, he
ended up as a Keeper of the Balance, when Marintok was the
Rhyme."

At the sound of the name, a few folks at the bar turned around
and looked back at the speaker.

"Ah, good! So you know the Cliffjumper! As fine a leader as the
Isle had ever seen, or so the bards say. But he was some
inspiration for our young hero. As a Nexun, Talisin grew to
relish the thrill and the beauty of battle. He found his senses
sharpened when blood ran down his arms, and every sigh, sound,
and smell was intensified and more beautiful. To this end, with
Marintok's example, he sought out the blessing of the Imperator,
Akresius himself. Talisin knelt, mortal before the god and
Sanguine Chalice, and was there set upon a quest, to fill the
Chalice and prove his worth. He would face five foes in single
combat, and blood would flow."

The speaker pauses for another long gulp of wine, and looks around,
"Some of you know Marintok, then you, too, know Aoirse, onetime
Commander of the Battle Ragers. The two, Talisin and Aoirse, waged
a running battle across Thera. The giant was fierce, old yet still
strong, and grizzled with the scars of ancient wars. His strength
and his cunning were great, time and time again he forced back our
hero, as Talisin's blood flowed freely from deep wounds."

"And then, by a stroke of cunning or luck, the wood-elf crept back
upon the giant, and, with a somber tune, lulled him into a deep
sleep. Talisin's drum beat out soulful song after song, and a web
of illusions took shape around the commander, who, upon waking,
found himself trapped in a land of fog and mystery. The bard struck
then, and the Commander was confounded, his strength for naught,
and, when victory seemed at hand, he was off, fleet as a hare.
With a shake of his great head, as if casting off the illusions,
dashed away to the village and safety."

The bard stands again, and heads to the bar, as an unsatisfied
murmur arises in the growing crowd. He glances back and mutters,
"What? You thought our young hero already a match for Aoirse? No,
but that is a tale for another telling."