Aallandruil the Bard

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Role

Chapter 1

A hasty departure
Dear Mother and Father,

My deepest apologies for not requesting your permission to leave the Vale
of Darsylon in person but it has come to my attention that my poetry
while greatly appreciated by the Princess and her court may not be so
appreciated by the many suitors of her hand and those of her hand
maidens. I will include the poetry in question, that you may judge whether
or not it is quite so distasteful to some of her suitors. Be that as it may,
I have withdrawn from my role as a junior knight in training with the
High Guard and have taken my lute, harp, sword and a bed roll and
now make my way to Galadon. I do not know what I shall do, but I imagine
I can find work as a minstrel, or perhaps a caravan guard until things die
down in the capital.

Your loving son,
Aallandruil dy'Taallandriel

In a forest where moonlight did gleam,
Lived an elf with a wild, naughty scheme,
With a bottle of merlot,
By the stream's gentle flow
He indulged in his own steamy dream.

Role

Chapter 2

Dear Mother and Father,

As discussed in my previous letter, I was able to find work for as a
caravan guard working for a number of different merchants who play their
trade between Galadon and Hamsah. Unfortunately, I do not believe this is
a long term role for me. It seems my penchant for inappropriate limericks
has caught up with me. I did not think it was such a terrible poem, and many
of my fellow guardsman laughed uproariously that evening when I recited it
around the fire while we waited for the gates to Hamsah to open. However,
it seems too many of my fellow guardsman were sharing the limerick amongst
themselves the following morning which led to the Caravan Master to learn of it
and fire me on the spot. I will let you be the judge of the limerick but suffice to say
I am going to see if I can find some work in Hamsah for now. Speaking of
which, do you think the High Born are willing to let me back into Darsylon or
are they still upset? Its been fifteen years, I would like to think they are
finally over my tendency to recite naughty limericks.

Your Loving Son,
Aallandruil dy'Taallandriel

There once was a merchant so sly,
On a caravan 'neath the sky,
With a wink and grin,
He'd invite ladies in,
For a romp when the moonlight was high.

Role

Chapter 3

Dear Mother and Father,

I hope this letter finds you well. Please let me know if I am allowed to return
to Darsylon or if the High Born still hold me in disregard for my penchant to
recite awkward poetry?

In other news, I have decided to move from Hamsah to Galadon. I know you had
dreams of someday serving in the guard, but I believe that would be a misuse of
my talents. While I am proficient with the sword, I believe I excel in the
musical and poetic aspects of my life and have been encouraged by some of
my companions in Hamsah that a better use of my talents would be in the
Guildhall of the Bards.

Your loving son,
Aallandruil dy'Taallandriel

Some of the poems I have written over the past 15 years in Hamsah:

In a desert city so bright,
Lived a lady of charm and delight,
With a heart full of grace,
In the moon's soft embrace,
She found love in the still of the night.

There once was a saurian named Seshuri,
Whose passions were anything but weary,
In the jungle's embrace,
She'd find a wild place,
For romps that were bold, hot, and leery.

In the heat of the battle's fierce flare,
A warrior clashed without care,
With a thrust and a shove,
He fought and made love,
His cries filled the tumultuous air.

Role

Chapter 4

Dear Mother and Father,

I hope you are well and I am glad to hear that its only taken half a century
for the High Born within Darsylon to overlook my youthful indiscretions as a
poet. Be that as it may, my time in the bardic pursuits has flourished. I have
made many friends and written many poems. I do find myself from time to time
short on coins, do you think you could perhaps ship a few cases of Darsylonian
Red or Black? I do prefer the full bodied wines over the airy and crisp whites
that mother prefers. If you feel its within your generosity, you can ship it to
Debanhar's Music Hall in Galadon. Debanhar, one of the masters of my guild will
ensure it is held in safe keeping until she can deliver it to me.

More importantly though, I believe I was inspired by an Immortal the other day.
And before you ask, yes, I was drunk but no, I did not imagine it. I was
accompanied by my dear friend Sir Rhysapdruff, a dwarven paladin. Lord
Xathanael made an appearance as my dwarven friend and I struggled to eradicate
some zombies from the mausoleum in the NorthWest corner of Galadon. He inspired
my friend, and in response, I crafted a poem for him:

Lord Xathanael dark and grand
Came to the shadowed land
With a sword and a roar
He conquered and more
An immortal foe none could stand

Lord Xathanael thought it was an acceptable start. Which I agree in hindsight.
I can do better and have thus starting working upon a grand work of art. It
shall be a marching cadence for the Iron Legion. Something the centurions can
call out to the legionnaires as they march across the lands. I've finished the
first couple of stanzas but need more inspiration.

Oh hail, oh hail, the Legion's might
At our Lord's side we march through night
With armor white and swords held high
We conquer all beneath the sky

Oh Hail, Oh Hail, the Legion's might
At our Lord's Side we march through night
We protect all those who cannot flee
So pick up your sword and follow me.

Oh hail, oh hail, the Legion's pride,
Through storm and fire, at his side,
Our foes shall fall, our path is tred,
With every step, our honor spreads.

Oh hail, oh hail, the Legion's might
At our Lord's Side we march through night
We protect all those who cannot flee
So pick up your sword and follow me.

Oh hail, oh hail, we walk the path,
In battle fierce, you fear our wrath,
We sing our triumph, loud and long,
With every clash, our hearts grow strong

I hope you will be pleased by it and perhaps it will remove some of the
dishonor I have brought upon our family.

Your loving son,
Aallandruil dy'Taallandriel

PS. If you happen to hear tales or stories of the drunken poet, please pay them
no mind.

Role

Chapter 5

Dear Mother and Father,

I realize it may have been a few years since you last received a letter from me
but in the grand scheme of things, its only been a few years, not even a
decade. Furthermore, I believe we can consider myself an adult within Elven
Society, so sending an elven ranger to track me down was a bit much in my
opinion. Finally, you had no right to instruct said Elven Ranger to drag me out
of whatever "house of ill-repute" you might find your reprobate of a son.

I will have you know, I am a well-renowned poet and bard in Galadon and
Voralia. I receive compliments quite frequently on my singing and composing
skills. If the high born within Daryslon cannot abide by my muse choices, I
don't know what to say. Some folks, most noticeably, the high-born must have
poor taste.

Finally, there is nothing wrong with my alcohol consumption. Asking a renowned
healer and prophet of the fortress and a shaman of the fortress to suggest I
take it easy is unacceptable. Am I and adult or not? I am not an embarrassment
to our family name and if anything I believe I bring great credit upon it. I
would hope you could appreciate my artistic talents.

Your loving son,
Aallandruil dy'Taallandriel