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mundane_realms2020-10-11 08:37 am
dm_screen) wrote in mundane_realms2020-10-11 08:37 am
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Bardsong's First Test-Drive Meme!
How to Use:
It all began when you fell from the skies above, wreathed in flame. When you landed, you learned that you weren't alone: So many others, each from worlds entirely different from yours, have found themselves in his predicament, and know about as much as you do! The locals greet you with a cautious friendliness, welcoming you to the town of Concord. They tell you that the world was broken apart mysteriously not long ago, and are trying to devise ways to step far beyond the town borders to find where the rest of the globe went, get to the bottom of things.
But your arrival is nothing short of a blessing. Perhaps you, the Starfallen, are the answer to their prayers. They explain how live presently works in Concord, they give you that tour of their guilds, and even give you a place to stay at Concord Crossing, where you're randomly assigned roommates. You hope your roommates are amicable...
In the days following, after shaking off the shock of your current situation, you find yourself beginning to integrate into Concord life. But while you await word from the local researchers among the many guilds dotted through town, each looking for new members to bestow their teachings, you need to fill your pockets with precious, precious sol. You'd also heard that there was to be a celebration very soon, and everyone is invited. A little partying never hurt anyone, right? Besides, free food!
Now, where to begin...?
I. More Than This Provincial Life
Concord, the large city that it is, hosts many opportunities for work. Between the multiple quarters and their specialties, just about anyone can find a job. With the isolation from the rest of the world, employers eagerly welcome the Starfallen with part time or temporary work (Apparently, all full time positions are taken and employers conspicuously nudge people out the door if they spend too much time on the clock) to coincide with the life of an adventurer. For those who wish for something to do and a source of income outside of quests, there's always an honest day's wage to be made! With the exception of a few tasks the South Quarter may have to offer, but those aren't the kind of jobs spoken of too loudly.
I-A. Magicka Cleanup Detail
The Concord Magic Academy, between bright-eyed students trying their best and young nobles whose admission was paid in cash, sees quite a few accidents in its halls. Alchemy experiments, wayward fireballs, testing theories given by their Occultist friends, anything can come up and make a mess of a lab or a classroom. As such, the academy welcomes the brave and the patient to the field of custodial engineering, especially those with strong stomachs and combat experience. It wouldn't be the first time stains fight back or gravity ceased to be, so on top of keeping to their own personal hygiene standards, employees are expected to be thorough in their cleaning and expect the unexpected.
I-B. Amazing Paperboy Deliveries
The Concord Truthogram is dedicated to bringing the truth right to the doors of paying customers as soon as the next issue is ready. They're looking for delivery workers and runners equally dedicated to I bringing the truth to subscribers! Runners will need to deliver newspapers all across Concord before dawn breaks. Subscribers are all throughout the city, so runners are encouraged to find an optimal route and coordinate with their co-workers to bring the truth the world in a timely and orderly manner! This job favors the agile, as early Concord mornings are filled with people bustling through the streets and occasional hazards to trip up the distracted runner. Try not to make too many mistakes, as unsatisfied customers will unsubscribe and deny themselves the gift of the Concord Truthogram. Watch out for stray dogs and the occasional grim reaper.
II. O Valley Of Plenty, Whoa-oh-oh!
Working at a coffee shop or helping to organize a wizard's dusty study isn't for everyone, and the people of Concord understand. Every world runs on some currency, and here, it's known as the 'sol'. For those looking to do a 'dirtier' work, the citizenry helpfully direct the Starfallen to the Men-At-Arms Guild, your source of monster-busting work!
Lit by the glow of lanterns, the following work is looking for takers, posted on a large board outside the guild:
II-A. Rabites!
"We need someone to handle the Rabite problem! A couple that chooses not to be named found a pair and decided to raise them as pets, but they have since bred out of control into feral, very bitey colonies. They may look cute and cuddly, but you may need to bring a friend to be on the safe side."
Reward: 50 sol per pelt
II-B. Bumps in the Night!
"We need graveyard shift relief for the town guard posted along the outskirts of Concord. Lately, the guards have been reporting strange noises through the night, and have seen an influx of ghoul sightings coming down from the nearby hills. Take care care not to get bitten; it won't make you like them, but it will make you sluggish and leave you as easy prey."
Reward: 800 sol a night + 100 sol per head
III. Like One of Those Music Videos
While typically only those following the paths of their departed founders and enduring Masters of the Manor are granted entry to the Glistering Estate, the Guild of Steel and Lace nonetheless occasionally open the gates to outsiders. Oftentimes, this is simply to showcase a performance at the theatre, or to offer a chance for newcomers to join their ranks; today, however, is a special occasion: the anniversary of the Estate's groundbreaking. For the evening, the entire Estate grounds have been made available to the residents of Concord, and an exquisite buffet has been prepared for all who would raise a glass to their Founders. Many who come may be tempted by the lavish wealth on display, but aspiring thieves and troublemakers must be warned: Behind the gold and silk lies a house packed to the brim with the likes of veteran Paladins and entrapping illusionists.
III-A. Black Tie...?
Before one is permitted entry to the Estate proper, they must be willing to show a modicum of due deference and wear the proper attire. For an open-door event such as this, simple and tasteful formalwear will suffice; a collared dress shirt or modest blouse, at the very least. Fortunately for those who cannot afford- or, as is sometimes the case, simply forgot- such fineries, the Guild of Steel and Lace happily provides attire of the sort worn by their own members on the estate grounds, and their stocks accommodates all shapes and sizes. Unfortunately, their standard attire inevitably takes the form of service attire such as maid outfits and butler uniforms. They have even provided booths to change in private, so please, don't make a scene.
III-B. Upper, Upper Class High Society!
Once inside, the guests have freedom to enjoy the manor's full facilities; the Guild of Steel and Lace have spared no expense in setting up food options from their in-house chefs ranging from terrestrial crab legs and tropical fruits to... erm... unfamiliar flora or fauna that are unidentifiable, but thoroughly delicious. At least, to the locals who have already acquired the taste. Additionally, The theatre is hosting an ongoing series of performances from the Guild's bards, though they're not above letting the Starfallen have their turns at the microphone. Nonetheless, from ballroom to gardens to bathhouse, the entire estate is open to visitors, so why not have a look around...?
no subject
"The dead love tributes and elegies, this is true. Undead, however..."
He strums more thoughtfully, then stops. "Never cared much for them."
He was fully willing to be obnoxious and tone deaf if that's what it took to make them come out and play. He had full faith in his partner's ability to handle that. He starts strumming again, though, despite that willingness can't seem to bring himself to do it anyway and plays with more melodic harmony and purpose. Slow high notes, something like a prayer come from his fingers, and he curls the tip of his tail around the neck of his lute to further aid in the soft ethereal sound. Ghouls don't deserve his voice. He'll conversate with Cecil instead.
"Your armor reminds me of a dwarf I used to travel with." Ill-fitting, he means, but he'll cull his tongue in Kobold company. "She liked to think she could make everyone see the light."
no subject
He wasn't fully sure how the classes let him do such things, but it's a welcome change. It allows Cecil to take a stance atop a rock while Rakka plays, indulging in a more active sort of meditation. Martial arts in rhythm to the lute's music, incorporating the sword while shifting between stances and demonstrating a few moves here and there.
"The armor is still rather cumbersome, however."
no subject
"Monks do well without it. But perhaps this change will bring a good challenge." He contemplated a change of his own here in Concord, but music had become so ingrained in his identity and self-perceived purpose he wasn't sure what he'd do in absence of that. If he had any worth beyond that or living vicariously through others and through said music.
"Grow strong with weights, then fly free without them."
no subject
"While my monastery did employ similar training methods, that statement remind me of an old story I heard somewhere. It was of a wandering swordsman traveling the world, aiming for goals far beyond his reach. One day, such goals were literally out of his reach, but as the swordsman was a compassionate man, the people he helped on this day offered to repay his generosity. Through heavy weights around his legs and rigorous training, he learned to 'jump good', as I was told. High enough to touch the sky..."
Cecil plants his sword into the ground, moving from the rock to balancing himself on the hilt. "...Coincidence, don't you think, that such warriors exist in this world? Dragoons, they call them. Warriors with the spirits of dragons..."
no subject
"Naturally, they borrow one extra letter from Dragon. As close as one can get." It's a dry quip but he hopes not enough to take away from the gravity of the conversation. It is nice to have deeper conversations like this with another kobold--his former party members just wouldn't understand or relate as well. Rakka watches Cecil balance on his sword's hilt with rapt interest, though his strumming doesn't miss a beat.
"All kobolds carry the blood and spirit of Tiamat in them. This is nothing that can be taken away from us. We can be dragoons of dragoons, in a way. I am sure your monastery is proud."
no subject
"You would be the first to think so."
The blue kobold confides. It's...not a subject he likes getting into, but Rakka would understand it better than most. It's what gets Cecil to hop off the sword's hilt and instead take a seat beside the bard, an uncertainty running through him and escaping through a sigh.
"It is true, that we carry Tiamat's blood and spirit. For my clan, perhaps others, she took it a step further. All the hatred, the prejudice kobolds endure, she nurtured it, let it twist them into becoming her soldiers. In exchange, we were taught to harness that anger through a martial arts fashioned after the elements she controls: the Five Forms of Destruction. It's a clever plan, I will admit, but one with a paradoxical caveat: if they are trained to hate and spite those who wronged them, what is one to do if they were wronged by their clan? Their goddess, even? The hypocrisy of kobolds hating and judging the smallest among them perpetuates lady Tiamat's teachings, but goes against them all the same."
He lays back a little, taking off his top hat and monocle. "In truth, I do not miss my clan. Though much of what I've endured lingers, if only through constant self-reflection, I am glad to be rid of them. Perhaps they think of me as a traitor or a heretic, but if I may confide in you further, Rakka? I welcome the day I don't describe myself with their words. I suppose part of that fuels my interest in dragoons; through them, perhaps I could be proud of my draconic heritage."
no subject
The more Cecil talks and explains however the more his heart swells with turmoil and strife that isn't his. His fingers twitch, urge him to release that emotion inspiration in his lute; something somber, determined, damaged, steadfast, rebirth and transformation from the wound of betrayal. Rakka keeps his fingers still however, having more vested interest listening. This is a tale of a fellow kobold, and this tale is unfortunately a painfully relatable one.
The Five Forms of Destruction easily conjures the mental image of Tiamat's mighty heads, each one maw open wide and releasing each element of destruction related to them. Come to think of it, Cecil was blue colored... was he gifted with electrical immunities and abilities in that vein? Rakka himself carried some plainly obvious black dragon attributes between the scale colors and the way his horns curved forward.
"Mmm... there is a hypocrisy in those teachings." Rakka wanted to immediately defend the idea that no kobold would or should ever betray another, but, he knows all to well that is just not true.
"If you are a traitor then I am as such as well." He finally strums a little of that release, making a soft noise just for the sake of it, as if to start a grand song and tale of his own but he suddenly stills the strings again, thoughtful.
"You may have her blood but her strength is yours to make." He hesitates, has difficulty speaking as if he knows he is giving condolences that he himself has a hard time listening to. So much easier when he doesn't have to take his own advice. Pretend this is not for him. It is not for him.
"So seek to be proud of yourself for what you have become, not what is or was wanted of you. I shall stand by that no matter what form it takes you, Cecil."
no subject
Would he say the same thing in the black kobold's position? Possibly. Difference is he's hearing it from someone else. "Then I hope to one day be as proud of myself as others believe I should be."
Sensing his companion's turmoil, he nudges Rakka a little. "Still, it speaks of our perseverance that we made it this far, doesn't it? Perseverance...and perhaps a fair share of luck. For me, at least."
no subject
He strums, realizing he's never written a song about himself, especially so on-the-spot. Perhaps it's for the best and even though it's uncomfortable but he tries, voice warbling but words quietly coming.
♫ "Luck comes in all shapes and sizes, conveniently or not at all,
Luck sings softest to itself, and loudest with, heh, alcohol...
Luck can fell even the mightiest of dragon's crown.
Luck had nothing to do with it... The story of how proud Nightscale was slain down.
Scales black as ichor and heart filled with acid, Nightscale ruled a Kobold clan.
He made his children made in his likeness, never content with the image he planned.
Thus a divide grew between them; those with wings and those without.
But what, may I ask is in-between? Is it with, or is there doubt?
Useless wings, a useless not; but this one sings and crafts songs.
Sweet enough to to sooth acid bile, as often and as long as it took.
An instrument, it is decided, the in-between wrought is.
An instrument, after a while, grows worn and weary... grows curious what might happen in silence.
Was it fear, was it cowardice, was it loyalty astray?
That the instrument fell quiet when something bigger than Nightscale came on a crusade..." ♫
By the time he finishes part one he was unaware by the time he was describing the in-between wings, his own wings had burst out of the back of his vest for dramatic flare. They're too small to functionally fly but they're a part of him as much as the rest of him is. Feeling the draft of the night's air on them makes him realize and he recoils them with a modicum of embarrassment. He thinks he was just starting to feel the groove of this song when it is, perhaps now predictably, about to be interrupted. The ground trembles and the tell-tale moan of ghouls finally breaks in the near distance, and beady eyes pierce through the tree-line around their campfire.
Rakka levels Cecil with an eager grin. This was nice, but this is what pays.