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Post by Dungeon Master on Jan 3, 2017 2:43:36 GMT
In the Inn on a small stage brought in for this event people are being called up to perform. After all of the performances the crowd will pick a winner. Many have come into the inn to drink and watch the stage. They crowd together around the edges of the stage in the center of the inn.
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Post by Clive Ramsey on Jan 3, 2017 19:05:28 GMT
Clive sat near the edge of the stage, guitar in hand. He did not lack for confidence, being the only professional bard in the village, but still would not slack off in his performance.
"This was written for a young woman in Sparke, as an exercise in flattery. It worked, and yet it did not work. I like to imagine that the right woman has simply not heard me play it yet. The gods are mischievous with their gifts.
And then he played. (+5)
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Post by Dungeon Master on Jan 3, 2017 20:07:51 GMT
It was the serving girl, Mael who introduced Clive to the entire crowd. Few times in his life had Clive just looked up and known that the crowd was his. This was one of those times. From the first chords on the guitar every single person leaned forward, and swayed gently with the music. Mael herself raised a hand to her chest and a single tear ran down her face.
After he had finished Mael walked up to him and placed a hard kiss on his lips. The crowd rose to give him a dignified standing ovation.
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Post by Balneiros on Jan 3, 2017 20:33:11 GMT
Balneiros, who had considered performing tonight, clapped for his half-brother instead after his performance. The crowd, and likely the show, was clearly his.
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Post by Clive Ramsey on Jan 3, 2017 22:49:49 GMT
It was the serving girl, Mael who introduced Clive to the entire crowd. Few times in his life had Clive just looked up and known that the crowd was his. This was one of those times. From the first chords on the guitar every single person leaned forward, and swayed gently with the music. Mael herself raised a hand to her chest and a single tear ran down her face. After he had finished Mael walked up to him and placed a hard kiss on his lips. The crowd rose to give him a dignified standing ovation. Clive attempted to wave at the audience, set down his guitar safely, and return the kiss with only two hands, while simultaneously attempting to disembark the stage.
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Post by Dungeon Master on Jan 10, 2017 0:49:56 GMT
Daveth Neverborn, the black smith of the Verdant, entered the bar, and walked around to find Clive. He carried a long object wrapped in a brown sack cloth. He limped slightly from an old beholder wound. He stopped next to Clive and tried to get his attention.
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Post by Clive Ramsey on Jan 10, 2017 1:07:26 GMT
Clive gave the smith a curious look, before asking Mael to wait for him. He then approached Daveth. "Master Neverborn?" Clive had never done business with him, so he was quite puzzled as to why he might seek his company. He eyed the long object, wondering if it was a prize of some sort.
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Post by Dungeon Master on Jan 10, 2017 1:14:54 GMT
The dwarf replied just as formally, "Master Ramsey. As you know I am the smith of this village. I was commissioned by Wynnter to forge a blade for you." He tapped the item and waited for Clive to reply.
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Post by Clive Ramsey on Jan 10, 2017 18:19:15 GMT
Clive gave him a quizzical look, but nodded. He had never been exactly close to his adoptive mother, being only her husband's bastard and possessing radically different different approaches to life. Still, he had always respected her, and as parents and authority figures went, she was head and shoulders above most he had encountered.
He delicately took the item from it's creator and unveiled it.
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Post by Dungeon Master on Jan 10, 2017 19:12:31 GMT
Inside the ugly, brown cloth was a a finely wrought rapier. The blade was thin but still strong. Along the thin blade the notes to a song are etched. The basket was enameled with red roses circling it. The hilt seemed measured to his hand perfectly. It was a undoubtedly a masterwork.
Daveth stared at the blade with just a hint of pride. "That was crafted with Soulsteel. Forged in the Foundries of the Dwarven Empire. It will grow with you. Wynnter named it Prick. In your honor I believe."
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Post by Clive Ramsey on Jan 11, 2017 18:50:56 GMT
"That's... Rather disturbing. But thoughtful none the same." He went to the window and studied it in the sunlight. It was undoubtedly the most expensive thing anyone had ever willingly given Clive. Even his ever present guitar was acquired through illicit means. He whistled in awe as he studied the roses, and traced the notes.
"Master Neverborn... Did Lady Jora reveal her intent behind this gift?" He tested the balance and made a practice lunge.
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Post by Dungeon Master on Jan 11, 2017 20:42:32 GMT
"When I finished my lady project, I had just enough steel for a small sword. I was talking with her and she suggested I make you a rapier. So I have." Daveth replied on his rumbly voice that sounded like a small avalanche.
The blade fit perfectly in his hand and when he drove forward he felt that the blade was perfectly balanced. It felt like an extension of his own body not something he was holding.
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Post by Clive Ramsey on Jan 13, 2017 10:42:33 GMT
"Prick." A fitting name for the blade that ends Zelphar Jora.
Clive sheathed it in his old scabbard. "I'll show it to Lady Jora when I thank her in person. I don't know how she'll be anything but impressed."
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Post by Dungeon Master on Jan 13, 2017 13:24:45 GMT
Daveth snorted, "You clearly do not know Wynnter that well. As long as you appreciate my craft she can fuck a duck. A smith creates tools. Use it well. That is all I ask."
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Post by Clive Ramsey on Jan 14, 2017 4:45:41 GMT
"You''re right. I don't know her well. Which is why I find this gift perplexing. But it's in my hand now, so all that's left is the manner of its employment." He picked up his guitar. "Well, I have some more contests to attend. I have no doubt your skill will aid my own. A merry Dawnsday, Master Neverborn."
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