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AND YET AGAIN, ELSEWHERE, TO THE ESTATE OF THE LADY GRAVIN. THE EYE OF THE RAVEN IS BUSY...
In times of war, it was always difficult to find good servants and worthy entertainment. Here, on the ass end of the frontier, The Lady Gravin Maria-Ulrike von Liebewitz of Ambosstein had to make due with what she had. Gathered with the rest of her meager host of lords and ladies, squires and sycophants, the Gravin sat on a raised dais to watch the evenings entertainment; she nearly choked on the word.
The capering jester her Master of Entertainment had hired from the city streets tumbled into the room foolishly. He was nothing more than a half leprous painted drunk. The Gravin was nearly of the mind to hang the man on the spot. That would certainly liven things up.
"And now, for your pleasure Lords and Ladies..." the jester began.
"This is not for their pleasure, it is for mine!" The Gravin responded coldly, "Idiot..." It pleased her to torment this man. Yes, this would make due for the moment.
"Uh, of course m'lady Gravin," the jester replied, bowing low. He nearly fell over. A great laugh ripped through the room. The man looked ashamed. "Ahem--And now, for your pleasure Gravin I--"
"You will use my full and proper title," the Gravin responded, raising an arched eyebrow. It was her tell. She was about to do something unpleasant.
"Uhhh, oh, yes..." the fool stammered. "The, uh, Lady Emanuelle Ulrike--"
"THAT IS NOT ME! THAT IS MY DEAR AUNT!" the Mistress of Ambosstein howled in mock rage. She was enjoying herself now.
The room was deadly quiet now. The Gravin continued, "Master-at-Arms?"
"Yes, m'lady?" the Master-at-Arms replied, stepping forward with a curt salute, a long halberd held high bore the banner of the Gravin's proud house.
"This...man disrespects me. He will either address me by my proper title or you will kill him where he stands. Do you understand?"
"Yes, m'lady!" the soldier replied quickly. He was far too used to this kind of order to even consider disobeying.
"And now," the Gravin purred, leveling her gaze upon the sweating jester in the center of the room. "Carry on! Start from the beginning."
Needless to say, the poor man did not make it past the first lengthy title. He was dead before he hit the floor. Men and women loudly applauded as a pool of blood spread like a red mirror on the marble flagstones. A pair of guards appeared from nowhere and swept the body away down through the servants quarters.
"Ahhhh, well! Some excitement at last?" the Gravin said magnanimously. This tickled the fancy of the crowd who began to laugh. "What's to be next? Ah, send in the minstrel!"
The next man to appear was thin and fail, nothing more than a ghost. His lank red hair hung like wet razor lines down an otherwise handsome face.
"M'lady Gravin Maria-Ulrike von Liebewitz of Ambosstein," the Master of Entertainment said with a smile and a bow. The man knew his mistresses title well and was wise enough to wield it properly. "May I present to you Caspar the Red, Bard of the Balustrade, Warrior of Wolfenburg and lover of the unloved!"
A general gasp of interest filled the room. Caspar did not so much as stir, his face a mask devoid of emotion or insight. In his hands he carried a freshly painted lute, one that Gretta herself had found in the ruins of an abandoned inn. It had been in bad shape, but a little red paint and some tender attention had done wonders. Caspar clutched the thing like his life depended on it.
"Where did you find this man?" the Gravin asked, sizing up Caspar as a panther ponders it's pray. "He is not much to look upon, yet somehow I find his features...interesting."
"Ah, he is a veteran of some many battles we think, Gravin. He was found at the Hospice of Shallyah under the care of a young initiate. And indeed, he is not much to look upon. But when he sings and plays--It is a thing to behold!"
"Well then," the Gravin smiled. "Let us hear a song then. Proceed..."
Caspar's slender fingers began to work over the frets of the lute then, moving slowly at first, carefully, as if he were caressing the face of some long forgotten lover. It was a somber song, an odd counterpoint that seemed strangely fitting to near manic (and deadly) joviality of the court. The Lady Gravin and her servants sat attentively, listening, watching, taking in the entire scene with peaked interest. To Caspar, who was in truth only half aware, they seemed like a flock of vultures dressed in the fine robes of lords and ladies.
For some time the song played on like this, riding the hills of its somber tempo up and down, until at last the song was nearly at an end. Tears began to fill the eyes of those who listened and watched. It was only then that Caspar began to sing, a strange stanza of lyrics that had been repeating in his head over and over and over--
"Soft comes the wizard, burning from orange to blue
Large comes the player, changing them through and through
Angry falls the cleric, stifling what's within
Dumb falls the singer, failing now to grin
Strength to dwarven cannons, folly to the drinks
Blinded to the danger, captain beware the lynx
Lackless runs the tinker, to be played the fool
Bloody fights the Fate, let Lord of Chaos rule!"
The song ended. Silence. The Lady Gravin Maria-Ulrike von Liebewitz of Ambosstein stood from her seat then, her long form fitting robes flowing behind her. She began to clap, slowly at first, the others in the room soon began to follow suit.
"Caspar the Red is it?" the Gravin said at last, her face filled with awe and wonder. "Well played, sir. Well played! Master-at-Arms?"
"M'lady?!" the soldier snapped to attention yet again.
"I think I'll keep this one. Make sure all his needs are met. I want him fed, bathed and dressed, in my livery mind you, awaiting me in my chambers as soon as you are done."
"Yes, m'lady!"
For the first time in a long while, Caspar blinks...