Bardic

“It’s been, what, twenty-six years now, since the raid?  And any man worth his salt round these parts should know that he’d have shown his face around here by now, if he were still alive.  Hell, even if he were imprisoned in some abyssal hellhole you can bet gold he’d find a way to let people know he was still around.  I can see it now:  wake up one morning and plastered on the side of the town hall is a big note.  ‘Greetings and salutations, citizens of Creekwall.  I seem to have found myself in a bit of a predicament.  What with the seven pit lords constantly holding the other end of my shackles and my troublesome lack of eyeballs now, I do think you’ll be seeing quite a deal less of me around these parts.  I will however make my best effort to join you for next year’s harvest festival and recount the tale in full.  You are ever in my heart.  Signed, K.D. the Blue Bard’.”

 

{Again, something in my head that means nothing to me now, but might later.}

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