The inn bustled with activity as the early evening guests began shuffling in. The next act would start soon and already the serving girls weaved about the tables plying drink and large steaming bowls of dragon-turtle stew, as it was called by name if not entirely true by contents. Doubtlessly made from the smaller variety of horned turtle that were common in the waters of Lake Tuskwater but a popular choice nonetheless by the Inn’s patrons.
Therod waited for another ale as the door to the Dragon’s Rest Inn opened and two of Stagfell's elite Yellow Hand guards walked through the door. They didn't look like much but he expected them and so didn't react to their presence other than to scowl.
The pair of Yellow Hands moved carefully through the crowd, making their way to the back of the common room. Their orders were short and simple: wait for the cloaked women to meet with the bard Grigori and arrest them on charge of unlawful prostitution.
Therod watched as the guards moved to climb the stairs closest to the bar. The two stopped to stand in the dim light of the stair balcony and leaned against the railing. The two tried to look inconspicuous but were obviously watching the stage below. Unsure of their intentions Therod thought better to watch the scene play out . It would be more telling to see who reacted to the coming spectacle than the spectacle itself.
Somewhere behind the stage curtain a musician strummed absently while carefully tuning a mandolin. The sounds are faint at first but increased as the chatter about the main room grew more gregarious and excited.
Two large everburning torches flared suddenly and died back down drawing all attention to the stage. A large man that could only be the bard Grigori stepped from behind the curtain with a flourish. The man’s fingers, as large as sausages, fly faster than the eye can follow across the strings of his mandolin. The melody began soft but built slowly until it exploded with a sound that resonated from the timbers in the room. The large man then began singing in a rich baritone:
Sit down dear friends and listen to me! Of a tale known far and wide.
A tale of men, not just ordinary men, but travelers like you and I!
Truth and justice are their fare
They break their fast on villainous plots,
HO NO! Not just ordinary men, but travelers like you and I.
RE-DEEE-MEERS!
*Grigori strums rapidly in finale as the crowd joins in*
REDEEMERS!
With that the bard entered into a short but well known song of the Redeemers defeating the bandits of the stolen lands. Acting a tad winded, Grigori settled down onto a stool and sipped from a large foamy tankard and began talking and making light of daily affairs in Stagfell. The bard poked fun at the fishing trade to which the fishermen lend hardy laughter and light-hearted jeers. With a deft tongue he brought smiles to the crafters as he teased of the strange habits of loggers that deliver oddly woman-shaped logs to their shops.
After this short dialogue Grigori began another song. It evoked terror and fright from the audience as he told of the looming threat of the troll king Hargulka, a giant as large as a house! He then began again the refrain from the Redeemers! He told of the great lords of the realm beating back the troll hoard and bloodying the nose of the foul troll king to which the crowd cheered! It was a marvelous telling but with little basis on fact.
Next Grigori related a funny story about a merchant from Stagfell outwitting a Restovian penny-purser beholden to the Aldori Sword Lords to which the crowd guffawed and yelled comments to great hilarity. Finally, the bard closed with a beautiful and heart warming ballad that told the tale of a love that had kept two lovers apart for so long. It was a stirring ballad and it was only at the end that the audience learned it was a story of Lord Balian and his betrothed Svetalana. The crowd clapped their hands heartily and yelled, standing as the bard got up and walked off stage with a final sweeping bow.
Red-faced and sweat beaded upon his brow, Grigori stepped down from the backstage stair and into the lovely arms of two shapely girls. Grinning the man turned and found himself looking into the stern faces of two guards, their yellow tabards obvious even in the dim light. Grigori broke into a wide grin.
“Pardon me gentlemen, as you can see I have a previous engagement I simply must attend. You understand of course?”
“Sir, you are hereby detained for unlawful prostitution under the orders of Warden Zuhair al Hassein in the name of Baron Corso. Please come with us, and your lady friends too.” The guards led the bard toward the front doors.
As the yellow hands escorted Grigori to the door Therod stood up and moved into their path. “So what are we going to listen to now? More bleating from you yellow peacocks about the glory and grace of your goddess?”
“That is of no concern to us. Judging by your insolence, you could benefit from the light of Sarenrae. Now move out of the way.”
Therod didn’t move, "Well from the look of it the only place that hasn't seen any light is that space underneath them helms your wearing. Just let the man enjoy his ladies. If he doesn't want to go to no whore house that is his business, perhaps the man values his privacy."
The guard waved and motioned to the other Yellow Hand, “Take this one to the drunk stocks to cool off. If he gives you any trouble, knock him out and throw him in a cell.”
As the Yellow Hand guard approached Therod pulled back, “I warn ye boy I don’t want you to think I will go as quietly as the fat man there is.” with that Therod started backing out the door of the Dragon’s Rest, all the while keeping an eye on the other patrons to gauge their reaction to this little drama that played out in front of them. He noticed the head cook watching from the bar taking a keen interest in what was going on.
The guard grabbed Therod by the arm and pushed him out the door. “Keep moving. We’ll see how you like a night in a cold cell.”
Therod attempted to resist the guard, but in his drunken state he just stumbled over his own feet as the guards lead the small group of drunk, bard and prostitutes to the castle dungeon. A regular cult of personality.
