Bard's Bluffs

All that was left were making arrangements with the tenant farmers to begin paying their rents to Duke Bianchi, instead of himself. He was holding a feast in the Tenants Hall at the bottom of the so-called "Bard Bluffs" where the details would be worked out and where he could say goodbye.

The feast was this evening, and Percival was thinking on all of his plans.  He brought back to the current moment to the sound of horses coming up the gravel roadway from the valley below.  It was the Duke and his escort.  Percival heard the sound of the sea below.

The storms which are churned up in the Lupton Ocean can be devastating to the land which forms the northern edge of that massive body of water. Percival could name ten different vessels, captained by men he knew by name, which never returned after leaving southern ports.

But before there were kingdoms and battles, when men were new to the lands of Mikhal, they paid great respect to that body of water and legend has it they gave it a name, "Akerselva". In the ancient common tongue Akerselva meant, "water desert".

The legend said, "Only the flightful wander the forest. Only the hardy enter the Spine Desert. Only the foolish try to ride the Akerselva."

Percival, always wanting to learn, listened to these same tales when after he decided to spend the coin he'd earned as the Earl of the Triangle Lands in Renalse and then from his Bard's College, he decided to build a community between the swamps of Warisht and city of Gomenit.  He chose a location where within a days ride, he found white sand beaches, dense old forests and the southernmost extension to the long spine of the Desert of Despair.

Bolt upright, Percival sat in his bed, his linen soaked from the sweating of his occasional illness.

"Are you okay, m'lord?" Percivals 'Mother of the Kitchens' spoke that morning which had come after a harrowing night of fever and 'visions'.

"Seek the Mountains Heart Percival. Bring me back. I have died and I've much to do." The voice echoed around in his head.

Sadly, this wasn't the first vision he'd had, nor would it be the last of the same set the old man would have repeated in his dreams, especially when the swamp fevers would make their occasional return.

"It wasn't a man's voice, nor was it a woman's. It was like someone talking to me without speaking words. Everyone was dark, like a shadow, but there were white stripes across their faces instead of eyes. I dunno. They wear on me, Margaret." Percival was being tucked back into bed by the bucksome daughter of the kitchen 'Mother' several weeks later.

Percival saw the woman standing, punching up his down pillows.  He loved the look of the female form.  The curves.  The folds.  The 'jiggiliness' as he like to call it.  Percival did, and had always, liked the ladies.

"Come join me." Percival patted the bed. The mischievous glint had returned to his eye.

"And what would Mother say to me, finding me in the bed of our lordship, then?" She had a look of lady who knew her worth and made sure no one took advantage of it. "And I can see you do be a-feel'n better as well."

Percival pouted and tried to use his well skilled persuasive talents, "I'll sing you a song."

"Oh. Now what sort of a woman do you take me to be that I'd shimmy out of my chainse at the first chorus, eh?"

Percival sighed at the shadow and outline formed in the candlelight of the young lady who stood before him.  At the thought of the woman's two 'orbs of pleasure' draped across his chest, Percival actually shivered or was it from the fever causing the sweating? "I understand Margaret."

"No you don't, and that's what I love about you most, m'lord." She leaned over him, kissing him on this sweaty forehead. The maneuver afforded the old man a clear view down the white garment which covered the woman's body.  'Did she do that on purpose?  My goodness... what a body.  Why you old bastard, you!  Lusting over a woman who could be your grand-daughter.  Oh well... Once a bard, always a bard!' Percival thought and laughed to himself.

"It seems your fevers broken. I'll check back on you soon with some more water and a wee bit of soup."

"Make sure you announce yourself, my lovely.  After seeing your curvy delights, I may be deep in... umm... Percival self-motivation."

She looked at the old man in the bed like a school matron looked at a naughty boy. She made her trademark 'hurmph' and turned on her heels. "And at his age too..." she muttered leaving and closing the door to the bard's quarters.

The lay-of-the-land where Percival had chosen to build his community rose as it approached the sea, and Percival paid large sums to have blocks of the gray and green flecked granite, hewn from Jasmine Canyon, barged south and along the shore, in order to build his retirement estate.

Eventually it had taken seven years and almost all of his savings to fully complete. During the construction time, he also secretly recruited farmers from families he knew and trusted from the Triangle Lands to move away from the Sword Ruler control and come to start anew, as his tenants. The forests were cut back in the valleys leading up to coasts and were replaced with pastured animals and planted crops of assorted vegetables including potatoes, tobacco and grapes. He convinced master vintners from two of the great Elven houses of wine to combine their talents and establish his wineries.

The warmer coastal climate provided more stable temperatures and rainfall. The chalky and sandy soil provided an excellent consistency for the vines to produce a bountiful crop, which after being crushed into juice, quickly went to the massive vats created from the white oak timber cut down for the farms and pastures.

Forges were built. Rules codified. Families established. Schools attended. Religions worshipped. Trade conducted.  One day Percival looked at it in its totality and thought, 'Albeit smaller, it's another Triangle utopia.'  In less than ten years, he'd built from almost nothing a safe haven, a tiny utopian community. Self sufficient and overall trouble free.

But with success also follows the scavengers trying to make an easy meal on others kill.  Percival was not a young man anymore. Travel. Lifestyle. War. Each had put their cuts deep in the Bard's flesh, and though the wounds had somewhat healed, the scars remained painful.

There were also chinks starting to show in his utopia. Greed. Laziness. Disdain. Violence. He began spinning more time dealing with local misdemeanors and in judicial disputes, than he ever thought he'd need to.  'This is supposed to be a retirement.' 

And always the call of the Heart of the Mountain. In his dreams and in his waking mind, it frequently called its siren to him.

It was during a visit from the Duke and Duchess Bianchi d'Meeno, that Percival saw how they looked everything over with that greedy look in the eye. Percival had seen and lived through all of this before.  He'd seen how powerful and entitled men coveted the beautiful farmer's daughter, prized horse, river access.  He knew, as the saying goes, the writing was on the wall.

The Duke, a title he'd gained from marriage with his wife the Duchess Menelope d'Meeno.  The Duchess was a cousin to the long dead former King.  Bianchi's family was in shipping and this coin enabled Lorenzo Bianchi to court and eventually marry the Duchess. "Bianchi d'Meeno" shipping was formed and eventually they bought out most of the other multi-ship cargo companies plying the waters along the
Lupton.

It was the trading and shipping successes which ultimately caused the piracy, which had always been a minor nuisance along the coast, to bloom and provide a host to the pirate hunters (including one Jarrick Darkbeard... but that's another story).

Percival had reluctantly hosted the Duke and Duchess, along with their friends and families, to the engagement announcement dinner of their daughter Lady Gabriele Bianchi. Percival knew it was a way of the local nobles to ensure the upstart bard knew his 'place'.

During the event, the Duke spent most of his time admiring the layout of the recently finished estate as well as the nearby community he'd developed.

When the wedding took place the following year, at the Palace d'Meeno in Warisht, of course Percival had to attend. And it was during the reception that Duke Lorenzo got Percival away and off to the side to "talk a little business". The two walked away from the party noise slowly along the corridor, ostensibly looking at the portraits and tapestries found there.

"I must say, you've done great work there Percival."

"Thank you, Duke."

"You have a true gift of organization."

"Well," Percival replied in his well used mock-humble tone, "I was able to take the lessons of life in the Circus and apply them to the life of a rural gentlemen."

"You've done really great work there."

'Hear it comes,' Percival thought, but instead said, "You honor me with your words, your Grace."

"However, my Chancellor informs me there is no title of ownership for land transfer on... what do they call that again, the 'Bards Bluff'?"

Percival stopped walking. Noticing, the Duke stopped.

"What's this about Lorenzo?"

"Duke Lorenzo."

"What's this about? You know damn good-and-well I was gifted this land after the fall of Renalse. You know the Sword Rulers paid me to leave... quietly.  They gave me this and it is mine."

"That is the story, but alas, there's no documentation found in the Duchesses records.  No proof.  No one doubts your word, Percival, but you know how these new bureaucrats are and their 'every form for every occasion' ways."

"Your exchequer gets the coin delivered... on time. We pay our taxes. The duchy accepts what I've built here."

"It's not a matter of money, my dear Percival."

"Then what exactly is it about... Duke?" Percival's reputation, justly earned, said he always had an ability to make dirty words sound 'presentable' and could make others, like noble titles, seem like the foulest curse. This was evident when the 'First Bard of Poducca' paid the man the honorific of his purchased rank.

"The Duchess has taken a liking to your place, Percival. She admires the work."

"I'll tell you how to find the Dwarven architects who designed it."

Without listening, the Duke continued, "She wishes me to see if you have an interest in selling it."

"I have no such wish."

"She doesn't want to wait for something similar to be constructed nearby."

"I have no such wish."

"She is a determined woman.  She runs a tight ship."

"I have no such wish."

The Duke turned.  The face of the first bard was flushed with anger.  The Duke spoke, "Hmm... Well. That does pose a problem."

"Does it?  Do you mean a 'problem' you've created out of nothing, derived by drumming up nonsense about land titles, aided by bureaucratic skullduggery?"

It was the Duke's turn to stare ice at the older man.

"The Duchess wants your estate, Earl Percival Theodore, First Bard of Poducca. I suggest we come to terms."

"I have. No. Such. Wish."

The Duke stepped up to the Bard and said in a calm, menacing, under-stress, quiet voice, "Then start wishing."

With surprising speed a sum and time table were agreed upon. The Duke's pockets were deep and Percival made him dig deep.  The Duke had arrived with several chests ready to be delivered upon Percival's signature on the prepared document. Chests, containing a fortune in coins and jewelry were stacked and were all that was left in his great hall.  It was nearing the moment to depart.

Duke Lorenzo stood there with his five men-at-arms. Percival's ten most loyal and trained men were also in the room.  The two groups of men just looked at each other, professional to professional.  Once the document was completed, Percival nodded for the chests to be removed.  His fellows sprang to life, carrying them out and securing them in the wagon which was being pulled by two great oxen

As Percivals men made their back-and-forths, Duke Lorenzo broke the silence, "The Duchess thinks I paid too much for the house." Percival said nothing. "She thinks I should've used the law to just 'take it'."  The Duke flared, "By the gods I cannot stand that woman at times."

"She's the one who wanted the house."

"And the Duchess always gets what she wants."  The Duke looked about the empty hall.

"So does the... Duke."  Percival reminded him.

Duke Lorenzo sighed.  He started walking towards the door leading to the front of the residence hall and out of the building.  The patio of laid stone was expansive and would surely host magnificent banquets.The Duke stopped and  stopped and stared at the water.

"Titles. I thought it would mean more.  Power.  Command. But I tell you Percival, it's a bigger pain than falling flat on your ass on a rocking deck."

"Ever get much time to sail anymore?"  Percival had walked up beside him.

"Not so much. That's why I wanted to come here myself. I told the Duchess it was to make sure that 'damnable bard didn't screw us'."

Percival laughed, "Well I am 'damnable' anyway."

The Duke chuckled at Percival's joke.  "I tell you, for this place you've built and for this view, she'd have had me pay twice as much."

"Then it was you who actually got the bargain."  Percival clapped the man on the back, who again chuckled at the bard's humor.

The two men stood quietly sipping the last of the final opened bottle of Percival's wine.

The Duke continued to look out dreamily at the horizon high over where the water lapped at the rocks below.

"I think I'm going to give the place to Gabby."

Percival smiled, seeing in an instant with his mind's eye the images of children running through the rooms and corridors, how their laughter echoed and began to find like ghosts in his mind. A tear dropped onto his cheek as he remembered, or tried to remember, his children young and playing without a care in the world. Then the repeating, softly fading children's laughter began to regain strength but it had turned to pleas for help from the voice in his dreams, 'Help me Percival. Come to my aid, Percival. I need you. Help.' Did he recognize the voice?  Was it Darla?  Was it Jaccara?  The voice itself then trailed away from his mind, only to be replaced by the Duke's words suddenly loud in his ears.

"...carpets from Pharos indeed. I told her she was out of her mind!"

"I'm sure she only wants the best, Duke."

"Oh I suppose so."

Percival's man, Halil approached the two and in the accent of the wanderers-of-the-desert said, "All is ready, my Lord."

Percival turned to the Duke and held out his hand, "I guess this it."

The Duke looked the older and slightly taller man in the eye, "I mean what I said, Percival. You've done great things here. Great things.  I can only image what you could've done had you ever planted your ass on a throne."

Percival paused and then leaned in conspiratorially.  He said, "Probably gotten a lot more ass."

The Duke, understanding the duality of the joke, burst out in laughter and put his arm across the shoulders of Percival as they walked back into the house to exit out the other side, Halil following behind.

The one-time traveling bard, no longer had worries or making coin to pay for his bread. He'd come a long way.

At that evenings festive gathering in the Tenants Hall, where Percival paid a good dividend and provided the rent details to the tenants, he and his men had one last night there. 

At dawn the next day, they all embarked on the "Virgin Lad" heading west to travel to the places where he'd made arrangements to place coin chests.

First stop would be Warisht, then Gomenit, next to Gomenis, and then to Port Azure. Following Port Azure, the group arrived at the second to last 'reserve deposit' which was secured in Harby.  It was in Harby where he met up with some old friends as well as made new friends.  Next they all traveled off to the final city to hold his deposit, Greyhawk.

Then he could finally get on his way in search of the Heart of the Mountain and hopefully ease his ancient and troubled mind.