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twistedkingdoms · 7 years

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Aadleer was the last to find himself in the common room of the inn. He had listened carefully to the instructions of the Witcher, and had carefully hidden his dismay at the prospect of trying to wrestle the werewolf head into place where the Witcher had directed. Sure enough, it took him over a dozen tries to get the blasted thing in place, to where it wouldn’t fall down after more than a slight nudge. But finally he managed it.

He took some time to clean himself off, paying special attention to the wound on his left arm. before he made a proper appearance, and put the time to good use mentally preparing his work for this evening. He could have Mel take a look at it later, or maybe even in the morning. Not only did he have new material, a first hand account no less, but his subjects would be in the audience. He felt strangely nervous, a tightness in his chest and slight sense of always being distracted, but he forced himself to think. When he finally entered, he was met with a few smiles, and even a single ‘hello’.

Good, he thought to himself, I have a couple returned members of the audience. That will help to draw the rest in. As nervous as he might be, he was determined to produce one of his best performances yet, even though he hadn’t had the time he would have wished to properly finish writing this composition. He stopped at the bar, caught the eye of the inn keeper and gestured to the Witcher and his companion, then to himself, directing the man to make sure the duo were taken care of on his own tab. Then, with a deep breath to steel his nerves, he walked to the hearth and took up a grave stance, staring into the flames.

“Today started as a beautiful day, did it not?” he called out to no one in particular.

Most didn’t take any heed to him, but one of the patrons from the night before caught on and called back, over the din, “Aye, it did.”

The response caught the attention of a few, who quieted down to listen. “We all knew they were lurking somewhere- why else would we have put up a bounty?” Some more lapsed into silence. “But who could have thought that today, with that glorious sun, so perfect for working the fields, not hot enough to make the markets sweltering but rather inviting, could play host to something that could have been so tragic?”

The inn had gone silent, and per a few nudges of encouragement, even the hands of Gwent had been stilled.

Aadleer looked up, casting sober eyes about the common room, picking out individual faces and making contact. “We all heard it- that howl that split the day.” Nods of agreement. “Then the chorus that followed- not one, but many, had come to destroy that which we have striven for so long to build- our businesses, our homes, our very families. There was no hope.” The tension in the room was palpable. Everyone remembered how close things had come today, and no one wanted to dwell on it. So why was this lad, who had brought so much cheer the night before, dredging up such fear?

“But then, there were two.” Aadleer was careful to inflect all the warmth and affection he could into those five words. “Two, who had the courage to stand. Two, who had the strength and ability to protect. Two, for us, who were willing to lay their lives on the line, to save us.”

He swiftly straightened, and began circling the room at a measured pace. His eyes shown, daring the townsfolk to meet his gaze and deny his words, are careful, small smile fixed on his thin lips. “I, too, was of no help, and of that I am ashamed, but nevertheless, the Masters Witcher and Sorcerous saw fit to extend hands of mercy towards us.”

Then everything escalated. “In a moment!” he shouted, suddenly snatching up someone’s fork in his signature move and leaping upon the hearth stones, landing in a far semblance of a defensive stance, “There was naught but they two in the square, and some score of wolves, braying and hungered, lead by their devious master, the lone were that has been stalking us!”

Aadleer’s cadence ebbed and flowed as he relayed the tale that everyone had missed, shuttered away in their homes. Aadleer, Algren and Caena all knew it was heavily embellished, but that didn’t slow down the story teller one bit. He exclaimed how the Witcher had so quickly struck the werewolf, and disposed of the first few wolves. He threw himself to the ground as he wailed the dangers that had befallen Caena, eliciting gasps of anticipation and horror from the crowd. He leaped up and danced, illustrating but poorly imitating the master swordsmanship of Algren, cutting down imaginary foes, then dived down again to raise the sorceress to her feet again. All the while he recounted, carefully weaving his own spell of words and imagery to keep his audience enthralled.

He slowed, fork still in hand, “And at last,” he whispered, but everyone could hear it, “all that was left was that cursed were. They circled, each knowing that a single false move would mean their death.” He circled himself, crouched, building the tension in the room. “Eyes locked, their breaths held. The Mistress Sorceress waited in the wings, prepared for any outcome that should ensue. Suddenly, the werewolf howled!” The crowd gasped as Aadleer let out a fair impersonation. “And the Master Witcher wasted not a heartbeat, and lashed out!” Aadleer lashed as well, “and cleanly severed the head of the beast!”

Most everyone in the room erupted into cheers while Aadleer stole someone’s empty plate and held it high over his head as a trophy beaming to the guests.

As the noise began to die down, Aadleer let his voice carry over the crowd one last time as he set down the plate and fork, then spread his hands. “Let us not forget the tragedy that could have befallen us today, but also let us celebrate all that we still have!” A note of pain made it past his guard, but his warm smile did not waiver. “It is a shame that there is a need for Witchers, but so long as there is that need, I for one will be happy to pay for their services, that they can provide for themselves and continue to keep us safe. Have a good night, everyone, and please,” he added with a wink, “have another drink.”

Instead of his usual, Aadleer stepped down from the hearth and mingled with the crowd for a couple minutes, not wanting to draw any attention to the Witcher and his companion directly. As the room settled again, the atmosphere warm and cheery, he made his way to Mel and the two “saviors” of the town at a table in the back corner. He suddenly felt a huge stone drop into his stomach, and it was everything he could do to keep his stride even and anxiety from his expression. Oh, please let them approve, he thought anxiously as he took a seat beside his friend and cast his gaze over the two. “I hope you don’t mind the artistic liberties I took tonight,” he said with a smile, only a slight tension in his eyes belaying the confidence he broadcast.

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