Chapter Text
The wind settled as The Sorcerer entered the tavern, looking out at the sea of patrons crowding by a single lute-playing bard singing of his whimsical journey. “So,” He announced his presence, and The Sorcerer watched as his precious people turned and smiled at him. Excited whispers follow of their beloved Lord; despite his peasant and outsider blood, The Sorcerer held claim of being the only Magic-Holder of their small village, and that was a claim he vowed to never let go. This man, The Bard, was now a threat to his honor and his home. That damned lute in his hand was merely a tool, oozing a fraction of the power within. Two Holders in the same room. “I see how desperate my poor friends get when I’m away and unable to entertain.” The Sorcerer continued, pushing up the brim of his hat to see his enemy better.
“It seems,” said The Bard, “that my melody entertains far more than your drivel.”
“Charming, despite my drivel doing more for this town than your melody ever can.” The Sorcerer replied. With a wave of his hand, a stool scratched the ground with an ugly sound and stopped under The Sorcerer’s foot. He kicked the stool towards the ever cocky Bard and it once again magically slid into place with that angry sound. One thing The Sorcerer took note of as he followed his seat, other than that horrid smirk on The Bard’s face, was where The Bard chose to sit. A table in the back of the small tavern near a window; this was a table The Sorcerer reserved for himself many times. Yet there he was, perched upon his table and surrounded by his people. This would be fun. The Sorcerer sat down before The Bard; some patrons welcomed him, but others got up and left at the slightest hint of tension.
“Go on then,” The Sorcerer said. “Play me something, jester, or leave my home.”
The Bard stroked the wood of his lute and looked down at The Sorcerer, “Copper for the trouble, wizard.”
The Sorcerer clicked his tongue and chuckled playfully at the remark, “I have no copper. We will see if you’re worth gold.”
By this time, the tavern had cleared. A magic duel was commencing and no magicless mortal should ever be around when their beloved Sorcerer was angered by petty threats.
The Bard rose his lute again and began to play. The Sorcerer didn’t feel much, not at first. It was a beautiful melody, it was light and full of whimsy—yet The Sorcerer could make out the hidden sorrow in this gorgeous song. His sense of smell was targeted next as The Sorcerer could no longer smell the many barrels of hard liquor that had been spilt on the ground many times before. Instead, a floral scent came to him—calming him and bringing him back to his walk home just a few hours ago. The more he smelt it, the more he felt himself sway to the music; and the more he staggered, the brighter The Bard smiled.
THUD!
The Bard blinked at the sound of The Sorcerer, who had stomped his foot. “My apologies,” The Sorcerer said, “Has my enthusiasm unnerved you?” The Sorcerer had steadied himself by now, much to The Bard’s dismay.
“Not at all.” The Bard assured him and continued on with his playing.
A new tune filled the empty tavern, and The Sorcerer closed his eyes as he listened intently to The Bard’s song. Behind those eyelids, a town formed around him. He walked down a gravel street, looking up at the blue sky that was clear enough to showcase one of the moons. Sweat beat on his forehead and he rose a hand to wipe it away as the song’s melody rose—
THUD!
The Bard was taken aback once again but could feel The Sorcerer’s eyes on him. He cleared his throat and started again, preparing himself mentally for another stomp. A third tune arose from the glowing lute The Bard possessed. Softer, gentle—he hoped to guide the Sorcerer back into that happy place. The Sorcerer tilted his eyes, eyes back open, as he watched The Bard strum and pluck; his eyes like a spotlight, burning into him. Yet, The Sorcerer blinked as the gentle song sturred in his mind—he could almost taste it. Like stringy candy, sweet and airy—from a fair full of magic and wonder. A little boy with his favorite sweet, snacking in the back of a carnival tent.
THUD!
The Bard was ready this time, switching the song so fast The Sorcerer nearly fell off his stool. This new song was dramatic, what felt like a dizzying spiral straight into The Sorcerer’s head. This would be it; the finale of their duel! As the song went on, that little boy returned to their minds. He stood next to another boy, smaller, the two looking out at a lake before them. They felt their shoes come off, and next their shirts. A pair of tiny hands tried to push them into the water, and the bigger boy grabbed the smaller one to stop him. They laughed, roughhousing as all siblings do before the taller child picked up their brother and swung him into the lake. It was then that he felt something in his mind—a sheet of emptiness. The song followed as they plunged into darkness, and when everything returned to normal, the young boy was nowhere to be found.
The Bard’s song was interrupted by a shriek as the strings of his prized instrument—his only defense—snapped in his desperation. The Bard could feel himself trembling, but he could not tell why.
The Sorcerer rose from his stool and stood before The Bard, who now watched him helplessly. “I didn't mean to bring up such a memory, wizard,” The Bard said. “Such a memory summons the mindless wrath. Sir, accept my truce.”
The Sorcerer looked down at The Bard’s sliced fingers as they bleed. “Very well,” He decided. “You will be spared, on the condition that you leave my town.”
“Spared?” The Bard whispered to himself, but he nodded as he spoke back to The Sorcerer. “Understood. You will come to my aid when I call, then? Those woods are dangerous; it’s only fair.”
“Just a shout will do, yes.”
“Very well. An honor playing for you. I will accept my gold—for my hand.”
The Sorcerer smirked and turned on his heel, heading for the door. The light from the windows was gone. The tavern staff had already closed up shop for them but had left the door unlocked for the both of them to leave. They trusted the Sorcerer to lock it behind him. The Sorcerer opened the door before turning back around to his formidable foe. “A pity your brother could not be here. He seemed nice.”
The Bard looked up at the Sorcerer, confused. It wasn’t until the Sorcerer smiled once more that The Bard had realized who was truly entranced. His last memory, before The Great Leveler—retold to him, but with different characters.
“Pity music favors a feeble mind.” The Sorcerer remarked, tilting his wide-brimmed hat downward in a mocking display of respect before strolling out the door.
The Bard sat alone in that tavern now, his face red from the humiliation—his own mind compromised and his memories shown back to him.
“Prick,” The Bard mumbled before strapping his lute to his back before heading out of the same door. It opened with ease but fell back like a stone being dropped in a pond, loudly clicking as it locked behind him. The Bard understood he would not get treatment for his hand here, so he adjusted his lute and started for the road—hoping to find a traveling merchant for his troubles.