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Musings of A Dhe'nar Bard The Bard's Bio A Q'hali's Work Lessons of Sharath Prose Player's Blog |
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Chapter Three: Short by Whistfylle A young sylvan passed the bard on his way to his bedchambers, and he stopped to thank her for the excellent job she had done with his hair. Conjuring a rose from the palm of his hand, the Dhe'nar swiftly tucked the flower behind her ear in an easy, practiced gesture. She flushed vividly and startled away, obviously unused to having any sort of attention paid to her. The black petals of the blossom contrasted with the blonde of her hair and the gold of her collar as she curtsied uncomfortably and continued her journey down the corridor. He smiled after her, watching until she hefted the serving tray onto her bony hip to knock gently on a guest's door. That morning, the Lady's servants brought word that the sorcerer had passed in his sleep. His body was found bloated and unpleasantly marked as though the man tried to claw out his own throat. The vile fellow had never been one to pay much attention to things he should not devour, stated one of the guests over breakfast. The Bard and Lady Gylaume simply smiled along with the rest, then ventured to the sunny rain-washed courtyard to bid them pleasant journeys.
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