My body was turned around despite my desire not to, until I faced a hulking man.

Oh, balls.

Not just any man. Curr the braug, bald and bearded, scary and tattooed in his fine leather armor. And now, his massive axe was strapped on his back in a… what do they call it? A sheath? A scabbard?

Either works.

I immediately tried to back up as I stammered, “Good morning, sir, er… Curr.”

“Better,” the braug said. “I see you managed to find someplace to hole up last night.”

I ran a hand through my hair, brushing out bits of hay. “Well, yes. Yes, I did. I can be quite resourceful, and street smart.”

Curr looked over my head, which wasn’t hard for him to do. I could tell he was eyeing the troubadours.

“You know he was trying to pickpocket you, right?” he said loudly.

“He… what? Him? No, he was trying to show me a magic trick.”

Curr let out a barking laugh. “Aye. The trick would have been when you got home and found your purse-strings cut.”

I glanced back at the halfling, who stared at Curr like he’d just swallowed curdled milk.

“Well,” I said. “Joke’s on him. I don’t have a home or a purse.”

“Right,” Curr said. “No job anymore either, huh?” He didn’t let me respond. “And the leg of lamb that Fargus gifted you with?”

“Oh, just the best. Delicious. An exquisite meal. Far more generous than I probably deserved after my offenses to you fine folks last night, for which I am eternally sorry. I meant no such harm, I assure you.”

“You did not really eat that, did you?” Curr asked.

“I—well.” I looked down at the cobbled street. “No.”

Curr laughed again. Who was this good-natured man who’d replaced that grump from last evening? “Good thing! Probably would have killed someone as puny as you.”

Oh. Same guy.

He must’ve noticed a change in my demeanor.

“I am just having a bit of fun teasing you. Surely you are not so sensitive.”

I glanced around, searching for an out. The troubadours had apparently given up after Curr called out the halfling loud enough for onlookers to hear. They were starting to pack up their cart.

“Speaking of Fargus and Vulna,” I said in what might have been the worst segue ever, “where are they and the others in your company?”

Curr shrugged. “I do not know. Our quest was completed, and so we have gone our separate ways after our final celebration.”

“Oh…”

I couldn’t keep from considering what that kind of relationship looked like.

“Speak your mind,” Curr said.

“It just seemed you and the others were awful close to just… part ways.”

“Bonds are forged in battle, but I knew them barely a fortnight. That is simply the way of us sellswords. Suits me just fine. I am more accustomed to my own company anyway. However, oftentimes, the enemies we face are such that they require more brawn than brains to deal with. So that is what I put together: a company of simple-minded yet strong fighters.”

“You put the company together?”

Curr squinted. “You seem surprised by that fact. I sincerely hope for your sake you are not about to say something stupid.”

Careful. He’s starting to like you.

“Not at all, I just thought that you were all—”

“Senseless duddards given to bloodlust?” Curr nodded. “Yes, I know. And as such, most people think us incapable of possessing even a modicum of intelligence. But there are more things in this world that can be accomplished without violence than with it, so I try to engage my intellect more than most of my folk.”

I decided to ply his ego a bit. “You do seem very wise.”

Curr grunted. “With my intellect, I also have a rather well-developed lack of tolerance for obsequious behavior. My axe is swift to deal with such transgressions.”

The screen flashed.

Oops. Your attempt at persuasion failed.

Do you have an off button?

Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Trust me, you don’t want to shut me off.

I held up my hands to Curr. “Again, I meant no offense.”

Curr fixed me with a steady glare. “Tell me, bard, what is that accent of yours?”

Accent? He was the one with the accent. It was something like Russian, but also maybe Native American? There was a bit of haughtiness to it also, like a royal from England, but maybe that was just his love for obscure words. Honestly, I couldn’t describe it if I tried.

“What is the farthest you have been from this town?” he continued. “Three leagues? Ten? More?”

I didn’t even know what a league was.

A league is a difficult unit of measurement to define. Historically, 7,500 feet to 15,000 feet, it is now widely accepted as three miles.

Good question. “Not far.” It was the truth, after all. I still had no clue why I’d ended up here.

“No wonder you are so pathetic,” Curr said.

“I’m not pathetic,” I said, gaining a little courage. “I’ll have you know, I played in a band—”

He clapped me on the shoulder. “Forgive me, I meant no offense by it.” He gave me a knowing glare, repeating my own words.

“Pathetic is just not the word I would’ve chosen to describe me,” I said.

“Ah, do tell. What would the lowly bard say of himself?”

I chose to ignore the question. “I may not have the most well-traveled itinerary, but I—”

“Do not really have a good singing voice either.” Curr grinned. “Or even an instrument that you can play to try to scrape up some work.”

“No thanks to you.”

Curr chuckled. “You made the mistake of trying to con us out of our hard-won gold. I know you realize that you are not the best bard that has ever strummed a lute.”

“Hey, I was hungry and had to try to earn a meal.” I sighed. “Yes, perhaps I’m not the greatest. Maybe my voice isn’t exactly… mellifluous—”

“What does that mean?”

I slapped my knee. “Ah! Did I stump the intellectual?”

Curr’s features darkened. “Just tell me what it means before I stomp you into mushed bard.”

I swallowed hard. “A flowing, soothing quality to it… like honey.”

He stuck out his tongue in disgust. “Never liked honey. Too sweet for my taste.”

“Anyway.” I was starting to get annoyed. “I was able to do a lot more last night when I had my lute. You remember that, right? Before you crushed it? Now I can’t even play.”

“You could not really play it last night either.”

“You know what? I don’t really have to take this kind of abuse—”

“Relax, friend! You were lucky Fargus chose not to rip you into tiny pieces after comparing his betrothed with a bone. I was doing you a favor. Your lute instead of your skull.”

“Doesn’t he understand? That’s the point. I make rhymes. Not everything does so easily, but you try regardless. And oftentimes, you have to come up with them on the fly.”

“You chose the occupation, did you not?” he asked.

I ground my teeth.

I didn’t choose any of this.

The screen flashed.

HUNGER: Your tummy will start growling soon.

OBJECTIVE UPDATED:

Convince Curr to buy you a meal.

Now, how the heck am I supposed to do that? Curr demolished my lute last night for trying that very thing! Now you want me to do it again? What—the rancid meat and food poisoning wasn’t punishment enough?

You need more meat.

Hah. That’s what she said.

If I wasn’t so frustrated, I might have smirked at that.

No, I need to figure out what the hell is going on here! Like, why I’m here in the first place and all that. Y’know, the important stuff.

Feeling a stare, I looked up. Curr watched me curiously. I must’ve checked out there for a few moments while arguing internally with the screen and hadn’t yet responded to his question about choosing this life.

“Sure, I did,” I lied. “But that doesn’t make it any easier. You have to do your best with what you have and hope the audience likes it.”

“And do you have a lot of fans of your work?” Curr asked. “Followers?”

I considered how best to answer that. Before the Heart-Shaped Box, I had a pretty decent career. Though that was then…

“I am… tolerated.”

Curr chuckled again. “Tolerated? Why would anyone aspire to be tolerated? Who cares what people think of you?”

“Well, I kind of have to care.” I crossed my arms. “Imagine if I simply stopped caring and went around singing whatever I wanted to? Or said things that offended my audience? I’d have to be a capable fighter to deal with that. And trust me when I tell you, I am no fighter.”

“I trust you. You could barely hold the lute aloft last night. I do not struggle to imagine what you would look like wielding a sword.”

“Once again, thanks.” This conversation was doing great things for my ego. Subject change time. “So, where will you go now?”

Curr rolled his shoulders. “Back to the tavern. I am hungry and need sustenance.”

Here’s your chance. Don’t blow it.

“Yeah, I’m starved too,” I said. “And given that you destroyed my only means of earning money, I’ll probably go hungry.”

“My sincerest apologies.”

“That’s it?” I asked. “That’s all you’ve got for destroying my livelihood? Sorry?”

He blinked at me, then offered a slight nod, as if the idea of me even questioning that was illogical.

“How about a consolation gift?” I said. “Maybe a hearty meal at the tavern? I could use a good one. I’ve only had last night’s solitary bite of lamb in days.”

Curr pointed at my tunic. “You have breadcrumbs on the front of your tunic.” My face went red. Curr crossed his ridiculously muscled arms. “Is it your custom to lie as much as it seems? That is a very dangerous hobby to pursue. Especially to someone twice your size.”

“Look, Curr, I only want fair compensation for you destroying my livelihood. A meal won’t cost you too much. And as you’ve already noted, I’m half your size. How much could I possibly eat? Besides, I am something of a decent conversationalist, and now that you’re alone…”

I let the statement hang in the air, hoping he was as smart as he perceived himself to be.

He took a breath and then exhaled. “Indeed, you certainly are better at conversing than you are at singing.”

“Thank you. Wait—”

Curr pointed over his shoulder. “I will provide you a meal, but then we must part. I do not intend to take on a new partnership so soon after my last one dissolved.”

“Hey, I’m good with a one-meal stand. Relationships aren’t my thing.”

Curr’s brow furrowed. “I have no idea what any of that means.”

“Forget it. I’ll explain later.”

OBJECTIVE COMPLETED:

You have convinced Curr to buy you a meal.

You have gained +1 in Speechcraft.

Your Speechcraft is now 10.

NEW OBJECTIVE:

Discover the nature of Curr’s next quest.

REWARD:

The feeling of a job well done.

So demanding. I complete one task and get another before I even have time to enjoy the fruits of my labor.

Okay, precious. And you should really eat something more than fruit… Enjoy the meal.

I don’t like you.