The Bard’s View

He was sitting in a little corner of a larger square. It had originally been used as a city square of sorts, but as the city expanded a bigger one was built and the old one was re-purposed.

It was located between the Noble living quarters and Merchant housing, so people with expendable income often walked through this area. Entertainers of all sorts had gathered in the square to gain a street audience, make a meager living, and if very lucky catch the eye of a wealthy patron.

But Ben had been shunted to the outskirts of the square. There was no chance of any wealthy patron—much less anyone else—finding him there. It hurt to be shunted by one’s peers, deemed a nuisance, and treated like a leaper.

But he wasn’t there to make money or become famous. He wished fervently that the gods would grant him that too, but his real purpose came first.

Ben looked more like a beggar than a musician: dirty, scraggly bearded, with worn out clothes that hinted at a richer past. The only thing still in good shape was the lute, still glossy and in-tune as the day he bought it.

He strummed a cord, thinking what he ought to play. A nice melody, gentle and uplifting… that’d be good… He took a deep steadying breath and played:

It was a sound totally unlike any other heard in the world: Loud, fast, cords vibrating so quickly they were almost invisible. His head swayed back and forth to the rhythm, as if possessed by his lute, dirty hair flopping around like a dying fish on land.

There were no genre for the music he was playing in this world. “Noisy”, “Chaotic”, “Nonsensical”, was the only feed back he ever got from an audience. Universally his style was paned and dismissed.

But he played on. Absorbed in the hidden melody, in the effort it took to move his fingers from one string to the next, to get the beat faster—

A shadow fell over him and he almost stopped in surprise. Where they back to complain? Was he getting kicked out again? His hands and mind worked furiously, the tune switching to a more tortured sound (for those with the ear to hear it).

But the person was tapping their foot now, and he realized with glee that this person was enjoying his music.

Someone out there liked what he was playing! A tear ran down his messy face and into his disheveled beard. For even one person to appreciate what he was doing lifted his spirits beyond measure.

Three more sets of feet joined the original, all listening quietly. He played and played and played, and the person stayed.

And then he stopped. He was afraid his fingers would start bleeding, despite his impressive callouses, and he didn’t want to ruin the precious strings on his lute with blood.

His first visitor clapped enthusiastically, while the others were more begrudgingly polite. He glanced up and did a double take:

There was a person—a woman probably—wearing lightly fitted armor, a cloak over her head, and a very strange mask. It was completely white, with no visible eye holes. And he was fairly certain the imagine drawn on it was suppose to be a rabbit.

The mask absorbed all his attention. He literally couldn’t tear his eyes away from it, even if he’d wanted.

“That was amazing!” Came a voice through the mask, and he believed she meant it with all his heart. Yes, it was definitely a she, a woman, he was sure by her voice.

“That reminded me of music from my wo—homeland. Yeah. It’s got a great beat! Wish you guys had electric guitars because I’m pretty sure you’d do some amazing things with one.” He didn’t know what an electric guitar was, but that mask wouldn’t lie to him. If he could get his hands on one, he truly believed he’d play it fantastically.

“What on earth do your people listen to, if this is considered good music?” There was a man too, he just noticed. He was tall, dark skinned, dressed exceedingly well, and exuding an air of aristocracy.

Ben tightened his grip on his flute instinctively, as if seeking reassurance. Nobles always treated him the worst when they hated his music. He’d had to nurse quite a few bruises from them.

Rather than being insulted, she chortled. “I don’t want to hear that from someone who lives in a place that hasn’t invented an acoustic guitar much less an electric one.”

The Nobleman raised a brow, frowning slightly. “I can’t really argue from a stance of ignorance, so I’ll refrain from commenting on your musical tastes in the future.” He then glanced down at Ben, eyes narrowing somewhat. Ben shifted uncomfortably under the stare, it seemed unnaturally harsh for a reason he couldn’t quite explain.

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“Well, if he has done you the favor of reminding you of home, then you might as well tip him. Street musicians like that kind of thing and this one obviously needs any tips he can get.”

Ben perked up at the mention of a tip, choosing to ignore Nobleman’s contempt. People had thrown money at him to get him to shut up, but never for liking what he’d played. This might actually be the first real tip he’d ever gotten.

“Ah, good point. Give me a moment.” She turned around, cutting him off from a view of her mask.

He felt slightly disoriented. Hm? Why’d he been so totally confident in everything she’d been saying?

The woman turned back around, mask facing him again, and held up a small statue.

“Sorry, I don’t have money just yet, but this should work pretty well in it’s place. Do you have appraisers or pawn shops in the city? If you sell it to them you should get a decent amount in return.” She handed him the strange statue.

Ben decided right then and there he’d go do that at the soonest opportunity. It sounded like an excellent idea. And with the money he got, he should be able to get a good meal and maybe some new clothes.

“What on earth is that?” The Nobleman asked the question everyone but Ben was thinking.

“It’s a Lucky Cat Statue.” And then masked woman explained further when she saw no one understood. “It’s… you know… a statue shaped like a cat, holding up it’s paw? It’s meant to be good luck! Ah, stop looking at me like I’m crazy, I’m not the one who thought it up!”

Ben looked down at the statue. It was a shining gold, heavy, and if he squinted he could see the form of a cat, with one paw raised. Two jeweled eyes stared up at him and around it’s next was a silver bell.

The Nobleman bent down and gave it a harder look. Ben felt a shiver pass through him; for a moment he thought the brown eyes flashed an eerie yellow. “Ah, it does appear to have some kind of enchantment on it. And it’s base parts would sell for a high price, ugly though it may be. Are you sure you want to be giving this to a bard?”

The woman muttered in annoyance, “Ugly, huh?” before saying more loudly:

“Naw, it’s fine. I’ve got more. And this guy is a visionary, way ahead of his time. People like that don’t often get rewarded like they should, so this is the least I can do.” She turned to Ben, and he could feel her smile radiate through the mask. “Keep up the hard work! You have true talent, and don’t let anyone convince you otherwise. I hope my Lucky Cat helps you continue your musical career!”

“T-thank you, I will treasure your words, always.” Ben held his lute and the small statue close to him. His doubts about his musical abilities evaporated under her kind, encouraging words.

“Er, oh? Uh, well, carry on then. We’ll be going now.” She awkwardly ended the conversation, apparently embarrassed, turned on her heel sharply, and walked away. The Nobleman followed her in a somewhat lazy manner, while still keeping up.

“Good luck!” Said a boy, startling Ben. There were two: one who looked about six years old and another who was a teen. The younger one patted Ben on the shoulder and smiled encouragingly, while the older one simply nodded his head.

“Oy, you two, don’t get left behind!” The sharp Nobleman’s voice called to them. The little boy made an annoyed face, but they both promptly left to catchup with the two adults.

Oh, they’d been with the woman then. He’d just not noticed them because…

…because…?

He scratched his head in confusion, looking at the cat statue once again. It really was ugly: Fat with a strange empty staring face. The man said it was valuable but—

“Oh, what’ve you got there?”

Ben jumped, looking up, and then relaxed.

It was just Cale Aster, his fairy friend and traveling companion. Cale was small, topping 8” in height, with fiery red hair that had white tips and bright sunny yellow eyes. His wings looked were parted like a dragonfly’s and he wore loose fitting pants with a jacket. He was hovering above Ben’s head curiously.

Cale Aster spent the day searching the city while Ben attempted to make a living off his lute. He was back a little early, which likely meant another failed attempt today.

“Ah, a tip from a pleased listener.” The fairy lowered himself to get a good look at the statue Ben was holding up.

“Woah, what an ugly mug!!” Cale Aster laughed at it’s funny face, but then tilted his head in curiosity. “Hmmmm? It’s got a strange enchantment on it?”

Ben eyed the statue in mild alarm. “Is it dangerous?”

“Naw, just strange like I said. It’s written in some weird language I’ve never seen before. Lemme touch it!” And before Ben could respond, the fairy did just that. Two tiny pale hands glowed red as they touched the surface of the Lucky Cat.

Cale Aster’s hands popped off the cat, and he shook them like they were burning. “Wow! There’s some crazy magic in that thing!” He blew on his hands dramatically.

“What did you get from it?”

“Hmmmmm?” The fairy stared at his hands, red eyebrows bunched up in thought. “Guidance? Victory? What the **** am I even looking at here?”

“Oh, so it really is lucky then!”

“That's it, luck!” He snapped his fingers and then frowned. “Huh? But how’s that even possible? Luck isn’t an element… You shouldn’t be able to enchant something with it…”

“Ah, I hadn’t thought of that but it’s true… Could you enchant something with luck now that you’ve absorbed it from this thing?” Ben pointed to the Lucky Cat.

The fairy HMed and HAWed for a minute, thinking deeply. “Naw, too risky. It’s in a different language. I’d need some idea what the language means before I could safely replicate it.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Right?” The fairy sighed, crossing his legs mid-air and leaning back. “We could make a killing enchanting luck on items and selling them.”

“The person who gave it to me suggested I sell it, what do you think? Should we?”

“Sure. We need the money. And I don’t think we’ll need the extra luck it gives anymore so it’s not worth keeping.”

“What do you mean we don’t need the extra luck? I could sure use some!”

The fairy “tsked” at his friend. “Think Ben! We don’t need the statue, we need the person who gave it to you. They’re either powerful enough to do new enchantments like this, or they know the one who did. It’s the crazy-strong enchanter we need, not the ugly lump of lucky gold!”

Ben gave a wide grin of understanding. They’d finally gotten truly lucky, whether because of the statue or the gods, he didn’t care. What mattered was he’d finally found the person he was looking for: someone generous, kind, and—most importantly—powerful enough to beat the Witch.