My breath came out heavy as I ran, my hurried pace quickly carrying me over the cobblestone streets, each uneven stone echoing beneath my feet. The wind tugged at my hair, twisting and pulling it this way and that, sending strands flying like wild banners in a storm. Sunlight streamed down, illuminating the quaint village around me. Ivy-clad cottages stood shoulder to shoulder, their colorful facades bathed in warm hues of ochre and azure. I called out, my voice ragged from exertion.
“Aster, huff, huff, slow down!”
Just ahead of me was a young man, his long blonde hair whipped by the wind just like mine. His long legs propelled him swiftly down the line of houses, while I struggled to keep up. He turned his head, calling back over his shoulder, his voice a vibrant echo against the backdrop of the bustling market square.
“Hurry up, Lewin, or we're going to miss it!”
I gritted my teeth in frustration for a moment before trying again. “Aster, where are we even going?” I forced the words out in one breath, my lungs burning with the effort of dragging air in and out. I seriously hated running. First, my legs grew tired; then, a horrible cramp would sometimes seize my side. But by far the worst was the struggle to breathe. I could ignore the other two, but feeling like my lungs were about to erupt was something only a crazy person would enjoy. Kind of reminded me of the long-limbed freak a few paces ahead of me.
“Look, I already told you. Sarah said there was a bard playing in town today, and we should go. Is your memory already that bad? The great Lowen just turned 18 and is already old and decrepit, and losing his mind.” He chuckled at his own joke, the sound mingling with the distant laughter of children playing in the streets.
“No, that’s not what I mean. I'm literally asking where we’re going. And who is Sarah?” As my words reached him, he came to a sudden stop right in front of me. I barely managed to avoid tripping over him, my foot catching on the edge of a weathered stone.
“Sarah’s one of the maids. Seriously, man, at the very least, you should know their names.” He gave me a disappointed look.
Oh great, that’s what he wanted to start with. Not the fact that he dragged me out of bed early this morning, yelling about how we were going to miss the show. He wants to poke fun at me for not knowing one of the maids' names. My cousin sure has his priorities straight. Heck, I don’t think he’s even winded.
“I know their names,” I replied, my voice tinged with indignation.
“Oh really? Then who’s Mary?” He flashed a mischievous grin, clearly thinking his little joke was clever.
“She’s the one with the glasses and brown hair,” I said boldly, my confidence unwavering.
My confidence wavered when he snorted and ran a hand through his blonde hair, the light catching the strands.
“Nope, wrong. You’re thinking of Melanie. Mary’s the one without glasses, has brown hair, and usually wears it in a long braid.” He gave me a smug look, as if this one point proved his argument.
“Look, I don’t know all their names, but I know some of them. I know Janet.” I started to feel a bit annoyed, as frustration bubbled up inside me.
“Come on, it’s Janice, and she quit like six months ago.” The laughter faded from his voice, replaced by a concerned look.
“Wait, really? Okay, now I feel a little bad. But you know what? That’s not really important right now. You still haven’t told me where we’re actually going.” I said trying to change the subject from my own personal failings.
“Oh, well, I kind of forgot to ask.” He scratched the back of his head with a sheepish grin. This was one of the reasons I never knew what to make of my cousin. On one hand, he was brilliant, soaking up information like a sponge. On the other hand, if you dangled something shiny enough in front of him, he would chase it for hours.
“So you can remember the names of all the maids but not where we’re going? If you weren’t so smart, I’d wonder if you had a brain at all.
“Oh, shut up. Look, we'll just ask someone if they know where the Bard is,” he said, trying to mask his annoyance.
“Sure, Aster! Let's ask one of the hundreds of lovely people that are all around us right now.” I opened my arms wide, gesturing dramatically at the empty streets. “Yes, I'm sure they would be more than happy to tell us where to go.” My sarcasm dripped from my words as I looked around mockingly.
“Okay, fine! I get it! You don't have to rub it in,” he retorted, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice. “But look, we’re already here. I’m sure that if we just look around, we will find it eventually.” With that, Aster turned on his heel and began walking again, seemingly choosing his direction at random. I let out a small sigh and jogged to catch up.
“Aster, are you sure this isn’t going to be like the time you heard a bakery was selling cakes for half off but forgot to ask which one?” I teased, chuckling to myself as I watched him turn a shade of red. It was amusing how the jokester could easily be embarrassed when the joke was on him.
“Oh, don’t you even start!” He shot me a glare over his shoulder, his pace unwavering as he continued his stoic march.
“Or what about the time—”
“La la la! I’m not listening!” he sang out, cupping his hands over his ears. For all his faults, at least I couldn’t say things were ever boring when he was around. Just then, a thought struck me, and I almost thought I heard something.
“Hey, shut up for a second.” I stopped walking, my senses sharpening. We stood still for a moment, and I thought I could almost hear a faint strumming noise. “Do you hear that? I think it’s coming from the main plaza.”
Aster paused, closing his eyes to listen intently. After a moment, he nodded and looked back at me. “Yeah, I think you’re right! Come on, let’s go!” With that, he took off running again.
“Seriously, Aster? Do we really have to run?” My voice came out in a pleading tone.
“Only if you don’t want to miss the show. Now come on!”
“Okay, fine,” I grumbled to myself. “All right, cardio, my old nemesis, we meet again.”
As we dashed through the main streets of Grifden, I couldn’t help but notice how strange it felt to see the roads so empty. Normally, they would be bustling with people moving from stall to stall, filling the air with chatter and laughter. As we ran, I glanced around, taking in the unusual sight. The charming rooftops and sturdy stone walls whizzed past me, and I tried to time my breathing with the rhythmic clump-clump of my boots striking the cobblestones. Soon enough, the faint tendrils of music began to leak from the direction of the plaza, the notes dancing tantalizingly around my ears as if trying to lure me closer to their source. The closer we got, the more clearly I could hear the lively melody, until I could finally see the backs of the crowd. For a brief moment, I was stunned—half the city seemed to have gathered here.
While Griffin had several plazas adorned with lovely fountains and cozy sitting areas, the main plaza stood out because of the grand Wild Oak tree that grew majestically in the center. Its ancient branches stretched wide, providing a shady respite from the heat of the summer sun. Before I knew it, Aster and I had slipped into the bustling crowd. The music was unlike anything I had ever heard before—a quick, bouncing tune that wove through the throngs of people. Most were clapping along, their faces lit with joy. I could feel a grin creeping onto my face; even after all the running, the music was so invigorating that I felt like I could sprint forever. Closer to the front, I could hear the laughter of children as they played, their delight mingling with the melody. The crowd parted slightly, allowing me to push forward and get closer to the enchanting sound.
Just ahead, I spotted a group of people dancing. Unsurprisingly, Aster had already slipped into their midst, currently twirling a pretty blonde girl in his arms. That was one thing I always envied about my cousin—he never hesitated to be himself and take chances. If he wanted to dance with a girl, he would simply step up and ask her without a second thought. I watched them for a moment, my heart swelling with admiration, until I caught the eye of a girl in the crowd who was staring at me. She smiled brightly at me, brushing her long red hair out of her face. My stomach clenched tightly, and an internal debate raged within me about what to do next. Ultimately, I decided to take a page from Aster's book. I took a deep breath, ready to approach her, but just as I was about to move, the last few notes of the song drifted away.
“Attention, my good citizens! I can't express to you how wonderful it has been to entertain you this fine morning. In fact, I would love nothing more than to play on into the evening, but sadly, my time is growing short.” Though I couldn’t see the speaker, his voice had a melodic quality, each word flowing rhythmically. I could feel the disappointment ripple through the crowd, and I couldn’t blame them. But before anyone could beg for more, the voice returned. “But don’t worry, my friends! I have a little time left, and I think I should tell a story.”
As he spoke, I began to weave my way through the crowd toward Aster, finally breaking free to scan the area for The Bard. I glanced over at Aster, noticing that his gaze was tilted slightly upward. Following his line of sight, I spotted what he was looking at. Perched high on one of the oak tree's branches was a man dressed entirely in green, an instrument resting on his lap. I couldn’t quite make out his features, but his hat sported a long feather sticking out of the top. Suddenly, the man stood up and leaped from the tree. Gasps erupted from the crowd as he plummeted nearly thirty feet through the air. We all held our breath, watching in suspense as he fell faster and faster, but just before he hit the ground, he rolled into a smooth landing and sprang to his feet. The crowd erupted in applause and laughter, their delight ringing out.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Once again, he began to speak, addressing the audience. “Now, friends, before I leave, what story should I tell?” He looked down toward the front of the crowd, where a small group of children stared up at him with wide eyes, their fascination palpable. A few giggled at his antics, clearly enthralled.
“So, tell me, little ones, what sort of story should I share?”
The children erupted with excitement, throwing out suggestions ranging from nursery rhymes to tales of mighty heroes slaying monsters. In the midst of the chaos, I even thought I heard one child ask about where babies come from. Through it all, he stood there with a warm smile, listening to their enthusiastic chatter. After a moment, he raised his hand, and surprisingly, the little rascals quieted down.
“Those are all excellent suggestions, my little friends, but it seems to me that you’ve already heard all those stories.” A mischievous grin spread across his face, a twinkle in his eyes. He crouched down to one knee, bringing himself eye-level with the children. “Why don’t I tell you a story that you’ve never heard before?”
At that, the children erupted into cheers, clearly enchanted by the idea of a brand-new tale. With a joyful laugh, the Bard leaped up, spinning in the air as he walked away from the crowd, ready to spin a tale that would captivate every ear in the plaza.
.“All right then, it has been decided! I shall weave for you a tale of such grandeur that it has never before graced your ears!” The crowd hung onto his every word, entranced. I couldn't quite explain it, but an invisible force compelled me to lean in, captivated by the spell he cast with his voice. Each word seemed to wrap around us like a silken thread, pulling us closer. As I watched, the Bard delved into his pocket, retrieving an object I couldn't see. Drawing in a deep breath, he unleashed a powerful breath into his palm, and a swirling dark mist began to rise, coiling ominously in the air around him. As the cloud thickened, he brandished a long stick from his belt, swirling it with deliberate grace. Images began to emerge from the mist, and I squinted, leaning forward to discern the scenes that unfolded before our eyes.
Majestic mountains soared through the fog, their peaks piercing the heavens, while crystalline streams cascaded down, glistening like silver. All the while, The Bard’s voice resonated through the air—clear, commanding, and imbued with an ancient power that reverberated deep within my soul.
“Long ago, in an age of myth and magic, when the world was still young and vibrant, countless kingdoms flourished across these lands. Towering cities crowned the northern horizon, ancient forges blazed with the fires of creation to the west, while wandering caravans roamed the southern swamps, and vast, fertile fields stretched across the east. In this time, kingdoms rose and fell like fleeting shadows, and mighty heroes, still children, remained blissfully unaware of the legendary they were destined to forge.”
As his words washed over the crowd like a tidal wave of inspiration, the bard’s stick twirled and danced through the mist, drawing gasps of wonder from the onlookers. We beheld knights in resplendent armor galloping across verdant fields, blacksmiths wielding their hammers like thunder, forging steel into magnificent weapons. The enchantments cascaded before us, endlessly shifting and evolving at the bard’s masterful command.
“In this storied time, there existed a man of unparalleled conviction and indomitable bravery. He was a pillar of strength, never shying away from toil, always ready to extend his hand to those in need. To those who knew him, he was revered as the Lord Barleycorn, a name that echoed with respect and admiration.”
In an instant, a breathtaking visage materialized—a fierce gaze, tempered by laughter and hardship, glimmered with a fire that could pierce the very heavens. A bushy beard framed a face that bore the marks of age. As I stared into those misty eyes, I felt a profound connection, as if they were beckoning me into the depths of his soul. My heart raced with excitement, the energy in the air crackling like a storm, as the crowd, too, was swept into the epic tale.
“One fateful day, the king of the realm proclaimed a decree, summoning all able-bodied men to muster at the Hammerfell Pass, the very threshold of their kingdom. For in this time of great upheaval and burgeoning wealth, dark forces conspired to plunder and ravage. With greed fueling their hearts, the kingdom’s enemies unleashed a fearsome legion—10,000 strong—marching forth with malevolent intent to conquer and devastate.”
His words erupted with intensity, as countless warriors surged through the mist, their fists raised in defiance, swords gleaming with deadly purpose, their silent battle cries echoing like thunder in the distance.
“Thus, Lord Barleycorn mounted his noble steed and galloped forth, a beacon of hope racing against the encroaching darkness. He journeyed tirelessly for a day and a half, finally reaching the pass, only to discover that he was the first of his kin to arrive. Yet, to his dismay, he found himself not alone.”
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd as an awe-inspiring image took form—a lone figure stood resolute upon the path, framed by colossal mountains that kissed the sky. Before him loomed an army, a sea of swords and torches, ready to unleash chaos.
“It took three harrowing days for the kingdom’s forces to rally and charge to the defense of their homeland. Three relentless days of galloping hooves and the cries of valor, desperate to arrive in time to safeguard all they held dear. When they finally burst forth into the pass, they were met with a sight that left them breathless. The enemy stood at an impasse, their ranks halted by a solitary figure in the midst of the path. What astonished them most was not the sight of a noble hero clad in resplendent armor or a learned sage wielding arcane might. —it was the indomitable spirit of Lord Barleycorn, a humble farmer, standing firm, resolute, a mere man against the tide of chaos.
“His voice, like rolling thunder, rose above the clamor of the approaching storm. ‘I stand here not just for my own kin but for every soul who calls this land home! We will not cower in fear; we shall meet the darkness as one!’ His call ignited a flame within the hearts of those who heard it, a rallying cry that surged through the soldiers like wildfire.
“In that moment, as if drawn by an unseen force, the army rallied together, emboldened by the courage of one man. They formed a united front, a wall of resolve, ready to face the encroaching shadows. Lord Barleycorn stood at their forefront, a beacon of hope amidst the tempest, and as the dark clouds loomed closer, he raised his pitchfork high, its tines glimmering with the light of their shared spirit.
“The clash of wills rang out like the roar of a mighty beast, echoing across the fields. The mountain pass became a chaotic tapestry of valor and determination, with bravery etched in every person’s heart. Lord Barleycorn fought not with sword but with the strength of his convictions, inspiring those around him to become heroes in their own right. The wind howled, and the very air crackled with a sense of magic as the tides of fate shifted.
“And so, the tale of Lord Barleycorn spread far and wide, becoming a beacon of hope for generations to come, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, courage and unity could triumph over any foe. He serves as a reminder that not all heroes wear suits of armor and slay monsters.”
As The Bard concluded his tale, the mist dissipated, leaving behind a lingering sense of awe. The crowd erupted into thunderous applause, their hearts ignited with inspiration. In that moment, we were all part of something grand, woven together by the threads of an epic story that would live on in our souls forever.
As the sun hung high in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over the village, the Bard finished his performance amidst a cheerful crowd. The air was filled with laughter and the sweet scent of blooming flowers. With a playful grin, he began to gather his instruments, his fingers gliding over the strings of his lute.
Suddenly, he struck a chord that resonated through the air, a captivating melody that seemed to awaken the very essence of magic hidden in the day. The strings of his lute shimmered with a radiant light, and vibrant threads of color began to emerge, weaving intricate patterns in the sunlight, dancing like ribbons caught in a gentle breeze.
“Dear friends,” the Bard called out, his voice ringing clear and bright, “the stories we share are woven with the threads of our lives, binding us together in ways we cannot see. Today, as I take my leave, I offer you a gift—a strand of our shared joy, our courage, and our dreams.”
With a flourish, he plucked a final note, sending forth a cascade of sparkling strings that spiraled into the air. They glimmered like tiny rainbows, each representing a moment shared, a tale told, and a heart inspired. The villagers watched in awe as the strings floated gently through the crowd, wrapping around them in a brilliant embrace that radiated warmth and light.
As the last notes faded, the Bard stepped back, his figure illuminated by the sunlight reflecting off the radiant tapestry above. He took a deep breath and, with a sweeping gesture, began to pull at the strands of light, unraveling the threads of magic woven throughout the day. The shimmering strings gradually formed a delicate arch that soared into the azure sky, connecting the earth to the sunlit heavens.
“Remember, dear friends,” he called out, his voice filled with sincerity, “the stories we weave together will never fade. Carry them with you, and let them guide you through life’s journey.”
With that, he stepped onto the luminous arch, the strings beneath his feet glowing brighter with every step he took. As he ascended, the villagers below gasped in wonder, their hearts swelling with a mix of joy and longing. The Bard turned one last time, his eyes sparkling like the sun reflected on water, and with a final flourish of his hand, he released a shower of radiant strings that drifted gently onto the ground, each one a memory waiting to be cherished.
In an instant, he disappeared into the bright blue sky, leaving behind a tapestry of shimmering strands and a crowd forever touched by his magic. The villagers stood in awe, their spirits intertwined with the Bard’s enchanting departure, knowing that the stories of Lord Barleycorn and their own courage would continue to echo through their lives, woven into the very fabric of their days.
“Hey Lewin, I want you to meet someone,” Astor’s voice broke through the haze of my thoughts, pulling me back to the bustling square. I blinked, momentarily disoriented, and glanced around, realizing that the crowd had thinned considerably, leaving behind only remnants of laughter and the sweet scent of spiced pastries. As I focused, I spotted Astor walking towards me, his confident stride holding the attention of two girls following closely in his wake.
For a fleeting moment, I hesitated, not recognizing the two girls following him. Then it hit me: the first girl was the pretty blonde girl Astor had been twirling around the dance floor, her laughter ringing like bells. The second girl, with fiery red hair cascading down her shoulders, had intrigued me earlier with her keen gaze—she had been watching me intently just before the Bard spun his tale.
Astor grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “These two lovely ladies are Rosie and Marigold. They were wondering if you’d like to join us for a drink.” As they reached me, the girls performed a small curtsy, their movements graceful and endearing.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, my Lord,” they chimed in near unison, their voices sweet and lilting, almost melodic against the backdrop of the lively square. I felt a flush creep up my cheeks and stammered something about it being nice to meet them too, my attention quickly shifting back to Astor.
“I, um, I think I need to go speak with Uncle real fast,” I blurted, my heart racing for reasons I couldn’t quite grasp. Before he could respond, I pivoted on my heel and dashed down the cobblestone street. My mind was a whirlwind, thoughts colliding like waves crashing against a rocky shore, drowning out the awareness of my dreaded foe known as cardio.
I navigated through the now bustling streets, where stalls overflowed with vibrant fruits and colorful fabrics, the air alive with the chatter of merchants and townsfolk. It had only been a week since my uncle had proposed the idea of adventuring to me, and I still found myself teetering on the edge of indecision. Questions swirled in my head, battling between my desire for adventure and the comfort of the life I had always known.
But the Bard’s vivid tale lingered in my mind, igniting a spark deep within. I couldn’t shake the image of that old man, resolute and defiant, staring down an army as if they were mere shadows. Was it truly that simple? Fear and excitement waged war inside me, yet I felt a growing conviction solidifying within. Why not become an adventurer? The allure of distant lands, the thrill of facing dreadful monsters, and the noble quest of saving people beckoned to me. Most importantly, the dream of being a hero—wasn’t that what I had always craved, hidden beneath layers of fear and doubt?
I reached the keep in no time, pushing through the grand open doors with a rush of adrenaline, pausing only to catch my breath. Seriously, running was the worst. I scanned the room for any sign of a servants, and after a moment, I spotted a maid dusting an ornate portrait, the canvas depicting a regal figure in vibrant colors. I approached her, my voice slightly breathless as I inquired about my uncle’s whereabouts. She offered directions with a warm smile, and I was off again, my heart pounding in my chest as I raced toward the castle gardens.
As I drew closer, the air became infused with the alluring aromas of fresh herbs and spices, each scent mingling harmoniously. I slowed my pace, stepping into the garden, greeted by a riot of colors. Baskets of purple and blue flowers hung like jewels from trellises, while the whitestone paths contrasted beautifully against the lush greenery. I wandered through the blooming paradise, searching for my uncle, nearly colliding with a gardener engrossed in his task of watering the vibrant plants with a graceful watering can made of smooth stone.
After a bit more wandering, I finally spotted my aunt gently pushing my uncle in his wheelchair along a path lined with blooming shrubs.
“Uncle, I’ll do it!” I exclaimed, my voice cutting through the serene ambiance of the garden like a sudden breeze. The tranquility shattered momentarily as both my aunt and uncle turned to me, my words startling them. My aunt maneuvered the wheelchair gently so that my uncle could face me, his expression shifting from surprise to curiosity, a hint of a smile forming on his lips.
“What do you mean, Lewin?” he asked, a small grin beginning to curl at the corners of his mouth, his eyes alight with intrigue.
“I’ll go to the academy, and I’ll be an adventurer!” I declared, my voice imbued with a decisive edge, my resolve wavering slightly as I glanced at my aunt and uncle, their excitement palpable. My aunt’s hand playfully patted my uncle’s shoulder, and she whispered something that sounded like, “Told you so.” My uncle’s grin widened, showcasing the pride that flickered in his eyes.
“Good, I’ll have the arrangements made right anyway,” he replied, his voice warm and encouraging, as though he were handing me the very key to my dreams. Yet, beneath that excitement, a knot of uncertainty tightened in my stomach.
As I stood there, surrounded by the beauty of the garden and the warmth of family, I took a deep breath, trying to quell the uncertainty swirling within me. I wanted to believe in myself, to embrace this opportunity, but the path ahead felt daunting.
“I’ll try my best,” I said to myself, a tentative smile breaking across my face. It wasn’t a declaration of unwavering confidence, but rather a commitment to face whatever came my way.