Chapter 14 (Bard)

A sharp poke to my side woke me the following morning. I didn’t have a way of tracking time in the dungeons, of course. However, given how well-rested I felt, it was a safe assumption. The cell’s cot lacked a mattress, but rough chords hung across the frame like a mattress. It didn’t take me long to get to the itchy material. In fact, it was a lot more comfortable than the crappy mattress back home. Samantha would regularly complain about the springs digging into her side or back.

“Get up, ye lazy halfling.” A bony finger jabbed my ribs once again. The digit’s owner looked down at me with a scowl on his face. “Up ye get!” The overweight goblin exclaimed. “It’s breakfast time. If ye miss it now, you go rest of the day hungry.”

“Ignore the slop, Perry,” Ozman told me through the bars. “They just want to fatten you up for their feast.” He turned his attention to the goblin. “Leave him alone, Gor! He’s all skin and bones. You don’t want to eat him.”

“Stop filling everyone’s heads with lies, will ye?!” Gor yelled. “Goblins don’t eat the fair folk, and we’re even less interested in the likes of ye.” The goblin returned to his cart outside my cell and turned a knob on it. The light at its head brightened. “Ye two angered the shaman and his kin days from the Wyrm’s Feast. It was stupid and bad timing.” He sighed. “Ye can go ahead and starve scrimshaw. If yer not going to eat, it’s no problem of mine. Letting you out of the cell is too much trouble anyway.” Gor shone his light into my cell. “What about you, half-man? Are ye on hunger strike too? Cook doesn’t like it when you lot turn down food. It’s colcannon and black pudding this morning.”

“I’ll take it. I love colcannon.” Gor plopped a bow in my hands as soon as I held them out. After ladling a giant dollop of mash, he topped it with black chunks of sausage. The smell was divine, and I could see the bits of fried carrot and cabbage mixed in with the mashed potato. “Thanks, mate. This looks like proper home cooking. You wouldn’t happen to have any gravy on the cart, would you?”

The tubby goblin looked at me, taken aback. I guess my cheer threw Gor off. True, I was in a cell, but how else would you react when served good food?

“I’m sorry, lad,” he said. “Spilt it on me way down. Was a good one too. Wild boar’s head and plenty of onions.”

“Damn, that must have been amazing.” I sighed. “Oh well. Still, thank your cook for me, yeah.”

“Will do, lad!” He grinned from ear to ear, his demeanour changing as we continued our conversation. On second thought, cappers weren’t that ugly or backward. Was the tooltip outdated? “You know your food do, ye?”

“I do.” Thinking on my feet, I came up with a quick story. “I grew up working in my uncle’s tavern. Cooked the meals, scrubbed the pans, played some songs for the guests. You know how it goes.”

“Boy, I do, lad.” He laughed.

“Now that I have you here, mister—I didn’t get your name, mate.”

“It’s Gorin Biggut the Second, but I like ye. So, you can call me Gor.” Ozman stared at us, confused. Despite her hunger strike, Gor and I were chumming it up like old buddies. Within moments his tone had changed from rough to cheerful. It was a jarring shift, but I guess that meant I was using my Charisma just right.

“What did ye need, lad? Is yer cot too high for you? We mostly put big folk in here. We have a cell block for people our size, but the warden was worried them other goblins would gobble ye up.” Gor looked back at Ozman. “Not literally, of course. They’re just a rougher crowd than what the hill folk is used to.”

“Do you think Miss Moreg would go for a public apology?” I asked, hoping Fact Begins With Fiction had enough fuel to activate. It would take some trial and error to figure out what made it tick. “As makers of good brews, you should know. You can’t hold a man liable for what he does under the influence.”

“On the contrary, lad, when half a barrel down, ye speak yer heart’s truth,” Gor replied. “That’s what we goblins say. Sit tight. The shaman doesn’t like wasting sacrifices, and there are quite a few people ahead of ye. Don’t worry though, ye’ve got a year or two before it’s your turn. Perhaps Moreg or her da will find a way to forgive ye by then. Killing one of the hill folk is bad luck, after all.” He sighed. “Eat up for now. Ye’ve got a long day ahead of you.”

A year or two. No. Fucking. Way.

Dejected, I looked around my cell. The wooden box with a hole on top was clearly the toilet. I didn’t see any toilet paper, but there were a washbasin and two cups. I imagined they practised some sort of self-bidet. The lack of soap seemed very unhygienic, though. It didn’t matter. I was going to get out. I didn’t know how or with what, but they weren’t going to keep me for long.

My anger towards Lucas and Tracy flared. It wouldn’t surprise me if she had a hand in my current predicament. Perhaps it was too self-important of me to think a cosmic entity would muddy her hands to meddle in a lowly mortal’s affairs. However, I knew better than to underestimate the power of petty.

I tried engaging Ozman in conversation, but he ignored me. Perhaps he disliked me not replicating his rough tone with Gor. It didn’t make sense. He’d spoken about wanting to get on the goblins’ good side the night before. Changing his tune with Gor all of a sudden didn’t make sense.

“Do you two have personal issues, or is something else going on?” I asked but got no answer.

When the grumpy old scrimshaw refused to answer my question, I turned my attention to the latest screen awaiting me.

You may choose a Mastery specific perk for achieving the Journeyman rank.

A divine entity has upgraded your choice of perks.

Earworm: Your music refuses to fade from memory. The effects of your songs last much longer; duration increases with Charisma.

Arcane Chords: Weaving magic into your music not only comes naturally to you but is now more mana efficient.

Play by Ear: You have a knack for mimicking all manner of sound and are now pitch-perfect.

The decision wasn’t an easy one. At some point or another, every musician wishes he were pitch-perfect. Some of the greatest composers and musicians were blessed with the gift. Mozart, Handell, Michael Jackson. I would love to be one of them. First, however, I needed to be practical and accumulate tools of survival and power.

Earworm and Facts Begin With Fiction went hand in hand. It would also help Sasha’s Mind magic abilities last longer, making it a worthy candidate.

On the other hand, Arcane Chords would help me control and perhaps direct Mana better. I bet with time. I’d gain more magic too. Channelling it all through the guitar sounded much easier than memorising chants similar to Gurk’s. Given the Coward’s Brand and my race’s magical limitations, Earworm should have been the obvious pick, but my instincts leaned towards the other option.

Misfortunate had led me to a world full of magic. Not picking up tools to maximise my Arcane potential felt silly. Sooner or later, I’d find a source to gain my attunement—I needed to learn what choices there were besides Mind and Covenant too. At the same time, if I found the shaman or Gurk’s source of power, I’d happily take a piece of that for myself too. Summoning giants or bats would give me much needed combat ability while circumventing the penalties of Coward’s Brand.

After some thought, I locked in Arcane Chords. None of the options would help me anytime soon, so I went with the one that had the most potential. Even though the urge to test the trait straight away poked at me, I resisted. Summoning Sasha would either reveal my status as a Champion or at least confirm Dirk’s suspicion that I was lying out of my arse. It felt wiser to keep the relic’s abilities secret until the right time came.

With nothing better to do, I busied myself with figuring out the screens and the menus accompanying my attributes, masteries, and traits. Then a familiar voice echoed through the dungeon.

“You should really meet him before leaving him to the sacrifice pits, master,” Gurk said. He sounded pitchier than usual. “Leaving him to rot in the dungeons as a future human sacrifice feels like a waste. Perry’s musical skills turned the battle’s tide. The warg riders and I would’ve fallen to the kobolds.”

“Yes. Yes. You’ve told me all of this already.” The second voice had a raspiness to it. The owner sounded like a heavy smoker seconds away from bursting into a fit of coughs. “Let’s see whether this halfling is worth rescuing or not.”