Chapter 12 (Bard)

“Ever been in prison before?” The man in the adjacent cell asked. Stray hairs threatened to break away from his otherwise trimmed beard, suggesting the goblins had only recently thrown him in prison.

“It’s my first time behind bars,” I said, massaging my shoulder. Dirk had joyfully punted me into the cell, making my pint-sized body bounce across the floor into a rough wall. “Well, I had a close call when I joined Univ—started my apprenticeship, I mean, but that’s a long story.”

“Look at where we are, lad. I don’t think we’re going anywhere anytime soon.” He snorted. “I’ve been in here for days with no one to talk to. So, entertain me a while. The travelling hill folk always have the best tales.”

“Fine.” I sighed. Even though I kept reminding myself not to dwell on my old life, the memories continued to hound me during the quiet moments. “It, of course, occurred at a house party. The hosts were senior members of one of the many societies I wanted to join.” I paused. Again, I had let myself slip. “I shouldn’t have said that. The barding council doesn’t like it when outsiders discover their ways.”

“You’re a bard too?” The man chuckled. “This has to be good,” he said, eagerly leaning against the bars that separated our cells. “Stories with bards never fail to amuse me. If the shaman has his way, I won’t get to tell a soul. So, go on. Please.”

“I’m to be a sacrifice too. We might as well share secrets, then.” It bode well for me that he’d bought the lie. “The hosts were senior apprentices, and they plied us with mead, ales and spirits. After the first couple of rounds, once everyone had left sobriety and stepped into the realms of tipsy, the ‘initiation challenges’ began. Mine came to me on a slip of folded paper. The challenge’s name toed the line between comedic and confusing. ‘Burning dance of death’ it read.”

“That sounds terrifying,” the man said, his brows furrowing. “Were they bards or occultists out to summon one of the forgotten gods?”

“Neither.” I chuckled, thinking back to the evening. In reality, the challenge was Lucas’s. He was much too embarrassed to attempt it, and I had volunteered in his stead. “It involved exposing one’s butt crack and clenching one’s cheeks to hold a long length of toilet paper—parchment. Then someone would set the end on fire, and I’d have to run up and down the street until the fire got close enough to my skin that I couldn’t bear the heat.”

“Occultist or not, that sounds terrifying. Did you genuinely go through with it, lad?”

“Of course. I was drunk and had just started growing hair on…my feet. There were several lovely young women I had just met, and I didn’t want to back down in front of them. In fact, I was eager to show off my bottom.” I laughed, studying his horrified face. Lucas had looked at me with the same expression when I nervously accepted the long bit of parchment. “In hindsight, I know it was misguided, but alcohol and a teenager’s willingness to impress women is a bad combination. As expected, the constables showed up before half the parchment was all burnt up. I scrambled to put my pants on and escape into the house but didn’t get very far.”

“Oi, you!” I did my best job of imitating the policeman’s Liverpudlian accent. “Yeah. The one in the red shirt. Come back here.”

“I complied while my heart tried to explode out of my chest, expecting him to put me in chains and throw me in the back of his carrr..t.” The man’s brows furrowed as I awkwardly caught my error, but he didn’t poke or prod. “They can get harsh when it comes to public indecency in those parts. So imagine my surprise when the man slapped me on the shoulder and kneeled to look me in the eye.”

Once again, I mimicked the policeman’s accent. “The next time you do the burning dance of death, do it on the pavement, mate. There’ll be trouble if you get hit by a rushing cart or horse.” I altered the dialogue, of course. My new friend would need a long explanation of cars and motor vehicles otherwise. “It’s dark, and you’re just a wee lad.”

The man burst out laughing, smacking his knee. “I’ll bet you my beard the constable did it himself as a young lad!” He exclaimed. “How else would he know the name?”

“That’s not the end of it.” I continued, trying to get him to lower his volume. “Then he arrested the man next to me for urinating in front of all the women.” The laughter intensified, and I found myself joining in despite my otherwise dire circumstances. “I’ve told this story to everyone I know besides my parents, of course. But, unfortunately, only half my audience believe me. In all fairness, time may have blurred the  line between real events and exaggeration.”

The man’s laugh proved infectious. I couldn’t help but join in on his guffawing. We fell silent when angry growls sounded from deeper in the dungeons. “I’m Ozman,” my new friend said, introducing himself.

“Perry,” I replied. “What did you do to end up as a future sacrifice?”

“I’m a scrimshaw,” he answered. “I sell trinkets, weapons, and armour made of bone, and goblins love to adorn themselves in bone. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of undercutting the shaman’s personal scrimshaw. Things got out of hand, and he declared I’m going to be a sacrifice. There’s a long queue, though. I’m hoping Grog will come through one of these days, and I’ll get to plead my case. He’s a lovely chap, really. Not at all when you expect when hearing the title ‘goblin chieftain’.”

Ozman got tired after a quarter-hour of conversing, leaving me to take in my surroundings finally. A distant lamp served as the only light source, and more cells lay on either side and opposite of us. The ones to my left were primarily empty, while the spaces beyond Ozman housed several humans and kobolds. I didn’t spot any gnomes or goblins, though, leading me to believe they had a separate prison block.

I needed to get out, but one thing was for sure: I wasn’t about to fight my way to freedom. Dirk and his minions were strong enough to capture people twice my size. Besides, with the Coward’s Brand weighing me down, I wouldn’t likely get far once hit by the de-buffs.

While racking my brains regarding what to do next, I recalled the screens that had appeared before Moreg approached me. They popped up as soon as I thought about them.

The Hill Folk are blessed with two traits when they come of age. You have one and may pick another.  You may choose from the following three options:

Nimble Hands:

Your natural Dexterity and race have made your fingers agile and accurate. Whether you’re picking locks or pockets, weaving cloth, or playing an instrument, nimble hands are your friends. Your base Dexterity is twice as effective when your hands are involved.

Finders Keepers:

Closer to the ground, you’re more likely to spot anything shiny and valuable. You may activate the trait to discover something that may help you out of a predicament. Gain an additional charge for every five Control. Charges replenish after a full night of sleep.

Blinding Charisma:

A winning smile is useless if people can see right through you. Sometimes, a distracting smile or an intimidating aura needs a little bit of help. 25% more Wit is required in order to resist effects born of Charisma.

This wasn’t going to be an easy choice. I didn’t know what enabled me to pick a trait and when I’d get the chance to choose again, but they all looked handy. The perks felt particularly specific to my current situation, too, leaving me to wonder whether the system was wary of what I needed. Maybe the Cosmics didn’t have full control over it, and the system existed to give everyone a chance at survival and success.

Finders Keepers looked like the best option, but I wasn’t sure. I didn’t intend to invest in Control anytime soon. Still uncertain on how the system worked, I wasn’t sure whether I would have the points to spare. So, I discounted it as an option.

At first, Blinding Charisma looked like a brilliant candidate, but I didn’t know how stats scaled for everybody else and how much Charisma I’d need before getting use out of it, so I avoided picking it as an option.

Nimble Hands was the opposite. In the long term, I could see it becoming a vital perk for my growth, but it wouldn’t help me get out of prison. Even if I knew how to pickpockets, I didn’t want to risk fiddling Dirk. Still, it felt like the best option.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a voice said, making me jump.