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BlaineTog 11-15-03, 01:11 AM

Name: Delric Rire. 6th level Human Bard, Male, 20 years old, God: Olidammara, Chaotic Good, Blue eyes, Fire Red Hair. STR:11, DEX:18,CON:12,INT: 14, WIS:8, CHA:18 (17+headband of Cha+1). Skills: a bit in everything. So how does this sound for a Bard? Too cliche? Too weird? Thanks for your feedback. EDIT: Tweaked near the middle. Delric Rire was born the second son of Farlan and Meliek Rire, the owners of the bar “The Lucky Gnome” in the small town if Caldera. His earliest memories were of that bar and of the weather-beaten adventurers who frequented it. Most of them had little to say and kept to themselves, but his Uncle Basui was different. He was busy serving drinks to a pair of boisterous dwarves when the door flew open. Everyone in the bar was nearly blinded by the flash of colors. He was in his best Entertainers dress, a mottled jumble of cloth, with more colors than Delric had ever seen at one time. Everyone went back to their beer. Farlan noticed the newcomer and greeted him. “Hello Basui! What brings you to this little hamlet? Shouldn’t you be out slaying dragons with your lute?” “I’ve already done that, twice over, and I thought I’d check in on my little sister. How is she?” “I’m fine,” Merlien said, appearing from the shadows. “How are you?” “Don’t do that!” Basui said, startled. “I always knew it was a bad idea to let mum send you to the Thief’s Guild.” She chuckled. “But how would I ever have learned to sneak up on you otherwise?” The three adults went into the back room to catch up. Delric still had customers to attend to, but he kept sneaking up to the door to eavesdrop. “Are you sure? It’s an honest profession,” he heard his Uncle say. “Yes. I don’t want my son gallivanting around the world. He’s happy here,” Farlan sounded a peeved. “Fine. It’s his decision anyway. But on another subject, would you mind if I gave a little performance? Everyone likes music! I won’t even charge you (much).” Farlan and Merliek laughed and gave their permission. Delric hurried away from the door and attempted to look busy. His parents and uncle left the back room; Basui went to the small strange at the head of the bar and set up his lute. Farlan closed a few windows and lit a few lamps. Merliek sat near the Cash register they had recently purchased from a Gnome in the city to the south. After Basui had tuned a few strings, he cleared his throat and said: “Any requests?” A few were shouted out, but most of them were bawdy. To the crowd’s surprise, he played a few. They clapped and laughed and clapped some more. He then put down the lute and told a few jokes, recited a few limericks, and acted out some of the more comic scenes from the new play popular all over Vvardenfell. He played his lute some more and taught the patrons a few drinking games. Even the tight-lipped Barbarian in the back joined in. Delric’s Uncle made over 15 gold pieces that night, and had a good time as well. What amazed Delric was not the money that his uncle had made but the power with which he held the crowd. It was almost like magic, and from his earliest days, Delric had longed to feel the power of magic in his veins (he had not the patience for the Wizard’s lifestyle, and wished with vehemence that he had been born a sorcerer. He had a friend who was one, and then had great fun at the market with a few choice applications of Prestidigitation and Mage Hand), but he knew deep down that he was no mage. After the customers had gone home and he had finished picking up stray mugs, he approached his uncle. “Can you teach me how to do that?” “Do what?” His Uncle had replied, with a twinkle in his eye. “The way you held them in the palm of your hand… I’ve never seen anything like it!” After a moment’s pause, he responded, “If you really thing you can put in the time and energy, I can teach you, if your parents allowed it.” They did, of course, although it took a few nights of begging to get them to agree. Delric was to be apprenticed to his Uncle in the trade of Bard. “The first thing you have to remember,” his Uncle had told him, “is to always carry some trail rations. You never know when your audience might turn sour and chase you out of town.” Delric hurriedly wrote down what his Uncle was saying on a small pad of paper he had bought. “The second thing,” his uncle said, tearing the notepad out of his hand, “is to leave all your notepads behind. They can get lost too easily, so commit everything to memory.” Delric pulled out another notebook and hurriedly copied this down. His uncle decided to let it pass. Basui taught him many things over the course of his two-year apprenticeship, starting with weaponry. “I can’t tell you how many times my rapier has saved me. But more importantly: how many times my lute has saved my rapier from use!” The practiced fencing, archery, whip-usage, and many other weapons as well. Then, Basui borrowed a set of Full Plate Armor from a friend and had Delric wear it around for a week. “Why do I have to do this?” he moaned. “So you appreciate a set of fine leather armor.” Appreciate he did. He took that plate armor off and never looked back. While eating one night at a pub off the proceeds of Basui’s show, Delric asked a question that had been gnawing at his mind: “When am I gonna learn to play?” “In time, in time,” his uncle had responded. Next, they went to the books. For the next few months, they hit every library in every town and Delric learned much. History, Magic, Nobility, the many Religions, Monsters, the Planes, everything that could be found. They never stayed on one subject very long, but special emphasis was put on history. “If you know some history, then you know some of everything,” said Basui, grimly. “Now can I learn to play?” “Soon, soon. First, you learn a little magic.” That caught Delric completely off guard. “Magic? Uncle, are you feeling alright?” Basui started humming and waving his hands. The salt shaker on the table next to them started floating and moves next to him. It upturned, salted his meal, and went back to its spot. Delric’s mouth, cavernous and sputtering, could hardly form the words: “What the…?” Finally, after almost a year in his Uncle’s care, he awoke to find a small ceramic instrument on his dresser. He rushed into the other room to ask his uncle, pinching himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. He saw his uncle eating his breakfast and reading the morning post. He looked up and said: “The ocarina is a simple instrument with a good, simple sound. Start by covering the five holes with your fingers and blowing through the spout.” He mastered the ocarina in mere days and moved on to acting methods, singing melodies, and telling jokes. He learned many ways of Performance, and became very good at them. He developed his own style and impressed even his uncle with his improvisation. His lessons afterwards were a whirlwind of everything from public speaking, to bluffing your way past the guards, to cartwheeling into a fight, to guessing when people were lying. He even learned how to trick wands and other devices into thinking he was something he wasn’t. His uncle taught him undercommon, just in case he was caught down there. He tried to teach him Dwarven, but he just couldn’t seem to get it (although he still thought he could speak it, for some reason). In short, his training was complete. “Well, your training is complete. There’s nothing I can teach you that you shouldn’t learn yourself.” Delric was stunned. “But don’t apprenticeships usually last for a long time? Like, way more than two years?” “Not for a Bard. I’ve taught you all I can. The rest of your education is up to you.” The next morning, Basui was gone and Delric was on his own. He traveled the land, moving from tavern to tavern, from city center to city center. He was making a decent living for himself, and defining his music and comedy more with each passing week. His magic matured, too. He soon learned how to cure himself with his music-magic and even discovered how to slow his fall. His fencing even improved; he bested three fellow bards with blunted rapiers and afterwards went out for a drink. He saved up for a few months and was able to buy a headband that boosted his Charisma a bit. Without that, he might not have survived his meeting with the King. The King of the land had fallen ill. His team of physicians and clerics was unable to find what was wrong with him. A cleric of Pelanor spoke with his god and was able to ascertain the problem: extreme depression. The stress of governing the kingdom had finally become too much for the king. His High Councilor, a Wizard of great power, sent out word all over the kingdom: not only would a knighthood (in name only) be placed on the person who could lift the king’s melancholy, but he would grant one Wish to such a person as well. People from all over the kingdom and beyond poured in to try their hand. The first was an elven sorcerer. Her familiar, a dog, did a bunch of pathetic tricks, but they only depressed the king further. The next was a dwarven bard who decided it would be appropriate to play funeral dirges on his bagpipes. That didn’t do the trick either. A string of similar performers appeared before the king, who became so unhappy that he refused to see anyone. His councilor decided on a new course of action to discourage all but the best performers: he would cause the heads of the failures to burst into flame for the rest of their short lives. No one took up the challenge. It stood for months, before Delric overheard it. “Yeah, and you see, this king, right? He’s gone all crazt and, heresthething donchaknow, he’s depresd and cant go anywhereand hes sad and they wont letr anyone in and hes goinna kiull anyone wohe messes w’ him.” The gnome’s spelling errors were tangible, even though his speech. “Whoa, slow down. What your saying is the king’s depressed and needs to be cheered up?” “Yewah, and hes gonan give a wish and a night to whooever does it, but a snap anda flame wot the friggins who don’t!” For some time now, Delric had felt the need for a challenge. He was having fun playing taverns, and was making good money, too, but it just wasn’t helping his art. He saw this as his chance to make a name for himself. So, the next day, he paid for his bills at the inn and left for Vivec, the capital city of the country. He sped to the city as quickly as he could, eager to try his hand. He was many weeks away from the city, but used his magic to expedite the trip. All in all, it took him several days to get there, a record that he would later embellish. He went straight to the Castle and demanded to see the king. His advisor walk out to speak with him. “So, sonny: you think you can do it?” “I know I can,” he said, grinning, “just point me towards the king!” “You do realize what will happen to you if you fail?” “Yeah yeah. I just won’t fail!” “Alright. He’s in there,” the wizard said, pointing to a room down the hall, “Good luck.” Delric stepped in cautiously and saw the king hunched over the desk. “Uh… your majesty?” The king stirred. “I’m here to cheer you up!” “Go away! You’re just like all the others!” “I beg to differ, your majesty. Why did the Halfling cross the road?” “I’ve heard this one a million times, and I hate it every time! GET OUT!” Soldiers entered before Delric could respond and pulled him out of the room. The dragged him from the king’s chambers the wizard’s office where they tied him to a chair. The wizard entered, momentarily. “So. You failed. And you know what we do to failures.” He pulled out a small pouch. Delric screamed, but discovered that he couldn’t. The wizard picked up a sap and whacked him on the back of the neck. Delric blacked out, and awoke in his room at the inn. The stood up quickly and checked his head: not fire, no heat, no burning sensation. He sighed with relief and opened his eyes. The room was brighter than usual and he looked around to see where the light was coming from. He wasn’t stupid and soon looked in a mirror: his head was on fire! He ran around his room frantically, looking for a piece of cloth. The room was mostly bare, accept for the bed. He jumped headlong into it and tried to stifle the fire. After a while he calmed down and took the covers off. His head was still burning! He ran outside his room and flew around the halls. He found the bathroom and dunked his head into the font. But his head was still on fire. About this time, he calmed down enough to notice that all the other guests had stuck their heads out of their rooms to see what all the commotion was about. One of them was a student wizard who started laughing after a few moments. “What’s so funny?” Delric said, practically wailing, “My head’s on fire and I can’t get it out!” “Of course not!” the wizard chuckled, “That’s Continual Flame! Nothing can get rid of it, accept maybe a Dispel Magic.” “Quickly! Quickly! Cast it!” “I don’t know that yet! I’ve just learned Magic Missile, for Boccob’s sake!” He left the inn in mild dejection and started walking around the city. People laughed wherever he went, so he bought a hat. That fell off, so he bought another. That one was stolen. So he bought a bag of hats, which pretty much took care of the problem. There were many things that Delric was, and stupid was not one of them. He had been headstrong, admittedly, but that was a mistake he would not soon make again. He needed to know more about the king. Did he like Dwarf jokes, or would he throw a lance at him if he even mentioned them? Who was his god? Was he defensive about his white hair? Who, what, when, where, why? He went everywhere he though he could get data. And the whole time, he worked on a comedy routine, accompanied with original songs on the ocarina, lute, and drums. He even worked a short one-man play into it. And after two weeks, he was finally ready. Delric’s first stop before his second try was to a shrine to Olidammara. He entered, and was surprised to see Basui waiting for him. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he said. “Uncle! What are you doing here?” “I heard you’re messed up the first time,” he observed. Delric didn’t even consider asking him how he knew; his uncle knew everything. “Let’s give your routine a once-over.” So, Delric spent the next hour or so reciting his performance to his uncle. Basui didn’t move a single muscle in his face the whole time. He sat with his arms folded and stared as Delric as if he had something better to do. “…so I was in this bar…” “...and then she said…” “…this is a little ditty I like to call…” “…so I said ‘Hey, who do you think you are?’...” Finally, he finished. His Uncle looked at him for a moment, bent over, took a sip of his drink, and promptly started rolling all over the floor, crippled with laughter. He couldn’t stop laughing for the better part of fifteen minutes. And even when he had, he was giggling for an hour. When he had finally finished, he said to his nephew: “You are going to know him dead. And just in case you don’t, I have a gift for you.” He reached around the table and picked up a box. Delric opened it and took out an extraordinarily light chain mail shirt. “It’s a magic Mithral shirt. It’s so loose and light that you’ll hardly know its there. My master gave it to me when my training was finished, and now I give it to you.” He thanked his uncle profusely. They caught up with each other and talked of their adventures for the greater part of the evening. The next day, Delric went to the Castle. He was first sent to the Adviser’s office, who he then learned was out. He was told to check a fine book store in the Noble’s district, where he learned that the great wizard had just then gone back to the castle. He finally caught the wizard when he convinced the wizard’s apprentice to cast the “Sending” spell. Moments later, the great Mage appeared. “Hello,” he said, a little bit annoyed, “What do you want?” “I’ve come to help the king.” The wizard paused. “You already tried. Go away, before I REALLY set your hair on fire.” “No! I wasn’t ready before. I am now.” “All right,” said the wizard, after a pause, “you may try. I wish you luck, although I doubt it will do much good.” He entered the king’s chamber slowly. “Hello? Your majesty?” “Go away! Leave me to my misery.” “If I did that, your majesty, I should feel much guilt.” “Why? I’m no concern of yours.” “But your misery is. What if I want to feel miserable? You’re holding it captive!” The king snorted. “Alright,” he said, “fine. Shoot. But if you mess up, I’ll kill you myself.” “It is an honor, your highness, that I would not presume to deserve.” In short, he could not have been more successful had he cast Tasha’s Hideous Laughter. “I must admit,” admitted the wizard, “that I was starting to think no one would do it. I was going to my office to get some kindling. But it’s time to pay the piper, I guess. What do you want?” Delric been knighted earlier that morning. Now, all that was left for him to make his Wish. He had been thinking about it ever since he first heard of the offer and now, he knew exactly what he wanted. “I want a singing voice so beautiful that it can slay the morning dove with envy.” The wizard cast the wish. They waited for a few moments. Delric sang a few bars. They were ok, but pretty much like before. “it didn’t work.” “No, it worked. You’ll just have to wait and see how.” The next morning, he awoke with the sun. As he went outside to laugh at the still-sleeping city, he saw a flash of light several feet off the ground. A Rapier was sticking out of the ground. Delric blinked to make sure he wasn’t asleep. Suddenly, a sound emanated from the sword and a morning dove flew down to investigate. It pecked the blade and its beak promptly broke apart. It died in minutes. Delric drew the sword carefully and took it to the wizard who spent a few hours researching it. He came out and told him the diagnosis: “This is a Singing Sword. The elves made them in ancient times to combat the tone-deaf. The Wish spell must have created this one. Bear it with pride.” And Sir Delric Rire did.