The Price of a Story

You’re never the smartest person in the room.

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Terrin the Bard was at the height of his performance, the children gathered at his feet utterly captivated.

He flourished his hands dramatically, spinning the tale of Wendell Dipmier, the unlikely hero. With each grand gesture, his silken sleeves caught the flickering lamplight of the Roadkill Tavern, adding a touch of magic to his words.

“…and Wendell, as clever as a fox with its tail afire, shouted, ‘Not today, foul beast!’” Terrin roared, leaping onto a nearby bench, his voice echoing through the tavern. The children gasped and giggled, some hiding behind their small hands as Terrin mimicked a monstrous growl.

Some of the patrons joined in the laughter.

As he reached the story’s conclusion, delivering Wendell’s triumph with a theatrical bow and a bright flare of his magical rings, a commotion erupted behind him.

Three finely dressed merchants, clearly outsiders in the Black Market, were weaving their way through the tavern. The largest of the three—a rotund man with ruddy cheeks and a heavy purse dangling from his belt—wasn’t paying attention to where he stepped.

Terrin swept his arm wide in an exaggerated flourish, the children cheering at the sparkles of light. His boot, however, slipped ever so slightly on the uneven tavern floor. The motion collided perfectly with the fat merchant, sending the man sprawling backward with a resounding crash.

His cane clattered to the floor, and the contents of his coat jangled loudly.

“Oh no! My deepest apologies, good sir!” Terrin cried, rushing to his side with an expression of pure mortification. “I swear upon my lute, it was an accident of the most egregious kind!”

As the portly merchant floundered on the floor, his face redder than his velvet vest, Terrin darted between the other two merchants, waving off their attempts to assist.

“No, no, allow me!” he insisted, his hands already reaching for the man.

In the frenzy of helping the merchant to his feet, Terrin straightened, brushing dust from his own tunic. “I’d never forgive myself if I left you lying on the ground like a toppled turtle,” he muttered apologetically. He seemed every bit the embarrassed bard, his hands fluttering nervously as he ensured the merchant was upright again.

The merchant grumbled something about "clumsy entertainers," brushing dust off his coat. He eventually waved away the incident with a huff.

Terrin bowed deeply, his face the picture of embarrassment. “Please, gentlemen, forgive me. I’d be delighted to make it up to you with a private tale.”

The two slimmer merchants exchanged a glance, and one of them—a hawk-nosed man with a shrewd look in his eye—chuckled. “A tale, you say? We heard you entertaining the children. It seems you have talent, Bard. What’s your price?”

Terrin stroked his chin, his lips curling into a thoughtful smirk. “A single gold coin ought to do it. For an exclusive audience, of course.”

The fat merchant spluttered indignantly, “A gold coin?! That’s robbery!”

More than one patron choked on their drink. The attention of the room settled on the merchants.

Terrin shrugged, then raised his lute and gave it a strum. “Ah, but robbery is only when you take something without offering something in return. What I offer is entertainment, gentlemen. And entertainment is...priceless.”

Grumbling, the fat merchant reached for his purse. With a single motion, a small coin tumbled through the air and landed in Terrin’s hand with a satisfying weight.

“A wise investment!” the Bard declared, setting the room in motion once more. Pocketing the coin, Terrin beckoned them to a quieter corner of the tavern.

As the merchants settled into their chairs, Terrin leaned back, his lute resting across his knees. He began his tale, his voice low and conspiratorial.

“Men of your intelligence will appreciate a story of heroism, deception, and a curious little town called Sarnum,” he began. "Just north of the Tilliman Highlands."

“Sarnum?” the hawk-nosed one interrupted. “I’ve traveled these lands far and wide. There’s no such town as Sarnum.”

Terrin grinned, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Next, you’ll be telling me there’s no such thing as evil creatures that move in the shadows…”

The hawk-nosed merchant shifted in his chair, his skepticism fading into curiosity. “Go on, then.”

Terrin wove his story, introducing the Hero of the Gem, his mentor and bodyguard as if they were characters etched from legend.

"The Hero of the Gem, a lad as unassuming as a loaf of stale bread but twice as surprising,” Terrin quipped, "was summoned alongside his companions to investigate the theft of the lumina crystals. Their arrival in Sarnum caused quite the stir. The Hero’s reputation preceded him, much to his embarrassment. The villagers, however, knew his mentor and bodyguard well, and were eager to secure their help."

Terrin rotated a hand, palm up, a soft glow rising from his pinky-ring. An image formed in the center of his hand, which pulled a gasp of delight from the merchants. "The investigation began with red herrings aplenty. A jittery outcast tinkerer, Tobius Storp, was caught hiding crates of counterfeit crystals in his workshop. Though at first the gnome seemed a likely suspect, questioning revealed that Tobius was simply trying to pay off a crushing debt owed to local smugglers. Then there was the mayor, an overzealous woman who insisted on leading the Hero and his companions to the town’s archives."

Terrin let the lute rest against his chest and raised his other hand. In it appeared the image of a beautiful Evolu maiden. "She appeared helpful, but her dealings with those same smugglers and a secret shipment of festival supplies hinted at deeper motives."

With a flick of his wrists, Terrin snapped his hands closed, snuffing out the images.

The bard gave the merchants a wily grin.

"The turning point came when the Hero, with the help of the Ithari, deciphered cryptic symbols etched into the shards of shattered lanterns. These symbols formed a map leading to the ruins of an old kirk on the outskirts of town."

The hawk-nosed merchant frowned. "There aren't any kirks in that region."

Terrin blinked. "In what region?"

The merchant frowned deeper. "The region where Sarnum is located."

Terrin blinked again. "The town that does not exist?"

"Staff and stone," snapped the third merchant. "Let the man tell the story!"

Sinking back into his chair, the hawk-nose man folded his thick arms across his chest.

"At the kirk," Terrin continued, "they uncovered remnants of ancient rituals and a hidden compartment containing plans for a forbidden artifact: the Halda Andanum.

Terrin described the artifact in hushed tones, drawing the merchants closer. “A device of black magic,” he whispered, “that could incapacitate every soul in a room save for its wielder. A tool of domination, hidden away for centuries… until someone stole the crystals to bring it to life again.”

As Terrin continued, he painted a picture of the trio’s daring infiltration of a smugglers’ hideout to recover more clues.

The Hero's awkward charm, his bodyguard's sharp wit, and his mägo mentor's grumbling ingenuity carried them through, culminating in a confrontation at the kirk where the final pieces of the plot were revealed.

The Bard grinned then, wide as a fox in a henhouse. "Someone was using the town’s trust and the festival’s magic as a cover for their sinister plans," he said.

The fat merchant’s hand twitched toward his coat, as though checking for something.

Terrin didn’t miss the motion.

...nor did he miss the way the hawk-nosed merchant leaned slightly away from his portly companion.

By the end of the tale, Terrin leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “And so, the thief’s plan unraveled. You see, the Hero and his friends had an ally—someone cunning, someone who noticed things others didn’t. Someone who knew when to act.”

The fat merchant stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “This is ridiculous! A fanciful tale spun by a drunkard to entertain children!”

His voice was too loud, his bluster too forced.

Terrin remained seated, calmly strumming his lute. “It’s fascinating, though,” he mused. “The Halda Andanum, when paired with lumina crystals, can incapacitate everyone in a room except its wielder. A clever tool for gaining power… or escaping a tight situation.”

The fat merchant’s eyes darted to the tavern’s exit, sweat beading on his forehead. “Enough of this nonsense,” he barked, reaching into his coat. “I don’t have to sit here and be insulted!”

His hand emerged clutching a small, intricately etched device.

With a triumphant sneer, he held it high. “I’ve had enough of your slander, Bard. Let’s see you talk your way out of this!”

The other merchants recoiled in alarm as the fat man activated the device.

A low hum filled the air, but nothing else happened.

The merchant’s smug expression faltered.

He shook the device, pressed it again.

...still nothing.

“Oh dear,” Terrin said, tossing a smooth, glowing crystal into the air before catching it. “Looks like your Halda Andanum is missing a piece.”

The fat merchant froze, his face twisting in rage and fear.

Terrin gave a quick nod...and Gypsy Sentry stepped from the shadows of the tavern. Their leader clamped a firm hand on the merchant’s shoulder.

“I'll take that,” the sentry said, taking the device and slipping it into his own tunic. “The Näe would have a word with you.”

Terrin leaned back in his chair, still toying with the crystal. He gave the merchant a pitying smile. “Good luck.”

As the sentries hauled the fat merchant away, the hawk-nosed merchant stared at Terrin, equal parts amazed and wary. “You planned this, didn’t you?” he asked.

Terrin shrugged, slipping the crystal into his pouch. “Planned? Me? I’m just a simple Bard telling stories.” He winked. “Though I will admit, stories are much more fun when you’re part of them.”

The third merchant, still pale from the encounter, whispered, “But… the Halda Andanum. I thought that was just a myth?”

“Ah,” Terrin said, rising to his feet and slinging his lute over his shoulder. “So is the town of Sarnum, apparently. And yet, here we are.”

Both merchants looked to each other, confused.

The gold coin appeared in Terrin's hand, tumbling over his fingers. “The moral of the story is simple, gentlemen: In the Black Market, you’re never the smartest person in the room." One coin became two, then three, rolling from one hand to the other. "And if you think you are, well… you’d best start checking your pockets.”

With that, he palmed the coins, bowed deeply, and strolled out of the tavern.

A steady hum of chuckling rose from the patrons.

The merchants promptly sat back down and ordered a round of drinks.

They needed time to ponder just how much of the story was true.

...and whether they’d ever underestimate a Bard again.

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Authors Note:

I hope you enjoyed this new tale. It made me giggle to finally start revealing some of the talent and unknown connections of Terrin the Bard.

Short stories have never been my ‘thing’, but I have wanted to show you more of the Wanted Hero world through experiences.

…there is much more to come.

IF you enjoyed this tale, please take a moment and share it with someone. If you REALLY enjoyed it, share it with three someone’s.

Once you’ve shared this tale, I’d love to hear your thoughts, so…