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There are always rumours on the tongues of bards, and the ones that make the best songs tend to be propped up on the flimsiest scaffold. At least, in Wyll’s experience. He’s found himself subject of more than enough of them to be quite the expert these days. But, still, for all that he has dedicated himself to the Frontiers and their monsters, and so listens to every tale of woe and darkness in search of his next hunt, some part of him always pricks up his ears when the bards sing of Baldur’s Gate. And on the sort of late Autumn evening where the sky is grey and the ground sodden mud, in a tavern in a small town that he’d never heard of before he saw the smoke of their chimneys on the horizon, he finds himself listening to a very second rate tale.
A tale of summer when day stretches late
And children dance through evenings warm
Light turned dark in the City of Gates
Night settled in, waiting for dawn
Perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised to hear of his home in song. It’s a city of great deeds and heroes. And he knows all too well the dangers that lurk beneath the surface. It’s impossible to know if Mizora’s listening or not, but he suspects that as his ears prick up, so to do hers. But whatever the case, she’s not saying anything.
The young man continues to strum on his lute, mostly ignored by the few locals who seem to range from uninterested to unimpressed. His accent would place him from a way south of their current locale, and he seems out of place in this isolated, grey farming town.
Heavy the pollen hung sweet in the air
While time hung loose like unspooling thread
Ariane let it slip without care
Wandering home, towards her bed
Alone she walked through the city’s dark night
No step she heard beside her own fall
Sure her path, her way set by moonlight
To Selune, she trusted all
He catches the eye of the bartender and gets another bottle of wine. He found enough coin to feed himself and rent bed for the night on his last hunt, a week ago. A minotaur that had found its way from the underdark and slaughtered a small family, setting up camp in the ruin of their farmstead. As loathe as he is to take payment from the people he’s pledged himself to help, the odds of him finding next of kin anywhere are vanishingly small. He’d dug them graves, as best he could. There’s a chance he’ll find someone who knows who they were here, but he’s not counting on it. There were no roads to speak of between there and this town, only mud and untamed land.
The wind picked up and then shrouded the sky
The night once loud grew silent and still
Still sweet the air like rot and decay
Quick was her heart, falt’ring her will
… He had been wondering when this would turn into something fit for a song. It’s not the most elegant lyric writing, but he’s heard worse. Still, one of the drunken farmhands does boo and the bard flushes red but continues.
Maiden! Fair maiden who wanders the night
Summer goes fast and leaves start to fall
You turn with them and pass from our sight
Heeding darkness, heeding the call
Stranger! Oh stranger a light’s in your eyes B
ehind them there dwells nothing but hate
Where did you take her, where does she lie?
In the summer, in Baldur’s Gate
Iron the taste in the back of her throat S
he ran, she fled, from what she knew not
Her fears grew sharp, her heart full of doubt
Eyes in the dark, red like a clot
Red eyes - vampire, maybe? Sharp fears could be a clumsy metaphor, the stress on the iron taste in her throat. He’s no fool to doubt that the odd monster would try to infiltrate his home, though he’s got enough faith in his father to believe that they’d struggle to get a toehold. He can’t imagine there being anything more organised than the odd orphaned spawn.
Hero! A hero she called for one such
A saviour in the City of Gates
The shadows held, the night closely clutched
Alone she fled, running from fate
It’s hard to remember that he can’t treat this song like those that he usually listens to. Whether or not it conceals any hidden truth, whether or not there’s danger back home to be uncovered, Wyll cannot do anything about it. He can only listen to this song, drink his wine, and know that in the morning Mizora will prod him on to the next fight, the next hunt, the next story.
And besides, there are meant to be plenty of heroes in the city. Even if Wyll knows that they won’t save the person he most wants saved.
Maiden! Oh maiden to where do you run?
The streets grow long while the road grows dim
Come, sit beside and await the dawn
Spend thy evening, with me in sin
His hair was white and his teeth sharp and long
So bright beneath the light of the stars
Maiden! Moon maiden steer me not wrong
Swift fell her feet, fleeing his claws
The maiden is undescribed, but in his mind’s eye he sees him , the same way he always saw him. Under the light of the city-dim stars, or in the room that has become their room, or that awful last meeting where he’d laid all of Wyll’s failings at his feet. Fleeing some monster, white hair streaked red, afraid and alone and friendless.
Maiden! Fair maiden who wanders the night
Summer goes fast and leaves start to fall
You turn with them and pass from our sight
Heeding darkness, heeding the call
Stranger! Oh stranger a light’s in your eyes
Behind them there dwells nothing but hate
Where did you take her, where does she lie?
In the summer, in Baldur’s Gate
An older woman who’s been eyeing Wyll up with the look of someone who probably thinks he’s either looking to rob her or scam her starts to quietly sing along to the refrain, and a few of the others join it. Wyll realises with a start that he’s far from the only one who’s been paying attention, that slowly they’ve all been wrapped up in this song.
Maiden! Sweet maiden this chase grows so old
My master calls, he’ll not be gainsaid
Your day is done and your tales are told
Come now to rest, lay down your head
Stranger! Oh stranger, I’ll offer you gold
But let me go and live out my days
I’ll not tell of this night strange and cold
Not of my fear, under your gaze
If he were treating this like a lead to a hunt, ‘master’ would indicate hierarchy. A full blooded vamp. Perhaps a man more focused on the artistry might have commented on the choice of a spawn as the figure chasing their doomed heroine - he’s always felt that there was a slight tragedy to vampire spawn, bound inescapably to the will of their murderer - as opposed to the master himself. But Wyll instead finds himself brushing over the thought to focus on the more pressing matter - is it detailed enough to be true?
A hand on her cheek, a hand on her arm
A finger her lips in silence held
Caught then in mute and fearful alarm
Sealed was her fate, will overwhelmed
To a palace he took her and left her there
Servants unspeaking clothed her in white
A veil hung over her face so fair
They led her down, far from the light
A palace? His disbelief is stretching. This is a new song, he’s never heard it before and it’s not the sort of thing that would get resurrected from an old tale, nor - while the sketch is familiar (the vampire steals away a fair maiden and leads her into the dark) - do the specifics, such as there are, line up with any old stories he’s familiar with. But there is no way that his father would allow a vampire to have a palace in Baldur’s Gate.
He ignores the quiet voice that murmurs about Tiamat being summoned just outside the city, of the abuse Astarion suffered - no doubt is still suffering - at the hands of the Patriars that he had once been encouraged to rub shoulders with. The very people Astarion had told him to ally with. He had grown up running through the streets of the city, sent by his father on errands, until he ascended to sufficient authority that his son being seen in brothels would have been quite the scandal.
The child that Wyll once was had had no idea what sort of establishment he was delivering messages to.
Maiden! Fair maiden who wanders the night
Summer goes fast and leaves start to fall
You turn with them and pass from our sight
Heeding darkness, heeding the call
Stranger! Oh stranger a light’s in your eyes
Behind them there dwells nothing but hate
Where did you take her, where does she lie?
In the summer, in Baldur’s Gate
He’s got the lyrics down now, and sings along. The bard looks like he’s beginning to cheer up, now that he’s caught the attention of more appreciation than bored disapproval. He can imagine Astarion’s disdain, the way he’d mouth out the more clumsy rhymes and forced meter. If he were here, they’d whisper-comment, Wyll would defend the bard’s youth, the bones of a good song. Astarion would get louder and louder - entirely deliberately - as he picked apart the cliche of the plot, the tired tune, the slightly out of tune string on the lyre.
But he’s not, so Wyll just smiles at the bard whenever his eyes land on him and sings the refrain along with the old woman and her friends.
In a bedchamber beneath all the world
Her groom there lay in their marital bed
Pulse un-quickening, skin ever cold
Rotten and ruined, and long since dead
Oh wife! Oh my wife I’ve tasted your skin
Stolen your breath, the fear from your heart
Now sup ye deep from what lies within
And take your place, till death us part
Husband! My husband but speak and I’ll serve
You’ve stole my breath, the love from my heart
My youtb now your gift will keep preserved
I’ll stay by you, till death us parts
If there is a vampire lord in Baldur’s Gate, it’s beyond Wyll’s ability to solve. He would try, if he were there - if he could slay the monsters of his hometown as well as the monsters beyond its reach - for all that he’s never faced a full blooded vampire before.
But -
He wishes, above all things, that he knew of others who shared his path. Anyone who he could place on the hunt, or tell to keep a watchful eye out if they found themself in the city. Of course, it’s too late for the fair maid in this song, if she ever even existed. But if there is a vampire lord bedded in Wyll’s city, if whoever it is has passed under the eyes of the law, it will take an adventurer to root them out. After all, that’s the point of people like him.
There lay they there neither living nor dead
Until the summer slipped from her mind
All she knew was her marital bed
Kin and city, all left behind
The bard begins strumming the chords to the chorus once again, and Wyll - Wyll sits there in silence. The night is late, and the tavern will empty after this - the mornings are always early in this sort of place - and he’ll have to leave with the sunrise, though he doesn’t know which way he’ll head. But wherever his feet, or Mizora, steer him, it won’t be back to his kin or city.
Maiden! Fair maiden who wandered the night
Summer went fast, the leaves are all gone
You've turned with them and passed from our sight
Dark came calling, shadows have won
Stranger! Oh stranger you wander the streets
And seek young maids who stay out too late
You've taken her down, to far beneath
The summer days, of Baldur’s Gate
“Is it a true story?” Wyll asks the bard once he’s turned to pack up his lute and gather the scattered tips from the crowd. He drops one of his own gold coins in the hat, more than double what’s already there.
The man shrugs. “Based it off a story some lass told me a few months back. I’d say ask her, but…” He glances at the coin. “Made up the bit about the marriage, and all. Way she told it, her friend got picked up in a tavern by some white haired freak and vanished. Never saw either of them again, guard and fist didn’t do shite.”
“And the vampires?” Wyll presses.
“Figured why not? Pale fucker with red eyes, might as well make him a bloodsucker. Better story that way.” The man finishes doing up his case and stands up. He’s an inch or so shorter than Wyll, and his eyes flick upwards and land on Wyll’s scars.
“Hang on -” he starts, and Wyll smiles somewhat ruefully. “You’re the Blade of bloody Frontiers, aren’t you?”
“Right now, I’m just another wanderer, I’m afraid.” He holds out his hand and the man, slightly wide eyed, shakes it. “Thank you for the song.”
As he turns away, the bard says, “Are you going to hunt vamps in Baldur’s Gate? Cause if so, I want to write that song.”
Wyll shakes his head. “I’m afraid not.” There’s the beginnings of a warning pulse behind his stone eye, and he needs to head somewhere private before Mizora decides to show up in the middle of a crowded tavern. “But if that changes, you’ll be the first to know.”