Scene Eleven - On Tramp

Vollsanger put down the battered instrument as he ran his hand around the rough repair on the edge of the Guitar. "Should hold for a while" he mused. His hand reached for the horn at his belt, then he remembered that he was far from the Tavern and his Mead ran out weeks ago. 

Stretching his feet, he wiggled his toes to remove the cramp. Sleeping too many nights on the ground was telling on him, and though he did not like to admit it, he wasn't getting any younger. He brushed a hand through his hair ("Platinum Blond - not White" he reminded himself) and tried to find a comfy piece of trunk to settle himself. Rubbing the excess glue from his fingers he took for his small alchemy kit and reached into the stream to clean the mortar and pestle...

He quietly hummed the new song that was going through his brain "Valeria of Mythodea", a song that reminded him of the heat of that Land, the dust and the sand, the fighting and strange creatures he had met, the Taverns and the Dancing Girls, the friends and musicians he knew there. As he mused his fingers touched upon the small silver coin he always held in a special leather pouch at his belt - a rough coin, with raised features, solid and strong. His deft fingers, more used to caressing the neck of a lute, picked out the outline of the Boar and strange lettering like a blind man reading an imprinted scroll. Turning the coin in his hand - he felt the outline of the ship upon the rear - "Hope Dies Last" he muttered to himself ... "Huzzah!"

A chill wind stirred and he shivered, and wrapped his furs a little closer around him, wondering if it would be safe to light a fire, but he was unsure of the lands, had not seen another friendly creature for days, and was far from a safe path. Another night travelling and hiding in the day and he would hope to see some landmarks that he recognised.

He hoped to join the War Host and see old friends in the Crimson Moon before he tried passage to the lands of Mythodea. He would not have time to call at Dunholme, but the word was that the Oathsworn had set up camp near the front lines - and that would be his next goal - the Western section under the Adamant Banner. the Spirit of Dunholme would be where the Dunholme Household took up residence

Rumour had it that there were bright new taverns to see in the Tross. Sadly, the Black Pearl had burned to the ground last year, and the Klabautermann, the Jollie Rouge, and the Scorpions Inn had all suffered from the troubles at the battle front. All taverns that he had written songs for! He would have to pen some new ones for the Red Star, the Norderby and his old favourite the Winstube. Maybe he would see some of the lasses that appeared in those old songs, maybe see some new faces. Most important, he wondered who he would find there from the Oathsworn, his Brothers and Sisters in the Mead Oath...

A crack in the undergrowth... A quiet footfall...  The Old Bard quietly pulled his guitar under his furs and blended into the undergrowth as he had done for many years.....
"Old Bards should never die" he mused "They should just decompose!!"
He resisted the temptation to snort at his own humour...