The Traveling Minstrels

[Rattrap]

Business for Auberon had not been kind of late; the people of Myrken Wood were a battered sort, and the bard was reminded just how terrible Myrken Wood could be. First there was that overbearing drought, then the rain...everything rotted...tavern monsters and Drow. The place wasn't safe. Not even Straka was around anymore...though Auberon had already made some friends, he decided that for his own health, it was probably time to skidaddle.

Lo and behold, the perfect opportunity came on a sunny afternoon.

Through the town of Myrken Wood came a troupe. It wasn't a huge group - little more than half a dozen, all stuffed into a rather fanciful caravan that made quick progress through the town - they had already heard of the news and rumors of lawlessness and Drow, and had no plans to stay and perform.

When Auberon had spotted the caravan, he did a double-take; such a sight seemed serenely out of place. But as he rushed toward them, they were indeed real - actors and minstrels.

"Shoo, lad. We're onae tight schedule," one of the larger men warned, peeking from the wagon with a harp under his arm.

Auberon shook his head. "You're not...staying, right? I...want to join up...with you!"

The large, balding man chuckled. The wagon was still moving and Auberon was jogging quickly to stay with it. "Sorry lad, we're only interested in perfessionals."

Auberon jumped onto the side of the wagon, and the large man stood to push him off. "I am a professional!" Auberon exclaimed through lack of breath.

The man hesitated, and turned for some acknowledgement from the others present in the wagon. This took a moment - leaving Auberon dangled off the side while the caravan bumped across uneven cobblestone. When he turned back to the bard, Auberon knew he had a victory. "We have been eh little short since ol' Pete kicked the bucket...all right, lad. Yeh've got a mile to woo us. If yeh can't sing 'en dance, I'll throw yeh out."

Auberon nodded and slipped into the caravan. The troupe would be well and gone before evening fell, and the bard with them; he realized in such a brash exit that he hadn't told anyone - first and foremost the kindly old man who had offered him a place in his home. He, at least, Auberon could send word to whenever they reached...wherever. Others, though? Like Agnie?

Well...Auberon wouldn't know where to send a letter to reach her. Regrettable, but nonetheless, Auberon was happy to be leaving Myrken Wood.