The Road to Maribor

'Is that why you stopped being a bard, then? Quit being Snowdrop? Asked the halfling tailor.

'Ach, goodness, no!' Galanthea replied. Twas the moment I started!'

'Then why finish? At your age – you could have written a hundred ballads by now. A thousand even!'

'Galathea tilted her head and contemplated. She'd been posed that question many times since she'd hung up her fiddle. 'Because life changes, dear fellow. Life changes, and ofttimes it's best to change with it.'

The halfling contorted his lips, dissatisfied with the obvious evasion, but reluctantly nodded in agreement.

'Tell us more about this renowned mage of yours...' the soldier requested, leaning forward.

'Bollocks to "renowned!"' snapped one of the men in the back who, not so long ago, seemed utterly indifferent to Galanthea's story. 'Infamous, more like! The guy is a rebel and a madman, with a price on his head. Not some heroic saviour of little girls.'

'Oi watch yer lips there, lad!' The dwarf stepped to her defence again. 'After all, he saved the lassie. He couldnae be all bad.'

'But why?' interjected the merchant, flapping his arms. 'Why go out of your way to save a child - no offence – surely, a sorcerer has far more important endeavours to occupy his time? Was he just passing by and happened upon the ruckus? Figured "why the hell not?" and jumped right in? Seems rather far-fetched, if you ask me.'

'No one did. And use yer noggin', would ye?' spat the dwarf 'Mages are all-seeing! And can teleport! In a snap, they can be here, there, any-bloody-where. Any eejit knows that.'

'Yes, you're absolutely right, it would take an idiot to think that. But that's beside the point in any case. The "why" is far more significant than the "how" of it. So, I must reiterate... why?'

'Because that's what heroes do, isn't it?' chimed in another onlooker.

Galanthea smiled and sipped some of her wine. She always enjoyed a heated debate and knew full-well what a sensitive topic this was.

'Yeah! They step in and save people!'

'Not likely! Mages are cold. Calculated. What do they care of our troubles? How does saving us serve them?'

'Maybe he was hunting them flyin' beasties for, like, ingredients or summin'?'

'Nah, they got them 'pprentices for stuffs like that.'

'Perhaps it was just a bit o' fun, then, recreation or –'

'Vainglory!' The coarse, scornful voice ripped through the campsite, stopping the discussion dead in its tracks. 'and fuckin' pride!' The ensemble of travellers turned in unison and gazed at the cloaked man, who still lurked at the edge of the site slouched against the foot a withered oak. It was the first thing he had said since joining in the caravan, just after Vizima. Most of the party had pegged him for either a mute or a dullard. Their eyes lingered on the hooded man, awaiting a followup to his brash outbursts. But they were left wanting, as he remained silent and stoic amid the shadows.

'I believe – hum, hum,' the halfling started, breaking the awkward lull. 'Sorry. Hum. I believe he wanted to prove himself. Alzur. He wanted to be gallant like a Knight.'

'Oh really now?' Galanthea replied curiously. 'And what brings you to that conclusion?'

'Well, you see, one of my ancestors, would you believe it, worked on the very same estate where Alzur what's brought up.' He dabbed his sweat-beaded brow with a tattered handkerchief. 'Sometimes we'd hear tails about the old days; stories from the past, you know? Growing up, I heard various –'

'Aye, aye! Enough scene-setting,' Galanthea interrupted, 'crack on with it.'

'Yes. Right. Apologies. Well... Erm... Well... You see, it all began with a child surprise...'

'No, no, no, not that sort of child surprise! Apologies, poor choice of words. I meant, more like... a "bastard surprise", if you will - for when Alzur was but a babe, he was left upon the doorstep of a noble estate on the outskirts of Maribor city, accompanied by a simple note: "His mother perished, he's one of yours."'

The tailor hopped off the felled trunk he'd been perched upon and wandered around the campfire, poorly attempting to imitate a theatrical narrator.

'It was assumed his mother had been a courtesan from the nearby house of ill repute. However, the various so-called nobleman of the estate were all notorious for their debauchery leaving no way to determine with certainty his father's identity. None dared risk throwing the potential fruit of their loins to the wolves and thus it was agreed to take him in. But it was not a happily-ever-after. No man dared show him undue affection, for fear it could be seen as an admission of guilt, whilst the ladies of the court pitied the poor boy and ensured he was cared for but pity is a poor substitute for love.

Not to mention, he was shunned and mocked by his siblings for being a baseborn, and so would tuck himself away in the estate's library. He would read day and night, absorber by wondrous worlds and brave tales of mighty heroes. One volume in particular captured his imagination, oft drawn to read each week afresh. A guide to Chivalric virtues by... Sir Mateo of Metinna, if I recall. He was utterly and completely captivated by the deeds of noble knights and the chivalric virtues which inspired them to valour...

And thus, he would incessantly wander around the estate and surrounding countryside, Seeking trials to prove his virtuous – honour, compassion, generosity, that sort of thing you know - like a proper night old. helping wherever he could hopelessly trying to win folks approval.

However, being just a child, the virtue of valour eluded him. How could he possibly prove his bravery like the courageous knights of the stories? Hmm?

Well, one day, on the way to market to run some errands, Alzur happened upon a waggon set upon by bandits. Any other lad would have simply run, called for help maybe. But not him. He needed to prove his valour. So he stepped in and foolishly confronted the brigands...

They found Alzur hours later, unconscious, bloody and beaten, lying at the side of the road. He'd taken quite a thrashing from which it took him weeks to recover! But recover he did. To everyone's surprise, the encounter left him even more determined to prove his worth! Only this time, he didn't wait for an opportunity to arise... the mad boy went looking for it.

And once again, they found him pummelled, tossed in a ditch, within an inch of his life! But even that was not enough to dissuade the boy. More trouble followed. More thrashings. More recoveries. Again and again, so and so forth, until one day something quite unexpected happened.

Alzur had once more gon missing, prompting the noblemen to reluctantly commence their search at the behest of their better halves. But once finally discovered, they didn't happen upon a clobbered child, not this time. Oh no, he was unscathed, standing motionless in a black alley, in shock, staring at the corpses of three burly men lying in a heap in front of him, their crisp skin scorched black.

Turns out the boy had chaos coursing through his veins. A great power that, lain dormant within him, had finally been ignited and unleashed. He could channel magic... but he could not yet control it. And so the family, fearing of their safety, called upon the services of a powerful mage to guide the boy, to help him harness his potential. And he did. Under guidance, he became a gifted and famous sorcerer - the very one we debate over this night.

But I believe that childhood still influences him; drives him to uphold those knightly virtues that captivated him all those years ago - ingrained deep within him, see. And that's why he stepped in to save the day, why he always does.

At least, well, that's what I think anyway...'

Some off the company of travellers started to mature and murmur, creating a jumble of opinions, but quickly simmered down when Galanthea began to speak. 'A curious insight.' She paused, tapping her fingers against her goblet. 'I agree. childhood's play a big part in shaping our lives, but I don't think knightly virtues alone compel Alzur. No, I believe something more powerful is at work. the most powerful thing in the known world, in fact...'

'Aye, an' what'd that be, then?' asked the dwarf.

'Love!?' shrieked the merchant. 'That's a cartload of horseshite! Love!? This was a man who slaughtered half of Ellander's army, just because he could!'

'Aye I say "love" for good reason,' reassured Galanthea. I say "love" because of something I discovered the second time I met Alzur - The second time he saved me, acid happens. Two for two,' she chuckled. 'in an unfortunate twist of fate, I found myself... somewhat cursed. Oh yes! Afflicted by a hex that, ever-so-strangely, converged on my skills as a balladeer.'

The halfling gasped. 'So that's why you hang up your fiddle!'

'No, no. Quite the contrary, the curse turned my middling melodies into enchanting chansons. Catch was - singing was all I could do,' she grinned. 'I'd open my mouth to speak, only to have an unruly rush of rhythm and rhyme.'

Some of the travellers chortled with amusement, sure that Galanthea was merely spinning a merry tale.

'it was quite whimsical at first; a comical oddity. And the remuneration for my performances it was nothing to scoff at, either. Alas, coin aside, it quickly became quite the burden. perpetual song, day in, day out. If I wished to utter but a measly word, nothing could stop me from spewing forth a stanza of verses to accompany it. Finally, I resolved myself to seek assistance. Primarily due to a rather mortifying experience. You see, I was attending a funeral I made a poor choice to inquire as to where I could...' a blush crept up her cheeks, 'relieve myself... to this day, I dare not return, for fear of reliving the embarrassment.' she shuttered from the thought. Months passed, with not a shred of luck finding aid. Then... destiny - being the sly mistress she is - decided to intervene once more, and I soon found myself staying in the same countryside inn as a certain mage...'

'I pleaded my case to Alzur, sure he would once again jump in to assist. But he refused. Told me he had far more important matters to attend to; "let some other poor wretch waste his time on curious cases of delusion". But, I stuck around. You see, he wasn't yet aware of my unyielding persistence. So I enlightened him... with three whole days song. Every ballad, lullaby, poem, and solemn chant I could dream up. He tried his magic to silence me, of course, but it was futile - the curse was unrelenting. Finally, he crumbled, beseeching me to stop; agreed to investigate the matter if only I'd vow to keep my mouth shut .'

'What's all this got to do with love?' demanded the soldier.

'Well, we were travelling to the town where I was first afflicted, staying at inns along the way. One night, Alzur was up late with the local lads, drinking and playing dice and... see, I was awfully nosy back then – as young 'uns are - and I decided rummage through his belongings. Found all sorts of strange and wonderful trinkets but, being a lass, I was drawn to a particular item: a medallion shaped like a flower. A lily, as it turned out. And... I tried it on... Just as Alzur strolled in...

'He immediately flew into rage - shouting and scolding me ever-so-fierce. I was startled and... so confused. it was just a simple bauble, after all, and it wasn't as if I'd murdered it,' she smirked, 'the power of sentimentality, it seems, eluded me back in then. But he soon calmed; even apologised for his outburst. He settled before the hearth, reeking of liquor, and gazed into the flames, his anger giving way to sadness. Then, something quite surprising happened. He confided in me.

'Told me how he had assembled the medallion many years ago for someone... very dear to him. imbued it with magic even, to keep her safe. "Lyliana", he whispered. He talked every-so-fondly about her, mumbling drunken homage to her memory. Expressed his admiration for her ambition. From what I was able to stitch together, she was utterly enthralled with the idea of a safer world; one free from murderous monstrosities lurking behind every shadow. A grand vision, to be sure. And she worked towards this her entire life which, sadly, proved rather brief - for a sorceress at least.

'He didn't mention how she died, just fell silent for a time and brooded in drunken stupor his eyes full of sorrow.' Galanthea paused, reminiscing. 'Who used the word "love", bet the way he spoke of her, the look upon his face when recalling her memory... it couldn't have been anything else.'

'I suppose that makes sense,' admitted the halfling. 'Hold on... did - did he take up her work? After she died? He did, didn't he?!

'Indeed, I believe so. An obligation to the departed can be dreadfully hard to sever.'

'Aye!' The dwarf leapt up, turning to face the merchant. 'And that's yet another reason why he saves people from monsters! does that satisfy your inquisition, milord? Ha!'

The merchant shook off the blatant affront. 'Well - well how the devils did he continue her "work", anyhow? One man prancing around the continent slaying beasties in the name of his delusional lost love could hardly put a dent in their numbers, now, could it!'