A Bard's Life (a play by Begor)

[Ladellon]

A Bard’s Life

This is the tale of a young lad . . . a lad of no small amount of privilege. He was the son of a famous wizard, you see. Though his father had passed on, his mother . . . well, she expected him to study and train to become a wizard himself one day . . . just like his father.

Oh, he tried. Tome after tome. Unending experiments. And the countless hours of mind-numbing, vision-clouding, coma-inducing studies. How he gave it his best effort.

He began with the best of intentions, but just couldn’t tune out the many distractions. Through the narrow window of his tower, he watched each day as other young lads in the courtyard wrestled with one another, jousted with poles, and beat each other senseless with wooden swords.

He often wondered to himself, “what must that be like, whacking one another with sticks?”

His already questionable discipline began to waver, yet he knew what was expected. His mother reminded him almost daily of his potential.

*singing*

You’ve got a talent, a look in your eyes
Born to research, catalogue, analyze
Just like your father. Is that a surprise?
From my perspective, if I’m any gauge,
You’ll make a good mage.

Beakers and bowls filled with sulfur and dung,
Powdered bull’s horn, colored sands, adder’s tongue.
Your dedication will oft go unsung,
But noble is the assistant backstage.
You’ll make a good mage.

Those lads in the courtyard (what a disgrace)
Practicing combat with halberd and mace,
Seem so unfocused, but you know your place.
They are but toddlers. You’re acting your age.
You’ll make a good mage.

Rigorous studies are called for each day
One’s thirst for knowledge is what you allay
Magic’s exacting, there’s no other way.
Progress is coming, you’re turning the page.
You’ll make a good mage.

I’m so convinced that I’d bet a week’s wage,
You’ll make a good mage.

*speaking*

Despite his best effort, though, he found himself drawn again and again to the antics of the lads outside. He faltered and became unsure of his purpose, especially as the studying became more difficult.

*singing*

Look at me.
What do you see?
A maestro of things divinational?
I could hardly be less inspirational.
Look and see
Let’s just agree
While my father was quite the exception,
Let’s not continue this misconception.

I fear the truth is inescapable
I’m not capable.

All the tomes and concentration
Has left me in isolation
And left no time to frolic or cavort.
I live a life indentured
But what if I adventured
Outside to find some strangers to consort?

*speaking*

While bemoaning his state one day, he heard the sound of a rock against the tower wall. He peered out and saw a friend down below.

“There is a performing troupe in town,” he called up. “They sing, they dance, they make merry. You know, everything you’re not allowed in that tower. They’ll be gone in the morning, we have to see them tonight.”

The young lad considered the opportunity. To go meant he would have to skip his usual studies for the evening. Oh, bother! Something stirred deep within him, something that beckoned, that lured him away from his monotonous life. He had to see! He had to go!

*singing*

I’ve received my invitation
To a night of fascination
Minstrels performing melodies and dance.
I’ll hear their mesmerizing song
It’s where I feel I do belong.
I mustn’t, through my hands, let slip this chance.

I just sneak out and go to scout
This troupe and see what they’re about.
Who knows, who knows? It may be my calling
To leave my studies here at home,
While I take to the road and roam.
What am I waiting for? I’m just stalling.

Would it be so appalling . . . to take this chance?

*speaking*

He snuck out of the tower as the sun was setting and found his way to the clearing where the traveling troupe was giving its last performance. A colorfully-dressed minstrel was engaging the audience with a jolly tune.

*singing*

They’re cunning and daring
And I don’t mind sharing
They live without caring
There’s just no comparing.
Bards are the best thing around.

A bard, let me tell you, folks, is all the rage
They live rather well on a minimal wage
Reaching their thirties is like reaching old age
For its fate that they’ll inevitably, unavoidably, and tragically
Die right there on the stage.

They cut with their rapier and with their wit,
Pitch woo to both lasses and lads, I’ll admit,
The scurrilous scoundrels should rot in a pit,
But all is excused when they inevitably, unavoidably, and magically
Enchant the crowd with a skit.

Bards can be knights with a helm that is crested
Or a foul beast with its rage manifested
The show must go on even when they’re congested.
None should be shocked when they inevitably, unavoidably, and pretendedly
Play any part that’s requested.

They cherish their looks and care for it daily
Which helps to avoid getting skin that is scaly
They play on their lute or sometimes ukulele
And all are amazed when they inevitably, unavoidably, and splendidly
Don their apparel quite gayly.

They’re good at competing,
Though often are cheating.
Your memory is fleeting
So it bears repeating.
Bards are the best thing around.

Oh, we are the best thing around!

*speaking*

The lad was completely taken in by the performance. He could never return to his studies, not after seeing the unbound joy of the performing troupe. He was going to be a bard.

He returned to the tower and confessed his desire to his mother. To his shock, she was not upset. In fact, she admitted to him that his father was, in fact, a bard himself and not the wizard he had always been told.

“Bards wander!” his mother wailed. “I wanted you here with me so I lied about his profession.”

She had always believed he could be every bit as famous as his father and she gave him hope of a successful beginning to his new career.

*singing*

I should have been able to recognize
Long ago aptitude to harmonize
Just like your father. Well, that’s no surprise.
With good looks and flair, it won’t be too hard.
You’ll make a good bard.

Women will swoon, men will raise up their ales
As you recount gallant, knight-riddled tales
Use your panache, never mind the details.
Soon there will be a play in which you’ve starred.
You’ll make a good bard.

It’s time to go forth and land an audition
Not as a mage but an arcane musician.
I only ask this - heed my petition -
That, now and then, you send me a postcard,
You’ll make a good bard.

Go! Challenge conventions. Be avant-guarde.
You’ll make a good bard.

*speaking*

And so, the young lad left the snug little tower behind and, traveling with only his wits and a brand new lute, went into the world to seek his fortune and fame.

Did he manage to find either? I shall leave that up to you to determine.

*singing*

You’ve been entertained by a traveling troupe
Whose aim for tonight was to uplift your droop
And possibly cause you to holler and whoop.
Ask yourselves now, at the end, for it isn’t that hard -
At least for tonight . . .
Have I made a good bard?

*bows with a wide smile and a flourish*