Mermaid Pirate Dispatch

I remained still, letting the hood of my cloak cast a deep shadow over my withered flesh.

“There is,” I began softly, “a tale.”

The men chattering around the nearby table turned to me. The torchlit tavern was all but empty. Just their table, me, and a wench sweeping the dusty floors.

A burly man, craning his neck awkwardly, peered at me and my lute. “A bard, huh?” he spat gruffly.

“Aye,” I said. “And for anyone who says that dead men tell no tales, I have a tale to tell.”

A skeptical elf of ambiguous gender with long, beautiful hair, squinted and said, “alright, bard. What say you?”

I took a leisurely breath and waited, scanning the table. There were two others. A short woman with shiny armor spattered with dried blood got up from her chair and turned it to face me, grinning. “I do love a good story,” she announced, sitting again and resting an elbow on the table, staring at me.

The final individual had tough, knurled skin and deep red eyes below menacing horns. This one just glared at me, unmoving and unblinking.

I leaned slowly forward, letting some of the light fall on my rotting jawbone. The one in the shiny armor gasped dramatically. With my cheeks mostly rotted away, only the thin, leathery flesh of my eyelids could be pulled into a smile, but my sunken eyes were still deeply cast in shadow, obscuring my pleasure.

“More than a hundred years ago,” I began, in a low dry tone, “there was a party of adventurers, not unlike the four of you. An archer, a bard, a valiant paladin, and a tricky rogue. They traveled the land far and wide, helping some villages and ransacking others. They defeated a mighty dragon and recovered a vast treasure. They conquered a hoard of goblins to free a captive princess, and they burned an evil wizard at the stake.”

“Bard,” the elf said impatiently, “this tale is much too familiar for my taste. Songs and stories of such caliber are plenty. Leave us to enjoy our celebrations.”

I leaned forward aggressively and pounded my bony fist on my table. “Aye but you said dead men tell no tales, and I have a tale to tell.”

The elf’s jaw tightened. The burly man grunted.

“After a few seasons of work the team split their treasures and earnings and discussed what to do next. The rogue wanted to dissolve the fellowship, the paladin wished for the four to remain inseparable. The archer was indifferent but the bard saw something the others did not. Among the hoard of treasure recovered by the adventurers there was an artifact, an ancient medallion that was said to carry a curse. In its presence all of their skills were enhanced. The archer’s arrows flew more true, the bard’s music was more powerful, the paladin’s sword more mighty, and the rogue’s schemes more clever. The bard saw at once that the rogue wished to have this power to himself, while the paladin’s trust in the bard had waned.”

The short armored woman’s eyes were locked onto me. I leaned forward a bit more, letting the flickering light of the fire illuminate the void where my fleshy nose had long since rotted away.

“The bard,” I said, “called a meeting and explained that the curse of the medallion was behind the unrest and distrust brewing in the party. The rogue protested, claiming that it was always in his nature to work solo, while the paladin insisted that the combined strengths were the source of their success. The bard proposed destroying the medallion, upsetting everyone in the group. They entrusted the medallion to the paladin and went to sleep, but in the morning the archer was dead.”

The woman in armor gasped. Even the elf was quietly listening now. I couldn’t read the stoic demon-creature, but I certainly had its attention.

“Who killed the archer?” the woman asked.

“The remaining three argued about it all morning the next day. The rogue was the prime suspect, but he insisted he didn’t want any of the team dead. The paladin was almost beyond suspicion, though the rogue made that very point and the bard was asked to weigh in with a judgement.” I paused and leaned back, closing my eyes and dropping back into the shadows.

“Well?” the burly man asked tersely. “How does the story end?”

I remained silent, taking long, slow breaths as though preparing to fall asleep.

“Oh come on!” the short woman declared, bumping their table and knocking an empty mug to the ground. “You have to finish the story now!”

I shifted my weight. “It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

Silence. The red eyed demon creature seemed to glare through my decrepit face. I felt uneasy. I knew what had to come next, but my decayed guts weren’t feeling up to the task.

“No,” the elf said flatly. “And if you don’t finish the story I’m afraid my companion here will be quite intolerable for the next several weeks.”

Sitting up again, I took my lute in hand. “The power of the medallion was too tempting. The following morning the rogue was dead and the bard saw the paladin’s bloody hands descending on him. ‘Dead men tell no tales,’ the paladin hissed. Thinking fast, the bard strummed a forbidden chord on his enchanted instrument, cursing him to a restless afterlife, dedicated to justice and vengeance.” I swept my hood off the smooth, bony crown of my skull. The burly man, the elf, and the woman gasped, but the demon creature’s eyes narrowed at me.

I drove my fingertips into position and strummed, launching myself into the song I’d spent a hundred years learning. The brutish demon stood suddenly, smashing the table with massive fists and drawing a familiar sword. The sweeping wench shrieked and ran for cover while the devilish creature charged at me, drawing back to swing an ancient, dull blade.

“It’s been a long time,” I jeered over my chords. A wave of energy pushed back against my attacker. “I see your sins have consumed you, old friend.”

“You’ll die again, bard!” the creature roared, foam seething from its mouth.

I strummed valiantly, my dull, bony fingers tingling with power. “Oh how the glory fades,” I taunted. “You were once righteous and mighty, but evil has overcome you. I would that my songs could redeem your lost soul.” I jumped to the side, narrowly missing a swift decapitation. My horned acquaintance crashed into the table, sending splinters everywhere.

“My soul is no concern of yours!” the beast raged.

“You were a paladin, friend!” I pleaded. “We trusted you, and you chose to drown your crimes in blood.”

Frothing, he swung again, his blade veering as it came into contact with the growing aura of magic around me. The enchantment was nearly complete. I could feel its power surging. The air was electric with energy.

The burly man, the short woman, and the elf had backed away and looked on from behind the tavern’s counter. I couldn’t see the wench but I hoped she was alright. The corrupt paladin charged at me again, launching himself toward me with tremendous power. But he was too late. I plucked the final note and a burst of energy radiated out from me, tearing away the powerful husk of evil power my old friend had been wielding all this time.

The torches in the room sputtered weakly, then flared up again. The area around me had been swept clean by the blast, but everywhere else the place was a mess. I took in a deep breath. I knew I didn’t have long. My mission had been fulfilled. My friend, looking much as he had a hundred years back, lay panting and wheezing on the ground. He was dying.

“Alamar,” I whispered, getting to my knees and taking his hand. “I wish to remember you for the shining, noble paragon of good that you were before that medallion corrupted you.”

He gasped and forced a weak smile. “Thank you, friend,” he breathed. Then he was gone.

If I had tear ducts I would have shed a tear, but I could already feel myself withering away. I took the purse from my belt and walked over to the remaining party members. “Here,” I said, holding the pouch out to them. “This should cover the damages done to the tavern. Please see that the wench gets it to her master.”

As they took the purse I felt myself dropping to the ground. My hands and arms turned to dust, and in an instant I was gone.

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