Phulish Tremsky's Story

A chair toppled backward, and a musical instrument skidded across the wooden floor with a dischordant twang. A short, round man, who may or may not have been there a second before, lay on his back. At first, the only thing visible was his stubby legs, waving madly in the air, until he kicked himself up, grunting, into a seated position. He brushed himself off, dislodging a button from a colorful but faded vest, which bounced off under a table. There was a kind of theatrical half-masked pushed up onto his forehead. He grinned.

Phulish Tremsky retrieved his battered lute from under a table, crawling on all fours and banging his head as he tried to stand. Walking up to the bar, he began to strum the strings, producing some of the most awful songs the patrons of The Drunken Griffon had ever heard, rather like a wyvern with its tail caught in a bear trap. He paused, tuning several of the strings, before once again laying into the lute. It sounded worse. Then he started to sing, and a man standing nearby put his hands to his ears, expecting to see blood when he pulled them away.

"Melodius, harmonius, mythicus and magicus, I say it thus, some wine to drink, auditors fortunate, two glasses please if may me sufficient I am sure this song for payment." He grinned. A few of those who observed the ugly bard with the long, braided beard, noticed that the movement of his lips hadn't correspond with the jumbled words he spoke, and figured some minor sorcery must have been at work. It was obvious the strange little man hailed from far away.

All these worlds, Phulish thought to himself as he looked around. So many, so different, and always the same. A place to drink, and they love my music.

The ugly little bard sat down at an empty table with his two glasses of wine, placing his lute opposite him in a chair, and the second glass of line in front of the lute. He then proceeded to have a long, engaged, albeit one-sided conversation with the instrument, in a language no eavesdroppers could not understand. When his glass was empty he pointed to something in the corner of the inn, behind the lute, and then stealthily switched the glasses. Phulish then upbraided his companion (or so one could infer from his exagerrated gestures) for drinking too quickly. An hour or so later, the second glass was finished as well, and he took the lute from its chair and began to play: "delightful place, I say I say, I'd drink and sing, if I could stay..." One of the empty wine glasses shattered, evidently preferring suicide to being further subjected to the bard's lack of pitch. Phulish sheepishly scooped up the jagged pieces, dropping them into the unbroken glass and heading for the door. He waved, smiling broadly, showing crooked teeth, apparently not noticing the blood dripping from his hand. Then he was gone.